Tuesday, December 17, 2013

The Writers' Circle - #2



DEAR ROW:
So being new in Philly, I’m attempting to cozy up to writers who look like me, you know, women and brown. For a little solidarity. Another perspective. To keep me hopeful. Provide feedback. Maybe even find inspiration in investing my time in another artist. Write it forward, you know? Like pay it forward, but in writing: artist genuinely helping other artists. I strongly believe that when others close to you are succeeding, your time will soon come. So help a sister-artist or brother-artist out, yo…
But I also genuinely would like to meet folks outside of my new theater internship. Because in this City of Brotherly Love, I truly only know my father and newly relocated cousins. And if I’m seriously considering Philadelphia as a candidate for a ‘settle’ worthy city post graduation, I need to gingerly and safely spread the sisterly love.
Anyway, the other day I attended a QBWWC. Mistake. I have nothing against people under the age of twenty-five. Their spirits are like steamed milk with lots of foam. Or a cloud. I guess I could have just said cumulonimbus cloud, with no threat of rain. They’re like ready to jump off of a cliff any minute to feed a homeless person. Effng gotta love that…
I thought the point of the group was to write, via writing exercises and/or prompts. We wrote. Did some writing, of course. No one really wanted to share their pieces though. There was a lot of uncomfortably awkward silence and darting of the eyes to advert one another’s stares. And then for about an hour I felt pushed into a discussion about queer disability advocacy work, or the lack there of. And the effectiveness of polemical activists, like Cornel West. Were we trying to solve something, and I just wasn’t in on the mission? A healthy political discussion any other time is like foreplay to me, but this was to foster our craft and hang with like-minded writers. But their gosh darn beautiful youthful spirits misled me to a store-front Queer Panthers meeting... I do hope they never become jaded like I have though, Row.
My quest to meet other writers continues.
Write me back, 
Chanel  (wish I could pronounce cumulonimbus cloud)
 _________________________________________________________________

DEAR CHANEL:
I think what you’re experiencing is the elitism of a “graduate student trying to assimilate into the amateur world of writing as a hobby because of loneliness” syndrome.  Let’s face it, we can bitch and moan about grad school workshops but the simple fact is through grad school we’re growing confidence in our artistic voices; and the whole point of writing for us is to get published, produced, and be exposed to the masses.  The sheer fact that these young bucks are not comfortable yet in their OWN writing but happily spout rhetoric and theories they learned in their freshman ‘seminar intro into the history of the psychology of the digital caveman’ classes or whatever kids are learning these days, proves that they don’t have a unique POV or anything new to add to theorems just yet.  Which is WHY they’re ready to jump off a cliff and give the shirt off their backs to feed the homeless (even if the homeless can’t eat fabric), because that’s all they CAN do.  They can only give physically and do – they can’t contribute anything new intellectually to the conversation of life because they haven’t lived enough to come from a genuine place to say anything about anything.  So they write their little journal entries and tuck them away in the deep dark depths of the back of their notebooks covered in Che Gevuerra stickers.

So my suggestion: worry less about finding writers who look like you and more about them having common educational and experiential backgrounds as yourself, that way they’ll share and workshop with you and you guys can get your material to a publish/performance worthy state.

Lastly, you’re not jaded – you’re a WRITER.  You’re a realist and you’re trying to say something with your work.  If you were really jaded you’d still be at that law firm taking away foreclosed homes from hardworking middle class families to pay your student loans.

Keep on keepin’ on.
--Row


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