Last summer I was fortunate enough to receive a grant that allowed me to attend two writing workshops—the Kenyon Review Writers Workshop and the Wet Mountain Writers Workshop. I would not have attended these gatherings had I not been awarded funds because, before I went, I didnʼt appreciate their function well enough to pay out of my own pocket. But I learned them, and this summer I am returning to Kenyon thanks to a fellowship I received, as well as going to the Tin House Summer Writerʼs Workshop sans grant. I intend to make a regular habit of these opportunities, and Iʼd like to discuss my choice to participate as one of many investments a writer can make.
On the level of the writing life, I made friends in these short but intense stints with other writers that I anticipate knowing for many years. These friendships have many benefits—from expanding my network of trusted readers to netting me free lodging in Brooklyn. These are perks, of course. The friendships are worthy in themselves. When writers befriend writers, the chances are good that shared interests will open conversations to which both are inclined to contribute. Something in me resisted thinking of relationships so practically. That dreaded word “networking” was something I thought I left behind when I quit the business world in 1999. It took me years to realize such connections are not only about taking, but about finding the best avenues to give.
When I realized this and other misperceptions I had, I designed a course to draw undergraduate and graduate students at my university toward similar conclusions in a shorter time. In this course, entitled “The Literary Writersʼ Marketplace,” I talk about community and self-promotion, balancing and conceptualizing oneʼs goals as a writer. I will elaborate on this course in a future post, but I include the example here to illustrate that I learn as much about teaching as I do about writing during these workshops.
Another principle reason I support these workshops is that they make my writing models real. In my previous post I discuss the follies of imitation when one assumes oneʼs life should look like the lives of Anaïs Nin or Henry David Thoreau. There is nothing quite so curative for this illness as meeting a writer whose work you admire, and witnessing the uniqueness of his or her characterizing drive. 
Dorothy Allison—with whom I had the opportunity to study at the Wet Mountain Writers workshop—is one such example of an honest-to-God writer sitting across the table sharing anecdotes from her own writing life. The insights she shared with our group alone warrants an entire post or several, but I would rather thread her presence throughout my posts as I do into my teaching. I will say, though, that I hold her words in high esteem that we need to be clear as writers—about our goals, emotions, and reasons for investigating characters real and imagined. She insisted on clarity so strongly during our week with her, we had her refrain, “Let Me Be Clear” emblazoned on the t-shirts we wore home from Colorado. Such experiences as I have begun collecting in workshops are what make this life of record and process, literature and communication, publication and post cards worth saving, for it makes the audience one is imagining real.
Amy Wright
Amy Wright is the Nonfiction Editor of Zone 3 Press and Zone 3 journal, as well as the author of three chapbooks, Farm and There Are No New Ways To Kill A Man. She won the 2012 Pavement Saw Chapbook Contest for The Garden Will Give You A Fat Lip, which is forthcoming.
@ L. George Alexander – Thanks for your feedback. I appreciate it, especially as I can understand it, having been a more private writer in the past. Yes, everything changes, including our relationship to writing. I’m glad you could appreciate my perspective. I also have admit to a touch of envy for your surroundings; they sound inspiring.
@Michelle – What a wonderful reminder of Dorothy’s words–to be of use to each other. I’m so glad to know the workshop affirmed your voice as a writer. You are often of use to me in the classroom when I am planning a lesson and I remember that you were interested in taking one of my classes. It is nice to be recognized in our variously evolving roles.
Though I don’t always sit at my desk to write, I am reminded each time I do to be clear. My tee-shirt rests across the back of the chair the words as bold as they were the day we received them just a few months shy of a year now.
Prior to Wet Mountain Workshop, I don’t know that I had the confidence to say with a strong voice, at the mic or at a table, those very important words–I am a writer. I am and write I will. I will remind myself, line by line, just as we workshopped to be of use (to ourselves and our readers) because it is all we can do.
It was Natalie Goldburg who said in one of her books that there seems to be two kinds of writers, those who need the connection of other writers and those who don’t. I don’t need it right now as I am enjoying my time alone in my home which I share with no one. I thought Amy Wright’s ideas why it was good to attend workshops sound, but again I am not there right now. I might be later if I live long enough. (Not a snide remark. I am a senior.)
I am also a loner who relishes her time alone, but I have been fighting to do this for many years because of family obligations and financial situations. I have been here in Portland, OR for one year now and alone for as long. I love it. Portland is a city that treasures its writers and there is much to enjoy as a reader too. It is also beautiful here. Even from my apartment I can see trees,grass, flowers,sky and all kinds of birds and several kinds of squirrels. I don’t see other people except when they walk by to the pool which is now open.
I think as a writer and a human being, one must trust one’s own vision. The Cosmos helps people who are seeking their bliss to find it as Joseph Campbell often said and other writers. It is great the writer here found her way into workshops and the like. I have lived my entire life dreaming of a time where I can sit in my own cabin on Waldon Pond. I have achieved it, for now. I also learned that everything changes.
Good luck to all who need workshops and find their way to them. I will stay at home and muddle my way through as a writer for one important reason, I love it and feels good to do it now.