Writing Workshops aka Only me...
I love attending writing workshops. There's something about the energy in the room, it gives me such a high...I want to immediately go home and write the next great novel. That, or they leave me with the desperate belief that my writing is crap and I must therefore go home and consume an entire carton of coconut creme pie ice cream bars.The other night Serena and I joined forces to go listen to Bob Mayer (of Agnes and the Hitman fame) speak at one of our local libraries. I mean, c'mon! Who's gonna pass up a chance to hear an NYT bestselling author talk...for free! He's a great speaker and fully commands the attention of his audience. He's good enough Serena bought Bob's The Novel Writer's Toolkit. Technically, I have part ownership of this book, and may claim visitation rights every other weekend for 2 hour chunks.
Nothing he spoke about was revolutionary, but it was cut down to such a fine point you find yourself rethinking what you already know. The basis of his talk was know your idea. Not the story, but the idea. Somewhat similar to Jayne Ann Krentz's know your core story. Know the kernal of thought that brought you to a place where you thought you could write a book about it. If you don't have that? You don't have a story. And if you lose that? Your story is lost too.
He touched on a lot of other thoughts and topics, but this is the one that truly stuck with me.
Of course, this could be because of the little incident at the occurred before the talk began, and therefore leaving me with diverted attention most of the evening.
And I'm not surprised. No one should be surprised. Frankly, I should have recognized the signs when the water bottle flew out of my purse and landed on the ground when Serena picked me up. But did I leave it behind? No. No, instead I put it back in my purse and hopped in the car. Which meant that I was destined for a repeat performance when we arrived at the library. And I got one. We sat down. I went to pull out something, and out popped the water bottle (open) to splash water all over my pants. Yes, folks, I spent the rest of the night looking, and feeling, like I'd wet myself. Trust me, any of you who have had to wear wet jeans? Double the uncomfortable factor since I was wearing nice pants, with a lining. Even when the pants dried, the lining was still damp, leaving me with a very unpleasant session. I spent most of the talk squirming in my chair, and I'm sure if he ever noticed, Bob now thinks I have serious problems. But you already knew you can't really take me anywhere, so this shouldn't be news.
Labels: writers aren't crazy, writing
posted by Erin @ 8:00 AM
2 Comments:
I love writing workshops. It's like an addiction for me. I went to a screenwriting workshop all weekend and it was wonderful.
uhm where do you get these Coconut Cream Pie Ice Cream bars?!
Post a Comment
<< Home