Workshopping Fun

This semester has been filled with classes I really enjoy. My favorites are Visual Communication, which I took on a whim and loved; American Sign Language, and signing with people has been really fun, and I can't wait until we're beyond simple vocabulary; and Creative Writing.

Though there have been different issues with the class (a post on that soon, perhaps), I have loved doing workshops.

Workshopping consists of everyone bringing twelve copies of their work and giving one to everyone, including the professor. Then, one by one, the author reads his work aloud, and everyone discusses it. "What is this about?" the professor will ask, or, "What was your favorite line in this poem?" Grammar, diction (word choice), tone, imagery, line breaks, are discussed. At last the author is allowed to speak and give a reply or ask questions.

I thought this would be rather intimidating. Having a professor, who is an interesting, cynical kind of man and ten peers who think very differently than I saying whatever they think about something that I have written--I figured it would be rather unpleasant, even if profitable. The slightest criticism of your work can be hard to take, for good writing is personal.

The first poem we were assigned was to be about a place. Immediately, I knew what I wanted to do. As soon as I left class, I began to write. I set up the scene:

Too many people, too much mess

I slip out of the house and into the yard

Past the garden and barn

And the neighbors’ field

Into the covering of trees

But it was to be 20 lines long. Writing like that, I wouldn't be able to do it within those limits. (Turns out that 20 lines was the minimum, not the limit, but I along with the rest of the class didn't know that at the time.) Besides I didn't really like it. So I started another one.

My Retreat

Swish, swish, shoes through the grass

Snap, snap, twigs underfoot

Twist, twist, snake through the trees

Slowing, slowing, the world and me.

Chirping cicadas all around

Soothe my mind with comforting sound.

Up ahead I see the log

Where once I sat and wept aloud.

Then it was high,

Now broken down.

Still damp and green with moss,

A place to sit and mourn a loss.

Yet I go on as setting sun

Slides through layer and layer of leaves

Quickening again, driven by pain of thought

Towards the place I know I ought

Not intrude, those industrial mounds.

Yet I go to gaze in the pools

And there in the silence my passion cools

In companionable solitude.

It wasn't quite what I wanted, however. The tone wasn't right. So I went there, to my "thinking spot" in the woods behind our house. There I was inspired to write again.

Heavy, so heavy

The thoughts in my head

I escape the walls

Pass the wild garden, full of green,

tall weeds. Pass the inviting swings

Into tangled opening.

Once again, treading the pathless path.

Familiar the place, familiar the solitude,

familiar the feeling.

Over there, that fallen log

Huge with open seat before its tangled roots

where I once sat and wept

Feeling alone.

Once too tall to swing my legs over,

Now broken down.

Beyond, mown path, yet tall, itchy growth.

Comforting, its silence

Comforting, the sounds from far away.

Damp, damp, is every seat

So I stand alone.

Then, while I was there, I wondered what I would have written should I have finished my first poem. So, I finished it.

Too many people, too much mess

I slip out of the house and into the yard

Past the garden and barn

And the neighbors’ field

Into the covering of trees

Where at last I yield

Voice to my yearning

Sound to my pain

Here where I come

Again and again.

I don’t want to leave

But time slides past

And I know they are calling

And will miss me at last.

The silence comforts my restless soul

The sounds are a balm, yet I must go.

A quick moment of panic when I think I’ve turned wrong

And do not remember the lay of that log.

I right myself, and it brings a smile.

I must depart, but just for a while.

Lovely, I realized: I now have three poems for the same assignment. How was I to decide which one to do?

I consulted my sister, and she liked the second one best. I dubbed it Isolation, printed twelve copies, and took it to class.

This first workshop, I rather cringed for some of the authors as people said what they thought. Even though it was all said in friendly critique, I imagined what I would feel if someone said it about what I had written. But to my surprise, I was excited and grinning as I left class and headed towards my brother and two of our friends, who are often studying outside of my class when I get out. I had loved it.

