A few months ago, as I mindlessly poked through the daily flood of junk mail, a newsprint flyer from Gotham Writers Workshops caught my attention. It was a catalog of sorts that described GWW's course offerings, including online classes. Coincidentally, my spouse had just become deeply immersed in an online writing class.
        I raised that subject during dinner and off she went, raving about the joys of writing and about the dramatic rise in her page output since beginning "the course." I was intrigued. My page output had been at nil for months. Maybe an online workshop could provide the kick in the butt my muse obviously needed.
        Since wifey's writing and workshopping frenzy consumed most of her waking hours, I found myself more often than not at loose ends in front of the big screen each evening, bored silly and working through a second or third six-pack before wandering off to bed alone.
        I tucked the flyer away in my might-do basket and enviously watched through the next few weeks as my better half cranked out thousands of words every day, piling up chapter after chapter of a first draft. She was inspired, she was inspirational, and she was very, very annoying.
        With nothing to lose except my hangovers, I clicked the mouse a few times, entered my credit card number, selected a catchy user name--"BigBadBard" was the best I could do on short notice--and I was officially enrolled in 10 weeks of online class and workshops at GWW.
        The basic course format included a weekly reading assignment, a weekly writing exercise, submission of two short stories (or chapters) during the 10 week session for critique by "the class," and an absolute requirement to critique the work of my fellow students on a weekly basis.
        Short story submissions and critiques were wrapped around a process called "the booth" in which the writer of the critiqued work must accept comments but refrain from arguing against any criticism. Critiques were by definition to include at least two complimentary comments and at least two constructive comments. That was the basic rule. Okay, fair enough, even if I was awful I would earn a little pat on the back just for trying. I could live with that.
        Surprisingly, the format suited me well. The muse climbed astride my frontal lobe and used her spurs--I was writing again, page after page after page of creativity. The spouse could have ran off with a farm-team shortstop and I wouldn't have noticed. I was writing again. The instructor, a young woman with a couple of fantasy novels in print, interacted smoothly with each of us. She was never too critical, nor was she too flattering. It was simultaneously soothing and stimulating. It worked, I was writing.
        All good things end sooner or later, and all too soon the class was finished. Once again I was watching you-know-who pound away at her keyboard while I surfed big screen and explored the lager of the day. Bitch.
        I simmered for awhile then decided that since one class was so very good, maybe a second class would be even better. Enrolling was easier the second time around since I already had a catchy user name.
        My second GWW workshop was presented in the same general format as was the first. Notably though, the instructor wasn't at all smooth. Rather than politely listing his credentials and welcoming his group of new supplicants, he dashed off a paragraph or two about the virtues of being unemployed and then cautioned us he might be difficult to contact for the next few weeks as he was sure to be busy.
        That didn't bode well. However, my credit card had already been hit for the tuition, so I quietly persevered with the familiar write/critique protocol and waited to see how the workshop developed.
        Having grown accustomed to the routine of two-compliment/two-slam critiques, I was quite annoyed by the next round of reviews. One of the workshoppers who described himself as a gloriously rugged, handsome and intelligent dude who "spent his early years wandering the Himalayas" seriously attacked the work of another student without bothering to supply the requisite two compliments. Additionally, he claimed that he had made the other student's work available to a large group of peers, a veritable horde of bored Himalaya wanderers. Apparently that group mutually decided that the work in question had absolutely no worth and indeed did suck. The group further decided that the writer had absolutely no talent, no writing ability, and furthermore his mother probably was just as useless.
        Well, to be truthful the submitted piece was indeed a rather rough read, but the two-compliment rule should still have been observed. Rules are rules. Thinking that such rudeness surely wouldn't be tolerated, I waited patiently for the instructor's response. Nada, zip, zilch.
        Eventually, the instructor zinged out a lame "well done class" and moved on to the next topic. I registered a complaint, pointing a finger at the offender and at the instructor for failing to enforce the two-compliment rule. Two days later the instructor emailed me that he was in Hawaii on his honeymoon and that he was far too occupied to deal with the issue at that moment.
        And it was at that moment that my muse bailed out. I became completely indifferent about writing and critiques and especially online workshops. Trudging through the next few topics, I went through the motions of being a student but I really had no interest in writing. Finally, a week before it was my turn in "the booth", my turn to have my work critiqued, I resigned the course. Since then, I've had no urges, not even an inkling of temptation, to delve again into online workshops.
        My first online workshop experience was perfect, almost therapeutic. There was a modicum of anonymity, and it didn't matter that I hadn't shaved, that I was wearing a robe in class--who would know? Everyone was polite, and that fit my temperament. There were rules that were followed, guarantees that every student would earn at least two compliments per effort. The naysayers were held in check and it was a safe writing environment. It was like being a kid again, like going to summer camp without the mosquitoes or the bullies.
        My second online workshop experience was a chore and was just plain unpleasant. It brought back memories of the creative writing classes I despised in college. It was a no man's land of egos and will, and it was not a suitable place to test one's creativity. It was awful.
        In summary, I found online workshops a generally worthwhile pursuit, but I don't know that I will do one again. Online workshops are relatively expensive and in my opinion are not a particularly good way to learn the craft of writing. A word of caution, workshops are structured so that you might lose entitlement to any chance of tuition refund before you've had your first real critique encounter. You should definitely read the fine print very carefully before enrolling.
        On the other hand, and to put things in perspective, the spouse is still engaged with online workshops and she still cranks out page after page after page. So maybe it's just me, or maybe my muse likes lager more than she should. Maybe I need a new muse.

