Workshop Watching

Today I attended an internet poetry workshop that allows writers to submit poems for critique. Anyone can have their Writer's Orgones vivisected by editors and pro poets. Submissions are chosen, and the pros chop and screw the stanzas and phrases from live feed. Honest chat contributors throw unapologetic, constructive feedback.

All writers mentally soapbox themselves. During proofreads I think some lines are Pulitzer fare. The work may be rank but I can't adapt false humility when submitting with any faith. Conversely, I have no idea how a stranger might react to my work. An inured sense of audience is tantamount to success in art. I feel like I'm school again, and I enjoy that. We all need class sometimes. 

I learn that the chat critics all hate basic accidents, those draft scribbler's mistakes. Use of cliché and tense changes mid-paragraph. I comprehend their perspective. I'm not learning "how to write". I know that already. There's a behavioral study going on here, like a guide to tickling the average person's giddy. What they like, how they like it, and where their goosebumps rise. That's the key to successful artistic unfolding.

Sounds like some Ted Bundy stuff. It's not like that. Or maybe it is! A writer's job IS to gut the reader's emotions the way a serial killer eviscerates a new sex toy. Be it romance, horror, literary drama or comedy, that's the goal. Did the reader laugh, scream or cry? Does the reader kinda hate the writer now? The writer wants the reader's emotive acids churning during the storytelling. Otherwise, what's the point? 



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