Notes to self for next workshop:
Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper. Less paper.
I’ll be conducting another writing workshop at 826 Valencia in February. The details are as follows:
The Tale is in the End
Limited to 15 students, ages 11-14
February 5, 12, 19, & 26
Tuesdays, from 6:00-8:00PM
The art of creating compelling characters…by doing them in.
by Kevin Lottes
Dewey comes home from work and discovers Tuesday, his cat, all coiled up and sound asleep on his futon. He loosens his necktie, shuts the door behind him, and tosses his car keys on the dinner table. The crash of metal to wood awakens her. She slowly rises on all fours, stretches out her paws, and measures his mood.
Image by Dave Senecal
Story by Peggy Mintun
She woke with the knowledge of a different place, and felt as though she had traveled from the far reaches of time from a point where such concepts have no meaning. As she lay motionless, she began to doubt her voyage, even though the memory of it had felt so real just a moment before. She was aware of a chill that resonated from her soul, and felt the loss of something she had once held dear, even though she could not fathom what she was now missing. There was so much to recall, profound thoughts to process, yet she felt all the knowledge that she had gained on her journey begin to slowly trickle away until it all seemed like an ordinary dream. A dream that was so significant upon waking, only to dissolve into nothingness over the course of a second. Suddenly a realization dawned on her. She knew from the evidence in her hand that one reality had in fact merged with another.
A story by by Jack Crabtree and Peggy Mintun
Try not to stop if you are ever driving down a dark, deserted highway at night, even when it seems like the right thing to do. You never know what may happen…
Warning, the events depicted are a carefully detailed re-enactment of actual events by artiste du stick-figure, Jen Hewett. They are NOT the actual events.
I must admit that I walked towards the third and final day of our workshop with a bit of a strut in my step. The hardest parts were surely out of the way and I would probably spend most of the time simply pining for margaritas while everyone was writing their final drafts.
It’s never quite so simple though, is it?
Students started arriving at different points between 15 minutes early and 15 minutes late, each one saying hello and simply requesting if they could continue writing. I told them they could work on the rough draft, but not to start the final one.
This week’s immaculate renderings are brought to you by Tim Collins, a virtuoso at capturing classroom drama in 30 second pencil likenesses.
Day two of the workshop went considerably smoother as the first day’s butterflies had migrated back home. Or been picked off by a sadistic child with great aim. Whichever.
I brought in a series of open-ended questions to discuss with the class at the start. It acted as a re-introduction, an ice-breaker, and a way for me to practice not lecturing which seems to be a natural tendency. It worked very nicely and got the kids talking and thinking, the perfect mindset with which to dive into writing.
Day one of the three day workshop down and successful! Thank you to my friend Jen Hewett for providing a thoroughly accurate recreation of the scene a la stick figures. No photos of the students are allowed, so this is the best we can do. Yes, my hair really looks like that though my shoulders aren’t nearly so broad.
For this first 15 minutes of my introduction I just kept thinking “I can’t believe I’m still blabbering on. When am I going to shut up already?!”
I’m sure talking in front of a group of 15 semi-confused glossy-eyed kids will get easier.
Once we got to the exercises things felt better and a rhythm was established. They certainly reacted best to the exercise involving images and artwork. Might have to start with that one to get things going next time. It should clear away some of the initial blank stares.
As a newbie teaching in this age group (11-14 year olds) I definitely learned a few things:
The workshop I’ll be conducting with fellow artist Angie Needels at 826 Valencia in San Francisco is all set up. You can take a look at the syllabus and materials below:
- PDF - Syllabus & Materials for Unreal to Real Workshop at 826 Valencia.
If anyone would like this workshop taught (physically or virtually) in their locale, school, or other establishment, please let us know.
Wilted Flowers by Denise McIvers
Tony Rose was my ‘Girl-what-were-you-thinking?” experience. Anyone with any kind of common sense would not have ignored the red flags that waved back and forth in my mind that day. He was much too charismatic, beguiling and too wonderful. What everyone — men and women alike — found so appealing about him was his smooth criminality. Finally, I realized he embodied all the characteristics that would have made him a successful pimp. His dangerousness made him vicious and deliciously nasty at the same time. I was Eve, and he was the deceiver.
