Ann Sexton at work
Writers’ Retreats. I said last time I’d tell you about the summer retreat I was just a part of, as an example of how a such a retreat can go. Are you curious? This post is for those of you not involved in the writing world, except as readers.
Usually those who pay to attend a retreat have publication as a goal. Not that seeing your words in print is necessarily evidence of your excellent work. But it does mean that you’re working your way into the conversation among writers, which is itself a good thing.
This is how it might go in a retreat open to the general public:
Tina Fey at work.
There are readings by the faculty and workshops focusing on particular aspects of writing, both prose and poetry. Workshops meet every day, usually for three hours, time enough to examine some examples from professional writers and then to try the technique yourself, then have a chance to read your work to the group. There is also often a “Writer in Residence,” for both poetry and prose. That was my role this time. People sign up for 15-minute “interviews” with me, to discuss anything about their work that they want some one-to-one help with.
Examples from some conversations with writers at this recent retreat:
1. Has stage 4 cancer, is still pushing ahead with her work as long as she can. Wants to write about a deeply meaningful encounter with a person who had a breakdown on the road. My job here, I think, is to offer encouragement, help her see the incident as clearly as possible and allow its “meaning” to arise naturally, not force a meaning on it.
2. Not sure where to focus as a writer. Her life, she says, is complicated. Talks a lot about her dogs and horses. All I can do here is help her identify where the most energy seems to be as she thinks about where to go. She’s new at this.
3. Wants to write a series of prose poems called “Dementia Woman.” She’s interested in the funny aspects of memory loss. I think there’s sadness and grief under the amusement, but I won’t say that. If she keeps writing this, I expect that will emerge. But the funny is also worth exploring.
4. Keeps moving back and forth between what she conceives as a fantasy story and a real experience. I’m not sure she is clear which is which. I tell her that things we think of as real may have a strong dose of fantasy, also. I’m not sure this story will get written. She seems to have more energy in the telling of it than in the writing of it. She’s not asking me any questions about technique.
5. Wants confirmation that the end of her lyric essay is the right ending, wonders what else she could do with it. I like what she’s done, excellent work, don’t think she needs to go any other direction.
John Updike at work.
6. Is working on a mother-daughter memoir and wants to talk about the direction she might go with it. There’s cancer involved, so how much should be devoted to that, and when to turn away from it. I think it’s too early in her process to offer advice about that yet. I encourage her to keep writing and sort that out later.
7. Writing a poem about camping alone, an experience that’s very meaningful to her. She’s floating above the details as she talks about it, so I encourage her to tell me more about it and as she does, I point out the concrete aspects that could help the poem.
Toni Morrison at work.
You can’t teach someone to write, but you can help speed up a writer’s development. You can look closely at good writing and point out what makes it work so well. You can offer tips. And the conversation is helpful on its own. Writing is, and should be, lonely work, but writers need to talk with each other sometimes. If nothing else, it helps alleviate loneliness. Of course some people write better entirely on their own.
And eventually, you get to be your own critic. You edit in your mind before the words hit the page.