Workshop notes

Crossposted from my Blogetary blog:

So, today I went to a writers workshop for the first time in a verrrrryyyyyyy long time. It was at the same place that had the poetry reading/slam on Friday night, The Hatchery Press. I was more than a little nervous. And — again — almost didn't go. I worked later than normal at the paper and a last minute rush freelance job came in that needed to be done tonight (still working on it, just taking a break). I hadn't paid any money yet ($5 fee), and I could just de-RSVP.

I thought about it.

But then, I really wanted to go. And you know what made me want to go? I was working on the freelance job. I wanted to get at least a half hour in before taking off for the workshop (and I kind of thought, well maybe I'll shrug the workshop off). I picked a playlist on my iTunes, opened up my workbook, started up my timeclock and started the project. Songs came on, old favorites that I have loved singing to in the past. And guess what? I couldn't sing.

Literally.

Most of my life I've had an alto voice and not the best, but okay. I've sung in choirs. But tonight I couldn't sing. My vocal cords were all wobbly and tight and I couldn't seem to get the right notes. And I started to cry.

Singing, or music of most kinds, writing, drawing -- these are things that have brought joy to my life. And I couldn't even carry a tune!

Now, last couple of weeks, I did do some drawing, but I think it was like picking at rocks and debris that have fallen across the stream. And it helped clear some stuff away to get the creativity flowing again. But something was still hung up.

And I thought, that's it. I can't be stuck like this. It's like entropy. I'm losing all those creative muscles.
Teddy did not want me to go.

But I showed up. I was nervous as anything, like I said before. So nervous that I remember my pencils but forgot my notebook. Had to borrow paper like a first-day-of-class freshman. But it was okay.

There was a handful of us, all different types of writers. Nice people. There were a couple of related writing exercises that helped me explore a character in one of my stories, and perhaps gave me an idea for rewriting one of her scenes. So, I feel good about that.

But...

Yeah, there's a "but."

Not sure I fit there, or not anymore, though there may have been a time when I did. Not saying I won't go back, but I can't tell if I don't feel like I've fit because I've "grown out" of this type of group or if I'm just not comfortable because I haven't been in a writers group for so long, or maybe I'm just not advanced enough.

It just felt awkward — like when you go to a new school and on paper you're in the same English or Math class as where you transferred from, but in reality what you studied and what the current class is studying is completely different. You could be far ahead. You could be behind. It's uncomfortable.
Part of it was the side remark someone made about, "just none of that YA crap" and another part was (on my bit I had written), "well, I could have done without the claws and monster stuff, but otherwise I was fine with it."

As a friend once said, it's hard to write around Muggles if you're not one. Not that I'm about to go all Death Eater on anyone, but dammit, I write monsters. I write myth. I write science fiction and fantasy and sometimes even horror. With kids and teenagers thrown in for good measure, sometimes. And a stab at diverse casts and "strong female characters" -- though basically to me that just means writing complete characters.

I write the "weird stuff" that my dad disparaged of. That's just who I am.

Yeah. So. Anywho.

Maybe I'll go back. Maybe not. For $5 I can't really shake a stick at it, can it? I mean, it got me a page and a half on something that's been on vacation for a year, so that's gotta be something. Gotta keep the stream of creativity flowing somehow.

There's a poetry class next week. If I still have the $5 left from the $10 I broke to go to this workshop — well, we'll see what happens.