I think I just had my last workshop!

Wow, so besides the fact that I haven't been a regular poster this semester (or last)... I think I just had my last workshop class tonight. I may get to do one more revision, but this may be it. I can hardly believe it. Seems like I just started this thing yesterday. If I think about my first workshop story in the Fall 2008 to this one tonight, I can say that I've made some huge advancements. I feel like I've regained some of the confidence that I lost the first year. Too bad my classes are over now because I think that with one more year with this program I would have so much more experience under me. Now, it's thesis time, which I have yet to really start work on.

You know, for all the ups and downs that I've reported on this blog. In the end, well, the end of fiction workshop anyway, I feel really satisfied. It feels like a good note to end on--maybe I won't do another revision. Now if I could just get something published! :)

Another one bites the dust...

So, I had my final workshop of the semester tonight, and it went really well. I received a lot of positive and helpful feedback. I often think my titles are so clever, but this one ("Where Unwanted Children Go" a story about an 11-year-old kid abandoned in a hospital) was shot down by several people, but it's all good. I agree that it gives too much away. I've decided not to post it though, since I'm going to be trying to get these things published this summer. But if you want to read it, let me know and we'll make that happen.

I'm totally thrilled to be done with workshop though--I'm still so exhausted with school. One more week though (thank God, cause I really am going crazy). I'm so stressed out that I've made myself sick. I'm a firm believer that you can speak things into reality, because I think I talked my body into contracting a cold (or pig flu, but let's not joke about that and let's just knock on wood right now). I'm glad the semester is nearly over too--I'm feeling better than I was a few weeks ago (about the program, etc.), but there is still a level of discontent within me. Mostly because I'm flying through this thing and I wanted a bit more time. Currently I'm trying to decide whether or not I should finish in May or carry on for one more semester to work on my thesis. Who knows--it's all too much money. Way too much.

That's all for now.

Oh the horror of workshop...

Workshop strikes again. It's like an unsexy vampire, bleeding me of my life force (aka creativity), leaving just a sack of fat-laced bones. Oh the horror.

[Oh... happy belated Turkey Day. I hope yours was as full of family drama as mine.]

I think I've pinpointed what exactly I dislike about workshop: How I feel stupid immediately afterward. I feel like I give these off the wall, pointless reads for peoples stories, often times completely missing the mark. I hate that I feel so useless--they probably look at my comments and then toss them over their shoulder with grunt. It's exhausting being (or feeling) this stupid. Stupid Kanya (inside joke between me and a spoon)! I have one more week of workshop and then a long, much needed, winter break.

During break I hope to do a few things:

• Think seriously about my novel and send letters to agents (or publishers). I cannot put this off any longer. My friend sent me this great quote this weekend: "Good novels are written by people who are not frightened." (George Orwell). I am frightened... but I won't be soon.
• Write more short stories to prepare for the next round of workshop, and hopefully stop writing about creepy, dark things. As one guy in class wrote in his note to me: "You definitely have a bead on whacky mothers and taboo subject matter -- rape, incest, etc.". Geesh, how oddly creepy of me. I worry that I'll be typecast as the "girl who writes about molestation and rape" because a couple of my stories did have such undertones. I'm not as concerned with people perceiving me as an abused adult writing their life into their fiction as I am about the "dark and creepy" aspect of my writing. Why does it need to be dark to be "literary" (as my mind interprets it). Why, oh why, couldn't I write my circus love story instead? Shit, even that had dark themes about malformed fire breathers and self hatred. I'm starting to wonder if these reoccurring themes in my writing are a product of my subconscious screaming.
• Work a lot because I'm super broke right now :(.
• Work on driving in the snow (eep!)

I have to read "Jesus in a Confederate Flag" out loud on Wednesday. I'm working on it... I think it's OK, but we'll see. I'm trying to make it 10 pages, but honestly, that's not going to happen.

Thanks for listening to me blab.

Picture explanation: Sometimes you just gotta let go and read some steamy stuff.

Brain Sucker

Why does workshop leave me with this dissatisfied, souls-just-been-sucked-out-and-stomped-on feeling? And I wasn't even workshopped today--that comes next week (story posted). I think part of my problem is that I read my story for next week again, after I'd already passed it out, and found LOTS of places that could have been cut or tightened up. I hate turning in sub-par things. And I'll hate hearing the same-ol' same-ol' next Monday. I feel like I'm one of the weaker writers in the program, which may or may not be true. I just feel like no one's giving me their true and honest to god responses, and then whisper behind my back.

Okay--paranoia passing. Passing..... passing. Past.

But still, I feel like my creative juices have been sucked clean out of my body. At this point--writing is not fun. And that makes me feel all sick inside.

