"Writers are Assholes"

photo courtesy of Steve Eggleston

The other day, over a beer and fried pickles, two friends and I talked about many things including writer's groups.

"Writers are assholes," one friend said, "I'll never attend another writer's group again."

The other friend agreed. I found that I couldn't agree, really, so I asked them to explain.

The one friend said something close to what follows:

"Every time I have tried to get together with other writers to work, they agree to the gatherings, and then pass out copies of their own work for everyone else to read and be really resistant to feedback. In fact, they just won't take it and then, they'll go on to mention how awesome their work is and tear everyone else's work to shreds for no reason. Sometimes the critiques aren't even constructive ("This sucks!). Sometimes they don't even know how to string two sentences together. It's frustrating. It's maddening."

I thought about this. I had been to some workshops like that, mostly as an undergrad. On the whole, though, I seemed to have had some really good experiences with writing groups.

I asked if I could tell them about my experiences. They gave the go ahead. I'll repeat them here plus some:

In college, I was president of a poetry club that a friend and I had founded. Sometime during the course of the year, attendants (of which there were no less than 10 every single week) asked us for poetry writing workshops. This made me nervous at first. I hadn't even finished my undergrad yet. But nonetheless, there it was. People came to our meetings, stayed two or three extra hours after so they could share their work, receive and give feedback. The workshops were productive, fun, and consistent. 

There were a few things that were very key in the workshops' success. Our poetry meetings were very inclusive. We'd invite members to present on topics they cared about. Then at the workshops we would gauge where writers were as far as receiving feedback went. Not everyone was there to publish. Some attendants wanted to feel that their work had potential. Some just wanted to write and share their work. It was our opinion that all of this was okay.

For me, meeting the writer where s/he was became pertinent. I'd ask questions to gauge like, "What kind of feedback are you looking for today?" and then continue when the answer had been received. I would mention what I  liked most about the work, favorite or strongest, most moving parts of the work and how the writer could grow as a whole (speaking while keeping in mind where the writer was). I would tell them colors or images if I saw them, emotions, things they could hold on to and recognize. The critiques were not highfalutin and this kind of workshopping became the model on which this particular group was based. 

***

I have attended a few odd or so workshops with some of the local slam poets. I was not able to attend consistently but I could see that they had a really consistent group attendance. The goal was to write performance poems, and really good ones, poems that captured the audience and won them. One of the leaders and many of the attendants were already receiving significant attention and had been working in the poetry community for a long time.

The temperature there was kind but it was not without its work. The workshops also felt inclusive. Attendants would workshop one poet's piece at a time as a group. After listening, they would take turns and tell the performer/writer what really worked for them, what hit them in the gut and the heart, what didn't, what was unclear, cliches, and on and on. No one left angry, as far as I could tell. Everyone was there for that particular goal. Everyone gave something and everyone gained.

***

I belong to some other writer's groups, currently. I work with a group of ladies who gather two or three times a year for poetry writing marathons, to share and workshop, talk about ideas, memories, stories, and to celebrate our accomplishments. It's always a wonderful time and we get a lot of work done. Between workshops/writing retreats, we check in and support one another.

I also sometimes attend other groups. I study formally in paid workshops with accomplished writers as well as have gatherings of my own to discuss everything from grammar to craft and reading. Sometimes I'll meet with someone once over coffee or tea. Sometimes, I touch base with an ongoing group, some of them hybrid on-line/3-D meetups of writers in just about every stage of development, some of them academic-minded, for example, some of them just getting started. Sometimes the meetings surround a small project or a fun writing activity like exquisite corpse.

I'm not really sure if writers are assholes or not. Maybe we all are. Here I am writing a blog post about something unresolved in a conversation I had with friends. I guess, for me, the key in all of this is knowing what you really need or want from a workshop. When you know what you need or want from a workshop, you can then decide whether the one you are attending works for you or not. You are allowed to walk away and make new groups or connect with others depending on those needs and wants. You steer the boat.

Strange How Things Are Connected. In this Case? Ludlow, Burroughs, and the Passing of 100 Years.

ruins of the Ludlow Massacre
image found here: https://libcom.org/history/1914-the-ludlow-massacre

This is just a note on the strangeness, sometimes, of how things are connected: 

On the bus ride home, I was reading about Burroughs from his anthology, Word Virus. I had just read about Burroughs' family's connection with Ludlow from the introduction. A passage read, "Burroughs' maternal uncle, Ivy Lee, a pioneer of public relations, had helped John D. Rockefeller Jr. improve his image after the Ludlow Massacre of 1914."

I thought, "Wow. How could something like that be summed up in a sentence with a note of slight connection between the author and this grand historic thing? [The connection was meant to show that William S. Burroughs was connected to many important and also, often "ominous" points in history by blood]. Also, I must (!) catch up and find out what this Ludlow thing was that happened."

It's been coming up a lot. At a dinner party last month, at the writing retreat fairly recently, and then a day or two ago or maybe even this morning, a line passing on the ticker tape at the Denver Post building showing the headline for their article for the recognition of the 100th anniversary of the Ludlow catastrophe. I never had time to follow up why it tickered by until now (quite literally, now).

