My job as a moderator for three of the four Morningside Writers Workshops can be fraught with anxiety and walking on eggshells. Recently an older writer who had been auditing the Memoir Workshop, and wanted to transfer into the Fiction Workshop because he felt he'd be better suited to make believe rather than pen truthful, realistic creative nonfiction lashed out via e-mail because I explained to him why our workshops have been successful.
I present this only to show the hazards in dealing with volatile people within an intimate workshop setting. His name and expletives will not be included -- it would serve no purpose.
The exchange began with my submitting an essay draft that I wanted feedback on, and he fired back that, "It is unprofessional to submit first or rough drafts."
It was obvious in reading this that he wanted to impose his countless years as a newspaper journeyman onto a workshop that encourages experimentation and nurturing over harsh criticism and magazine or newspaper editorial deadlines.
My reply: Each writer chooses what to submit and when, and it’s our job to meet the writer where they are on the page and offer our constructive feedback.
We are submitting work that we want to develop and eventually publish. Each writer sets a personal and professional standard, and one of the goals of the fellow workshop members is to hold the writer to that standard. No one knows how many drafts have gone into a piece before a writer has submitted.
My stating my previous submission is a first draft is that I feel it’s a culmination of all the thoughts and revisions to a point that I was ready to have it read and commented upon. No one likes to be constantly taken out the woodshed or feel they need to be perfect. Morningside is a workshop where writers gather to share, experiment, laugh, enjoy each other’s company, and above all else, improve their writing through successive drafts. Everyone in the various workshops seeks publication and representation.
If you feel the methods and practice in place are not to your liking, I accept that, and would wish you every success in finding others who share your beliefs.
He apparently didn't like my reply: "Christ, are you ever a pompous asshole! Hold on to your little realm of petty power for dear life, pal. **** you."
I opted not to be cheeky or outraged with a follow-up response telling him that he shouldn't take the Lord's name in vain, and that I appreciate his showing his true colors and removing the wooden stick that seem to cause him discomfort.
A moderator's job is to lead the workshop, maintain order, motivate workshop members, and carve out time to write and submit. I'm not power hungry, and I don't strive to sit on an ornately decorated dictatorial throne. Writing groups aren't for everyone, and Morningside, as it turns out, wasn't right for this guy. I wish him well in his continued journeys.
My mother is a skilled, experienced pastry chef, and a few of my aunts are creative in various ways. Where do they get their ideas for pastries, home decorations, lesson plans, and how to appease a colicky baby that won't fall asleep at three o'clock in the morning?
I don't recall my mother using recipes, but I imagine she had to have read them along the way and added her unique spin to her signature peach cobbler, pineapple upside-down, and German chocolate cake. How did my aunt teach elementary school for over thirty-five years without burning out? Yet another aunt has a knack for decorating and rearranging furniture in small and large rooms in different configurations, replete with hanging plants and framed family photos that seemed to have required one of those crews from a reality home makeover show on The Style or Learning Channel. My maternal granny had dancing ability, and her husband cooked from scratch without recipes. Is creativity genetic? Are some of us more creative than others?
I've read and reread books on creativity and idea generation over the years, and still return to the premise that there are no original ideas. The delivery or execution of something tried and true is what makes it unique. Everyone's an expert and no one is an expert.
Will reading On Becoming A Novelist or The Art of Fiction by John Gardner generate ideas for writers? I purchased The Seven Basic Plots a few years ago for Morningside Writers Group, but found it cumbersome and tedious. Better than we workshop our fiction, screenplays, and creative nonfiction than rely on formulaic approches to writing.
Are there any original ideas left in the world? What makes a person, place, or thing unique? David Lynch offers his opinion on this topic in the following video:
I'm learning the ropes as a Publicist for artists, musicians, and other creative individuals. I've been reading websites, articles, and networking online with media professionals on Twitter.
An associate approached me several months ago because he wanted to crossover into the Anglo market, now that he's climbed the ranks and established himself in the Hispanic/Latino market. He's a journalist, first, and segued into being a publicist for others. He now feels that his position as a Hispanic multimedia producer warrants a publicist. Working as his publicist didn't happen, but fortunately I kept our meeting notes, and will implement his crash course with new clients I will represent in the coming weeks and months. Everything happens for a reason, and I know that his initial curiosity or faith in my writing ability, personality, and networking skills is a boost for my confidence.
In addition to what the experts list as necessary traits for a successful publicist, I bring a background as a performer to the table. I know what it's like to audition, attend callbacks, and to walk out on a stage even when you don't feel like it.
I wouldn't represent anyone I don't believe in or like personally. There's acting, and then there's acting. It wouldn't make for a good working relationship. I want to be carried away when listening to singers or bands I represent, I look forward to emotional performances by actors, and to be moved by painters or designers' works of art.
