It's March! That means that I am participating in the Slice of Life Story Challenge. I am happy to co-host this event with the team at Two Writing Teachers. Everyone is welcome!
"Are you going to share the biggest piece of feedback?" N. asked.
The six of us were meeting in our twice monthly writing group. Even though it wasn't my week to share, everyone wanted to hear about the responses I'd gotten from a piece we'd workshopped a few weeks earlier. They'd all loved the piece. There had been constructive ideas and insightful questions, but mostly the consensus was that it was a piece of writing that should find a home in the world.
I'd been excited when the email came through that could indicate next steps. Based on my writing group's response, I was expecting some enthusiasm and excitement about the piece. I'm always up for revision, but I wasn't expecting to hear it needed a lot.
I skimmed the initial responses. There wasn't a lot on either the positive or negative side. But the first main point stopped me. I read it. Reread it. Set the computer down, and waited for my stomach to settle. Read it again.
"That opening story," I said to my group. "Do you remember it?
They nodded. One of them had been a little confused because she couldn't relate to water over the road after heavy rains, but once I explained how police but barriers up to let people know they have to drive around because of flooding, she understood.
I had written the story as a hook, as a way to shift into writing about the roadblocks for writers and how teachers can help find the ways through or around them. The story was about the time I was driving my daughters and their friends home from an after school activity and had driven around the barrier. The sign, in my defense, had said WATER OVER ROAD, and not ROAD CLOSED. A police officer was at the other side of the water over the road, his lights went on, and he gave me a ticket.
"That story is a problem," I said. "There's all sorts of privilege going on with me in my expensive SUV having a peaceful interaction with a police officer."
The faces on my Zoom screen stared, their eyes wider than usual, some of their lips tight.
"How did we miss that?" one asked.
The others repeated that sentiment.
"You know what that tells me?" one said. "It tells me that I have a lot of work to do."
Yes.
There's a lot of work to do.
Good insight and valuable, too ... that's the difference between writing alone and thinking it's all there, and realizing, maybe not so much ...
ReplyDeleteKevin
Proud of you for your introspection. Still floored by this. We all have work to do. XX
ReplyDeleteI'm so glad I had the opportunity to read this. One of the hardest things about privilege is that we often need someone else to point it out to us. Finding out that we didn't even recognize it can be so humbling and help us see the work ahead of us. The two short lines at the end sum it up for me.
ReplyDeleteThere is so much revision that we all need to be considering. You are lucky to have a group of writers to think with, to talk with, and to revise with.
ReplyDeleteThere is so much revision that we all need to be considering. You are lucky to have a group of writers to think with, to talk with, and to revise with.
ReplyDeleteShifting our mindset is a challenge but something I have committed to. There are so many things we take for granted that are really privileges. Thanks for the reminder.
ReplyDeleteYup ... we need to broaden our sphere and PLN so we can see what we miss. We have a lot of work to do.
ReplyDeleteTotally missed it Mel . . . I have so much work to do!
ReplyDelete