Evon Davis

An on-going workshop that guides students who are working on specific projects or just want to improve their writing. The workshop covers all aspects related to the craft of writing, including structure, the elements of compelling stories and characters, and scene writing, so you’re able to accomplish a major writing project such as a novel or memoir. Free-writing exercises help stimulate creativity, as each week you’ll write new scenes and watch your manuscript grow. To get your creative energies flowing, you are welcome to read scenes aloud and get feedback on your writing.

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I knew I had to write from the time I was fifteen, but I didn’t know why.  Perhaps it came from an intuition — a need to make sense of this human experience.  Now it’s clear to me.  By putting my thoughts, feelings, and experiences down in writing, I begin to see a pattern; I see meaning.

Before I have pulled specific details from the current of my life and put them down in some order, none of it makes sense to me.  Maybe it’s pleasurable; maybe it’s not.  If it’s pleasurable, I might not care about the meaning.  I can just accept it for its own sake.  But when something painful occurs, I need to understand its meaning, even if I am the one creating the meaning.  Then I can take it in and embrace it.

I suspect people write for many reasons.  I do not know what they are, but I’d guess that for many of them, it is the same as with me.  There is something inside them that believes if they could put the right words down, they could unlock the magic of their experience.

Is it true?  I think it is.  I have often be stunned when I show up at a writers workshop feeling tired and uninspired.  I think it will be a waste of time.  But I have to show up because I’ve made a commitment.  My students are expecting me, counting on me.  I will fake it if I have to. 

We start by talking a bit; then it’s time to write.  I pour out words.  All of us in the room are writing because that’s what we’ve come to do.  When the timed writing is up, we go around the room, each reading what we wrote.  There’s no judgment.  It’s about sharing and maybe finding out how others were affected by it.

I read.  I am stunned.

I didn’t want to show up.  I did it anyway.  I wrote.  I wrote something magical.  I am stunned.  Where did this incredible writing come from?  I don’t know.  But it has taught me to trust the process.

Every week I show up whether I feel good about it or not.  I show up anyway.  Sometimes I write something incredible, others times not.  But it doesn’t matter.  What matters is that I show up.  I trust the process. 

Occasionally a student comes into class the first day and then disappears. 

Why?

I can only guess it’s because they don’t yet trust the process.  They believe that if they feel uninspired, they won’t be able to write.  This is not true.  I have learned over the years that there is no such thing as writer’s block.  There is only showing up or not showing up.  There is brilliant, magical writing and shitty first-draft writing.  You’re going to get both and they are both good in the overall scheme of things.

What is not good — if you want to write — is not showing up.  If you don’t show up to write, you get nothing.  You don’t get a shitty rough draft.  You don’t get brilliant imagery and succulent prose.  You get nothing.

Except perhaps the fantasy of being a writer.  I honestly believe that some people prefer to wrap themselves in the comforting blanket of fantasy than expose themselves to the true adventure.  But don’t fool yourself into thinking it’s the same thing.  It doesn’t even come close.

I’ve been suspecting it for about a week now, but I fully realized today, that my latest novel has reached the point of being over-workshopped.

I’m a firm believer in getting feedback, especially from people who know something about writing (others you have to take with a grain of salt).  It helps to know if a piece of writing is having the intended effect.  But at some point it crosses a line from suggestions that can truly improve the novel, to suggestions that have nothing to do with the craft and are only the reader’s personal opinion about how the story and characters should be written.

At that point, it’s a matter of splitting hairs and workshop feedback has diminishing returns.  Here’s an example:  my novel is set in the UK and one of the characters sometimes says, “Bloody hell,” which people in the UK really say, but one (american) reader thinks it sounds silly and I should take it out.

Secondly, although one of the rules is “show, don’t tell,” sometimes you just have to say, “she was frightened.”  I mean, you can only have a character’s heart racing and pounding so many times in a novel until they start to sound like they’ve got a congenital heart defect.