I know the journey ahead as a publicist might be tough, but I've the writing/editing talent, patience, and endurance to make this a successful feather in my hat. Feel free to point emerging and mid-career potential clients this way!
I remember a time when I thought I'd be a [famous] actor living with my Mexican Ph.D. wife in California, with our beautiful biracial children. She'd oversee the math and science homework, and I'd help with the English and language courses. She'd be my supportive backbone, and the soft place our family would land or escape to when the outside world encroached upon us.
Unfortunately, my schoolboy fantasy didn't come to fruition. I was urged to change high schools for my sophomore year, and never heard from or saw her again. Her life took a turn for the worst, and I began dealing with teen life on the other side of town in tony River Oaks. I had to discover, or rediscover who I was while settling into a new school, replete with international academic superstars that wept if they made a B in Advance Calculus in the tenth grade.
I was a performer, and no one could take that away from me. I might have excelled in Algebra II or Chemistry, but I felt at home on stage or announcing accomplishments during Black History Month to an audience that hadn't been aware or cared previously.
High school was an awkward time for me, as it was and still is for countless others. I didn't foresee myself as an ESL Tutor, Accent Reduction Coach, or Pre-GED Instructor in Manhattan. I just knew I'd fly off to Tinseltown and become an eventual success on TV and in the movies, as [few] African Americans before had done.
The band director at my first high school nicknamed me Web, short (pun intended) for Emanuel Lewis and Spud Webb. I knew I didn't want to be a clarinetist in what was a formidable high school marching band back then. I enjoyed the challenge of learning sheet music and choreography for the weekly halftime shows, but there was something missing. I didn't want to yearn to be the drum major. Perhaps on some level I didn't like the military/group mentality that's necessary for a marching band.
Awash in the madness of overachievers, bulimic classmates, privileged, or otherwise unfair advantaged peers, I sought to find my place. I had never attended a school with a swimming pool. I had never had teachers doctorates. I had never sat alongside students other than African American and a sprinkling of Mexicans prior to student body that ate lunch on the front lawn, few minutes walk from a [restricted membership] country club.
I'm once again wondering who I am and what it is I'm meant to do during my lifetime, and whether I should lock myself to any one course of study or job?
I have had [various] jobs, but have never set out to have career. A former acquaintance used to poke fun at me: "Tiger [his nickname for me, no reference to the golfer], now, where are you working this week?" It didn't bother me because, he, too, floated between jobs. We'd laugh about it, and move on to the next topic.
My granny was a free spirit, mother of twelve children, and surrogate mother to many others in her neighborhood. I'm not comparing her accomplishments to mine. I know I'm her [genetic] grandson. She danced atop tables in a jig joint as young adult before my grandfather yanked her down with a directive that she'd become his wife.
Where does the knowledge of this history place me in time now? I've worked as a credit collections agent, a rollerskating restaurant host, a software applications trainer, and on a computer helpdesk, all of which were utterly unsatisfying. I needed a job and thought I'd not lose myself while I auditioned for plays and movies. I miss performing on stage, dancing in commercials, and working on a film set. I've started to come full circle [finally].
In recent years, I've focused on writing and editing, and earn my keep as a copywriter. The task at hand is to bring as much as my selves into what I do. I've met and began the foundation for a script with two Tunisian brothers, and from this partnership we'll create a multi-lingual media production company that will pen original short and feature scripts, direct and produce music videos, and commercials.
Who am I now? I'm a Writer/Editor/Businessman. Whatever happened to Urkel? The actor certainly transformed himself from nerd to polished adult. We should all be so fortunate.
Why do people cheat? Do we cheat because we're bored, misunderstood, seek adventure, or miscommunication with a spouse or significant other?
If cheating is borne out of boredom, get a hobby, take a class, or work longer hours, read a book. I had a teacher who once chided a classmate after he'd said something was boring: "Boring indicates a small mind; the word is tedious!"
I don't think small-minded people are capable of cheating; it takes cunning, scheduling, and maneuvering to successfully cheat. Should you realize your partner is tedious, do something about it rather than flirting with a co-worker, creating a provocative dating profile, removing your wedding band, or cultivating online emotional relationships and affairs.
There are any number of hobbies you can participate in to avert wandering eye syndrome. Separate yourself from temptation. Deliver yourself from the woman with the undulating hips, the man with devil may care smile. Gardening, bowling, or golfing are soothing hobbies that could serve as the water to extinguish a spark or burning flame in the heart or seat of your pants.
The same goes for continuing adult education. Take a night or weekend class if you feel particularly vulnerable while your mate is otherwise occupied (see above note on boredom).
Enough can't be said on the powerful world of [good] books. I'm not advocating cowardice by encouraging you to read, but quite the opposite. It takes a strong person to resist temptation. If your love life lacks sizzle, read Anaïs Nin, Henry Miller, or other famous erotica authors and academic texts.
