writing wrules

How was it possible I was getting lost?! I mean, after 28 years in the Bay Area, how could I not find this place? I'd passed it enough times on my way to Stinson, and even came here with my 5th graders a few years ago to meditate and write some poetry. But like everything else these days, nothing seems to stick in this brain of mine...things just get murkier and muddier with each passing year. Besides, it was raining and parts of Highway 1 were closed due to mudslides, so I could always blame my lateness on that. Eventually, I found the slushy parking lot for day visitors, and started forging a path with precarious footing to the rotunda that would be our classroom for the day. As instructed, I slipped off my shoes before entering, and was pleasantly surprised to feel the warmth wofitng up from a wood-burning fireplace in the center of the room. The workshop I'd signed up for at Green Gulch was intended for beginning writers. My hope was this was really true, as I feared I was definitely the least practiced or skilled, and worried I had gotten over my head with the ambitious decision to attend.

In the end, the day was equal parts weird, scary, embarrassing and invigorating. In settings like this - zen mediation oases with touchy-feely, endearing patrons, I speculate that everyone I encounter has a secret magnifying glass directly into my soul, and I fear they can spot a phony a mile away. Not to suggest I'm a phony, but my judgmental, immature nature holds equal footing with my thoughtful, empathetic persona. And damn, that cynical, sabotaging voice was amped up to 11 in my writing today. Everything I put down felt indulgent, trying, bleeding-heart depressed. My ego desperately wanted to be stroked for harboring a hidden talent, but I also wanted to be shut down for having an average voice that wasn't saying much more than a self-loathing, under-apprecaited, sulking teenager. Walking back to my car as the sun was setting, I tried to hang onto the positive - that I had done it and stuck my neck out for six hours in a room full of strangers. And I had to admit it, I did feel encouraged - encouraged to stick it to paper, encouraged to "use my words" (as we say often in preschool) without having to worry so much about whether they were good enough or who would hear them.

Here, then, are ten sound tips from our instructor, all of which resonated in some way with me:
1. Write it for yourself. Write what's really on your mind - don't edit. You can always burn it later.
2. Trust the words that come out of you. Don't choose "better" words.
3. Don't try to sound smart. Smart writing is not good writing.
4. Try writing in the third person instead of a first-person perspective.
5. Put some skin in the game: reveal something. After all, we're all in the same boat.
6. Show it, don't tell it. Reveal the intent through a story ("If there was a space between our thighs, then my dad would allow us to have dessert," rather than "Dad seemed uncomfortable with us carrying weight.")
7. Jar yourself into telling a true story. Use "If you really knew me, ..." as a prompt.
8. Start a story with "This is not a story about..."
9. Never try to pretty up your writing or write what you think others would like to hear.
10. Put a spin on Louisa May Allcott's "Write what you know" adage...write what you don't know you know about - you might be surprised.