This Baby is Bad

     We are told in class that our first assignment is to turn in a 500-word creative non-fiction writing piece.  Being that this is a creative writing class, this is totally acceptable and anticipated.  What comes next, is not.  We are to bring extra copies of our piece to be handed out to others for critique.

     OK, I know it's an over the top example, but it feels a little like handing over my precious, new born infant for critical examination.  I am breathlessly watching as the body is passed from person to person, while they poke and prod.  "Nice angle of the jaw, but this nose is much too long and will need to be sliced".  Another chimes in, "And God forbid we should allow the jutting of this elbow...what were you thinking?"  And still another, "The poochy belly really works well here, but perhaps a little more pooch?"  WTF?  Who willingly subjects themselves to that kind of scrutiny over a tender extension of themselves?  Is this really what writing looks like?  Is there no other way?

     So, I imagine myself remembering to breath during this process.  And I imagine myself remembering that I signed up for this class, and according to the teacher who seems to know her stuff, this is how it's done.  Trust and move forward?  Or snatch my precious little piece of carefully crafted vulnerability, and bolt from the room?  Time will tell.

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     And this, Dear Reader, is what I will be submitting in class tomorrow for my first writing assignment in my first creative writing class.  It's either a brilliant idea, or will mark me for the rest of the semester, with a scarlet branding upon my chest.  "Asshole, insecure writer, who doesn't know what the hell she is doing, nor does she feel worthy of doing it - but continues to seek some sort of legitimacy all the same".  "A" for brevity.