When Workshopping Feels Like Work

Workshopping, this act of bringing in rough pages for your classmates to pick apart, can be terrifying. Last spring I took classes with my good friends from my program, and, at first, I worried that our out-of-class-closeness might hinder the process of being objective and honest.

But I was wrong. When you're sitting with your friends and talking about your work, you know that they want you to do well. Last semester, there seemed to be an unwritten contract that we'd start by highlighting the attributes in someone's writing before constructively discussing what didn't work, while providing suggestions on how to make the piece of writing even better. Of course, we would laugh, joke, commiserate, sigh, and give side-hugs throughout this process, which only made it more intimate, and rewarding. We cared.

Having come from this experience, I was surprised when, in my poetry and prose class Tuesday night, I sorta yelled at someone during workshop. While I pretty much know everyone in the class, only a few are my friends, with JT being my closest. During workshop , JT gave us a poem--a super brave, totally awesome poem--and this one guy was pretty much like, well, I hated it. And, then, that guy needed to be beaten down.

If I am anything, I am a loyal friend, probably to a fault. When someone says something that might, might be insulting to someone I love, I will cut that bitch. After my retort to the guy last night, JT reported he was, "30 percent surprised, 20 percent scared of you, and 50 percent glad that you're such a protective friend."

My response seemed necessary, in that these were some of the critiques our classmates threw around that night:

1. Well, I hate [technique you used throughout your whole piece].
2. This shift is too abrupt.
3. To make this piece actually work, you need to...

Of course, with a new class, a new set of writers, comes a new dynamic. Of course, we should be honest and able to accept criticism. But have a little tact, come on. Coming from the experience of being in a room made up of virtually just my friends, I find it difficult to go back to this sort of unemotional, detached workshop setting, in which my classmates are not invested in my work, nor in me.

More than anything, I am so thankful to the community of writers, and amazing (AMAZING!) friends, I have had the honor to meet in this program. I could never express how valuable it is to be able to hand Meagan a stack of pages without being self-conscious, or conversely, getting a script from Julie because she knows I want to help her out in any way I can. There is a sense of we're-all-in-this-together, something I think a lot of writers shy away from, preferring to toil away in solitude. You loners are missing out, that I know for sure.

So, thank you, my fabulous writer friends. I am certainly missing you this semester.