I’m at a writers workshop; does that make me an adult now?
I came here with my mother to get out of the house, goodness knows I need to more often. But as I’m sitting here I thought to myself, do I belong? I’m obviously the youngest here. Not to mention, I’m not even following the instructions on what I’m supposed to be doing right now.
Write ten things you’re interested in, turn them into questions, answer one of the questions.
To me, video games, Harry Potter, kittens, and tattoos (to name a few) do not have good prospects for a first article.
I’m sitting here, the women in front of me is drinking white wine, the speaker is talking about drinking abroad, and I myself am four years into sobriety, yet I’m not even the legal drinking age. Do I belong here? Am I too young to “throw my life away” to write? Hell, I haven’t even gone to college, and have no intention to. I can be described in two words: Underage Masochist.
So obviously, being who I am, I thought it a good idea to ignore the vague authority that lay before me to make my own prompt, the one we saw in the beginning of the slideshow. “Why are you here?”
To be fair, I’m not sure. I write fiction, not blogs. Or at least I try too when I get the motivation. I use plenty of things as an excuse not to write: my parents are divorcing, I got a new kitten, I’m reading the Harry Potter series for the umpteenth time, etc, etc. I want to be here, of course, if I didn’t want to be I wouldn’t be here. But I still feel my mind wandering to insecurities.
In the beginning we had to say who we were, what we do, what we write. I couldn’t think of what to say besides, “Hey, I’m Elli, Lily’s daughter, I have ideas and I don’t write them down.” But my mind went a million other places: Hi, I’m Elli, my life’s a mess and I’m only 20 years old. Hi, I’m Elli, I don’t do shit with my life, but I still expect to be better than everyone else for some reason. But also, Hi I’m Elli and I really fucking hate speaking to all of you because I’m having a silent panic attack and you all are going to judge me for being a 20 year old failure.
My brain is obviously a very positive place, I know. To be honest, I don’t really want to publish this, or anything for that matter. To me, my thoughts are private. My stories are private. I don’t let even the people I’m closest to know exactly what I’m thinking, and if by the grace of god I decide to let people in to see the true inner workings of my brain, I falter, I decompose mentally: what if they don’t like it? What if it’s complete trash? And who am I, a 20 year old loser, in every sense of the word, to give my opinion about anything?
Obviously, I’m quite pompous for not even following the prompt. I did try, to be fair. I thought about what all I know about how tattoos are/are not taboo, and how many loves one person gets in life, according to me. But really, why? I didn’t have anything new or profound to say. I write YA fiction, and though I’ve had a lot happen in my life, I can’t see my opinion of love turning that many heads, or how my new kitten is super fucking cute changing the world. So, instead, here I am, in the flesh on your screen, defying the help I’m being given on how to write every day. Because, that’s just who I am- A too young, loser in societies mind, that doesn’t like following advice, and likes to slowly ruin her life.
So, do I belong here? I give that question a resounding “yes!” Because if I can’t follow this, than I obviously need some manner of help, and no, I have no idea if I’m an adult or not.
“Why are you here?” Is such a broad question, and to be frank, I didn’t know to much about what we’d be doing here. All I saw was an add on Facebook that had the words “write” and “workshop”, so I decided to come. Although I don’t know how applicable this is to my form of writing, and I’m glad I came. Will I use this in the future, I’m not sure, if I do, I’m sure it won’t be for any kind of blogging but who knows.
The questions I made for myself: “Am I too young?” and “do I belong here?” Really don’t matter. All that matters is that I learned something, I’ve grown, and I have a lot more to grow as a writer. This is simply the beginning.