In an effort to do more writing I enrolled in a writing workshop near my house. It’s called Rose Writers and I highly recommend it to anyone living in the Long Beach, Ca area. Its not like most writing workshops. There are no critiques of your work. You simply write in a supportive environment with no judgement. Many use it as a therapeutic way to express themselves. It’s actually a wonderful way to grow and explore thoughts and feelings you didn’t even know you had.
I thought it would be nice to share some of the prompts we use in class and post my writing in these mini posts. I think it would be great if you wanted to do a bit of writing and used these prompts to get the ball rolling. I know it is helping me a lot.
This and all future excerpts shared here are written in class within 5-20min writing sessions we are given. No editing will be done. Some are funny, some cut a little deeper, all are meant to be a way to explore writing and your own individual voice.
**All writing done in this workshop is considered fiction through the point of view of a narrator**
Prompt: Write about a memory of kindergarten or 1st grade
You would’t know it looking at me, but I was a very shy kid. I don’t mean that adorable kind of shy kid hiding behind her mom’s legs, sneaking a peak occasionally when it was safe. I mean vomiting all over myself from nerves and having a full blown panic attack shy. That relentlessly crying kid every morning begging not to be left at school. That was me. My kindergarten teacher, Mrs. C, was very patient. She was sweet and had long hair down to her knees that flowed in the breeze while she swung on the swings urging me to join her. Fat chance Mrs. C! I’d rather tremble with anxiety right here on the bench, thank you very much. One day we were given the assignment to trace our hand on a piece of paper and cut it out to make turkeys or some shit, I don’t know. What I did know was the bell had rung and I was out of there. I could see my dad outside the door waiting for me.
Now, the next bit is a little fuzzy, but apparently Mrs. C told me I needed to finish cutting out my hand and then I could go. Unfathomably, my dad agreed. The traitor. This had become a full blown hostage situation. Mrs. C wanted my traced hand cut out and I would not be returned to my parent until she got it. I bawled while holding that flimsy piece of paper in one hand, desperately trying to get a hold of myself so I could make those damn safety scissors work. I could hear my dad encouraging me from just outside the door. Sweet man had no idea the life long emotional scar this moment would become for me.
I guess I finally cut out my hand because I did make it home that day. 5 was a tough year for me. I’m proud to say that I made it out of kindergarten. The crying had stopped and I can look back at that school year with peace. I’ll never know whatever became of Mrs. C, but I want her to know I forgive her.
Spiritual Therapy...a journey 