“Today’s inspiration,” Misty held her arms up in the air like a televangelist as she said these two words, “I want you to write about your friends from childhood. Think about how to describe their essence.” Her hands turned to fists with the word “essence,” and I thought, once again, if I hadn’t already paid for this damn course, I could have dropped out. “Think about what they looked like, what they smelled like. Make them our friends, too.”
I grit my teeth and doodled a few curse words in the corner of my planner. Usually the writing workshops at the Stamford Public Library weren’t terrible. I’d done a six-week screenwriting class that resulted in half of a screenplay that I never planned to do anything with but really helped me punch up my plotting.
Despite it’s dubious name, Wow-Worthy Writing seemed like it could have potential: Make your stories come alive with better details! But even I, MFA-school dropout, could have taught this class better.