The Write Dress

I went to a writing workshop on Saturday. It was put on by the Manitoba Writers' Guild and was free to members. I and seven others met with the afternoon's moderator, a local publisher, and shared five pages of work for feedback. I wasn't ready to present any of my novel yet so I tweaked and edited my Dear Diary, Today I Met a Dress post. There were three people who read before it was my turn and I went through my usual bout of insecurities about the work I had chosen. When I read I could hear nervousness in my voice. It was shakey and I couldn't seem to fix it. When I finished I looked up and waited for someone to say something. I never breath during that moment of silence before the first comment.

The feedback was pretty good, actually. The hard part about doing a group share like this is that everyone brings with them his/her own perspectives, ideas and preferences about what the story should be. This can be helpful sometimes, but frustrating too when it seems that your audience didn't "get" your story. Fortunately, I had two encouraging reviews from women who did understand the character. The mediator author seemed to see more in the story than I knew was there. He made a round about comparison of it to Sylvia Plath's The Bell Jar. At that moment I realized that I need to get back on the writing horse. I've been spending Friday nights reviewing and lightly editing but that's not enough. Not if I'm going to be Sylvia Plath it isn't. Then again, Plath wrote for a women's magazine, had her personal journals published, battled mental issues and committed suicide. Perhaps she's not quite the right girl to model myself after.

I met another dress this week: a happy pink silk Halston Heritage cockail dress. I tried it on--for fun only, because it's price tag said Three-hundred-and-No-You-Can't-Have-Me-Sixty-Five dollars. But once I try something on, it's pretty hard to get it out of my head. Oh it was beautiful. And somehow, when I looked in the mirror I saw me, at a fabulous party or gallery thing (Amara did tell me about an event at the Art Gallery I should go to) or something fabulous that would call for a fabulous me in a fabulous dress. That's what young professional and fashionable women like me are supposed to be doing, right? I promise myself, when I have my book deal, I can buy the the hottest, most knock out dress that three-hundred-and-yes-you-deserve-this-sixty-five dollars can buy.