Writers’ Workshops (Beware the Validators)

In the days before the Internet and Goodreads, writers conducted workshops in livings rooms, face-to-face, with other writers and wannabe writers. We printed our manuscripts (or, at one time, typed them and took them to the copy shop) before driving across town to meet once or twice a week and pretending to enjoy the company of people we quite often despised. Just to share our work and exchange hopefully helpful criticism.

Don’t get me wrong. I made some great friends at the workshops, but to meet them I had to sort through a horde of putzes, posers and pompous morons who dispensed inanities as though they were precious pearls. I also learned a lot about writing, including the kinds of advice to ignore.

Writers attend workshops for a number of reasons. Some want to socialize, some want validation of their talent (whether or not they actually have any), some want an audience for their writing and others want to improve their skills and their manuscripts. Almost all tend to be young writers (unless they’ve been long-term members).

Now that those workshops have rezed into virtual space, it’s harder to recognize the older stereotypes. We no longer face each other over coffee and pretzel snacks, but in comment boxes with 80x80 pixel avatars. I suspect, however, the stereotypes remain, lurking behind the posts on your groups.

Here are a few I’ve worked with:

The Validator

Validator attend workshops solely to have other writers lavish their writing with praise. Validators believe the best way to make sure readers praise their writing is to praise everyone else’s. This means if you’re workshopping to improve your own writing skills, validators won’t be of much help to you.

Validators also believe you should always say something nice about everyone because negativity will bring down the entire chat room, if not the universe. In fact, validators don’t like criticism because it’s hurtful and discourages writers. They believe that if a writer becomes discouraged by criticism he or she might abandon her calling. They don’t like it when you suggest that, “If a writer gets discouraged because of a little criticism, we have more time to focus on real writers.”

You can tell validators by comments such as this:

“I was really moved when the lesbian nazi werewolf ripped out her own heart to feed the dying vampire hooker in denial of her sexual identity.”

“That scene where the two sharks drowned while trying to save each other during the hurricane was totally realistic.”

“I was completely riveted by that thirty page description of the turtle turned on his back in the children’s sandbox recalling how his father abandoned him.”

A validator will probably not like this description of validators, but they also might not recognize themselves from the description either.

Before I go on, I should add most writing workshops operate under a rule, taken from college workshops that goes like this:

Constructive criticism = something positive + something that could be done better

Which means that for thirty years of workshops I had to find something good to say about lesbian nazi werewolves, sharks who drowned, turtles with abandonment issues, and in one case, a play which consisted of no dialogue and a single actor running naked in a jungle with live bears and lions with no dialogue for three of four acts, one of them with the jungle in flames.

At least with online groups I can just not post.

Trend Follower

The trend follower comes back from the latest Con workshop with a new technique that is guaranteed to open up the group to the creative flow. And they usually insist that the workshop will fail without it. Quite often imposing the innovation for the remainder of the meetings. We might end up playing the exquisite corpse, word transformation games and even improv skits. One trender even wanted our group to try meditation followed by stream of consciousness writing.

My favorite was a trend that common to business and school meetings as well, the open circle. The workshop facilitator always insisted we sit in a circle (sometimes on the floor) to foster creativity and spontaneity. It was her home after all. Once I suggested we forget the circle and sit anywhere we want in the spirit of spontaneity. The facilitator said, “No, goddam it, we have to sit in a circle.”

Occasionally trends have value, usually they work for one group, but not most. The beauty of online groups is that users only have to participate in the exercises that make sense to them.

The Man of the House

The man of the house always drags his woman with him. Sometimes she sits at his feet, sometimes she sits beside him, but she rarely opens her mouth except to ask if he wants more coffee or another drink, or to say, when another writer has been particularly critical, ”I thought it was good, honey,” (or “dear,” or whatever term of endearment won’t diminish him in front of the other writers).

The man of the house may write manly-man material, he may even be a manly-man. But since the seventies he is just as often an ardent feminist, writing poems about the women’s movement and women’s rights and the need for men to recognize the needs of women even as he tells the little woman at his side to get him another beer and, should she dare suggest an idea of her own (especially about the needs of women) also tell her to “not be silly.”

The man of the house is often a good writer (although sometimes he’s terrible) but he’s almost always looking for an audience, which is why he carries his personal audience of one. But if the only one the group who praises his work is his tag along woman, he’s on to another group in a matter of weeks.

The Exhibitionist

(Jump to the Mr. Profane if you blush easily)

The exhibitionist writes about one thing only, the human genetalia in all of its graphic splendor. Not erotica, not sex; genitalia. Penises, vaginas, clitorises and every variation thereof—schlongs, dongs, cocks, dicks and every possible human interaction involving them, cunilingus, fellatio, analingus and penetration involving every possible orifice that you can imagine and some that you might not have imagined before (or even been aware of) not to mention sex with animals, household objects, vegetables and even carnal acts with angels, demons, aliens, alien invaders and their alien invader overlords.

I haven’t begun to catalogue the glands, digits, organs, smells, sounds, secretions, rooms, plants, trees, furniture and household objects the exhibitionist includes in their depictions. It gets worse when exhibitionists insist that a workshop be held in their homes because they insist on giving a tour and that tour usually includes graphic paintings of penises sliced open and nailed to walls, nude photos of their spouses in awkward positions you didn’t know the human body could contort itself into and possibly even their dungeon, complete with costumes and toys.