Then, I looked down onto the bus floor. Right there, close to my left foot was a crumpled Westword for this week. It lay face up, a fiery painting of a miner staring up out of the floor, and inside the rag, the article, talking about Ludlow, speaking to why it's important to remember.

Strange how things are connected, indeed, and this is some deep stuff I'm reading, no matter how you go about it.

Lately, Writing Samples Can Maybe Look Like This

This picture is neither here nor there. It's just
a picture of some possible blog ideas. 

I just wanted to share this. It was part of an application I turned in for a social media customer support position in Denver. I'm not sure it was what they were looking for but who knows? Maybe? It's fun stuff to guess, in any case. I'd love any feedback should those writer friends out there have any. Peace!

Writing Sample

An Example of How I Connect on Facebook:

After a friend recently introduced me to a girl band from Japan that mashes up Japanese Idol-Pop with Metal, I started a conversation about it and I also felt the need to do a little research:

My Response to Seeing BabyMetal for the first time: https://www.facebook.com/sireneatspoetry/posts/10100178757630793

The Research: https://www.facebook.com/sireneatspoetry/posts/10100179147968553

These two posts also resulted in multiple posts on my page and shares from my posts sharing either metal bands from Japan, the US or thoughts about BabyMetal.

Blogging:

Self-Made Internships

An Introduction to an Upcoming Music Research and Outreach Blog

Meetings with Mentors

Reinstating an Anchor for Creative Writing Discipline

Music Blogging

Old gig picture taken by my Mom. 
I might not even be 21, yet.
Taken at Flying M Coffee House in Boise, Idaho. 

Finally! After a year or so of thinking about posting at Reigniting My School Girl Crush  for Music, I've done it!

This blog sort of serves as a hub for many blogs. At least, that is the goal. I want to run a series of music research blogs that start at that page and really, help me keep track of things I come across.

I haven't completely thought this out yet. In fact, figuring out the way in which I would go about the music crush blog was a bit of an accident, or rather, it came from a reminder, a conversation about music, which I talk about in the first post.

I'm not a critic, nor do I really want to be. I just want to share experiences and learn. So, there you go. That's precisely what this blog aims to do and where it begins. It aims solely to express excitement about music, share that excitement and even relate what I learn from the music that comes into these ears. I might even sometimes talk about craft, and how I might apply what I learn.

Hopefully within this year, I will work on more thorough research and study projects, as well. Some of those projects involve connecting with other folks in the musical and sound healing arts. Some of them just involve listening, going through my old CDs, and ever finding new reasons to be simply in love with music. Maybe, I'll find some new ideas along the way. I hope you'll listen and share along with me. I'm always open to listening to new tunes, new sounds, etc. Please, please, feel free to send them my way, should you think of it!

A Few Degrees Separated from Fame

It seems that I am often somehow just a few clicks (more or less) shy of being where the famous people are in the strangest way. Here are some examples:

I have a friend who tells a story that on the day that Kurt Cobain died, Courtney Love called his house and he happened to pick up. He heard, "He's dead." on the other end.  

My first real boyfriend and his brother went to Seattle on a trip long ago. I wasn't able to go because of work and I'm sure they wanted their own brotherly time together. During that weekend, they'd run in to Saul Williams and spent maybe a couple of hours with him, maybe exploring the city and chatting. I don't quite remember the details. I'd written an email shortly after that to Saul Williams and mentioned what a strange coincidence I thought it was, that two clicks shy thing, and that perhaps sometime we too would meet and maybe even collaborate on something. He wrote back, open to the idea but not attached to it, as good journey makers do. Since then, I've never been where he is aside from listening to or reading his work. 

Maybe a year ago, maybe more, I met a producer who offered a gig to me that I later said no to (I still sometimes kick myself) who owns Michael Jackson tracks that no one else has heard. He carried them around via Dropbox on his smartphone and I wondered why he wouldn't let me listen to the whole song. I suppose it could have been that we were talking about the blues. Also, it really was proof about the caliber of producer he is. 

 I know an art conservator who has worked on some Andy Warhol pieces and divulged that the artist didn't really care about what the art's materials were. His work was done in crummy mediums, on flimsy, cheap paper and canvasses, and maybe a bit haphazardly and just because. 

I'm not sure why I am thinking about these things today. It's not important to me per say to be where the famous people are. It's not something I aim to do let alone care to do. I'm genuinely interested in people, especially if they are passionate about something. That could be art, music, politics, travel, etc., maybe even just watching nature and breathing.

Working at a coffee shop downtown puts me eye to eye with many famous people, most of whom I rarely recognize. The ones I have recognized or have had any correspondence with really seem to be like me, people who are following their loves and passions and who happen to be passing through.

Also, there are the friends and acquaintances within my circles who are amazing people and who are doing amazing things, some of them blowing up, have, or will. Some of them maybe never will. Some of them are big fishes in small ponds, others non-descript and still unyielding in their art or work. All of them passionately, or even half-heartedly, at times, chasing their very beautiful passions and dreams. . . .

