Precious Trash

This weekend was intense for me.

I signed up for a storytelling workshop, expecting to learn how to craft stories, since I have been stuck with my novel for years.

It’s a storyTELLING workshop, aka how to voice your story for an audience, with a live performance on Wednesday. I felt like I was having a bad dream or being punked.

It was for true stories, non fiction. Telling my own story. I have tried to do this, but all my stories feel pale compared to what other have been through, pale to what I felt.

My husband said I don’t have to do it, but I know I need to even if it’s bad. To deal with rejection or perceived rejection at least.

That is the part I struggle with, people ask about my book and I don’t know what to say.

So I wrote a story, my perspective on a story my mom loves to tell, one that makes me sound like an idiot– that I cut a whole in my window screen to let my cat in from outside.

The first draft was short and lacked detail, lacked me. I got some great feedback on where people were confused, and what I needed to add and the parts they liked.

The second was marginally better. The third was better still.

Deb, the one running this weekend event, insisted me reading first or the group. Thank God I did, despite my hesitation.

The positives: the suspense, the end, cutting my Polly pockets hair.

What I can work on: for story telling, add scratching noises, more on the cutting of the screen. Describe the dollhouse. My relationship with my cat (she’s not my favorite of the animals, but she’s better than a human)

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The next day of the gathering, we wrote a second, lighter story. We had been told to bring a few notes about a story. I chose to talk about my transition from grade 7 to 8 and my ingrown toe nails and how that affected me.

The first draft was awful but the second was a lot better, more visceral.

Hearing critique is actually one of my favorite parts. I like hearing what’s good and working, but I enjoy even more what’s wrong. Like popping a zit, or unclogging the drain — gross but also satisfying.

This group has been amazing and I loved all of the drastically different ways we all see things.

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Two days later, we had the library room to practice saying our story aloud, with a microphone. I know the order, me second. And I will get to enjoy the rest of the stories and not panic.

It went pretty well today, the hardest part was starting.

One I started, it wasn’t too bad, I tripped up a few times, stumbled or got caught on a word, but I recovered quickly, taking a breath.

And the best part is tomorrow it will be over. Sometimes I have to think like this to calm my nerves. I will miss the group, but this is completely not in my wheelhouse.

Funny that this is the same week this i got an email from the powerhouse about a playwright group starting and to come tomorrow if you want to join. The same night of the performance. My first instinct was to cancel my performance and to instead go to the playwright group!

Instead I emailed Heather, the one running the group, and asked if it would be an ongoing thing and  if I can come next time. She said yes.

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I performed my piece, and it went just fine. The funny parts had people laughing, and wincing at the right parts. I didn’t mess up too badly.

The hook and the end were the strongest parts.

I did something extremely uncomfortable for me, risked rejection and read a truth about myself out loud.

I can perform, but I like there to be a distance between me and the piece, either acting a role or a fictionalized version of something.

Deb had mentioned that I was writing a book and when I was leaving someone asked when my book would be available in the library.

That was cool, I said I don’t know I rushed out of there.

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