workshops

Friday Fun is a group post from the writers of the NHWN blog. Each week, we’ll pose and answer a different, get-to-know-us question. We hope you’ll join in by providing your answer in the comments.

QUESTION: If you could attend any writers’ conference, retreat, or workshop, which one would it be and why. OR, if you could design one just for you – the perfect conference/retreat/workshop that doesn’t yet exist except in your head – what would it be like … and why?

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Lisa J. Jackson: Such a great question! Hands down my favorite writers’ conference is New England Crime Bake held each November in Boston. Ooh la la, do I love this small con that offers a little bit of everything for readers and writers of any type of mystery. I don’t know another local con where I can mix, mingle, and chat with big name authors and agents – and put faces to the names of the folks I chat with on writers’ loops.

As for creating my own retreat – perfection would be a cozy house on a beach. I think 8 or so fellow writers would be a great number; we’d each have our own sleeping space and plenty of options for where to spend hours writing. Then a large gathering area to eat and talk about our writing. I could be any time of year – definitely have a fireplace in the winter, though! Walking along the beach is the most rejuvenating activity I’ve found, and I enjoy it year-round (although I don’t do it nearly as often as I want to!).

Julie Hennrikus: I love the New England Crime Bake too, and have gone to it every year but the first. It is exhausting, but inspiring. And I do like that it is small. I am going to Bouchercon for the first time this weekend, and will report back. It is a HUGE mystery/crime fiction conference, geared more for fans than for writers (from what I understand). Adding the Writers Police Academy to my must do list–hear great things!

I am part of another group blog, the Wicked Cozy Authors blog. This year I was invited to join their retreat (which they did last year as well) at a house in Old Orchard Beach. It was just terrific. (I blogged about it here.) Not only did we write, we had great conversations about careers, about what we brought to our group endeavor, and an impromptu Scrivener class.

Jamie Wallace: So far, the only conference I’ve been to is the fabulous Muse Conference hosted annually by Boston’s Grub Street. I have attended twice and both times walked away exhausted (as Julie said), but also inspired and informed. Although the conference has grown tremendously since it began, it still has a very grass roots feel that makes me feel more at home than I imagine I would be at, say, a big New York conference.

I asked this question because I received an alert about next spring’s Iceland Writer’s Retreat. I have no intentions of running away to Iceland for five days, but the idea of it was so romantic that I couldn’t help daydreaming.

My perfect writing retreat would be a guilt free one. Like most of my fellow writers here at Live to Write – Write to Live, I have many responsibilities beyond my writing. What I would love more than anything is a retreat that didn’t leave me feeling selfish for taking time away from my daughter, my beau, my work, or my cats. (Yes, I feel guilty when I have to leave my cats.) If I could find a way to steal a couple of days all to myself without worrying about anyone or anything, that would be bliss.

Diane MacKinnon: I, too, think New England Crime Bake is an awesome conference. It’s fun, informative, and everyone there–authors, agents, and publishers–are all very down-to-earth.

I did go, once, to an amazing writing workshop (that felt like a retreat). I plan to go again one day. It’s The Self as the Source of the Story Writer’s Workshop that Christina Baldwin does every year out on Whidbey Island, in Washington. Many years ago, when I first started writing again after many years of just longing to do it, I met Christina at a medical conference and saw her flyer about this workshop. It happened to be on a week when my husband and I were both off and my stepchildren were away on an exciting vacation with their mom. I asked my husband (who is not a writer) if he would consider going with me. He said he would, then sent in a writing sample as all the participants had to do. He participated fully in the retreat, which was so wonderful. But the best part about the retreat was that the pace of life we lived that week was so much slower than our normal daily lives. We met twice a day for two hours to hear lectures about different writing topics, and we had plenty of time to write, run, and relax. There were 16 people in the group and we all ate lunch and dinner together. We also spent 36 hours together in silence, which was a powerful experience. On the last day we read out loud to each other. During the day of silence words just poured out of me. I still am amazed at how wonderful that whole week was. Sigh. One day I’ll go again.

When I walked into the first session of the class I’m taking at Grub Street Writers, I felt like I was walking onto hallowed ground. It had been so long since I’d taken time out of my busy life to invest in my writing. I made my pilgrimage into the city, my head filled with undefined expectations. Other than what I’d read in the class description, I wasn’t sure what I’d find or even what I hoped to find.

