workshop-catalog – the pelagic school

WORKSHOPS

Workshops provide defined seasons and microseasons in your writing. Each of these workshops guides you with progressive prompts and exercises structured around different approaches to getting writing written, opening toward new moods and facings in your writing mind.

You can follow along on the site, download PDFs of each day’s prompts, download zines of most of the completed workshops in the zine library, or order printed copies of some of these workshops over on the bookshop page if you like it real old school.

THE MAP ROOM

duration: ten installments

genre: any

The Map Room considers the energetic, generative relationship between mapping and writing. Taking a tour through ten different stations from which to consider what maps are, how they wield knowledge, how to make them and how to use them in storytelling, it proliferates perspectives.

WHALE FALL

duration: 6 weeks or other durations

genre: any

Whale Fall embraces the marine-biological phenomenon of whale fall as the source for a new story form that grows life from death, that follows communities in succession. Its process is a three-part one: early draft stages of conjure-collecting and assembling are followed by an approach to final draft drawn from ideas of caregiving. Built to be followed lightly over six weeks (or any other useful span of time), Whale Fall is 5-parts whale, one-part coda.

SAINT CARDS

duration: 30 days

genre: any; micro

Saint Cards is a 3o-day series of question-based prompts drawn from sources on the question of selfhood in feminist philosophy, neuroscience and poetics. The orientation is toward thinking about writing character from a relational perspective (as alternative to an individualistic framework). If you follow along with this workshop, you’ll write from 1 to 30 tiny pieces—holding places for a presence. It’s not cumulative so you can dip in and out as much or little as you like.

30-day Accretion Workshop

duration: 30 days

genre: any

This workshop leads you start-to-finish to a new piece of writing, using the planetary growth process of accretion rather than one of drafting and revision —working (and smashing apart and recombining) small new layers daily in the compositional manner of an emergent planet. Each day includes a set of optional warmup exercises to get your mind moving, and a sequential prompt.

5-DAY PLAYWRITING WORKSHOP

duration: 5 days

genre: play, fiction, essay

This workshop leads you start-to-finish through a new short piece of writing, using three distinct perspectives on how to approach composing your writing: the musical, the architectonic, and the textile. Each day is guided with a set of exercises. Together these three layers of process create a considered whole that has its own patterns and designs, but that remains open to surprise and improvisation throughout.

3 APPROACHES:
MUSICAL-ARCHITECTONIC-TEXTILE

duration: 5 weeks

genre: play, fiction, essay

This workshop leads you start-to-finish through a new piece of writing, using three distinct perspectives on how to approach composing your writing: the musical, the architectonic, and the textile. Together these three layers of process create a considered whole that has its own patterns and designs, but that remains open to surprise and improvisation throughout.

You can choose the lighting speed 5-day version, or the more expansive 5-week version.

somatics and writing

duration: 7 sessions, any frequency

genre: storytelling

This series of seven studies leads you through a process of intertwining somatic studies and methods with writing practices. It’s designed as an exploratory workshop; each of the seven installments produce a discrete piece of writing. It can be approached as a form for making seven versions of the same source material, too, so that it makes a seven-part series, possibly laying the ground for a further integration of all those stories into one complex whole. Each day includes anatomical information, optional audio guides or embodied exercises, and writing prompts derived through analogy from the somatic portion.

Architecture of a Day (Notes on Practice)

One of the things I do with my time is facilitate writing groups, both short and ongoing seasons of writing in the presence of others through a series of cycles, which may be locally defined as writing weeks, or writing fortnights, or other durations. Usually I begin our meetings by asking each writer to report on how their practice of writing went in the last cycle. It’s seductive to meet this request for a report by reporting on the interval between what one wanted to do and what one did. I wanted to write daily but on I only wrote once, and so on. I wanted to develop this other project but instead I transcribed fragments from my notebooks.

