Creative Writing Class

Creative Writing Class

“Do you belong to a writers’ group?” I asked.

“Yes, it’s a closed group,” she replied.  “For serious writers,” she added, slowly emphasizing each word.

I understand the concept of a closed writers’ group for writers who have been listening to and critiquing each other for a period of time, a group whose form and format are set, a group which is working well.

But the words “For serious writers” pinched at me.  She could just as easily have said, “My group is for real writers like me; something you are not.”  I wondered how she came to this conclusion. 

She knew so little about me or about any of the others; all of us going down the stairwell with her, after the weekly writing class we all share.  The moment I had admitted to writing a blog, she discounted me and my writing abilities. 

A common reaction, it seems.  Not the first time this has happened.

There is no attempt to read said blog or to discover if any additional writing is done.  It’s simply, “Oh, you write a blog,” followed by dismissive comments or dead air.  Myopic?  Condescending?  Oh yes!

Indeed there are bloggers who write about situations of little interest to anyone but themselves, but aren’t there also many writers doing the same?  So what?  This doesn’t mean they aren’t serious about writing.  Or that they don’t write in other formats besides the blog, or that they are without talent.

What does it mean to me to be a serious writer?  Well…

I write each day, usually 3 to 4 hours or more.

I re-write and edit constantly.

I share my writing with others to gain feedback.  A writers’ group is a good place for this.

I take classes, workshops, courses to learn new skills, to reach an audience, to obtain feedback, to fuel my creativity.

 I publish the work, when I can.

I write every day.

I seek feedback even when it’s uncomfortable.  I listen and pay attention.  I take everything in and don’t defend my writing.  I re-write and re-write.

I chase the truth.

I write horrible first drafts and work on them until they’re better and occasionally good.

I write every day, every day, every day.

I am serious about writing; about learning everything and anything I can to improve my work.  I consider myself a serious writer.

To my classmate:  Perhaps you could be less hasty in dismissing what is happening around you and in discounting the other writers around you, those people who are attending the same classes as you.  And allow a new idea to rise.    

You are in a classroom of serious writers.  Otherwise, why would we be there?

And pay attention:  Bloggers are serious writers, too.

 

Photo and words are copyright © Carol Steel.

 

Copyright Infringement

Copyright Infringement

I received a comment today from a photographer whose image I used for a blog post last year.   I had taken the photo from Google images thinking any photo posted there was for free use by anyone.

Boy, was I naïve!

I started blogging in February 2011.  After helpful hints from my daughter’s sister-in-law about how to get going, I have been self-taught.  

My learning has gaps in it...huge gaps.  I have discovered, after researching copyright infringement, it is not OK to take photos from Google images.  It infringes on copyright and can end up with me getting sued.  Not a happy scene.

And I’ve discovered through these two websites 

http://www.roniloren.com/blog/2012/7/20/bloggers-beware-you-can-get-sued-for-using-pics-on-your-blog.html 

 and 

http://withrealtoads.blogspot.ca/2012/08/beware-of-copyright-infringement.html

… what I have been doing amounts to just that…copyright infringement.  I am embarrassed at being so naïve and horrified at my own stupidity. 

Over the next few days, I will not be posting any new blogs.  I will be combing through my 357 blog entries removing or replacing the photos that don’t belong to me or that I do not have permission to use. 

As the two sites above state: Ignorance of the law is no defense.

And my comment request from the photographer whose photo I used?  He has kindly allowed me to use his photo as long as I credit the source of the photo and link back to his website, which I have done…and done promptly.

I am lucky to have learned this lesson early in my blogging career.

As for photos from now on, if they aren’t mine, you won’t be seeing them on this blog unless I obtain permission to use them.

My husband says that I could just post photos of the cats anywhere I need to have a picture, but that would just be too much, don’t you think?  And I don’t want to make light of this issue.  It is serious.

Ignorance of copyright law is no defense. 

The photo is mine of the cats helping to make the bed.  They too are amazed at my stupidity but love me regardless.

Landscape of Words

Today was special.  Today was a celebration.  It was a celebration of one year ago, when I had stepped through a door I had kept closed all my life. 

One year ago, I began to write a blog, and put my writing out into the world.

Opening this door opened me to my vulnerabilities.  What if no one wanted to read my blog?  What if they read it and despised it?  Or worse, dismissed it as mediocre and trivial?  I was haunted by “What if?”

Hugging my insecurities, I walked into this liminal space and began to write.   Began?   No, that is not true.  I had been writing since I was eight--journals, stories and poetry.  The space I had entered was the mystery of exposing my words and thoughts to readers.

The year of blogging reminded me of the essentials of writing: opening lines, engaging the reader, showing instead of telling.   I battled my urges to pepper everything with adjectives and adverbs.  I struggled to use fewer words.  Reading through the blog entries, I recognized that I had to learn and re-learn these elements.  The war with my words was constant.

As I honed my skills, I felt naked in front of a crowd of readers.  Though I knew a score of my readers, the rest were strangers.  They were readers who followed the blog privately, who showed up in stats as numbers and countries.   Why were the numbers important?  People were reading my blog.  But, it was like standing blindfolded, reading to unseen listeners, whose numbers and positions varied according to the day.  A mystery.

Blogging made me examine the roles I had: woman, wife, mother, step-mother, grandmother, friend, lover, gardener, retired person, volunteer, writer – yes, writer.  What could I learn from these and the other roles I had played in my life?  I squeezed my self-concepts to wring out the opinions and perceptions that weren’t valid, that were cultural baggage.  As much as possible, I flushed those.  What was left?  What was I about?  What was my purpose?

I found intensity.  When I cooked, I noted smells, tastes and sounds, fed my body and nourished my mind with textures and images.  When I gardened, I touched the soil, yanked weeds, planted new life.  The physical experiences gave way to emotional responses, each informed the other.  When I made love, I revelled in the joy and reflected on the spiritual connections in loving.  I focused.  I observed.  I gained a clear point of view from which to write.  Embraced what was mine.

I searched for ways to connect with readers, to find words to tell my truth so that it touched the “Ah, yes!” in the truth of others.  I wanted to connect, to find places where we were the same, all part of the human family.

Writing forced me to observe, and to study what I observed.  Writing gave me the tools to talk about it. 

What were my values?  How did I spend my time?  Was that activity achieving what I wanted?  Needed?  What drew me closer to discoveries of myself?   What enabled me to see that self in others?

Answers came.  If I wanted to be a writer, I had to write.  If I wanted to touch readers, I had to tell the truth, to be open and bare, to be vulnerable.  If I wanted to hone my skills, I had to start where I was, be who I was, and I had to work.  I had to accept and befriend my insecurities.  If not, the door would have remained closed.

Yesterday, my mother responded to a question from her cousin.  “What’s Carol doing these days?”

Mum’s answer: 

“She’s learning to write.”

Yes, I’m learning to write.  I’ve been learning all my life.  The journey through this landscape of words is endless, so today I celebrated.