Yesterday, I sent about 2500 words of my nonfiction project to be considered for a day-long workshop on personal narrative writing.
“Which piece should I send?” I asked an experienced writer who has heard many segments of the project. “Which works best as a stand-alone?”
“Doesn’t matter,” they replied. “You won’t get in.”
I was surprised, but not offended. I knew he wasn’t saying my work isn’t good. He likes my work (or he’s been doing a really good job of faking it.) He’s just of the opinion that my style doesn’t match what they are looking for, based on his perception of the people and publication behind the workshop.
I decided to give it a try anyway. Going through my binder, I considered and rejected many segments. From what I had heard, I had an impulse to choose one that included my time at MIT or some other attention-getting intellectual thing. But many of the segments don’t work well as a stand-alone, because they’re far along in the book.
In the end, I chose an early chapter. The protagonist is not at MIT, or studying to be a therapist, or having an edgy time in rehab. She’s a preadolescent torturing her toys. It’s often funny, sometimes sad, and very authentic. I like it. Don’t know if they will.
Lori Lynne Armstrong 