Take advantage of the SBWC staff year round ("Santa Barbara is a writers' city" -- Shelly Lowenkopf)
by Melinda Palacio -- June 12, 2005
Several months after the Santa Barbara Writers Conference ends each year attendees look back with longing to the time there. But SBWC's executive director, Marcia Meier, now brings a taste of the conference year round. Shelly Lowenkopf's weekend intensive on February 5 could have been named, "All the things you already know about writing, but desperately need to hear, again."
Lowenkopf's years as a professor of writing at USC makes him well equiped with resourses for teaching. For his weekend intensive he brought along lectures on the craft of writing, a "to do" list for revision of manuscripts, and basic definitions of short story, novel, arc, and character, to name a few. There were handouts, including a "story map", a kind of dramatic pattern, and Lowenkopf's own list of the best 100 short stories of all time.
In addition to bringing his knowledge on the business of the writing and publishing to his teaching, Lowenkopf inspires each participant. His many years as the Pirate Workshop leader at the Santa Barbara Writers Conference has fostered a tribal sensibility among participants and an atmosphere where complete strangers bond into a family and are willing to sacrifice sleep in order to hear their peers read their writing well into the wee hours.
Although a camaraderie develops between the pirate workshop enthusiasts who manage to stay awake until 3 or 4 o'clock in the morning, Lowenkopf only has the opportunity to offer a few minutes of his wisdom to each. February's weekend intensives allowed him to work closer on a one-on-one basis with each student. "This has a greater sense of continuity and there is a communal feeling," said Lowenkopf.
Another benefit of the weekend intensive is Lowenkopf's willingness to take on the role of mentor. He doesn't merely create a friendly atmosphere where people feel comfortable enough to share their work. He takes charge and allows his professor persona to take control. The participants enjoy the close-knit sessions and Lowenkopf's extra attention. The Montecito resident also prefers working with a smaller group. Eight to ten people is ideal, he said. "There is an interaction and ideas grow faster like a linear accelerator--ideas smash around and hit each other."
"It's a chance to work at close range with a group
of people who are not
going to be in and out or distracted. You see a project that grows.
You see people allowing their enthusiasm to be like a magnet.
Material that's a lump at first begins to take shape."
One of the highlights of Lowenkopf's weekend workshop was the writing assignment and the lesson on concept versus story. He gave ten concepts, suitable for development into a short story, and asked everyone to write a short story based on one of the ten concepts. Each person went home and poured their hearts into an original story. The assignment, along with Lowenkopf's "toolkit" for writers led to some fine writing.
Although Lowenkopf hates writing contests and calls them "absolutely dumb," he was forced to choose the best story. Laurie Richards took the prize--a book signed by Barnaby Conrad--for her short story opening "Springing Jimmie Rae." Richards chose this concept:
A woman at a coffee shop overhears three men plotting to kidnap a friend from a nursing home where he has been placed against his wishes by his children.
Lowenkopf's objection was that the contest prize was a book and not publication. Let's hope that the participants turn their writing exercises into a published short story. For more information on the SBWC Weekend Intensives contact Marcia Meier at SBWC or Shelly Lowenkopf at The Writers Service.
Richards winning exercise is below.
Springing Jimmie Rae
by Laurie Richards.
"Do we leave a note?" The fellow wearing the faded plaid hunting cap and wire-rimmed glasses with lens thicker than the bottom of a Michelob bottle leaned forward and whispered in a loud voice to his two pals. Then all three looked over at me in the booth across from them. I shifted my glance to the fried eggs on my plate that I had just covered with black pepper, lots more than I wanted. But, I'd gotten carried away while I was eavesdropping on snatches of their conversation.
I skewed up my nose, took my fork and shoveled off the pepper, all the while careful to avoid looking their way. Thank the lord for a keen sense of hearing. And for their conversational tone that was just a decibel short of a yell because the old gents must have been deaf on top of old.
"Leave a note, Hoop?" one of his friends said in a tone laden with certain knowledge that his buddy was a Class A dolt.
"A note?" said the third, in an actual whisper. I tilted my best ear toward their table, pretending to look at the wall beside me. "You mean like ... 'we've got Jimmy Rae. Bring his walker and four adult diapers to the old mine at midnight?' That kinda note?"
One of them snickered, which turned into a sneeze, that morphed into a cough, and I watched when I heard phlegm rise in his ancient craw. Gray mucous exploded from the guy's thin lips and splattered against Hoop's glasses. They didn't notice my stare. The cougher's hands covered his face, and the other guy got busy thumping his back, while Hoop rubbed a paper napkin against his glasses but his hands shook so much, he was only smearing them worse.
"Cut it out, Dennis," said the thumper guy. "You could lose your teeth laughing like that."
"Hell," Dennis said. "These ain't my teeth." He
pushed out a set of false uppers and sucked them back in place again.
Hoop put his glasses back on. "Some rescuers we're gonna
be. If an orderly tries to stop us, we'll have to gum him
senseless."
"Yeah." The guy named Dennis chuckled. "Those goons at Coffin Convalescent better watch their step."
The thumper pounded the table once, hard and loud, and the other two sat up straight.
"Lloyd," Hoop said. "Don't do that. I don't need no loud noises from you."
"Look, this is very easy," Lloyd said. "Just go through it one more time. You start, Dennis."
Dennis coughed again, cringed and shook his head when Lloyd raised a helping hand to give him a thump. "I'll start, yeah. We take two cars -- "
"Good thing," Hoop said. "We've only got two cars between us."
"-- we take two cars and I go in first," Dennis went on. "Just visiting Jimmie Rae, I tell 'em."
Jimmie Rae? Jimmie Rae Brewster? I felt the weight of my cell phone in my blazer pocket.
"Then me right after," Hoop said. "I'll be asking to check out the facilities. Their cardiac casino."
"And I follow right up," Lloyd said, "asking for a guided tour. Hoop fakes an attack right then, and I raise a ruckus that he's dying."
Hoop slid out of the booth, pretty fast for a creaking codger. Lloyd jumped up, spry like, and when Dennis slid out of the booth, he stared straight at me with twinklin' eyes, and I pretended ignorance. "Then Jimmie Ray and I waltz right outta there," he said.