The Workshop

"We don't use that word here," Patty says.

"You don't use—"

"No," she stops me. "We don't even use the letter."

"Why?" A confused look crosses my face. "How does that even work?"

Patty, who leads the workshop every Thursday afternoon, chuckles. She welcomed me openly, but the sense of amusement at fresh meat hangs over the table.

"We are a group of people who enjoy a good mental challenge," she says. "Jake can demonstrate."

She gestures to the man next to me, who looks to be about twenty-two, clearly a regular attendee of the workshop groups' events.

"Today, we do not use the letter that falls between 'h' and 'j" when we speak, type, or create. Next week, we ban the use of the second-person tense."

"But you can't even say what you are. You can't even say the name of the group today."

"We can say we're a workshop. We are a group that takes pen to paper together. We type together. We share feedback. We use that feedback for change to make our work better, or don't, whatever your preference happens to be," Jake says.

"But you can't say everyone's names."

"To be honest, my name sucks anyway. What my parents gave me never felt accurate," says a woman at the end of the table. "Too common. A pseudonym would do."

"Why are you here today, Alyssa?" Patty asks, softer than the chuckle she let out before. Her tone welcomes me to share and settles down the rest of the group.

Our campus, known for colorful characters and artsy capers, has several groups sponsored by the student engagement department to support the students' talents. Before today, these groups never appealed to me.

"My focus has always been on words, so my counselor encouraged me to attend the workshop that, apparently, may not be named today."

"And what do you hope to create?" she asks.

"Poetry, essays, maybe the start of a short novel."

"You came to the best place for that," Jake says.

"How does today's challenge help, though? My thoughts feel too slow. Each sentence feels as though we censor ourselves as we speak. How can we create under these rules?"

"That's the challenge. You have to be able to create when you're bound by form. The use of language and letters counts for that too," Patty says.

"Okay, that makes sense. Thank you for humor— uh," the words struggle to form and follow the rules. "Just thank you."

"Of course," Patty says. "We love when we get to welcome a new member to the group."

The others laugh and suddenly seem ready to move on. Notebooks open, papers shuffle, and everyone looks expectantly toward Patty.

"Let's free create. That's how we'll phrase our regular start today," she says. "You can use every letter for only the free create. Then, we are back to our challenge."

The blank page looks more manageable as she says we can create free of today's group obstacle. Words flow across the page. A full sheet of paper later, Patty calls for us to put our pens down.

"How do we feel?" she asks.

"The challenge may be harder now," a woman to my left says.

"We can revert back to the correct thought process," Jake says. "We have had harder challenges over the last few weeks."

"Thank you for your thoughts," Patty says. "Now, take the results from your free create, and mark every use of today's taboo letter."

"See?" the woman asks as she leans forward to mock Jake's sense of abandon.

We mark and count our use of the letter. Patty asks us to keep our totals to ourselves.

"Now, let's re-create," she commands. "How can you replace your words or rephrase your work to remove that letter? Select a sentence or two to try."

The words on my paper become synonyms pulled from dusty and abandoned corners of my vocabulary. Somehow, they read of poetry, regardless of the way they belong more as prose.

"New pages, please," Patty orders us. "Poetry has rules for form that we can choose whether or not to use. We can create a nonet, an ode, an elegy, or any of the many forms that use a pattern of rhyme or syllables. However, today, we stay true to our free create's theme. Free verse poems can have challenges, too. Let's all work on a free verse poem that excludes our chosen letter. Any length. Make sure you are comfortable to share your work. We'll workshop these next week."

My thoughts buzz, and my work turns out better than expected for a hasty workshop poem.

What love reflects back at them

her eyes full of sweet sparkle,

each look, a hug felt deep below the surface

reassurance, acceptance, a love free of obstacles

or so they thought,

but an end can come so unexpectedly

and heartbreak spares no one

from the sudden agony of betrayal,

abandonment to be alone

"Okay, workshoppers, wrap up where you are. One moment, and we'll chat process," Patty announces.

"That was not as hard as expected," the woman next to me says.

"Told you so," Jake says.

"How'd that feel?" Patty asks. "Alyssa?"

"She's correct. That was not as hard as expected. My poem seems to work."

"We also ask all of our newcomers, how does the workshop feel?" Jake asks.

"The workshop feels odd, but a good odd."

We talk about our poems more and come to a close of the assembly. Moyer Hall closes at 7:30 p.m., and the clock approaches 7:25. My heart feels heavy at the thought that we need to leave already. We started at 5:00, but the hour and a half flew by faster than assumed.

"So shall we see you at a future workshop, Alyssa?" Patty asks.

"Yes. No second-person tense then, correct?"

Patty nods. My hands reach for my phone to type a "thank you" message to my counselor. She was correct. The workshop could change a lot for me.