3 Things That Make a Writing Class Shine

I need more structure in my writing life, I recently admitted to a friend. I'm not getting to the page often enough.

Her suggestion? Take a writing class.

She's right.

After a summer of leading writing workshops -- from a two-hour session to a five-day camp -- it's time I fill my own well. As I've mentioned before, a writing class gives you permission to focus on your creative life, and provides structure, too. Once I've signed up and paid, my lazy habits typically take a back seat to a sense of purpose and a desire to get my money's worth.

As I search for a class in this back-to-school season, I'm mulling just how to avoid the eh and get to the excellent ? Combining my experience as both instructor and student, I offer a few suggestions (and encourage you to share your ideas, too):

Three Things That Make for a Great Writing Class

1.
Size matters.

No less than five students, and no more than 12. That's my preference. I like the intimacy a small group provides. Some writers gravitate to a grander scale, preferring to observe and fade into a larger group. But I like up-close and personal. I want time to write and share. Small classes, I find, allow more in-depth exchange.

2.
Great writers are not necessarily great teachers.

Some of my best teachers are not my favorite writers. They're excellent writers, to be sure, but not necessarily matched to my writing style. While it's important to learn from accomplished, respected, professional writers, don't be wooed by big names and bestsellers. Don't be afraid to step out of your comfort zone. I've gained the most valuable skills from lesser known writers whose writing is least like my own.

3. 
Balance, in all things.

A great teacher offers a balance of personal and professional interaction, along with an equitable blend of writing time to discussion time. Students don't want to endure long monologues. We wanna write! (yes, we're self-centered). A great teacher will also balance warm encouragement with clear direction, and lively discussion with focused lessons and sincere feedback.

In a really good workshop, I sometimes feel I've stumbled upon a rare experience, and the class is a beautiful alchemy that no rules can explain. Have you felt this, too? Perhaps it's the mix of personalities, or the timing, or the alignment of planets. There is a mystery, an intriguing combination, that makes a class shine.

What do you think? What's your most memorable writing class, and what made it great?

Love that Line: The problem with joy

Once, back in my twenties, all I wanted

to do was to throw my life away.

But then, somehow, usually by accident,

you experience joy. And the problem

with joy is that it binds you to life;

it makes you greedy

for more happiness.

 — Charles Baxter
from The Cousins
appearing in The 2010 Best American Short Stories

Thankful Thursday: Anticipation

It's Thankful Thursday, a weekly pause to appreciate people, places and things that bring gratitude and joy.

Today, I am thankful for the eager, uneasy wait of good things — around the corner, down the street, at the next bend, even into the next week. Something good is surely ahead.*

What are you thankful for today?

* pssst -- Have I mentioned how much I love letters?
Please, don't be shy:
Post Office Box 914
Yachats, Oregon 97498

Poetry in (Unexpected) Public Places

I spent the weekend with poets — not at a writing workshop, a reading, or a sprawling literary conference, but at the Denver County Fair.

Yes, a county fair. We read poems on the Farm & Garden Stage, surrounded by blue-ribbon pies and clucking chickens (also zombies and drag queens). Now in its second year, the Denver County Fair was created by my favorite artist (Tracy Weil) and event guru (Dana Cain) as a modern interpretation of the traditional fair. It's a super-charged mix of country living and urban crazy.

And the event, I'm happy to note, includes a poetry contest. Ribbons and a cash prize are awarded to poems on the theme of agriculture, food, gardens and farms.

On Sunday afternoon, a vigorous audience leaned in to hear poets read their work. A few steps away, poems were displayed on pegboards, sharing space with top tomatoes and pretty preserves.

After ribbons were awarded, hands shaked, and applause faded, the stage was cleared and prepped for the next event: a how-to-make compost demonstration. It seemed a fitting follow.

Finding poetry in unexpected places is a great reminder that art lives in the nooks and crannies of our busy, often complicated, lives. Next to chickens, before the compost, and all through the harvest.

The 2012 Denver County Fair First Place, Blue Ribbon Poem:

What We Make
for Frederick H. Stitt

This is a very old recipe.
The kind your hands know
better than your head.

Take the zucchini
from the fridge. Think of your job,
of your husband working late,

of your father
who fell last week,
more than a thousand miles away.

Think of the bruises that blossomed,
black then green, on his forehead,
across the span of his ribs.

Grate the zucchini.
You will need three cups
and one of mozzarella.

Break three glorious
lop-sided, orange-yolked eggs
and think now of your father

as the young man turned from the camera,
modeling suits in a catalogue—
his frame that broad and fine.

Add flour, oil, salt and pepper,
loads of fresh basil, baking powder.
Let the onion do its worst.

Think of your dog,
his sturdy joints
going stiff,

even his wag an ache,
and how he goes to his leash
still, every time, in a lather.

Mix and load into a butter-greased, 
8” pan. Think of the rich flesh and rough stones
of peach season,

which is right now every morning
bursting the day open
in your mouth. This is August.

Bake a while at 350˚.
It will rise. It will fall. It will mingle
with fresh tomatoes and Romano.

Think. It will be delicious.
And then, one bite at a time,
it will be gone.

- Kathryn T.S. Bass

Thankful Thursday: Sun is just the start

 

1.
Sun.

2.
Sun on a lake.

3.
Sun on a lake in summer.

4.
Sun on a lake in summer, and swimming.

5.
Sun on a lake in summer, and swimming, immersed in the quiet of water lapping against boat.

6.
Sun on a lake in summer, and swimming, and I am immersed in the quiet of water lapping against boat, and later I turn pages of a good book and feel the need to do nothing more than absorb heat, water, and stillness -- and feel a fullness only gratitude can bring.

Gratitude. Appreciation. Praise. It's Thankful Thursday, a weekly pause to appreciate people, places & things.

What are you thankful for today?