> CD #122: Iterations
Apologies, once again, for the delay in posting. I am currently taking a writing class online, which means all my words are going elsewhere, and this newsletter is suffering for it. Actually, I’m not sure if you noticed the delay? This might be like the time I asked my son whether he was sick of my school lunch schedule—I’ve packed him the same lunches on rotation every week for the past 3–4 years—and he said, “There’s a schedule?”
Anyway, when I told my sister-in-law I was doing a writing class, she was very confused about why I would need to take a class if I’ve already published two books. I don’t think she understands the full extent of my imposter syndrome, how much I still feel like a beginner who somehow lucked into all of this. But also, there is always something new to learn.
The class, taught by Sabrina Orah Mark, is called “One Essay,” where participants revise the same piece over and over each week, trying to find different ways into it. Her promise: “You will arrive with a single topic, and I will provide prompts each week for you to shatter, repair, undo, plant, unearth, and then replant your topic until something (fingers crossed) unexpected grows.”
I took the class because I feel like sometimes my writing doesn’t go deep enough, and I worry I may have picked up some bad habits over the past few years writing this newsletter, where I’ve trained myself to tell stories quickly and efficiently, but not always with as much consideration as they might need.
The essay I started with was this Closet Dispatch post and, over the past four weeks, it has morphed and stretched into unexpected territories. I’ve surprised myself each time I rework it, and it feels like I am only beginning to discover what it really wants to be. It is slowly revealing itself to me, and the next iteration might be the best one yet.
I’m reminded of the nine pairs of opaque black tights I have accumulated over the past 13 years, each time thinking I’ve finally found a pair that works (warm enough for winter weather, opaque but not dimensionless, and just the right shade of black—yes, there are shades of black). But every year or two, I discover a new pair that’s just a bit better.
Maybe by taking this class, I’m attempting a new iteration of myself, too. One that’s a little closer to who I want to be in this life: a deeper thinker, a writer who is not afraid to start another draft, even when the previous four were decent, and a person who recognizes that no one is never really finished until, well, we’re finished. To see it all as an adventure instead of a burden, even though I have to drag myself out of bed on Sunday mornings to start the East Coast class at 7:15 a.m. Mountain Time.
Will the next draft of myself be a morning person? Ha, never.
:) Teresa
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That class sounds like a lot of fun. I have several older essays floundering around—I keep “revising” by tinkering but maybe what I need is starting again with the main topic! Food for thought; thanks.
Teresa, wow! Thank you for this post! It hit home reading about the imposter syndrome, feeling like I'm comfy to be a 'forever beginner,' and I also believe there's always more to learn. I'm with Cara. I'm going to Google about the class, and I hope you'll write more about it!