Write Around Portland

I just finished a writing workshop through Write Around Portland. Write Around Portland is a non-profit that aims to help people find their voices when they might not otherwise have an outlet to do so. From their website:

"Our traditional workshops are held in partnership with social service agencies. They are offered at no charge to people living with HIV/AIDS, veterans, survivors of domestic violence, adults and youth in addiction recovery, low income seniors, people in prison, homeless youth and others who may not have access to writing in community because of income, isolation or other barriers."

They also offer a paid workshop that helps raise funds to support their traditional workshops, which made me very happy. One of the things I loved about this workshop was the the fact that I didn't have to do anything to prepare for it. Every Monday, I showed up at Powell's with a pen and my notebook. We would all gather around a table in a Powell's conference room, back where books are held or sorted and employees quietly do their jobs. Usually, a man out on the street played the violin and the sounds drifted up to our little room where we thought up things to write while munching on Goldfish crackers and apple slices.

We would all wander in, sit down, and be given two prompts. We could either use one of those prompts, both of them, or nothing at all. The goal was to write freely for eight minutes or ten minutes, or however long the moderator chose. Then we would read aloud, receive feedback (all positive, since these were not finished pieces), and start over. Usually, we got through three or four short pieces a night.

Here's a very short one I wrote. I was quite glad when the time for writing was over because I had no idea what I was going to write next. The two prompts were "shame," and "the edge of a cliff."

Cliff felt no shame. Why should he? He was merely going about his business. So what if some lady ran into him with her shopping cart? How could Cliff help that?

The six-cart pile-up that ensued required cleanup on aisle ten. In fact, aisle ten was temporarily closed. Shoppers were forced to detour, and nobody would be able to fill their baskets with condiments, pre-packaged nuts, or canned fish for at least twenty minutes.

Other shoppers glared at Cliff as they blocked the aisles, grumbling about the inconvenience.

"I hope you're happy," one woman said to Cliff.

"I'm just glad nobody was seriously hurt," said another.

Cliff shrugged as he stooped his large frame to retrieve the groceries from his basket, which had spilled around his feet. The mayonnaise jar was cracked.

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