On Writing
I’m taking a writing class.
I didn’t know if I should say that here because I can hear the comments saying, “It’s about damn time!” and “Why’d ya wait so long?” and stuff like that. What can I say? I know not what I do.
Remember The Great Artist? It‘s all her fault. I knew I needed something creative to dive into. My soul was starving, but I wasn’t sure what direction to head in. I’d emailed a friend saying I was looking to take a class and maybe even a writing class because I thought it might be cool to meet other creative-types, but when I searched on-line in my area I didn’t find anything.
A few days later, another friend called saying she just signed up for a writing class and it started that night. She had no idea I was looking for a writing class and I had no idea it was something she’d be interested in, so I never thought to bring it up with her.
Well, we went, and we sat in a circle, and the first question was, “Tell me something interesting about yourself.”
Shit! I hate these ice breakers.
“Uhhhh, the first thing I’d like to tell you is that I’m not prepared to talk about myself?”
BUZZ. Wrong answer.
I conjured up the best front I could telling them how my dream job would be to travel the world and write about it, but I should’ve proudly stated, “I live in The Hood. And it is filled with good material to write about.” The End.
Applause.
The best intro was when a woman who I estimate was in her 60’s said there was nothing interesting about her and then rambled on for a while. It got a good laugh.
With sweaty palms and intros over, we were told we were brand new, shiny, squeaky sneakers and we had 20 minutes to write a story about it.
Shit!
I looked at my girlfriend and she looked at me like, “What have we gotten ourselves into?”
Where was the discussion about how to even write a short story? Aren’t we supposed to talk about it first?
I was a fish out of water. I had no idea what to do, but I did my best with no help from the instructor. After our 20 minutes were up it got worse when we were told we had to go around the circle and everyone was to read out loud what they wrote and the stuff these people were pulling out of their asses was amazing.
I felt like I sat in on some advanced Harvard writing course and totally out of my league.
Two excruciating and humbling hours later we left with a loss for words but with an experience and a feeling of wanting to know more.
Everything happens for a reason.
There was a reason I met The Great Artist.
It set something in motion.
The Universe aligned itself and it literally fell into my lap when I couldn‘t find it myself. These things don’t happen by chance. You never know when or where your inspiration will come but if you put it out there, it will find you.
I didn’t know if I should say that here because I can hear the comments saying, “It’s about damn time!” and “Why’d ya wait so long?” and stuff like that. What can I say? I know not what I do.
Remember The Great Artist? It‘s all her fault. I knew I needed something creative to dive into. My soul was starving, but I wasn’t sure what direction to head in. I’d emailed a friend saying I was looking to take a class and maybe even a writing class because I thought it might be cool to meet other creative-types, but when I searched on-line in my area I didn’t find anything.
A few days later, another friend called saying she just signed up for a writing class and it started that night. She had no idea I was looking for a writing class and I had no idea it was something she’d be interested in, so I never thought to bring it up with her.
Well, we went, and we sat in a circle, and the first question was, “Tell me something interesting about yourself.”
Shit! I hate these ice breakers.
“Uhhhh, the first thing I’d like to tell you is that I’m not prepared to talk about myself?”
BUZZ. Wrong answer.
I conjured up the best front I could telling them how my dream job would be to travel the world and write about it, but I should’ve proudly stated, “I live in The Hood. And it is filled with good material to write about.” The End.
Applause.
The best intro was when a woman who I estimate was in her 60’s said there was nothing interesting about her and then rambled on for a while. It got a good laugh.
With sweaty palms and intros over, we were told we were brand new, shiny, squeaky sneakers and we had 20 minutes to write a story about it.
Shit!
I looked at my girlfriend and she looked at me like, “What have we gotten ourselves into?”
Where was the discussion about how to even write a short story? Aren’t we supposed to talk about it first?
I was a fish out of water. I had no idea what to do, but I did my best with no help from the instructor. After our 20 minutes were up it got worse when we were told we had to go around the circle and everyone was to read out loud what they wrote and the stuff these people were pulling out of their asses was amazing.
I felt like I sat in on some advanced Harvard writing course and totally out of my league.
Two excruciating and humbling hours later we left with a loss for words but with an experience and a feeling of wanting to know more.
Everything happens for a reason.
There was a reason I met The Great Artist.
It set something in motion.
The Universe aligned itself and it literally fell into my lap when I couldn‘t find it myself. These things don’t happen by chance. You never know when or where your inspiration will come but if you put it out there, it will find you.
Comments
You are a better writer than you think.