10 TIPS for Adult Writing Class

Know your goal. Fun? Meeting people? Getting a specific project done? All of the above?

Speak up. Engage with the teacher and your classmates. Contribute to the micro-community.

Ask questions. What are the groundrules? How should we give our feedback to others?

Be patient. Adults enroll in these courses for many reasons. Everyone should have a turn at getting their needs met.

Be kind. Give your critique as a suggestion or a question. No point in busting someone's balloon — what goes around comes around!

Do your homework. No, you're not going to get a grade, but grow up. Learning is hard. Do the assignments. Even if you signed up only for the social interaction, sharing your best effort will win friends.

Shut up. When you're in the limelight, don't get on your soapbox. Know when you've had your say, then listen.

Don't get defensive. Listen to criticism, even if it's from an idiot.

Don't explain. Either your audience gets what your writing says or they don't. Better to ask questions.

Complain privately. Has the group process gone awry? If you aren't used to doing public "process checks," speak privately to the teacher or program administrator.

 

 

3.7.01 (rev 3.9.07)

Mind Chatter from Writing Class

Another nonfiction class today. I have learned less about writing than I have about people who take writing classes. And, as usual, I’ve learned more than I care to admit about myself.

There are 10 people in this class and we’re all middle-aged amateurs. What did I expect? The Algonquin Roundtable? Well… yeah. I entered with a task in mind. Hammer some articles into shape and start circulating stuff to publications. I wanted to be challenged and inspired. Were these duffers going to do it for me?

Nevermind. I am serious. Self-directed. We read some samples aloud and sign up to pass around copies of short articles. None of us have a clue how to critique one another’s work.

Cut to the chase: the people in this class have stories to tell.

“I took in a homeless girl and she left a grandchild on my doorstep.”

“I lost my childhood to a mom with manic depression.”

“I’ve seen a lot of corruption in my job.”

“I’m in rehab.”

I spin small tales into metaphors for life – a philosopher. My classmates struggle to cram grand opera into 5 pages. I get impatient when everyone pitches in with their own sagas of disabled children and dysfunctional parents. Then I remind myself that we’re adults getting together on a Wednesday afternoon to tell stories. Relax, hear the stories. But I want the stories to be coupled with thoughtfulness about how to write them down. What are the writerly choices we need to make? 

I’ve noticed a pattern. As soon as someone taps into a vein a dramatic gold, the conclusion is that "it has to be a book because no one could possibly squeeze this experience into an article." I silently protest: that can’t possibly be true. Don’t these people read? Don’t they understand that sculpting a massive blob of information and insight into 2000 words is what creative nonfiction writing is all about?

In today’s class we confront this dilemma again. One of our classmates is coming to grips with the burden of her childhood with a severely mentally ill mother. She uses mental health research as the armature for a highly charged story that she’d never been able to tell before. We get around to the inevitable "book versus article" discussion and it finally dawns on me that once again I’m being too task-oriented, too focused on getting out the finished product. This woman doesn’t need to write a Book. She needs to record the outpouring of her entire life, image after image, vignette after vignette. I give some lame advice – the Project Manager in me is always full of advice – but even while I’m expounding I sense (I learn) that the warmth and validation in this safe setting among 10 middle-age duffers may be what she remembers best.

I drive home, stopping for a supply of chocolate chip cookies – crisp around the edges, soft in the middle. I'm munching on them now with a glass of red wine.