Last night we workshopped drafts. I’m used to fairly robust
criticism, harsh verging on heartless. I can take it from those I trust to tell
me something’s good, shit or most horrifyingly ‘distinctly average’. However in
this new group I felt incredibly nervous.
I used to only cover grammar and repetition when I fed back
but in the last year I’ve got braver about critiquing character and even plot. I
used to be more organic in approach but now I blast out my points as soon as I
can, partly to get a dialogue going, partly out of nerves. I used to never ever
make suggestions for additions but since our Screen Play module I will.
So the MA has made me a better critter. And it was a
fascinating batch of imagination to workshop. I really enjoyed the array of
genres; dancing non-fiction, pre-dystopian adaptation, a rabbit that recited
Shakespeare, Freudian literary fiction, full-on in-your-eye-sci-fi and medieval
dysentery.
Writing is exposing at the best of times and possibly
because we didn’t all know each other we were professional and respectful. Feedback
was encouraging, constructive and incisive. It was really useful mixing with
the Writing for Children group, whose work and
feedback was sharp, muscular and meaningful.
At the start of the session our tutor anecdoted that someone once
pulled a knife out in a workshop. It’s understandable to feel vulnerable when
sharing but there were no knives in our group; we used our critic’s scalpels
with hippocratic care.
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