Second Workshop Over

So, my story was workshopped today. Overall, it went really well (much better than the first time around), so yay! There are definitely places where I could work things out more (naturally) and I'm still telling. :( But maybe there was less telling in this one? I'll schedule a time to meet up with my prof to see, but he wasn't the only one to say that some things could be cut. I'm learning though and I guess that's the important thing.

I'm trying to think of what else to post about--there's a bit Halloween/sleepover/birthday party on Friday. I'm totally looking forward to it. I bought an afro wig for the occasion--very psyched about it. I could probably tease up my own hair to make a ginormous afro, but I don't want to deal with the after effects. I have a big grammar assignment due on Thursday, but I just feel like watching some TV or reading a novel. I should start writing my next story, but I have yet to be inspired.

Second Workshop Story

Today I turned in my second workshop story: "Kiko's Baby" (posted to the right). Who knows how it'll go--I took the suggestions made toward my last story and applied them here as best I could. I like the story (although I worry a bit about the end and if it's strong enough), but that doesn't mean anyone else will. I'm trying not to worry about that right now--I'm just trying to write a little more than I have been lately.

Other news:

• I need to manage my time better so that I can write for class and for fun (cause trust me, writing for class at this point hasn't be as fun as I would like it to be).
• It's getting cold (dropping down into the 40s)--I love it.
• I've been feeling a bit stressed out and sad for some reason--grrrrrr.
• I have an unhealthy addiction to brown sugar Pop Tarts and York Peppermint Patties--it's time for me to give them up cold turkey. They're becoming comfort foods. Delicious... delicious comfort foods.

My workshop prof wants me to write non-fiction stories and just change the names to make them fiction. I don't know how I feel about this... please weigh in.

Part of me doesn't like it because it's just too damn personal and I don't feel like spouting out all of my business to a group of people who are still strangers to me in many ways (even though we hang out every single weekend, which is amazing) on a public blog. And I don't like mixing the genres--fiction and nonfiction. I think part of it the privacy thing, but I think another part of it is my journalism background. You can't put fiction into non-fiction, so why is the reverse okay? Some people say that all fiction is non-fiction. I would disagree and agree with parts of that. I do put parts of myself in my characters, but I have never written a story that completely reflects my life and called it fiction. There's just something wrong about that. He wants us to write in a voice similar to Jamaica Kincaid's in her short story "Girl". He wants us to write in a voice (or voices) of our parent(s)--what they told/taught us. I can do this, but everything that I would want to write is somewhat negative, and that bothers me. I haven't decided if I'm going to write my revealing expose yet. I need to think about it more; wait for someone else to post.

I read my Chekhov story out loud on Wednesday. I'll post it here sometime this week. I don't want to read out loud.

The Madness of Workshopping

So... it's been two days since my story was workshopped and I feel like I can talk about it with a rational brain. I turned in what amounts to a rough draft of a story. Now, I was feeling pretty confident about this rough draft--like super confident. I wasn't thinking "hell ya, I'm the shit right now!" but more of: "Okay, this is acceptable. The emotions are there. The story is there. I'm comfortable having other people read this."

Basic plot of "Broken Reflecting Glass": Emily is a woman tortured with the feeling that she is somehow unacceptable and unworthy (of just about anything). The story is about Emily facing a difficult conversation with her mother, about wanting to stand up for herself, wanting to change her situation. The question is: Can she?

I'm not sure if that's an adequate summary of my story or not, but it will work for now.

So, I was required to turn my story in two weeks ago on a Monday. I was planning something completely different for the story, but couldn't write it. So, I wrote this instead (in about six hours maybe), edited it (3-4 times), and had some good friends read it as well. I got back good reviews from the people who read it--people who read my stuff in general--and since I felt confident in it, it was easy to turn it in to let my peers since their fingers into it. I wasn't nervous about the actual workshop until about five minutes before my prof said we would be starting with my story first.

Then... devastation. Or internalized devastation, I suppose. The majority (so about six of eight, but probably all eight thought the same) had similar comments. Basically, I broke the cardinal rule of fiction: show, don't tell. The ironic thing is that as I was re-reading my story a day before workshop, I said to myself: "Hmmm... you may be telling to much here Tanya." And low and behold the comments sounded something like this: "Not enough action", "too much telling", "not enough description", and "maybe cut out the first whole page".

So, I took all of those in and it was fine. I even spoke a little about my story--also fine. Then it was my classmate's turn and I took a peak at the written comments. One pretty much slapped me in the face: "Your story is suffering from underdevelopment" and another comment that talked about it being "rough". All fair comments, still, they hurt. And topped with the fact that I'd broken a simple rule of fiction--all I felt was embarrassment. I went through moments of "why am I here?" (a common thought process these past few weeks, actually), and just sorta sat there and internalized everything.

