Creative Writing Workshops: Are They Worth It?
Sharing your writing can be terrifying, and workshops can be costly, so should you take one?
I carefully parallel-parked between two garbage cans on a precariously steep hill off of Laurel Canyon Blvd in Hollywood. Was this L.A. or San Francisco? I thought, smashing the parking brake down on my old, black Highlander I’d named “Stealth Kitty” to the floor. Stealth Kitty had a cassette tape player, and I had an old mix tape from high school playing, “More Than Words” by Extreme.
The SUV teetered as if the parking brake wouldn’t hold. Nerve-wracking for sure, but I was more scared of taking my blank notebook into my first creative writing workshop than of the car going careening down the hill.
I glanced at my dark purple journal with two birds etched on the front. No laptops allowed, just pen and paper. I’d written in marker on the cover: “She believed she could, so she did.” And with a deep breath, I sort of walk-fell down the steep hill to the apartment of Nicole Criona, founder of LA Writer’s Group. I had no idea what to expect, which is anxiety’s favorite situation.
In my memory, I was the first to arrive, and Nicole, with her easy smile and caring eyes made me feel at home immediately. Her home was exactly the type of place I’d expect of someone hosting writing workshops on Laurel Canyon. Comfortable, eclectic, warm. We chatted easily, and I relaxed.
Others arrived, a total of maybe eight. A video game writer, a man writing a collection of letters about his grandfather, and a young 20-something who only wrote in all-caps. The comfy mis-matched couches and chairs filled.
After introductions, we jumped into what we came to do. Write and (god forbid!) share. Given prompts, we’d write for 10-minutes.
In one prompt we picking a feeling and a place out of a hat, then wrote a story about it. I got “fear, police station” and out poured from me a scene where prisoners take over a small sheriff’s station, from the perspective of a mother wondering what went wrong with the youth who were all little kids at the time. Where did that come from? It felt like an out-of-body experience not only to write it but speak it aloud to these kindred spirit strangers.
I began to look forward to Tuesday nights on Laurel Canyon like going to church. I’d been focusing on mothering and my career for so long, I’d forgotten how integral writing even was to me.
For a period of about a year, I took class after class. Short stories taught by one of my favorite authors, Ben Loory, author of one of my favorite collections, Stories for the Nighttime and Some for the Day, where I developed a story about a sculptor who turned into the statue the sculptor had made.
An online Masterclass with James Patterson, where I learned the technique of outlining and worked on a “Sliding Doors” novel idea.
A memoir class at The Writing Pad taught by phenomenal writer and teacher Monica Holloway, who wrote Driving With Dead People, where I developed my favorite chapter in my book, It’s Not a Rumour.
I not only improved my writing considerably, but made lifelong friends along the way.
10 Reasons to Take A Creative Writing Workshop
Connection with other writers. I was in the throes of motherhood and a career in marketing and didn’t know any other writers at the time. So to feel a sense of kinship in this area was extremely comforting (“Oh, it’s NOT crazy to be making up a story about a cricket in my kitchen!)
Techniques and ideas how to express a story. What to expand on, where to pull back.
Increased comfort with critical feedback. Letting feedback in is the key to growing as a writer, and it’s not easy at first. But it gets easier, and now I quite enjoy the process!
A creative sandbox for play. Like an engineer in front of a stack of Lego, I was in heaven with the resources and dedicated time to play with my craft.
Accountability partners. Writing groups develop naturally in workshops, and meeting regularly is not only fun but keeps everyone on track with their projects.
Networking and future writing partner potential. I got one of the biggest writing jobs of my life to write Freddy Moore’s story from the group’s leader who saw my gift in helping others tell their story.
Overcoming fear. I am no longer afraid of putting my heart on a page and handing it out. I know it won’t be for everyone. I’ll learn from that feedback. It makes me better (when done kindly).
Endless ideas. With so many creative writing prompts I”d never have thought of on my own, and dedicated time to explore my brain’s imagination, I left feeling inspired every meeting.
Lifelong friends. While some of my writing group friendships have ebbed and flowed, I know for a fact we’re all still connected, bonded by what we’ve shared. To have a built-in system for support was critical for me at a time I didn’t have many people in my life who cared deeply about my writing. (Now I’m lucky to be in love with the most supportive, talented writer in the world!)
Spiritual fulfillment. Going to my workshops felt like going to church. I learned. I grew. I felt. I was moved. Inspired. There is a cosmic phenomenon that happens when you read your poem to a group and feel their energy connecting to it. “I have felt that way, too.” “I loved the metaphor of the pencil to represent life’s impermanence.” There are tears. Epiphanies. Healing. A positive creative writing workshop feels like church.
Thank you to all the incredible writers and souls I’d have never known had I not braved that steep hill in Hollywood and opened the door back up to the writer I’d always been.
Yes to writing workshops!