There's a particular kind of audacity that writers need—daring to use the closest, most hurtful, most autobiographical portions of what's in your brain, your past, your heart. The things you think you shouldn't touch because they're too dangerous.  

“It’s absolutely necessary,” said fiction writer Jonathan Franzen, “to say things that are absolutely unsayable. If I’m just writing about something moderately interesting using interesting well-turned sentences, it’s got no life. It’s got to come out of some issue that’s still hot in me, that’s distressing me.”  

We all have things we are leery of writing about—perhaps because we fear that we could never find the right words, or because we just want to move on already, damn it, or because we’re ashamed and don’t want everybody knowing how base and vile, how absolutely human, we really are. 

In this class we will begin with exercises aimed at helping us discover what our unsayables are. Fortunately we’ll be writing fiction, so from there we’ll have free reign to change things however we see fit and to use our sense of humor, our obsessions—all the fun stuff as well are the hard stuff. We’ll jot down incidents that have happened to us and incidents we’ve heard about second- or thirdhand that might help transform our unsayables into a story. We’ll try out different ways of doing the transforming. We’ll read some published stories to give us examples of how we might do this.  

Our unsayables are always with us, no matter how much we’d rather not examine them. Assigning them to characters and who can act them out is a way of turning dross into gold—and for writers, this is the sweetest kind of revenge. 

In this workshop, we will generate new writing through guided exercises and prompts; offer feedback/first impressions on writing you produce in our weekend.