Some people like to workshop their stories in formal classes, others do not. I personally hate it, but I do it anyway. Well, I don’t hate it, but I find it challenging.
I’ve just returned from a writing excursion which took me far from my own country and way out of my comfort zone. At night, in anticipation of the morning’s classes, I felt as if I was swinging from a free-hanging rope that dangled in space. Yet when the time for class came, I put on my ‘day’ clothes, gathered my notebook and prepared to give it my best.
Our instructors delivered six writing prompts, one for each day. Some included: ‘Cars’, describing a scene you were not at, ‘Image Patterning’ which means how a writer transitions (in time), and the secrets of dialogue. We had great teachers: https://kayliejonesbooks.com, https://beverlydonofrio.com and Rich Farrell https://richardfarrell.net.
I’ve mentioned the dangling fear. My daughter, who once accompanied me on one of these expeditions, aptly described the workshopping process as ‘standing in the spotlight, while feeling like a deer in the headlights.’ I agreed then, and I agree now. (You have 20 minutes to come up with a story and then regurgitate your craziness to the class.)
Sometimes though, the pain can be worth it. Like a baby learning to walk, I soaked up the craft of the industry at this intensive, while putting the lessons of the day into practice. For better or worse. On the ‘making transitions’ session, there was a ghastly silence after I read my piece, and the teacher finally asked, ‘So, where is your transition?’ I had no idea! where it was. (Laughing/crying emoji.)
On the eve of our final presentations, I had a thought. What if I combined the ‘Cars’ prompt from Day One with my story about menstruation from ‘Image Patterning’ on Day Three? In this technique you take three words – one abstract and two concrete to build a story. My subject was period pain and the concrete words were ‘blood’ and ‘breath’, to which I added the word ‘keys’. Blood and breath represented the intensity of the pain. The ‘keys’ belonged to the Holden Kingswood my conservative Catholic father drove to the doctor’s clinic when he heard I’d been denied a script for The Pill. The contraceptive was the only remedy I’d found as a young woman to ease the monthly agony. The doctor had refused me The Pill because it was ‘against the Church’s rulings’. My father wasn’t for birth control, but became infuriated that the medical profession was telling his daughter how to nurture her body.
At that writing workshop, I accomplished one small goal for myself. I’d been wanting to portray the feverish intensity of menstruation, and with this confluence of images, I edged a little closer. By using the theory named ‘Image Patterning’, I created a flow of consciousness that took me over one threshold and into writerly feelings. How did that pain actually feel. And what did I make of my father’s reaction.
One of these days, the story of dad and the car will seep into my manuscript – I hope.
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WRITINGS AND MUSINGS OF MARGARET MCCAFFREY 
Margaret I love how the workshop prompts led you to feel your way into writing. You never know what a workshop can spark – though I share your pain in presenting your ‘transition piece’ that was followed by crashing silence! We have to be brave – or mad – to be writers!!
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Both at once I think, Helen. Thanks for reading.
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Reminds me of a George Orwell quote in the editorial of the current issue of Working Writer: “Writing a book is a horrible, exhausting struggle, like a long bout with some painful illness. One would never undertake such a thing, if one were not driven on by some demon whom one can neither resist nor understand.”
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Aint that the truth!
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Were you against the pill while your father was okay with it?
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Oh, he was very Catholic and therefore theoretically against. At the time I needed the pill for my period pain while a young teacher. I need to make this clear in my story – and in the post.
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