When the rest of the group gets squeamish at one of their tales or poems, the exhibitionist will be the first to remind us that the true artist has no inhibitions. Furthermore, if an artist can’t push her creative boundaries they should content themselves with being drudges and drones. Thus chastened, the rest of us feel compelled to compliment their work and return to our homes to dream feverishly of succubi and incubi for the remainder of the night.

Mr. (or Ms.) Profane

The profane writer is the exhibitionist’s distant cousin, with a lot more anger. Her output is entirely scatological, primarily consisting of four letter words that serve as verbs and nouns that represent bodily functions and activities, including: f__k, s__t, p__s, c__p and a_s (that was three but you get my point). These words can also be converted into adjectives, gerunds and any number of additional grammatical variations to express the profane writer’s need to rail against ex-lovers, current lovers, bosses, former bosses, co-workers, people who don’t understand poetry, Republicans, Tea Party Republicans, sell out Democrats who might as well be Tea Party Republicans, parents, parents who abused them, parents who neglected them, parents who didn’t get them the bicycle they asked for when they were six-years-old, parents who told them there was no Santa Claus, school teachers who gave them C’s for upholding truisms about the universe, the jerk who cut them off on the freeway, the barista at Starbucks who doesn’t know a f__king macchiato from godd__ned flat white, the Pope and Jesus Christ who doesn’t exist but the Christers are too f__ing stupid to know it.

Should anyone in the workshop suggest that, perhaps, just occasionally, Mr. Profane find phrases less likely to provoke readers, Mr. Profane will respond with a defense of their art similar to the exhibitionist. Only it will sound more like this: “The true godd__ned artist has no motherf__king inhibitions, you __sh__e. If you can’t push your c__ks__king creative f__king boundaries you should motherf__king well content yourself with being a c__ks__king tea bagging drone doing reach arounds for overtime.

The Tyrant

I saved the tyrant for last because he (or she) tries to dominate the group (I’ll refer to the tyrant as S/he and S/him). The tyrant believes s/he knows everything there is to know about writing and intends to pass s/her wisdom to the other workshop participants, whether or not s/he actually knows s/hit. Unfortunately what few nuggets of wisdom s/he may have picked up from real writers may not have any bearing on the poem or story a given writer is presenting at the time.

The Tyrant is quick to dispense vital advice such as,

“You should always be writing with active verbs instead of passive verbs because passive verbs are bad.”

“Don’t be longwinded and use excess verbiage in your writing because your readers might lose track of your thoughts if you don’t keep it tight.”

“Show, don’t tell because readers need a picture in their minds not a lot of description. A picture is worth a thousand words.” And, of course,

“Avoid cliches.”

Like the trendsetter, the tyrant will also browbeat the group with the latest trendspeak from the paid workshops at the Cons, and, like the trendsetters, he will reverse himself with the latest trendspeak from next year’s Cons. Should any holdovers from the group remember last year’s wisdom and be silly enough to question, the Tyrant will be sure to hold them up for ridicule.

Even less fortunately, less experienced writers may not know enough to ignore their advice. And the tyrant feeds off their affirmation.

Sadly, many writing workshops tend to devolve into two groups. Groups that revolve around validators will spend their evenings in constant affirmation. Groups that revolve around the tyrant will produce writing that sounds essentially the same. Few produce publishable work.

If you participate in writing workshops, find the group that serves your needs. For instance, writers in need of validation probably won’t thrive with a tyrant, unless they get their validation by sucking up. If you secretly lean toward masochism, you will fit right in with the exhibitionist and Ms. Profane (and probably the Tyrant too).

If you need a strong man in your life and your group already has a Man of the House, you should probably move on. You may become the target in a fatal attraction scenario. And if you need validation, look for a room filled with validators and trend setters. But for god’s sake, avoid working with a writer like me. Unless, you actually want to learn.

If you want to learn, however, and actually improve your writing skills, the workshops aren’t a total waste. Here are a few tips I learned.

If you like a writer’s work, listen to what they say about writing. Their advice has merit.

If other readers seem to gravitate toward one writer’s work, pay attention. There must be something about their writing that appeals to those readers (don’t just assume popularity or a social clique). What is that writer doing that you can learn from? You don’t have to write like them, but you may pick up some tricks or advice that can help.

If one reader has a problem with your work, listen, but don’t panic; unless you respect their work. If every one in the room has the same concern, they’re onto something. It’s time for redrafting.

The tyrant or trend setter may be an ass, but he probably heard his advice from someone who knows his stuff—even if it’s sixth or seventh hand. See if you can apply it to your own work. You don’t have to do things the way they say, but you may find a way to apply their advice that neither of you thought of at the time.

Always keep criticism in the back of your mind when you redraft (and, yes, redraft, redraft and then redraft again). Sleep on the criticism. Let it bubble at the back of your brain for a week or two. You may discover that it inspires you to make new and delightful changes to your story and poem. The final product may look like nothing you could have anticipated, or the members of your workshop either, but it will be worth it.

Then, when you present the new version, should they say, “That’s not what I intended,” you can be Mr. or Ms. Profane and say... Well, I’ll let you craft your own profane response.

If, however, the entire group says, “Sorry, the new boat sprung a leak and sunk,” then it’s back to drafting. Writing is painful. So is giving birth. If you aren’t up for the labor pains then maybe you should be hanging out with the validators.