by Michelle Cameron, Co-Director Emerita
(cross-posted from Substack)
I was weeping almost daily on my way to my 9-5 job, hating being hemmed in by corporate rules and regulations, wishing desperately to reinvent myself, to live what I wistfully called “the writing life.”
After I published my first novel, The Fruit of Her Hands, I was invited to offer a weekend workshop, “Beginning Your Novel,” at Peter Murphy’s Poetry and Prose Getaway. The Getaway twice before changed my life – once by proving I was, in fact, a poet, and the second in giving me the motivation to finish that first novel (by encouraging me to get up at 4:30 am to write). On the strength of that published work, I taught novel writing for the first time.
And loved it. And determined to do more of it.
Without credentials such as an MFA or NJ teaching certification, I knew I couldn’t teach at the college or high school level. But there had to be a way. So I started networking, reaching out to anyone I thought could provide a path. And met with Judith Lindbergh, who was running a program called The Writers Circle.
That day at the Florham Park Panera changed my life – and perhaps Judy’s, too. She expounded on her philosophy of play-based prompts to encourage kids to find their voice, giving them freedom to write what they wanted. By the end of that meeting, I said the fateful words: “I want to be a partner.”
The way Judy drew back, startled at my audacity, showed me that I had a lot of convincing to do. The first step was finding a place to hold classes. On my way home, I stopped by the then-Madison bookstore, Sages Pages, and discovered a room atop the retail area where the proprietress was happy to have me teach. So I called Judy and told her I had a place. (She’s often said how shocked she was by the speed at which I’d acted.)
But since more convincing was needed, I showed up when it was time to set up the new classes. Figured out ways to teach by working early or late – yes, I was still working the corporate job. Did an “open house” to boost registration.
It would be several months before Judy agreed to a partnership. We drew up the legal agreements, including the fact that we were writers first, businesswomen second. It was an ambition we tried to honor – the words “I’m writing” came to mean “leave me alone” – but of course, running an actual business meant writing sometimes inevitably had to be put to the side. However, I’ll be forever grateful to that clause in our agreement, as it meant I was able to publish three novels during those 15 years.
As we built the business, there were plenty of times we looked at one another in wonder and said “what have we done?” We realized early on we needed other instructors to cover the genres we weren’t equipped to teach. That we had to offer adult classes in addition to kids classes – because, contrary to Judy’s personal experience that parents would only spend on their kids, we found plenty of NJ aspiring writers who longed for a local place to write in community.
And we were hyper-local, believing the best way to build community was to physically gather round a table and share work. We dabbled with the idea of virtual classes, but it wouldn’t be until Covid that we were forced to pivot to Zoom. When we did, we found people who tuned in from across the US and the globe – my favorite being the women in Tasmania who would wake up early to take an evening class.
Some of my favorite memories are tied to our “Summer Creative Writing Intensives for teens who love to write:” from the day at MONDO we decided how we might run the program, plotting it out on the huge white board, to our first day when we announced that they had a free write period and silence fell over the room. “Should we do something? Say something?” Judy asked nervously. “This is what they’re supposed to be doing,” I replied. And lo and behold, free write is almost always what these teens – super programmed as they are during the school year – love best.
More Summer Intensive memories: the terror of getting the kids on and off the ferry to visit Ellis Island. The day we raced around the Met Museum, not easily finding our kids because we’d chosen a common-colored red t-shirt that year. The years of amazing interns who, truly, made the program the success it became.
Of course, with the addition of adult workshops, different moments stand out. As I teach our novel track – Beginning, Continuing, and the Novel Continuum – I watched as so many of my students attained some form of publication. (While publication is deliberately not stressed at TWC, it’s hard to envision putting in all that effort into a novel without having it as a goal.) Several of my students still talk about the day we went to a bookstore and I told them to find “their” shelf. I attended several novel launch parties with immense pride. It’s been amazing to be such an integral part of transforming aspiring writers into actual authors.
Not to forget the special events, such as our weekend retreats in Mendham, or our mini-retreats at MONDO and Basking Ridge; our tea and poetry events; our agent panels, and so much more. And even the days promoting the program, at street fairs and especially book festivals.
And then there are the friendships that I’ve made with fellow writers who share my drive and enthusiasm. People don’t always understand what it takes to be a writer, the angst at a difficult plot point, the glory in writing a gorgeous sentence that seems to emerge from nowhere. TWC was always intended to create a community of writers supporting one another. I’m thrilled to have my own mini-circle made up of both students and instructors.
So, fifteen years of the best job I’ve ever had have gone by in a flash. I’m continuing to teach, continuing to write – but am bidding farewell to the administrative/managerial part of TWC. How do I feel about it? Right now, it’s hard to say goodbye, to imagine not seeing my in-box full of a day’s worth of challenges, to do the difficult job of putting together the session’s jigsaw of workshop scheduling. And, of course, I will always have immense pride in what Judith Lindbergh and I created, and look forward to seeing what’s next over the horizon for TWC.
