There's this myth out there of the lonely, solitary writer, sitting in a dark dank hole of a room surrounded by cigarette butts and empty bottles of booze, never to see the light of day until they emerge with a honed, polished and genius manuscript. I'm sure it's not wholly a myth. I'm sure there are people who can do that (and I have been known to have an empty bottle sitting next to me once in a while), but I am certainly NOT one of those writers. I don't know about you, but I write stuff so other people can read it, and very seldom does prose pour from my fingertips without either some serious forethought or some painful revision. I recently heard the term "pantser or plotter," meaning do you write by the seat of your pants or do you plot everything out. I'm not going to get into that right now, but either way, a Writing Community can help.
As I'd said before, I've been very lucky with writing groups, and I learned a great appreciation for them over the years which is what I wanted to talk about this week. (I already gave all the ground-work stuff for my Digital Writing Group in part one, so we'll get back to the nitty-gritty of it in a later post.)
My first writing group was a summer project my wife threw together around the time I'd decided I would start on my second novel. As she is an academic, she and her colleagues are expected to write, and, if you see where this is going, the group wound up consisting of me with my fanciful sci-fi piece, a handful of seasoned scholars with immaculate research articles, and one other author who'd been writing for decades. I'd never learned about commenting, or accepting and using criticism in high school, and since I never went to college, I didn't get a chance to learn it there either. This whole thing was exceptionally intimidating. My only saving grace was that my wife had gently coached me on my first novel, and so I'd already begun to understand how not to be defensive about constructive feedback, and an inkling of how to critically read other's work.
The experience was, as you would expect, educational, and it gave me my first insight into what a writing community can do for you. What I didn't really embrace then, that I spout whenever I can now, is that writing is a skill. So is reading, and so is giving feedback. Better yet, learning how to read critically helps make your own writing better, though, of course, the most important part about making your writing better is to keep writing.
My second writing group was a more formal affair. The rather successful author Richard Bausch hosts a yearly by-invitation-only writing group at Chapman University. You have to apply, and he only accepts a handful of authors each spring. I was honored by being accepted, along with eleven others. The format was, what I could only assume, a more standard model than the first group which had wrapped up with only five of us at the end. Richard's group had... well, Richard. He was a moderator that set the rules, guided the sessions, and interjected when he felt like (and boy did he. He liked to talk and tell stories, and really, who were we to say no? My favorite story of his was about revision, or the lack thereof. One of his manuscripts--he didn't specify which--wasn't sitting right with him, but writing it had taught him what he wanted to know about his characters. So, the moment he finished his first draft, he set it aside, and wrote the whole damned thing again from scratch. Which only emphasizes another point I often hear from my wife: writing is thinking.)
My third writing community wasn't really a group. It was a website full of authors called Jukepop, and doesn't exist anymore. Once the powers-that-be deemed you knew how to put a sentence together, they let you provide as much content to their site that you wanted for all the world to see. Anyone with a browser could read your work, and there wasn't really any monetary compensation, though anyone who belonged to the site could comment on your work. In that regard, it was a massive writing group. (It was also considered highly unprofessional by a professional writer I know. "You don't let the public see your work until it's ready for the public to see your work. First impressions are important." After consideration, I agreed and left.) That foray did help me sharpen my commenting skills, but mostly taught me the importance of every member having complete control over their own work. See, when I tried to leave, the staff of Jukepop wouldn't answer my emails. They were happy to have my content, but decided the best way not to lose authors was to ignore an author's request to close their account. I eventually had to go in and delete every chapter individually, and re-title everything "Null." Which, now that I think about would be a cool title for a sci-fi story. (I'm sure it already is.)
The most positive part of that experience was that there WAS a sense of community. There were people who supported what you were doing, and encouraged you to keep going, and, best of all, there were people who read what you were writing. Artists create art for the sake of art. Writers write, dancers dance, painters paint, and one of the greatest satisfactions is when you get to share that with others and it's appreciated. It sure would be nice to get paid for it though.
That was pretty much my foundation for creating my own writing group. Well, and having a kickass wife who drills praxis, pedagogy, and theory into my head. That helps too.
Next time: Evolution of Commenting
As I'd said before, I've been very lucky with writing groups, and I learned a great appreciation for them over the years which is what I wanted to talk about this week. (I already gave all the ground-work stuff for my Digital Writing Group in part one, so we'll get back to the nitty-gritty of it in a later post.)
My first writing group was a summer project my wife threw together around the time I'd decided I would start on my second novel. As she is an academic, she and her colleagues are expected to write, and, if you see where this is going, the group wound up consisting of me with my fanciful sci-fi piece, a handful of seasoned scholars with immaculate research articles, and one other author who'd been writing for decades. I'd never learned about commenting, or accepting and using criticism in high school, and since I never went to college, I didn't get a chance to learn it there either. This whole thing was exceptionally intimidating. My only saving grace was that my wife had gently coached me on my first novel, and so I'd already begun to understand how not to be defensive about constructive feedback, and an inkling of how to critically read other's work.
The experience was, as you would expect, educational, and it gave me my first insight into what a writing community can do for you. What I didn't really embrace then, that I spout whenever I can now, is that writing is a skill. So is reading, and so is giving feedback. Better yet, learning how to read critically helps make your own writing better, though, of course, the most important part about making your writing better is to keep writing.
My second writing group was a more formal affair. The rather successful author Richard Bausch hosts a yearly by-invitation-only writing group at Chapman University. You have to apply, and he only accepts a handful of authors each spring. I was honored by being accepted, along with eleven others. The format was, what I could only assume, a more standard model than the first group which had wrapped up with only five of us at the end. Richard's group had... well, Richard. He was a moderator that set the rules, guided the sessions, and interjected when he felt like (and boy did he. He liked to talk and tell stories, and really, who were we to say no? My favorite story of his was about revision, or the lack thereof. One of his manuscripts--he didn't specify which--wasn't sitting right with him, but writing it had taught him what he wanted to know about his characters. So, the moment he finished his first draft, he set it aside, and wrote the whole damned thing again from scratch. Which only emphasizes another point I often hear from my wife: writing is thinking.)
My third writing community wasn't really a group. It was a website full of authors called Jukepop, and doesn't exist anymore. Once the powers-that-be deemed you knew how to put a sentence together, they let you provide as much content to their site that you wanted for all the world to see. Anyone with a browser could read your work, and there wasn't really any monetary compensation, though anyone who belonged to the site could comment on your work. In that regard, it was a massive writing group. (It was also considered highly unprofessional by a professional writer I know. "You don't let the public see your work until it's ready for the public to see your work. First impressions are important." After consideration, I agreed and left.) That foray did help me sharpen my commenting skills, but mostly taught me the importance of every member having complete control over their own work. See, when I tried to leave, the staff of Jukepop wouldn't answer my emails. They were happy to have my content, but decided the best way not to lose authors was to ignore an author's request to close their account. I eventually had to go in and delete every chapter individually, and re-title everything "Null." Which, now that I think about would be a cool title for a sci-fi story. (I'm sure it already is.)
The most positive part of that experience was that there WAS a sense of community. There were people who supported what you were doing, and encouraged you to keep going, and, best of all, there were people who read what you were writing. Artists create art for the sake of art. Writers write, dancers dance, painters paint, and one of the greatest satisfactions is when you get to share that with others and it's appreciated. It sure would be nice to get paid for it though.
That was pretty much my foundation for creating my own writing group. Well, and having a kickass wife who drills praxis, pedagogy, and theory into my head. That helps too.
Next time: Evolution of Commenting