Running my first workshop, on Zoom, felt like swimming in a deep lake—joyous and free, as swimming always is, yet slightly terrifying, when I imagined what might rise up from beneath. Giant squids don’t live in Zoom, fortunately. But other (less slimy) problems can come out of nowhere, often in ways one wouldn’t expect.
My first workshop, with the incredible middle-school students of Author’s Lab and my wonderful collaborator, Isabel, fell victim to a few surprises. Initially, Isabel and I found that our microphones were running in different timezones. Her words took a long ten seconds to reach me, and vice versa, leaving the class in an echoey Abbott & Costello routine. Our Wifi joined in on the fun, lagging gleefully in the middle of discussions and feedback time. We weren’t sure what to do—would the students stay patient with us?
Here I was privy for the first time to the loving community that 916 Ink writers know so well. While Isabel and I dealt with our Internet issues and figured out what to do next, many of our students unmuted themselves and said, with a mix of amusement and compassion, “It’s okay! Zoom isn’t anyone’s fault.” Others wrote, “Be patient, everyone,” in the chat, or private-messaged me, the nervous newcomer, to say “Don’t worry! You’re doing a great job.” Having seen in my middle school how students can sometimes act toward distressed or muddled teachers, I found their support not only heart-warming, but remarkable.
We dealt with the lag and mutant microphones and turned, finally, to writing. Of course, brilliant stories and kind thoughts could only leave me with a brighter smile. One standout was a story about a dwarf heading off to battle. He spoke in a booming Scottish accent—performed well, I thought, by the reader—and tossed axes at cave walls like a drunk man with a dartboard.
Near the end of class, I read my story, and demanded that the students “lavish me with praise” as a fellow Wordslinger likes to put it. And lavish they did; not since elementary school do I recall feeling so supported in my writing. Sadly, the clock soon turned to 5:00. I waved goodbye, left the Zoom, and promptly called my mom to tell her about the class.
