Yesterday, I registered for my first ever writer’s workshop. Write on the Sound in Edmonds, Washington (https://www.edmondswa.gov/government/departments/cultural_services/write_on_the_sound). I can’t do the whole workshop, but I registered for one of the full days on the weekend.
To be honest, I can’t say that I am excited or happy. I am, in fact, terrified. I am positive that I will have such sensory overload that I will not bring away any measurable amount of insight, but I am going anyway.
In my deepest self, I am unsure that I belong at an event like this. Do I have the skill set, discipline, genius, and imagination to become a real writer?
I know, like everyone else knows, that the only way to find out is to actually attend. To actually write. To actually ask others to read my work. To actually receive, digest, evaluate, and incorporate feedback and constructive criticism.
And maybe by the time I am attending my 5th or 6th (or 32nd) such event, I will feel like I belong. And maybe somewhere in there, with that investment of time, practice, and openness to instruction, I will find out that I am a writer.
RootsRewound 