Although we want to know the character’s emotions and bodily reactions, some of that should be obvious from the situation.  If the character is fidgeting in her seat, craning her neck to look out the window, and asking about the dancing lights in the sky, it should be obvious that she’s curious.  We don’t need the author to then tell us that she’s curious about the dancing lights.

I’ve finished revising of the first 9 chapters… 33 to go.  And I’m seeing that there’s still room for improvement, but not every suggestion that’s been offered is useful at this point.  One person likes it one way; another likes it the way it is.  Who decides?  Uh… I guess that would be me.

And I’ve decided I am not going to have my characters emoting in every other sentence.  That, in my mind, is excessive.

For those who have never reached the point of being overworkshopped, the simple realization doesn’t mean it suddenly becomes easier.  I’ve made up my mind that this novel won’t be workshopped anymore, but I still have to decide which of the suggestions to take seriously, and which ones to ignore.  That comes down to confidence and that’s something most writers struggle with.

But at some point an author has to be able to look at his or her writing and believe that it’s good.  I’ve got too many voices in my head right now.  Time to shut some of them up.

Don Juan said, “A warrior takes his lot, whatever it may be, and accepts it in ultimate humbleness.  He accepts in humbleness what he is, not as grounds for regret but as a living challenge.  It takes time for every one of us to understand that point and fully live it.”  (Tales of Power, page 19)

This passage felt relevant to me this evening.  I’m sitting at a friend’s house on the south side of town waiting to pick up my daughter at 9:00pm.  My friend’s home is beautiful, but I’m cold (I’m always cold) and I’m tired, looking forward to getting home so I can go into my bedroom, turn on the radiator, crawl into bed, and fall asleep.  How lovely that would be.

But that’s not my lot at the moment.  I’ve been thinking lately of the winter cold as warrior’s training.  An impeccable warrior doesn’t complain; she accepts her lot in all humbleness.  I think there are a few reasons for this.  One is that complaining does no good.  It only drains us of energy.  It’s less energy- consuming to be at peace. 

Another is that an impeccable warrior is always conscious not to take anything for granted.  I am so blessed.  How could I possibly complain? 

Finally, to accept the present reality helps us to become stronger.  It’s not about being a prisoner.  It’s about being free.  I am free to be here or leave.  If I choose to stay, then I take full responsibility for that.  There is no room left for complaining. 

“To change our idea of the world is the crux of sorcery.” (Tales of Power, page 13)

When we change our idea of the world, we change ourselves.  And when we change ourselves, we change our idea of the world.

He also said, “If one is to succeed in anything, the success must come gently, with a great deal of effort but with no stress or obession.” (Tales of Power, page 12)

I remind myself of this as I work through the revisions of my latest novel.  Obviously I want to be finished, so when I get feedback saying that I need to work on the relationship between my main character, Trinity, and her mentor, Artemis, I feel frustrated because I think it’s fine the way it is.  Am I missing something?  If so, what is it, and why can’t I see it?  Am I blind to my own writing or does the reader just not get the relationship I’m trying to create?  (I was going for the sort of feeling like that between Ged and Arren in The Farthest Shore by Ursula K. LeGuin). 

So it’s back to the basics.  I need to read The Farthest Shore again while reading my own manuscript and see if I got the feeling I was striving for.  Even so, it’s possible it could be better.  I just need to be patient, put in a great deal of effort, and not get stressed out or obsess about it.  That’s how an impeccable warrior moves through her world. 

For more on The Warrior-Goddess Chronicles, please visit: http://www.thewarrior-goddess.blogspot.com/

Workshopping can be tough, but I’ve learned to take everything with a grain of salt for two reasons:  1) people giving critique don’t necessarily read the genre you’re writing in so don’t know how to judge it, and 2) they don’t necessarily know how to critique in a way that’s truly helpful.  
 
It took me a year to write Journey to Artemisia.  I became a better writer over the course of that year.  Now that I’m going back to the beginning, I think it should come so easily, but in some ways it’s still a struggle.  One of the best skills I’m developing is objectivity.  When people critique my work, I’m often resistant at first, but then I step back and I can see where they are right and where they just don’t get it.
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