Monster proofing

Workshops are monsters.

With the same quiet intensity as a snake slithering to a wounded mockingbird, the workshop creeps behind its prey waiting until an insecurity or abnormality from the usual paced submissions appears. BAM! It strikes, venom kissed daggers plunging into the same tender spaces that a lover once whispered over. Sometimes the mammoth monstrosity merely grazes, waiting to fill its sack later. Other times the wound is mortal; plunging your voice, shredding your thoughts, and choking the sweat drenched signature of your imagination until the beating of its birth is no more.
The monster is also an impermanent lover.

It becomes so easy to trust the first approving kiss as it slowly prods and lingers in the doorway of your reluctant thoughts. "Give in to me as Adam said to Eve," it whispers "let it be easy, drape your creation over the skeleton of my persuasion. Just conform, cave, give in, for me, baby, please.” That villainous rascal knows its writer- captives, so when you try to wiggle free from the tightly woven bondage carefully disguised as thematic guidelines, self-criticism and judgmental peers it pulls you closer. Puffing smoke rings of confusing writer's block, the monster sits tall, its long legs dangling from a tree swing just out of your reach "Oh honey, donchu be trying to think free, you came for a degree," its top hat tumbles onto your heavy soul. "STOP," you scream "wadda bout trying out my dreams? Wadda bout listening to my identity, why you breakin my back Mr. Devil man? Why can't I remember, remember my purpose, remember why I wrote the story in the first place, remember what I'm doing here, remember who my character is-was, remember why mom thought I was a good writer, remember why I wanted to try?" Laughing spittle sprays you into submission "remember? Why are you trying to remember? Didn't nobody ever tell you that there ain't no way you going to make it? " HAAAAAHEEEEHAAAAHEEEE- real knee slapper, kid.

Ladies and Gentlemen Public monster #1 strikes again.

I must of been about ten the first time I read Margaret Mitchell's Gone With the Wind. After several good reads, I'm not sure if I'm more in love with the unconditional kindness of Ashely Wikes's bride Melanie or the morally tempered rogue, Rhett Butler. Of one thing I am certain; Scarlett O'Hara and the despicable thoughts that plague her as she stumbles through the hurdles of surviving the post-Civil War south has never been attractive to me. I was stunned into silence when I first read her sour thoughts towards the saint-like Melanie "you'd be glad to do without me if you knew what I really thought of you." (pg.200) There is something very undignified about being a poor loser or being so openly discontent with personal circumstances that the words you choose to use ruin the experience of another. One tends to get more flies with honey than vinegar which is why I approach workshops the way that I do.

I am merely an unpublished peer and I am honored to have the privilege of reading such fine example of imagination. Regardless of the quality or quantity standards that some work-shoppers may apply to a piece, I am often baffled by the abundance of pretend-play that has been craftily webbed onto pages for class. How many people shuffle home from work to strain their already tired eyes on a computer screen instead of a television program?
We, as writers have an obligation to fulfill. We were chosen to accentuate details that will influence someone, somewhere. Tearing each other’s work to shreds for the sport of it because of our own competitive insecurities, which is often the case in workshops, is like handing a personalized map of destruction to an enemy spy. If we don't feel our own magic, how can we spread it to others?
I like to approach a workshop the same way I make vegetable soup. Sure, a lot of work goes into it and there are some vegetables that may disgust my taste buds but they also have a lot of benefits critical in having a healthy body.
At the end of the day I think about Elvis. I grew up on him and I just remember going through really rough times but even when I was just a kid I'd put on my favorite songs and before I knew it my leg would start bouncing and then my head would bobble and then my heart would be better. The thing about Elvis is that he was so poor that the only telephone he had access to was a payphone anchored to a wall in the hallway. He was so embarrassed by this that when he walked in to record that first album he forgot to tell Mr. Sam Phillips of Sun Records that he shared that line with the rest of the housing project where he lived. When it came time for his big break someone had to track him down. I suppose I feel that if he made it, I have just as much right as anyone else.

It is important to me to treat everyone the way I want to be treated and that includes holding others to the same standards that I hold myself to. Once something comes into existence it holds the power to be something great but figuring out how to polish it can be nearly impossible. With those odds there cannot be enough positivity or loving encouragement given to an author or their characters.

Here's the critique given by a peer:
I've noticed that you tend to like to wait until everyone has spoken before you speak your thoughts. I'm not sure if this is because you want to clarify your own ideas by hearing other peoples first or if you want to temper what you say based on people's initial comments but you have always spoken relatively last in workshops unless otherwise called on.

You get very excited by other people's writing. You really want to see people succeed and help them if you can and this excitement comes across in your body language and enthusiasm when you start talking about people's work. So when you do speak it's very animated and very author focused. You direct the majority of your attention to the person receiving your comments I think probably to make sure that they're understanding you (granted I could be projecting that part since we're friends and you do that in friendships too... but you know).

I have noticed that when you do speak directly to the writer and you get excited/passionate/animated you can sometimes forget to differentiate between author and character or author and narrator so you end up speaking of the author as the narrator. Which may not be a bad thing but people might get sensitive about that. The only reason I really noticed it is because all of my workshop classes have stressed so heavily the difference between the author and the character in the story (especially if it's non-fiction).

You're not afraid to acknowledge your sense of an author's insecurity in your feedback. I'm thinking here specifically of when you felt hesitancy in one of the pieces we read in workshop and you looked at that person and told her she needed to get out of her head, relax, trust herself and have fun with the story, out loud, in front of the entire class. Or when you told me to pretend like I was telling you a bed time story. I think this speaks a bit towards your feeling that we're all here doing our writing and coming to the table as a team so we shouldn't be holding anything back with one another.

Also, you really like imagining things, which can be really helpful if someone is stuck on a plot point in their story.