It’s going to be meta. This is going to be an article about going to the Creative Writing Workshop at the Shapiro Creative Writing Center and workshopping the article I’m going to write about going to the Creative Writing Workshop. I don’t really know what to expect, but from talking with two people also waiting to go into the workshop, it seems that if people have pieces to present then they’ll present, but if not, they do free writes and discuss the subsequent results.

Outside the workshop, two freshmen sit, quietly discussing writing classes. One of them, Nate Dolton-Thornton ’15, has already been to the workshop once before.

“I’d like to do more creative writing and at the very least this inspires me to do more,” he said. “This makes it one official, formal time to do creative writing because I don’t make enough time for myself to do it.”

Jill Tan ’15 is a first-timer.

“I’m in my first fiction class this semester, so I was looking for a different space to workshop my stuff,” she explained. “I’ve never tried any workshopping process until this semester, so this should be fun.”

The workshop opens with the gathering of comfortable leather chairs and couches around a coffee table covered in snacks.  The leader of the group, Jack Chelgren ’15, calls a free writing session of 10 to 15 minutes.

I take this opportunity to put together this article. The 8 writers, including the leader, quietly sit and scribble sedately in their notebooks. In fact, no one else even has a laptop out or handy; it seems like they’ve all collectively decided that creative writing does not take place while typing.

One girl puts on a pair of sunglasses as the free write starts—is this part of her creative process? Is it impolite to ask her later? These are questions that I’ll try to bring up during the discussion section. I don’t want my article to run too long this early in the hour (a constraint of journalistic writing, perhaps?), so I browse information about the Shapiro Center on the Wesleyan website. A realization hits—this is totally why no one else but me is using a laptop. They don’t want to be distracted by the internet.

The free write ends and Chelgren opens the floor to share pieces and give criticism. No one volunteers. Of course, I take the opportunity to read the portion of this article that I just wrote.

“I liked how you talked about us scribbling in our notebooks,” commented Chelgren. “Sometimes I like to peer at people while they’re writing and see the faces they make.”

“I like how even though it was an article you read it in a voice like you were reading fiction or poetry,” said another member of the group.

I ask that girl who put on the sunglasses if it was part of her creative process, and if it’s impolite to ask. She says it’s not impolite nor part of her creative process.

“With the fluorescent lights on white paper, it’s painful, so I wear sunglasses,” she explains.

I proceed to pose more questions to the group. Finally, I ask whether I’m doing the whole “workshopping” thing right (I’ve never done this before), after I’ve monopolized the conversation and started asking even more specifics about my article. Chelgren and a few others gently explain that workshopping mainly consists of sharing, then letting other people respond. I shut up.

The group returns to normalcy with another person sharing their free write and people politely commenting. I continue to type and take notes on what is happening, gradually putting together this article. One of the group members asks what I’m typing, and I read him back the last paragraph.

“You’re like our own Rita Skeeter,” laughed Chelgren.

Now we get to the part of the hour where people workshop pieces they’ve prepared. However, only one person has a piece. Luckily, he has printed out hard copies for everyone there. As he reads his piece aloud and we all follow along, I begin to recognize one of the events in the short story. Turns out, one of my actions actually inspired part of this piece. It was an off-hand action towards someone I have only really a friendly, passing acquaintance with, but it still set off at least a sentence in this creative writing piece (and in case you’re thinking I’m patting myself on the back for being so memorable, it wasn’t exactly a completely flattering sentence). Just goes to show you don’t really know what impact your day-to-day actions can have on people.

Workshopping commences again. We discuss adding images, taking away repetitive phrases, and genre (prose, monologue, slam poetry?). Then, already 10 minutes past 10 p.m., people start to drift out. The workshop ends. And with that, so does this article.