I like reading poems aloud. Both my creative writing professor and my American Poetry professor told me that I read well after I read a poem. It was fascinating indeed to hear what people said about my poem. I took notes.

There were some interesting comments: it reminded them of "a young lady marooned in a wilderness," "that scene in Forrest Gump" (which I now want to see) or "something from Alice in Wonderland." The tone was "sad" and "beaten-down."

One girl, who seems quiet but talks often because she is very literary-minded, talked about how it's someone who wants to belong but is struggling, and needs to find that one person who accepts her, a like-minded person.

They liked the imagery sense of the woods. Someone said you're not sure how to get there, but you know where you're going.

The professor said that the line "huge with open seat before its tangled roots" was "very interesting diction." That amused me.

He also asked what they thought about the last two lines, "Damp, damp, is every seat, so I stand alone."

One guy who is amusing in his comments, a communication major, but more of an article writer than a poet, said, "I liked it."

"I liked it, too," the professor replied. "But what does it imply?"

Someone said something like it wasn't the end. The professor sometimes speaks in a mimicking voice and he did now: "Get ready for part two! Isolation: the sequel!"

In one of the critiques we have to write for each person's poem (I love getting them too), one of the girls said that was her favorite line. She also said, "During the workshop, I could see you smiling to yourself because we were trying to analyze it, and you were originally writing about your backyard." That was true. It was so funny-I just wrote describing things, and they found them to mean all this profound stuff I never would have thought of.

The only thing that they really said I should change was elaborating on what "the sounds from far away" were. One guy said he would not change a thing. Another said, "I feel that it's complete and well written. The only thing is the comforting sounds aspect."

I find this often happens when I write under inspiration-I don't have as much that ought to be changed. When I am not writing under internal compulsion, it needs more revision.

The professor had a few more suggestions, such as the removal of two lines. Here's the revised, with changes in bold for those of you who don't like reading just for the sake of reading, which is probably most everyone, and for those of you who have better things to spend your time on that this lengthy whatever-you-call-it, not really an essay, which is all of you.

Isolation

Heavy, so heavy, my head                                     Professor said to remove "the thoughts in"

As I escape the walls,                                                                                                  and add as

Pass my wild garden, full of green,

tall weeds, pass the inviting swings

Amid manicured grass,

Into tangled opening.

Once again, treading the pathless path.

Familiar the place, familiar the solitude,

familiar the feeling.

Over there, that fallen log

Huge with open seat before its tangled roots         Removed the part about weeping alone 
Once too tall to swing my legs over,                                                at professor's suggestion

Now broken down.

Beyond, mown path, yet tall, itchy growth.

Comforting, its silence,

Comforting, the clanging and beeping of the backhoe     Elaboration on sounds as desired 
Invisible beyond the trees,

Comforting the murmur of cicadas all around
And faint voices calling my name.
Yet I go on as setting sun                                                                         Added these two lines 
Slides through layer and layer of leaves.                                   from one of my other poems

I do not return, not yet.                                                   After changes a transition was needed

Damp, damp, is every seat

So I walk on, alone.     Professor "liked the intention" of the last line, but "not sure about wording"

The second poem we workshopped was an ode or list poem. I wrote one about Kristen which I have already posted. This time, I wasn't inspired at first. Even though I was later with the idea, I still didn't get the execution quite right.

I knew they would have a lot more to say about this one. The first was just an anomaly since everyone happened to like it almost as it was. This time, workshopping would be less pleasant.

Once again, I was surprised to be leave with a grin because it was so much fun. Yes, they had suggestions on what should be changed, but I knew it needed them, and it was still fascinating to hear. My favorite things were two statements, surprising coming from my professor. One, he said, "I have a low tolerance for sappy [that is very true], and it wasn't raised until like the third stanza." The other was surprising because he usually wants people to give better imagery, more specific descriptions. "As far as descriptions and sounds, there is not a bad moment."

So I have been enjoying this class. But since my professor is always saying that nothing is completely good and they should touch on the less positive aspects of things, that shall be the topic of my next post.