One thing I didn’t expect was to find a silver bullet that would solve all my writing challenges. Writing is not a mechanical skill that can be taught by rote. There is no black and white way to do it. It works differently for each person who dares harnesses its creative spirit and climb aboard for the ride. Most writing teachers will tell you that they cannot teach anyone to write. They can only provide the space and the framework within which their students explore their own processes and ideas. Happily, I arrived at that first class with no specific expectations. I was just glad to be there.

Just being there – in that space dedicated to the pursuit of the writing craft – was good for my inner writer. I felt her stir the minute I stepped off the elevator. The years of sticky slumber that had kept her lying quiet and dormant began to melt away. She stretched experimentally and was delighted to find herself in a space without the usual boundaries of deadlines, school pick-ups, phone calls, and endless social media chatter. This place –wrapped around the time I’d carved out to spend within its walls – was a fortress against the usual onslaught of interruptions and distractions.

Without those distractions, my mind slipped easily and readily into “student mind.” Open, eager, and focused, I waited to see what the class would bring. Stepping outside my normal routine let me step away from my monkey mind – that incessant and annoying inner dialog that prattles away non-stop about the slow driver in front of me, my grocery list, the client call I had earlier, what I’m going to have for dinner, when my daughter’s last dentist appointment was, and so on. I let go of my usual need to be constantly doing, and sat back – ready to receive.

That first class was full of ideas on how to approach my stories, create my characters, and build my worlds. I also heard about the lives and work of my fellow students. Some of them read their free writes aloud. That was when the insidious side of human nature kicked in. As though I suffered from a mutant form of Turret’s, I began systematically comparing myself (and my writing) to everyone else in the room. When, at the end of class one, the instructor asked each of us to commit to a writing goal for the upcoming week, all I could offer was that I would show up to the next class. Next to others who were committing to 2 – 6 hours of writing a day, my intention felt weak and pointless. The voices of fear and judgment began whispering in my head:

“Wow, she’s really good. You’ve never written anything like that. You don’t even know what ‘narrative altitude’ is. How can you even call yourself a writer when you haven’t written so much as a short story. These people have finished novels, for gods’ sakes! If you really wanted to write, you’d make more time…”

But then I told those voices to shut up.

I said, “I’m here, and that is enough. This is where I start.”

I adopted a businesslike approach. I thought about writing not as some romantic endeavor fueled by the capricious good will of anonymous muses, but as a profession. Without inflicting so much as a scratch on the surface of my creativity, I replaced the “magic” of creation with the “science” of study, practice, and solid execution. I reminded myself that this fiction-writing thing is not so different from the non-fiction writing I do each and every day to make my living.

The beauty of making these observations about myself as a writer is that they gave me some clarity about my strengths and weaknesses as well as the opportunities and potential pitfalls that I will encounter on my journey. As I watched myself ride the ups and downs of my emotions, I could see my fears and pick them off, one-by-one. I also realized that I could recreate this class experience for myself. So can you:

Set aside some time, but don’t limit yourself by setting specific expectations.
Find a space that fills you with energy and maybe even a little reverence.
Adopt the “student mind” (and shut down the monkey mind – use a sledgehammer if you must, he’s a resilient little bugger).
Give yourself a minute to compare yourself to others – your favorite authors, your writer friend who just landed an agent – but just enough to get it out of your system.
Get down to the business of approaching your writing like the professional you are. Keep the magic in your heart, but don’t let it cloud your mind. You know what you have to do. Do it.

There is no definitive guarantee that a writing class will make you a better writer. It depends on the writer, the class, the teacher, the subject matter, and a hundred other variables. But any writing class – even one you create for yourself – will increase your self-awareness and provide you with a broader perspective. Just the act of being in that space and engaged with the craft will help you sink more deeply into being the writer you are. And that is worth the price of admission every time.

What do you think? What have your class experiences been like? Do you think you could create a class-of-one for yourself?

Jamie Lee Wallace is a writer who also happens to be a marketer. She helps her Suddenly Marketing clients discover their voice, connect with their audience, and find their marketing groove. She is also a mom, a prolific blogger, and a student of voice and trapeze (not at the same time). Introduce yourself on facebook or twitter. She doesn’t bite … usually.