Patrick James Response: WT, Ch 6: Workshopping a Draft

[Sondra Perl]

#324

The first writing workshop I ever participated in was taught by Jeanne Marie Beaumont at the 92nd Street Y. At the first meeting, I remember feeling nervous and excited, as if I was exposing something inside of me, confessing, revealing a lofty desire to be a poet. I was very lucky, because Ms. Beaumont took each writer seriously; and in doing so, she created an environment that was conducive to positive, clear feedback. I don’t ever remember feeling hurt, confused, or discouraged. If anything, I was fervently encouraged to look closer, to be wilder, to be braver.

It was through Ms. Beaumont’s encouragement that I decided to apply for an MFA in poetry, and I was accepted into the creative writing program at the University of Houston. My workshop experiences at UH were different than what I first encountered at the 92nd Street Y. These workshops were edgier, included more outside reading, and were generally more combative; which is not to say that they were entirely useless. However, I have many memories of leaving workshop with a low-grade sense of shame, as if I had done something wrong, even if I couldn’t pinpoint what it was. Through this process, I learned the difference between good criticism and bad criticism. Good criticism opens doors, makes the way through clear and exciting. Bad criticism, on the other hand, shuts doors, makes the way nebulous and murky.

And I think this is the most salient aspect of Chapter 6: the clear methodology outlined for criticizing work. I like how the author offers a practical process for reading writing in the early stages. These practices suggest ways of opening work up, exploring new possibilities, and not shutting it down before it can develop. So easily, workshops can turn into something very destructive–like a gardener pulling up all the roots of her flowers before she has a chance to see them bloom. Chapter 6 suggests helpful ways one might give attention and care to writing without overworking it, or rejecting the latent possibilities hidden within.

I believe that all acts of writing are intrinsically creative, and the creative process is messy. I love how the author uses the metaphor of birth to highlight the communal aspects of the workshop: “After all, these fellow writers, like midwives, assisted in the birth of a new work–and are often understandably proud to see what has grown from the effort” (91). The act of giving birth is a messy, painful, difficult, and miraculous labor. I think it might be useful to consider writing in a similar manner. With these thoughts in mind, compassion, attention, care, and nurturing surface as useful affective responses when criticizing an early draft.

And finally, I love how the chapter beings with Natalie Goldberg’s quote: “Writing is a communal act.” I believe that this is very true, that we never write in a vacuum, that we always write to be heard. I think that when we read another’s work we basically say to the author: I hear you, I see you, I acknowledge your existence. Consequently, the writing workshop is a space in which individuals share a basic part of themselves, a part that constitutes them as human. In turn, the community responds and bears witness to that human. It is an action that restores dignity and deepens relationships within the community.

[Sondra Perl]

#325

Beautifully said, Patrick. Responses that encourage you ‘to look closer, to be wilder, to be braver’ are, in my opinion, both powerful and generative. It really does begin with listening to the writer’s words, paying attention to the words on the page and the person behind the words, embodying a kind of humanness that is empowering.

I also love your way of capturing what it means to write: ‘we never write in a vacuum, that we always write to be heard. I think that when we read another’s work we basically say to the author: I hear you, I see you, I acknowledge your existence. Consequently, the writing workshop is a space in which individuals share a basic part of themselves, a part that constitutes them as human. In turn, the community responds and bears witness to that human. It is an action that restores dignity and deepens relationships within the community.’

Thanks.

[Sondra Perl]

#326

I agree. This post is an insightful response. I have not workshopped yet and look forward to this tried and true aspect of writing and being a writer.

One thought I wanted to add with regard to Goldberg’s reference to “communal” is not just the act of being in a room full of writers and not just the safe sharing of intimate words, but also the larger aspect of communal interaction.
As a writer we are constantly engaging, albeit secretively but nonetheless, we are listening and observing all that is around us. Like, James said, we are not working in vacuums.

As a writer we are continuously picking up language bits and gestures and all the nuances of each other. Every being a writer comes in contact with plays some sort of role in the larger creation of their own work.

[Sondra Perl]

#327

Lindsey: What you are touching on is a concept developed by Eugene Gendlin whose work we will discuss later on in the term. He says that all communication (all writing) is composed of language, body and situation. It is as you said always communal (even though standard thinking and theory about composing often omits the third piece).

[Sondra Perl]

#353

I particular respond to your point about working with pieces that are in the early stages and how it is so important not to shut anything down at that point. It’s really tricky to help–maybe even push–an early draft without accidentally squishing something. It’s also harder to present pieces that are in the early stages, but it’s so helpful to get feedback on them. To continue your garden metaphor, it’s much easier to start pruning an apple tree when it’s little and keep pruning it as it grows rather than letting it go for ten years and then tackle the whole thing all at once.

[Marguerite Van_Cook]

#361

Perhaps one of the most challenging things for a writer in the work-shopping process is to remain silent while others are making comments. Yet that enforced silence is actually a protective mechanism in itself, which lets the painful moment pass organically. Often someone steps in for the writer and moves the conversation into a useful and less painful place. It is so important to establish a safe environment where each writer can feel valued and secure.
In the past, I found it really useful to have people simply repeating back what they thought I had said, because it really showed where the weaknesses were in the basic plot. This followed by the iteration of what people thought worked well, which is useful for guiding one into new directions and providing a sort of soft landing for the “what doesn’t work so well” category. What are also helpful are the insights one gains through the critiquing of others.
Finally, I always find two questions to be invaluable touchstones: what’s at stake? and why should anyone care? As this thread reiterates, we don’t write in a vacuum.

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