After several years as a middle school English teacher, I spent the next few decades tutoring in academic writing and the occasional creative story. I loved witnessing struggling young writers grow in confidence. Often this fledgling confidence was challenged, however, when my students’ carefully constructed essays or stories were returned, covered in subjective red pen and comments by earnest and well-meaning teachers. I had been one of those teachers myself, brandishing my red pen, not realizing then that many students never get over their belief that they just can’t write.
As a trained leader in the Amherst Writers and Artists (AWA) method, I now lead adult writing groups. Many of my workshop participants, like many of my former students, have strong memories of criticism. Some come into a first workshop shy and unsure of themselves. They think they might have a story to tell, but they apologize for their perceived poor skills at the outset. “I was never very good at this,” or “I can’t write memoir. I don’t even remember my childhood,” they’ll say. Many are inhibited by the strong voice of their inner critic. And yet, like so many of us, they yearn to tell a story. Storytelling is playful and natural, like childhood creativity, but people begin to doubt themselves and feel that only real writers have something to say.
In my AWA workshops, the concept is relatively simple. I provide a prompt, which might be a piece of a poem, a call for a specific memory like “Sunday dinner” or “childhood bedroom,” perhaps a quote or photo, and about 15 minutes in which to write. Then, without time to edit, revise, or allow the inner critic to surface, each writer reads her piece aloud. The other members comment positively on only the story, not the writer or the writer’s experience. They listen for sharp visual images, a piece of the story that stood out as memorable. Participants become insightful listeners. One of the most important aspects of my work as a leader is providing an accepting and safe space in which every member’s writing is valued and heard.
I remember Sally, cautious and self-effacing, who wrote a short impersonal paragraph on week one. On the eighth week, she burst into the room, face flushed with excitement. “I’ve decided to write a memoir about what it was like to have rheumatic fever as a child!” As Sally wrote more, her memories surfaced and her confidence grew. I’ve witnessed this repeatedly in workshops as participants begin to see themselves as writers.
Many of my workshop participants will never publish their work in a journal or magazine. That isn’t the point. Some are writing for self-discovery or healing. Others want to record family stories or memories for their children or grandchildren. All learn something about themselves and the exercise of writing, if they are open to the process. Learning and writing practice, coupled with gentle, encouraging feedback from other members of the group, can calm the inner critic.
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Diane Forman is a writer and educator who has pieces published or upcoming in Boston Globe Connections, Intima: A Journal of Narrative Medicine, Cognoscenti, The Festival Review, FOLIO, and elsewhere. A graduate of Northwestern University and the Harvard Graduate School of Education, Diane lives on the north shore of Boston, where she leads adult writing groups.