So I signed up for that writing workshop. And I regretted it, the day I was supposed to start. Regretted it hard, and spent a lot of time worrying. And now, it’s two writing workshops down, with next week being the last one, and already I’m nostalgic, and sad, and don’t want it to end. Which, you might have noticed, is a full 180 degrees away from panicked, and terrified, and wanting it to never start. That’s always a nice surprise, when things don’t blow up in my face exactly the way I expect them to. Someday it’ll stop being a surprise, because things so infrequently turn out exactly as terrible as I think they will, and that is an object lesson–gormless fear takes up entirely too much energy, and wastes entirely too much time that could, instead, be spent clog dancing for cardiovascular fitness or thinking about cheese. Write that down, everyone! Don’t worry so much that things are going to go wrong. Wait until they actually go wrong. And then figure it out from there.
It was an adult education class–people who are looking for a little stimulation, a little culture, a little comradeship, who are a little bored. And they were enthusiastic, this room full of writers who want to write more, and it was really, really nice. We talked about the basics, and I said useful things, I think, and I learned useful things from the useful things other people said, and I love the instructor and want to be her best friend. She is a sci-fi nerd, and funny and enthusiastic and fun, and really, we ought to get married. But everyone was cool, if a little weird–and that pretty much sums up a person who wants to write, I think.
The class has got me thinking, again, about the actual process of
writing, and figuring out stories and making them go. We freewrote, as
I feared, and it wasn’t anywhere near as terrifying as I feared it
would be. Well, I stared at the blank page for a full minute,
panicking, and then I put my pen down and wrote a scene and it turned
out surprisingly well. Even surprisinglyer, it was fun. It was
everything I had missed, and again I was reminded that I like to
write, and left wondering why I never make time to do it, and wondering
what I am so afraid of.
I wrote a scene that may end up being a story, maybe even sometime this
week. I wrote a character sketch for the novel that’s been hanging
around in my head for two years now, and I’m excited to write the book.
And I am working on not worrying, so much, any more, about every little
thing, and just doing the things I love to do, and maybe learning to
enjoy the things that terrify me.