Working the Shop

Now that class is over, I can finally write.

You would think that a semester-long class focused on writing and critiquing original fiction by students would serve as a catalyst to writing.

Think again.

You hear horror stories of workshops which end up in complete disaster: of writers' egos bruised to shiny purple; of over-bearing professors; of the one student who manages to be the professor's darling; of the workshop hog; of workshops run amok.

This class contained elements of these horrors. At least I have a thick skin. At least I have workshopped before and have a barometer of my writing strengths--and weaknesses.

So now, I am free. I can get down to the real business of writing, of writing unencumbered with doubt. Now I can polish my stories and shop my work.

Peace...