For the day job, I went to a day-long workshop on how to make people better thinkers, therefore better able to solve their own problems. Interesting premise and I’ve tried it on a few colleagues with a bit of success. But I digress…
As the presenter was making her case for why we should spend eight wonderful hours plastered in the same uncomfortable vinyl chair through mulitple power outages, a fire drill and a lunch that ran out twenty people short (no kidding…don’t you love public education funding?), she explains the training we’re going to learn about in terms of being a way to think out loud through problems in search of solutions.
At that moment, I had a huge “aha!” moment. (If you’ve had one, you know what I mean. If not, keep working on it). This strategy, complete with hardbook, textbook and mounds of research data, was nothing more than talking out loud (like I do in the tape recorder in the car) to solve problems (like why my heroine’s plot line is NOT working for me).
Discussing this with my group for the alloted seven minutes of discussion, (all my dear department friends who know my eccentricities), I mentioned how similar this was to my individual writing process, and how it does work for me so maybe it might have merit. I didn’t intend to go global with my insight, just keep it low-key with my tablemates.
Not so. When the presenter asked for our thoughts and opinions on the process we were about to learn, no one raised a hand. Either the coffee hadn’t kicked in or everyone was in that hazy place where teachers go when their brains shut down at the start of any new strategy being heralded as the world’s best. Feeling bad for the presenter, I almost told her about the similarities with writing, but bit back my comment.
Admit I was a writer? In front of a group of strangers? Before they’d had coffee? Made me almost as nervous as the second overtime in the 2002 Fiesta Bowl…the pressing feeling of nerve-induced throwing up included. And Ruth Ann whispering, “Go on, Beth, tell your cute writing story!” in my ear didn’t help. So I did what any good writer would do.
I caved in. I explained, in slow sentences, how I’m a published author, and that I think this method might have some validity because it’s the way I write my novels. “If I can write a 40,000 word book by plotting verbally, we can teach people to solve their problems verbally,” I said.
When the room didn’t sink into a hole, I breathed. Wow. I’d just admitted I was a writer and nothing bad happened. What’s funny is that I’ve only admitted that maybe twice before to strangers but in much, much smaller venues.
Later in the day, I actually had a few nice conversations with two other writers who mystically ended up in my group and were in awe that I’d done what neither had done with THEIR colleagues: share their passion and interest in writing. Geez. I felt like Lewis (or Clark) or Mr. Spock: I boldly ventured where those two writers had never been before. And I liked it.
A lot.
Moral: Tell ‘em you’re a writer. If you’re afraid, do it before they have coffee. But don’t hide your love of writing. Who knows what you might inspire?
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