Another workshop, "Mad Writing," has ended. And I'm still here rather dazed, shaken by a range of emotions difficult to decipher. What remains when a creative writing workshop comes to an end? At least three things. As far as I'm concerned, as big as the Sun, it can warm the soul in the same way.
The Heroes' Journey
The joy of the participants is undoubtedly the most important. I see them smile, I hear them laugh, sometimes I feel emotionality prevail over the rest. They arrive at the first evening hesitant, with some (justifiable) perplexity, because after all they have never participated in a similar experience and do not know what to expect. They don't know me. We don't know each other. It could be a boring activity, even a wasted evening. At the last appointment, then, they interact with each other as if they had known each other for a lifetime, they address jokes to me, read and dissect their writings in every respect; They talk about the difficulties encountered and what they liked the most. And they would never want to leave, so much so that I have to venture a "If you like let's do one last exercise". For the record: no one gets up. At that point all I have to do is observe in silence. The only concession is, in turn, an amused grimace. Everything in the middle between the initial greeting and the "see you next time" is the magic, the journey, the beauty of my work. Because it is becoming one. And I couldn't be happier.
A gold mine
The second thing to remain are the writings produced. A gold mine in which you can find everything: emotional storms , memories that surface, misplaced hopes and others still in the making, lights that suddenly turn on and make you realize that yes, that thing could really be done. It often happens that an exercise is almost as functional as an analyst's session. The difference is that the analyst is not there, I am certainly not; You are naked in front of the blank sheet and this helps to create a dimension in which you can find yourself (or simply get lost, because you want / need that). It often happens to surprise me when I listen to the works of the participants. In five minutes they manage to write complex and intense pages, often real pieces of inspired narrative , pungent, warm and above all genuine. There is no time for re-reading and it is not even appropriate. I play a bit with the images and I see everything as a sort of blood draw: at that moment I am taking from them a sort of existential fluid that together we will analyze a few moments later. Those texts represent them, flow through them. And they "are" those texts.
Mirror of self
Third thing: awareness. Those who participate in meetings of writing creativity do not only offer me something of their own. It inevitably becomes a mirror. Through them, and what we do in the two hours of Tuesday or Thursday evening, I see myself again and touch the effectiveness of the proposal I have been working on; The wisdom of the decision taken in March 2022, when I renounced part of my journalistic collaborations to start the writing workshops, an activity that was primarily mine (at the company level), original enough and that could allow a "fusion" of intents with the participants. They don't just be my customers, no. They are an integral part of the project and of the single path: together we write and build a network in which to find good writing, funny and dreamy texts (but also raw and cynical) and, last but not least, connections between people. I feel fulfilled and for this I will never stop thanking them. But I also thank myself, my stubbornness, the desire to go beyond the negative opinions of the people next to me when it comes to choosing. Because no one will ever take your business risk, it will always be up to you. It's life, beauty.Particularly when it comes to jumping from the balcony of one building to another. People love security and discourage dreaming. You will always have to do existential parkour. And I'm happy to tackle my parkour. So far, it hasn't killed me.