When the urge strikes, and it probably will a few times over a lifetime, think about how you'd feel if were the one who's been cheated on and refrain from any such thoughts. Jog a few miles around your nearest lake, pond, or reservoir, followed by a cold shower if all else fails. Hopefully you'd be too exhausted to think about anything else. Hopefully you won't encounter anyone on the running course.
In recent months I've been dreaming about my high school in Houston. In each dream, I'm running to a class in a building that's no longer the structure I knew. It's usually dark, and in one sequence, the stairs seem to multiply as I climb, pushing my way through the crowd.
I usually don't put stock in my dreams, as some people believe they can foretell the future, or store our secret inclinations, but I have to wonder why I keep returning to a place that I didn't like very much. The school wasn't bad, just some of my time spent there. It has taken many years later to understand that I felt out of place on the other side of town, not because of the tony neighborhood, but because I wasn't prepared for the racially mixed environment. My world prior to then was predominantly African American with a few Mexican students and five or six Caucasian teachers thrown in for good measure.
What does it mean, if anything, that I keep returning to my first integrated high school? Were there overlooked lessons that escaped me back then that I need to learn now?
I've had dreams that seem as if two or three jigsaw puzzles were tossed into the air and fell on my coffee table for me to decipher. Strangely enough, during tennis grand slams, I've been able to predict if Venus or Serena will make it through to the next round. I fall asleep with them on my mind, and some point during the early morning I open my eyes knowing full well what the online news and Tennis Channel soon confirms.
Is psychic ability real, or the province of snake oil salesmen? Do shows like Psychic Detectives and Medium give false hopes to people out their struggling with decisions, loss of loved ones, or their belief in past lives?
One of my more bizarre dreams involved my younger brother pulling me into his dream when were children to battle a bogeyman. I know it happened, and he knew that I was there. We shared a bedroom, if proximity had anything to do with my stepping inside his nocturnal world. We sat silently at the breakfast table, exchanging looks, sure that we'd committed some awful crime during the night that our momma would punish us for. When she saw us glancing down at our plates and across the table at each other, she called us on it: What did y'all do?
We didn't rat on each other with any such tomfoolery as being able to cross into each other's world during the previous night's slumber. I used to think that Pisceans were sensitive to such things, but Christian belief warns against people who use runes and divination.
What do you think about all this? Should we pay attention to and try to decipher our dreams?
Little boys and girls idolize their parents when they're knee-high to a duck, but what happens as they age and realize that their parents are beautifully flawed creatures?
Are we so shaken that we can't rebound from such a startling revelation? Do we become sullen or withdrawn when we realize that momma forgot to bake the cupcakes because she was exhausted from having to work two jobs?
My momma and granny were my earliest heroes and sources of strength. Our family structure was seemingly impenetrable to me as a child. I felt nothing could harm me while they were around.
The saying goes that, "little boys grow up to marry their mother, and little girls grow up to marry their father," because there's comfort in who and what is familiar. I love my momma, and loved my granny, but I don't want to marry a woman who reminds me of either them. Each person is an individual, and should not be viewed as a carbon copy of someone we treasure.
There are many wolves in sheep's clothing in the world. We'd all do well to keep a watchful eye on those we allow into our inner circle and confidence. This isn't the sky is falling, but the world I knew as a child at my granny's apron is truly a thing of the past. My hiccups and boo boos can't be soothed by kiss and hug from momma. I don't mean to sound like an alarmist.
It's easy to shift our focus to a teacher, coach, politician, celebrity, or professional athlete when we want or feel that we need someone to guide or inspire us. But again, they are human, and similar to childhood parental disappointments, they, too, will undoubtedly fail our expectations. What can we do in these situations? It's best not to put all our faith and belief in one person, but learn to disperse our energies among several people, hobbies, and tasks.
I've never followed a pied piper, and don't believe anyone should. When they crash to the earth, as we all do, they won't take us with them. It's not be selfish, but a survival tool.
It's easy to fall under the spell of a charismatic person on a college campus, a con artist on the streets of New York City if you're a recent transplant or tourist, or remain at home too long after high school or college graduation with a Svengali type parental figure.
The disappointment we experience when someone doesn't do what we think they could or should can be overwhelming at times. What does this tell us? Are our lives otherwise incomplete if we're not watching The French Open, the NBA playoffs, or a presidential primary?
There's no need for you to sit around moping, dejected, and unable to move from your armchair with the remote melded into your palm. Get out and live your life! You can bet that your self-appointed heroes, gurus, and false prophets are doing the same.
My job as a moderator for three of the four Morningside Writers Workshops can be fraught with anxiety and walking on eggshells. Recently an older writer who had been auditing the Memoir Workshop, and wanted to transfer into the Fiction Workshop because he felt he'd be better suited to make believe rather than pen truthful, realistic creative nonfiction lashed out via e-mail because I explained to him why our workshops have been successful.
