...quiet, about a lot of things...
Friday, August 17, 2007
The Stupid Poets Society
As it turns out..I was the stupid one in the group...shocking, huh?? I was the one who was an hour late. I blame this, however on mapquest. Never mind I have lived in the "Denver" vicinity for over 9 years now and do not know the CITY of DENVER at all. (PS...some really cool parts..who knew??)
The writers workshop is in an old Victorian house with a creaky front door..and equally creaky stairs. So, I disturbed not only my group..(upstairs)..but the downstairs dining room group as well...probably advanced novel revision. They all looked pretty serious when I feebly asked "Poetry??"..."Upstairs." was all I got. WAY to make an entrance!!
The room upstairs held only women..prompt women, adult poet type women, sitting in a circle. If this had been a play, I believe my character would have been written in as comic diversion. I stumbled in, found a seat closest to the door and crossed my legs at the ankles.
I could share all the gory details but I'll spare you. I'll end as it really ended. The leader handed me a packet of papers stapled at the corner. We were to read the first poem for next week. There was no title...and a hand written name on the bottom.
"Oh, a local poet??" I asked. "Ancient Greek." she answered. Great. WAY. TO. SCORE. POINTS.
On the way home, I cried....I told you I would. I considered writing a post today titled F@CK..F@CK..F@CK... but decided that was not very literary.
The only chirpy thing to say..cause I am often a chirpy cheerleader for myself...is that I went. I wanted so badly to turn around and go home. I was lost. I had had the day I had...(see,wicked language skills huh?)BUT.. I made myself find the damn place and go.
That's all I got. That's all there is.
The writers workshop is in an old Victorian house with a creaky front door..and equally creaky stairs. So, I disturbed not only my group..(upstairs)..but the downstairs dining room group as well...probably advanced novel revision. They all looked pretty serious when I feebly asked "Poetry??"..."Upstairs." was all I got. WAY to make an entrance!!
The room upstairs held only women..prompt women, adult poet type women, sitting in a circle. If this had been a play, I believe my character would have been written in as comic diversion. I stumbled in, found a seat closest to the door and crossed my legs at the ankles.
I could share all the gory details but I'll spare you. I'll end as it really ended. The leader handed me a packet of papers stapled at the corner. We were to read the first poem for next week. There was no title...and a hand written name on the bottom.
"Oh, a local poet??" I asked. "Ancient Greek." she answered. Great. WAY. TO. SCORE. POINTS.
On the way home, I cried....I told you I would. I considered writing a post today titled F@CK..F@CK..F@CK... but decided that was not very literary.
The only chirpy thing to say..cause I am often a chirpy cheerleader for myself...is that I went. I wanted so badly to turn around and go home. I was lost. I had had the day I had...(see,wicked language skills huh?)BUT.. I made myself find the damn place and go.
That's all I got. That's all there is.
9 Comments:
Ancient Greeks never really did it for me, either.
You are in a whole other class, you know? I think I know them. I know what they write, and you aren't missing anything. (Although I have nothing against ancient Greeks).
OK, listen. Workshops can suck and poets can, too. Poets are sometimes weird and snooty and all that. You rock. You went and, as Joyce says, that is what matters. If I had been there, you would have brightened my day.
Oh, ouch. Mapquest has gotten me so terribly lost too. In San Francisco. In the Mission. Lost. Bad.
I hope you'll give yourself credit for going, for being there, because you are a poet. Don't let the snobs intimidate you. You're better than that.
(BTW, sometimes a swear word is the right choice. And that's a good one.)
You could have entitled the post "Meet the F@ckers" I would have loved that.
It takes such courage to participate in a writer's group. I avoid them myself, and I don't consider myself a sissy.
I'd be honored to be in a group with you--soulful not snooty, at home in her own beautiful skin.
F@CK..F@CK..F@CK
Funny, that is the title of the post I almost wrote. I swear that there is something in the air.
Aaaaw, sorry you had such an awkward time, Wendy; despite our best intentions at times, you get days like that, don't ya?
I agree with v-grrl though - I would have near peed my pants to see a post titled that way.
You're lovely. I can SO identify. That is me there doing just what you did - including getting lost and arriving late and mistaking a Greek poet for a local.
This all means that you are on the brink of something great - I can feel it in my bones. The trial by fire - can only mean you'll come out as diamond. You wait. It's going to happen - you'll blow them away. They won't know what's hit their perfect, little china-brittle world.
I'd be sitting next to you, with a spill on the front of my light blue, wrumpled t-shirt. Toilet paper stuck to my shoe. And holding the packet upside down.
It's not that I'm happy you had those awful feelings, but I'm quite glad you shared the experience.
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