If you judge the success of a writing workshop only by the number of participants, you’d have to say the most recent one I taught was a failure. During the Wings Over Willcox Birding & Nature Festival two weeks ago, only three people joined me in the dining room off the main hall of the Willcox Community Center for a two-hour exploration of writing about wildlife.
But one of the prerogatives of being an adult is, you get to define “success” your way. Nobody gets to tell you what earns an “A” and what earns an “F.” Going into this workshop, as with the ones I taught in Alaska last August, one of my goals was to learn how to lead workshops. I acknowledge that I’m a newby at this. I accept that experience is going to teach me things.
By that measure, I succeeded, because I learned something. If you want people to participate in your workshop, you have to advertise it ahead of time, via your own social media outlets and in the festival’s printed program. I’d offered this workshop too late for the organizer’s print deadline. So, my workshop was advertised online, but not in the four-color printed document every festivalgoer received when they checked in.
I did get three students, though, and I learned from them, too. One was a nature blogger, another had written for Arizona Wildlife Views in the past (and been edited by me, too). The third had come to the festival for personal reasons and wanted to capture some of his experiences and insights in writing.
Because there were only three, I was able to adjust my curriculum and talk with each of them about their specific goals and needs and questions when it comes to writing about wildlife. As with the previous workshop, there was time not just for talk but for writing. I also gave them time for revising their rough draft and for reading out loud. Everyone was diligent about all three. They were really into it. And the first drafts they read aloud made me glad I’d offered the workshop.
In the end, it’s not about the number of students. A workshop succeeds if every participant gets something out of it, and I learn something, too. I came away feeling humbled and honored to have helped people create something new, a piece of art, a piece of writing that expressed appreciation and emotion. Being a “workshop leader” sounds so grand. I know I’m more of a “workshop provider.”
I’d like to do this again, sometime.