Back in college I took a writing workshop class. Each time we met the instructor would pick two writers to read their work.
Stories I found entertaining and well-written the instructor would viciously rip apart. Work I found practically indecipherable he would praise to the sky.
If a student expressed an opinion different from his, he would humiliate the person until the entire room was silent. Then he would treat that silence as proof he'd been assigned a classroom of orangutans (you know what orangutans like to throw around...). In short, the workshop instructor was a bully - a lucky one who'd found a room full of fragile, young, paying artists to abuse.
I never read my work for that bully, or even spoke in his class. But I watched and listened and allowed myself to be convinced I had no talent worth sharing. What a naive young fool I was! Too emotionally bruised from my home-life to realize the man was nothing but a literary bully. I wasn't the first student to quit the class, but eventually I did quit.
I didn’t try writing again for decades. When I did, I was met with immediate encouragement and started winning small prizes with ease. Oh, how I regret the years I wasted!
If you are young and out there trying to write, be careful who you associate with in the beginning. Grow your craft and your confidence from a delicate seedling to a tree with real roots before you invite the monkeys in for a swing.
That said, sooner or later you must face the monkeys
Something that's helping me write today: being old enough to know the difference between opinionated people who are sincerely trying to help me make my work better and sad people who are simply trying to make themselves feel important.
Stories I found entertaining and well-written the instructor would viciously rip apart. Work I found practically indecipherable he would praise to the sky.
If a student expressed an opinion different from his, he would humiliate the person until the entire room was silent. Then he would treat that silence as proof he'd been assigned a classroom of orangutans (you know what orangutans like to throw around...). In short, the workshop instructor was a bully - a lucky one who'd found a room full of fragile, young, paying artists to abuse.
I never read my work for that bully, or even spoke in his class. But I watched and listened and allowed myself to be convinced I had no talent worth sharing. What a naive young fool I was! Too emotionally bruised from my home-life to realize the man was nothing but a literary bully. I wasn't the first student to quit the class, but eventually I did quit.
I didn’t try writing again for decades. When I did, I was met with immediate encouragement and started winning small prizes with ease. Oh, how I regret the years I wasted!
If you are young and out there trying to write, be careful who you associate with in the beginning. Grow your craft and your confidence from a delicate seedling to a tree with real roots before you invite the monkeys in for a swing.
That said, sooner or later you must face the monkeys
Something that's helping me write today: being old enough to know the difference between opinionated people who are sincerely trying to help me make my work better and sad people who are simply trying to make themselves feel important.
4 comments:
Anonymous said...
I've wanted to be a writer since I was in elementary school, but as I got older, fear of "literary bullies" kept me from sharing my love.
I loved writing so much, I was afraid that someone would make me feel so horrible about my writing that I might stop.
So, I wrote. But kept it secret.
Recently, through associating with other writers who are NOT bullies, I'm moving forward.
Your post is so dead on. "Careful who you associate with in the beginning."
That should be in some writerly textbook :)
Regina Richards said...
I think you were so wise to keep your writing a secret in the beginning. Decades after the college workshop beating when I started writing again, I too kept it a secret from my extended family and friends for quite a while. I am so glad I did.
Wendy S. Marcus said...
I recently judged a contest for my local RWA. One of the ten entries I received was absolutely fabulous - and I can be a tough critic. I thought for sure I'd judged the winner. And yet, in the end, it didn't even make it to the finals. I couldn't believe it. Reading is so subjective. I, for one, and so happy you've resumed writing. Because you entertain me!
Regina Richards said...
Thanks, Wendy. You're right that reading is so subjective. And you judged 10 (ten!) entries? You are the sort of member every chapter wants.