The Workshop that Made Me Believe in My Writing

In 2015, I was a creative writing student who believed myself to be exceedingly mediocre.

It wouldn’t be fair to say I was intimidated by my classmates. In a way, from my self-conscious view at least, it felt like we were all collectively playacting at being writers.

I was so focused on writing something new, inevitably putting too much pressure on myself to be creative. The ideas I was coming up with didn’t feel special. They felt like something anyone could write about.

But, submitting work is kind of the main focus of a creative writing program so even though I wasn’t feeling confident, I had to submit a story to the workshop.

I submitted a story called The Girl and the Night.

The premise is simple enough: it is the story of a girl walking to her car alone after a party, hyperaware and going through every worst-case scenario for 2,000 words.

Like I said, a simple premise. But maybe it was a little too simple. Frankly, I worried my story was boring.

My classmates were building worlds and crafting emotionally complex characters. My story was about a girl walking.

I was ready for feedback confirming this belief. After all, who did I think I was trying to take something mundane and thinking I could turn it into a compelling story?

Well, my first mistake was assuming that we all had the same definition of mundane.

So, the discussion opened and a couple of the men in my class spoke up first.

“Unrealistic.” “A little too dramatic since nothing actually happened.” “It would be cooler if you justified her fears by hinting at a legitimate threat at the end.”

I wanted to curl in on myself and die. I was mortified and internally berating myself for submitting such a pathetically lame story.

Except, something about that last comment, in particular, triggered the other women in the class.

I can’t remember who spoke first and I can’t remember her exact words, but I remember the sentiment all too well.

Basically, no. Regardless of what happened on that particular night after that particular party, the girl’s fears were justified because this is the reality that women live in.

And, well, all of a sudden, we weren’t talking about my story.

During what was supposed to be my workshop time, the class instead discussed the different ways men and women are able to move through the world. Some of the women in the class shared specific stories. Others simply said that they felt like they were reading about themselves as the girl grew more and more afraid.

The most satisfying part was that none of the men grew defensive, but just listened with an open mind and asked questions. They seemed genuinely curious about our perspectives and experiences, even asking our opinions on certain behaviors they had never thought twice about (if a woman’s walking alone on the same side of the street as me, should I just cross?).

I didn’t get a lot of feedback on my actual writing, but at the end of a workshop, you get everyone’s copy returned to you so you can read through their notes as not everything can be covered in class.

One of the men in my class wrote that I should disregard any comments on my story about adding dramatic elements.

Several of the women had underlined certain passages and drawn exclamation points for emphasis.

But one comment, in particular, has stuck with me and, if I’m honest, it changed how I view myself as a creative. I didn’t see this comment until after the workshop. At some point during the discussion, presumably having had enough of the debate, one of my classmates and written in the bottom margin, “please don’t f*ck with this story too much.”

And you know what? I didn’t f*ck with that story too much. I smoothed its edges a bit but kept its bones and its heart. Because it was clear the story didn’t need to change much. It had already done what stories are supposed to do.

Something I wrote opened a real discussion. It made people feel seen. It gave people a way to talk about their experiences. It led others to ask questions. I don’t expect that to be the case with every story I write, but you never know what will speak to someone. What will resonate? What will have a lasting impact?

If I hadn’t shared that story, I likely would have discarded it sooner rather than later and who knows what kind of writer I’d be today. If I would even have the drive I have now to keep creating. That story made me believe that my writing matters.

Stories have power. My stories have power. And so I’ll keep writing.

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