I don't know where the difference is; famous or not famous, accomplished or not accomplished. Sometimes, maybe it's just a little bit of luck and who knows how important, really.


*all selfies taken at Madame Tussaud's in Las Vegas, Nevada, 2008.

Social Security Fraud is Balls!

"Please don't take S.S. from seniors and the REAL mentally or physically disabled if you are able to work."

I'd read the sign as soon as I had situated myself onto the bus. The sign was attached to a walker which had an oxygen tank strapped to it and a woman behind it who stared out of the window, pale and muttering.

I had tried to take a discreet picture but unfortunately, the camera noise on my phone made me conspicuous and the image was blurry, illegible. I know that the woman heard the click. Her mutters grew louder. I felt like a douche. That attempt was in bad taste, anyway.

My stop was coming up, so I decided to talk to her if I could. I was worried she'd be angry but she wasn't. She let me take this picture and said that for the blog, we could call her Susan.

"I was watching 60-Minutes," she said, "and it was an episode about medical fraud." Essentially, there were able-bodied people getting money from programs such as social security. This was infuriating to Susan because she is legitimately unable to work and not really able to support herself without some sort of assistance.

I had to leave the bus and I was sorry to go because I wanted to talk with Susan more. I hear a lot of people claiming that most (and sometimes they say all) people who accept government assistance don't need it. The truth of the matter is that while some ruin it for everyone else, there are definitely some who are more than in need.

So here's the rub. We have social responsibilities, don't we? Should you ever suspect someone committing this kind of fraud, there is a hotline and a website by which to report it: http://oig.ssa.gov/report.

The Genuinely Nice Bus Driver Who is Looking for Someone Nice

I wonder if the emotions we project are the
same emotions we get back, no matter what time or place
we are in at any given moment. 
(photo by Tameca L Coleman, 
found on Colfax, graffiti in chalk, Denver)

On my way home tonight, I was greeted by a happy and polite bus driver who complimented me on my smile and manners. I told him thanks and went to a seat. He seemed nice. This made me smile more.

We talked for the length of my bus ride home or rather, mostly I listened and answered when an answer was requested. He related that he was ex-military and had moved from the city of Lost Angels because he couldn't find women there who were anything but hostile and mean. He spoke of the '70s and of how women seemed to be different then, maybe even people generally.

"There was more politeness. People smiled more. They complimented each other," he said.

He then related that he had been on a search for a wife for many years. He hadn't found her yet, not even after having moved to Denver, a city which upon first visit he considered much more polite than L.A. His move was sixteen years ago, probably many years after he had first checked out Denver.

Today, two ladies on the bus, myself and a girl in her early twenties had shown the bus driver that nice people still exist. I was happy that I was not in one of my grumpy or despondent moods.

So, I continued to listen. He went on and related that even here in Denver, women had become a bit sour sometimes and though polite, often distant as if their politeness was a face that they had put on with their makeup.

I wasn't sure what to make of all this but I was reminded of a video I had seen, maybe a couple of weeks ago, of a Q&A section on an episode of Soul Train. It was from the seventies and it seemed that every person who had gotten up to the mic to ask the band questions was soft and well spoken and coming from a place of utter genuineness. Also, no one pushed to the mic but listened and waited gently. Of course, this was television. It may or may not have had something to do with it.

I remembered the Q&A session because to me, it was so different than the way I see people portrayed in media now, or even at my work as a barista. Often, it seems that people tend to be more direct in such a way that seems quite rude, even for us Americans. We live in a fast paced world with many distractions, interruptions, and much noise. Cutting through it all perhaps has become a necessity (?).

I wondered then, if it was just a different time. The episode I had watched looked like it was from the seventies. Everyone in the episode seemed to take great care not only in their speech but in their dress. Despite them all being on air, it really felt as if the people here were indeed more gentle somehow, even with all of the things that were happening during that time, historically.

Proof that sometimes I am maybe not nice. If looks could
kill, right? 

Then I tried to remember back to places I have lived and visited and it seemed to me that there were nice people everywhere, mean people, too. It didn't matter if it was on the East Coast or West, the South or the mid-states. It could be small towns or bigger cities. Still, everywhere I've been, over 3 decades and then some, places seemed to feature all kinds of people, mean, nice, and of varying degrees. It didn't matter where they were from.

People seemed to interact with others by way of whatever experiences and interpretations of those experiences that they carried. To me, this seems to point to something. Despite changing times, despite tumult, being held in comfort or harms way, depending on what and how people carried things determined whether they were generally nice or not. Sometimes that meant inconsistency as each day carried perhaps different stresses or boons. Further, whatever perceptions were received probably had something to do with it.

I'm used to tired and over-worked bus drivers who say nothing to their passengers and are sometimes very curt and mean if they speak at all (depending on the route and how much they have to deal with) so it was a nice surprise to me tonight to be received onto a bus where the driver was smiling and happy and wanting to engage with me, a total stranger! I was more than happy to have a conversation with him. It was so easy, and just because he smiled and engaged.