Maybe there is something in this metric of lack that has some use? Maybe it allows us to sidestep the question, what is this writing that I actually wrote, labels the writing as not our real writing, something less than our real writing, where “real” takes on the old romantic connotation of a glorious capital-R Real that somehow exceeds the illusory, fragmented confusion of the actual world we find ourselves in. But I am interested in perceiving the being of the writing that has actually been written, which includes a perception of its futurities, its potentialities, its realities, perhaps, but attends most closely to what it is now.

If a writer reports on the gap between plan and actuality as a form of lack or failure, I ask them to reframe the gap. The writing that happened: how did it happen? What were you doing when you wrote? In distinction to what you thought you needed to do to get yourself writing, what did you find out you actually need? How does the perceived failure to follow the plan teach you something about the expansive conditions in which writing can get written? The interval between what we project and what we find ourselves doing can be playful, can be a conversation, rather than just a source of disappointment.

The question comes up again and again, what actually constitutes “the writing”?

The other question is: Could we play with different understandings of the architecture of a day, a week, or a month, and the way that writing or making or just being with that free creative impulse might live within that rhythm. What containers create enough containment that we feel back inside their flow when we return to them?

Some containers are marked by time. In one group, a writer shared her practice of folding her writing day into the way the light changed. On days she wrote, she would begin in late afternoon, in daylight, without any lamps or lights on, and continue writing through dusk as her room slowly darkened. In another group, a writer chose the same window but at the other pole of the day, rising in the dark and writing until the day was full day. In another group, another writer wrote late at night before bed, freely making a mess, then re-read her night pages first thing in the morning, making morning notes toward bringing them into some kind of order. All of these practices embedded themselves in the rhythms of the day and night. They might have been productive of something, but they were also, like toothbrushing, like eating, like waking and sleeping, something that belonged to the day and not only to the writing’s future as something that might circulate among others.

In other groups, with other writers, different containers were found. Letting go of the ideal of dailiness, something else functions as a sustaining rhythm. Often these containers are documents combined with particular and limited tasks. One writer who is always with her phone, not only because we’re all always with our phones, it seems, but because her obligations take her away from her desk for most of her time, keeps an open note in the notes app, and adds to it whenever a small thought crystallizes in mind, and later, maybe only once in a writing cycle, carries these collected entries to her desk and transfers them to new pages, allowing herself to write into them, to reform them, to cull them, in the transfer process. Another writer kept an open document in which she collected words and images that appealed to her. Then once a week, as determined by the obligation to share pages, she looked through that collected pile of appealing things and wrote with or from it, leaving the pile at the end of the document like a combination pantry-compost. Something I am writing these days is held by its document and by a simple task. I open it up on a whim whenever I think of it, no more than once a day and often not for weeks at a time, and I add a single paragraph, either doing a fill-in-the-blanks game that amuses me and repeats as a grounding pulse throughout the ever-growing document, or picking up another thread that also carries through the pages. The limitation of the single paragraph is a pleasure for me, an inveterate spewer and piler-up of raw source material. Instead of going on and on, I fold as much pleasure-treasure into my paragraph as my whim that day holds and the paragraph can take. Then I close the document and forget about it.

If the desire is to create writing that is alive, rather than writing that is good (thanks to Agnes Borinsky for reminding me recently of this way of renaming and so enlarging and enlivening the desire that attends the relationship we each have to our own writing), could we think of aliveness as something that is in cooperation with and maybe nourishing to our own aliveness. What does that mean for how writing occurs and is invited in the architecture of a day or week or year? Within what time cycle do we track its living energy? What numerical freedoms and mysteries are at play in its pattern of occurrence? What would its scene of communication be?

WORKSHOPS

THE MAP ROOM

WHALE FALL

SAINT CARDS

30-day Accretion Workshop

5-DAY PLAYWRITING WORKSHOP

3 APPROACHES: MUSICAL-ARCHITECTONIC-TEXTILE

somatics and writing

mailing list only for site updates, group and workshop announcements

Architecture of a Day (Notes on Practice)

3 APPROACHES:
MUSICAL-ARCHITECTONIC-TEXTILE