         I decided to enroll in an online writing work-shop because I work long hours, and I continue to work on my day job when I get home at night. Writing gets postponed, forgotten. Taking a class provides structure and deadlines. It gives me a reason to add writing to my daily activities. Lest you think my ‘hub’ gets ignored due to my workaholism, rest assured, he’s usually sitting next to me in our tiny office, working on his own day-job overflow.
        So I decided to take the plunge and enrolled in a Writers Online Workshop (WOW)from Writer’s Digest. WOW course sessions include a canned “lecture” consisting of a page or two of information on some aspect of writing, additional sources you can open to read more on the topic, sometimes there is a text book with assigned reading, and there is a writing assignment for each class session.
        On the plus side, that first course walked me through the basics—selecting a story, a setting, the characters, the point of view, and the problem around which the piece would unfold. For each of these components, an assignment of 250-500 words was expected from each student. The online tool included a place to post your assignment and a place to post critiques for each of the other students’ assignments. The instructor would also weigh in on a section of the tool that only the student in question could view.
        For this class, the instructor was almost nonexistent. He never posted a note in the Lecture Hall note-pasting place. His comments on each of my assignments were short but complimentary, and then he would “cleverly” cut and paste some canned text about the topic at hand. His transitions sucked, making the demarcation between personal note and canned material quite easy to spot with one often having nothing to do with the other. 
        The other down side of the class was that it seemed an unlimited number of students could enroll, and I was stuck with the work of critiquing each of their weekly assignments, which turned out to be quite time consuming.
        But by the end of the eight weeks, I had a story, characters, setting, location, and a mystery that jumped fully-formed into my genre-loving brain. I was psyched and ready for another class.
        I continued with a second WOW workshop. Granted, I didn’t get much from the instructor in the first, but the deadlines moved me to do something I hadn’t done in a decade—begin a new book. I stayed with WOW because it was familiar, and it was cheaper by almost half when compared to Gotham. I was on a roll, and I was also hesitant to take a course like the ones at Gotham where energy had to be spent on writing exercises. I had “real” writing work to do.
        The second WOW course was fabulous. The instructor posted notes daily to the Lecture Hall. She answered questions, reminded us of impending deadlines, and even filled the white space with author quotes for inspiration. This instructor did not paste canned, impersonal writing information on my personal critiques. She provided not only a couple paragraphs about my work, but she went line-by-line, suggesting changes to my text.
        So, I was one-for-two at the end of my second class, and I had completed 12,000 words of my novel. Time to enroll in the Advanced Novel Workshop. In a situation that paralleled Ralph’s experience, I now ran into the teacher from hell. So self-involved was this minor author with few credits to her name that she said ‘hello’ on the first day of class and then dropped off the face of the earth for three weeks. At that time, WOW class work could not be posted for critique without the instructor first checking it (for bad words?). So here I was, 20% of the class gone and none of the dozen students could do a thing. The teacher did mention in her intro that she was about to attend the world’s greatest writing conference, and she was really busy teaching other WOW workshops. There were several of her “groupies” in the class who kept assuring the students that she was wonderful and worth waiting for, since she would line edit my writing. Some had taken a half dozen classes from the woman and, judging by the illiteracy of their posted comments, they truly needed someone to line edit whatever they wrote. It didn’t bode well for actually learning the craft.
        I posted one short note amid many negative comments from my fellow students. I simply stated that when I have taught in the past, my students were not particularly interested in my personal schedule, nor should they be. When you agree to teach a course, you have to show up.
        Well, to make a long story longer, the teacher eventually returned. She asked me to send her my personal email address, and when I did, she wrote me privately, kicking me out of the class, stating that I had broken the bond of trust between us. So, first she fails to do her job, and then she kicks me out.
        The situation was only made worse by the WOW management’s response. It took me multiple attempts to even get a response, and then only after I called the director directly. They did allow me to enroll in another class at no cost, but they offered no apology and this “teacher” continues to “teach.”
        So, that’s the good, bad, and ugly of my workshop experience. I suppose it’s no different from any school situation. It’s all about the teacher. Apparently, as long as students enroll, WOW management cares little about the quality of the product they deliver. Their fine teachers receive no better treatment than the slugs.
        Yet I continue to take a class from time to time. Why? For the deadlines and the critiques. So far, I’m still with WOW. One day I may try another venue, but for me, it’s a way to keep writing on my calendar, and I’m a much happier camper when I have the creative outlet. As an added bonus, my current class has a great teacher. At least I’m batting .500 again.
        Oh, and Ralph is typing away next to me tonight, working on an assignment for his latest writing workshop.  We still drink beer on Saturday nights, and we sometimes even critique each others’ work.  
  

Gotham Writers’ Workshops
  
“What's in a Workshop?”
  
By Ralph Sabelhaus  

Writers’ Online Workshops
  
“They’re cheaper than beer”
  
By Cynthia Sabelhaus