|
But...I
don't have a sense of how the narrator is feeling about what's
going on around her.
But...I don't understand why Tabitha hates her stepmother.
But...I feel the first scene is heavy on dialogue.
But...I feel Michael's character is underdeveloped.
|
I
don't like the beginning.
|
|
I
don't like this description.
|
|
I
don't like this story.
|
| I
don't like you. |
OK.
So, maybe they don't say that, exactly, but that's how it feels.
It feels like I'm under attack with only my notebook as a shield.
It's not only this chapter or short story that's in question,
but everything I've ever written in my life. It's as if they're
reviewing whether I even deserve to be here. It's as if
they're deciding whether I deserve to call myself a writer. I'm
so grateful when it's over and we can move on to someone else.
You'd think it would get better as the semester progresses. It
doesn't. Every Sunday before submitting, I spend all day re-reading
my pages, making small changes, trying to somehow shape it into
the masterpiece of which I once believed myself capable. Every
Monday, when I pass out my pages, I'm tempted to offer a disclaimer
to make the writing seem less unfortunate, such as:
|
This
is a rough, rough, rough draft.
|
| |
|
or
|
| |
|
I
was drunk when I wrote this.
|
| |
|
or
|
| |
| I
know this sucks. |
It
isn't until November that I start to get a better perspective
on the workshop process. I run into a classmate at a computer
lab, one Monday before class, and she expresses how nervous she
is about the response to her story. I'm surprised because I think
this classmate is a truly gifted writer. I especially like the
story she's recently submitted and can't understand why she would
feel self-conscious about it. Sure, I have a few questions about
the main character's motivation. And there are some language
issues that I want to bring up. Yet, all in all, I really enjoyed
reading it.
Then, it hits me. I'm not the only one who feels inadequate at
times. I'm not the only one who feels vulnerable. This week, she's
me. And she's afraid of the "buts", as well.
I think about all of the suggestions I've given over the course
of the semester. I never once thought about how that made other
writers feel. I just assumed that everyone else was secure enough
with his or her work to take the critiques. I just assumed they
understood that my intentions were good, that I was only trying
to help. After all, that's what a workshop is all about, right?
I realize that I've already learned my lesson for the day. I'm
reminded that a workshop is a place where one learns to be a better
writer. The purpose of a workshop is to polish unfinished work,
not to show off how skilled you are. No one expects you to be
perfect, otherwise you wouldn't be there. You'd be published already!
I wish I could say that I'm no longer nervous about submitting
my work. I don't think I'll ever be completely confident in my
writing. However, I think that may be a good thing. It means I'll
never stop trying to improve. I still feel, sometimes, that my
efforts are crap, but at least I know that I'm not the only one
who feels this way. This insecurity is a badge all writers wear.
I'm part of the club. I do belong here.
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