I felt pretty crappy all night and then better in the morning. So... it was okay. Not brutal, like some programs. Everyone was considerate and helpful--encouraging, which is nice. To read what one guy who introduced my story said, click here (he got the title of the story wrong).

Next workshop: Who knows... I need to start working on the story now though.

First Workshop

Had my first story workshopped today--I'm still processing how it went overall.

Currently, I feel embarrassed, actually. Like I made elementary mistakes ALL OVER the place. Definitely room for improvement, for sure, but it's still embarrassing. Blah. Will probably post more when the emotion wears off and my rational brain can speak.

I still don't like John Gardner, see previous post.

Writer's Hat

So, I'm posting to avoid Chekhov. Surprised? Not me.

I'm slowly starting to feel comfortable about my classes, save Chekhov, but that will come with time and detailed reading. Workshop today went well and I felt like I could voice my opinions, somewhat clearly. I sorta botched the story introduction for my classmate (I feel bad about that), but other than that bobble, it went well. I turned in my story "Broken Reflecting Glass" and it will be workshopped next Monday. A guy, who knows a little of my plight with Chekhov and how stumped I was in regard to writing a story, asked, as I was handing it out, if I was having heart palpitations. I wasn't. Not even a nervous, tickling stomach as I passed copies around the table. Sure, I'm interested in how the guys will interpret my character and if anyone will wonder if I drew from my own life at all, but I wasn't nervous. I'm pretty confident in that little piece of work, which is saying a lot.

I'm very happy that I threw away my "workshop hat" as we talked about in class today. My prof asked if any of us had ever seen a change in our writing/voice when sitting down to write "literary" pieces. He looked directly at me (I wonder if he reads this blog) and mentioned that I was posting good things on our MFA blog (which was a nice compliment), and asked if I knew what he was talking about.

Why yes sir, I do!

I mentioned that I had put on that "Literary Hat" when sitting down to write the piece that I had intended for workshop and found that I couldn't write anything. I had to take off the hat--throw it like a piece of trash to the ground--and just write. And when I did this, my story came out quickly, perfectly, and I was content.

I don't ever want to wear that damn hat again.

So, if you ever catch be blogging and I mention avoiding writing, writer's block, or any other nonsense, slap me and tell me to take the god damned hat off and burn it.

A World Removed

So for the past seven days, I've been dreading and agonizing over one thing: my first workshop. I didn't realize how big a burden these feelings of worry and anxiety were, or how they had settled comfortably between my shoulder blades, until both floated away when I finally sat down in workshop class today. I don't know why, but the moment I was in the classroom I felt comfortable. The fear was magically gone. I felt lighter.

I have come to realize that I am in my head too much, which is not a new epiphany. This (workshop or MFA program, probably both) isn't as big a deal as I've been making it out to be. I think I've made myself sick (ie: my cold) over worrying about whether or not I'm in the right place (MFA program) or if I "deserve" to be here. I've been feeling so alone in my anxiety because no one else is talking about it. And who would? It would require a level of vulnerability and trust--and it takes me a bit to trust people, so I don't come right out and say "Hey, I'm feeling a bit unworthy." Of course anyone who reads this blog will know about my insecurities, and I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing. Part of me liked the idea of writing somewhat anonymously--it let me be more real. I'm worried that some of that will change now.

So, for the past few days, since classes started, I've felt myself shrinking--the weight on my back growing heavier and heavier. It sometimes felt like there were a million little Tanyas running around inside me screaming. Parts of this solitary confinement began to chip away as I talked with some of my peers and saw that they too may be feeling certain apprehensions about this whole process (or did when they started). I don't know why I've been operating under the assumption that people enter these programs knowing everything there is to know about writing, but I have and it's made things worse for me. Plus... everyone seems to be wearing their confident shoes. Confident in their writing and reading. My shoes are full of holes and have worn soles. Everyone seems so put together and knows so much more about literary fiction while I'm constantly jotting down authors and stories that I "should" have read a long time ago; feeling inept at communicating why something is good or bad. People either know what they're talking about, are good at B.S.ing, or are just as nervous as I am to stand so vulnerably before them. They just hide it better than me.

I don't know... I guess I need to process this more. All I know is that I feel a bit more secure after workshop today. I guess it's just me giving in to the idea that I am a beginning writer, although I've been writing stories since I was nine. I am a beginner--so I suppose it's okay that I don't know everything yet. I'm here to learn everything I can about writing. I just wish it wasn't so overwhelming at times.

Oh... and I volunteered to have a story ready to workshop in two weeks. It's due next Monday. I guess this will motivate me to start (and hopefully keep) writing. I have no stories to fall back on so I'll have to write something new--or use my application story, I suppose. I'm going to try to write something new though.