Hi! Thanks for being here. Last week I promised to give you a writing update and I absolutely will, but first let me note another difficult day for my Vermont community.
Last night, our little part of the Northeast Kingdom suffered yet another torrential storm. The rain–unexpected, I might add, since nothing in the forecasts indicated it was coming–dumped down on us so hard it woke everyone up. At one point, it reached an intensity that made me wonder if our old farmhouse could stand it. There was no wind, but the rain pounded down in leaden sheets.
It’s still strange to hear heavy showers up here. We used to joke about how adorable Vermont rain was–so gentle and nearly-invisible compared to the deluges of the Gulf Coast. The ground used to dry faster than any I’d ever seen, leaving no trace of precipitation.
I can’t say that anymore.
Thankfully, this storm spared our town of Lyndonville from additional flooding, but the areas around us are devastated–high water, plus roads, vehicles, and houses washed away. Livestock lost, I’m sure.
A local weather report noted the total inches of rainfall set a record high for the entire state. It’s surreal, and it looks like this increase in rain might be our new normal. Again, I find myself wondering how people can question climate change…
I also have to smile a little bitterly to myself. I was arrogant and naive in my assumption that moving here, to lovely, landlocked, cool-climate Vermont, would shelter us from the worst of the freak weather. How wrong I was.
My heart is with our neighbors and fellow NEKers affected by this second awful storm. We will do whatever we can to help anyone in need.
Moving on to writing… I realize how ridiculously lucky I am to be able to type that…
Last week was the final week of the Writer’s Sanctuary’s Virtual Summer Writing Camp, and I had a great experience.
As I mentioned before, camp was a month long, and it consisted of two meetings per week: one write-in where we all worked on our pieces during timed sprints and then debriefed about our progress, challenges, etc.; and one critique session, where we all got together to discuss the feedback we’d already typed in the margins of our cabin mates’ Google Docs. So, we met a total of eight times, and over that period I got to know my group members well. I also received essentially free developmental and line edits on my piece–mega hooray for that!–and I was so happy with the revisions that I’ve already submitted my story to one publisher for an anthology. I’ll keep you updated on that.
That first week of camp, though, after our initial meeting (a write-in), I was a tad concerned. It’d felt awkward among the four of us, and our cabin leader, talented writer and editor though she is, struck me as shy and hesitant. I’m not great on Zoom myself, so I don’t blame her. It always feels like there’s a split-second delay between what you say and what your fellow attendees hear, and I still never know quite where to look when joining a meeting or during the lags in conversation. Goodbyes can be uncomfortable, too. All of that was compounded by the fact that the four of us were basically strangers to each other.
Our second meeting (our first critique session) was vastly better. I’d genuinely enjoyed reading my cabin mates’ 1 k samples and preparing my compliments and suggestions, and I was thrilled to hop onto Zoom and tell them all how much I enjoyed their work. Everyone agreed they’d loved reading all the samples, too, and thus we cracked the ice.
It so happened that we all submitted pieces different in genre and style, and the variety was satisfying. One lady submitted a first chapter from her Young Adult fantasy featuring a bottled message from the main character’s deceased fiancee directing her to Neverland. Another lady submitted the first chapter of her contemporary romance (in that high-pathos Nicholas Sparks-style), the premise of which sucked me in. The third lady, our cabin leader and the most experienced one among us, submitted the first chapter of her spicy Bluebeard retelling. I was the only one who didn’t offer an excerpt from a novel. I submitted instead the first part of a character-driven ghost story I drafted last September, having decided it wasn’t terrible and might be worth something with a little bit of feedback.
That first week–and over the course of the entire camp–everyone was kind and complimentary yet thoughtful and helpful in their suggestions. They raved over my descriptions and pacing, and my only critiques that first night were about a few awkward sentences and the murkiness of my story’s genre.
I was pleased to discover after that first week, too, that I could hold my own in our group. I’d feared my piece would be amateurish compared to the others’ samples and that I would struggle to give helpful suggestions. That would not be the case, I realized, and I was relieved and enthusiastic for the remainder of camp.
I felt, in short, like I truly belonged. Not just in my cabin but in the larger world of writing, and the feeling was validating.
More specifically, our cabin meetings felt like the type of small writer’s group I’ve always wanted to be part of. Hearing people gush regularly about my work didn’t just bolster my confidence and renew my energy, it also reminded me again of how important consistent feedback is. We think we’ve translated clearly to the page exactly what’s in our mind only to discover we haven’t, and once someone points this out to us, it’s clear as day. There is a certain inevitable blindness that all writers experience, so we need this specific, regular, and reliable feedback. Certainly, writing to publish is not a solitary endeavor, and my cabin mates pointed out details and phrases I would never have realized on my own were confusing or underdeveloped, despite the fact I’d gone over my story several times even after spending ten months away from it.
I took probably 95% of their suggestions, and the draft I ended with was definitely clearer and more powerful. It felt good to achieve this improvement, too, without paying an editor a ton of money.
Taking turns critiquing also made the entire experience feel comfortably equitable, unlike the one-sided dynamic between a writer and her editor, where the writer can feel relatively inferior and powerless.
Finally, the camp critiques reminded me that everyone’s early drafts need improvement–even the drafts of experienced authors who have published fifteen books. This reassured the novice in me.
That last session, as the sun set metaphorically on our final meeting, I was genuinely sorry to say goodbye to Cait, Charity, and Colleen. We promised to keep in touch, however, and Cait has been kind enough to share more of her working chapters with us simply because we want to find out what happens next. If my little ghost story, “Hello, Dear,” gets accepted anywhere, the first thing I will do is message these ladies to say thank you.
Have you ever been part of a small writer’s group? What was your experience like? What positives did you take away from it, and what negatives, if any, did you struggle with? I was lucky TWS placed me in such a good group, but I know that’s not always everyone’s experience, and I’m wondering what the drawbacks are and if even they can yield some kind of surprising benefit.
Have a great end to your July, and I hope your summer sails smoothly into August.
XOXO,
Jenn
Jennifer Shaw 