Catching me off guard.

I like to think I’m a nice guy. Well, regardless of what other people think, I’m as nice as I can be. Unlike characters in a book, we have to do a constant balancing act with our emotions. Someone pushes us one way, sometimes we just have to roll with it. Because, simply put, there can be long-lasting damages if we over-react. The balancing act can get really tricky when dealing with either touchy subjects or self doubt.

I was in a fiction workshop. Workshop is when we students examine each other’s story’s and give feedback. Well, I stepped out of the room for one-on-one meeting with the instructor that was mandatory. Once that was over, I went back in. The rest of my group had started discussing a story written by Ben (real name changed). Well, I’d missed stuff. When it came to what I thought was my turn to give input, I asked a question. Ben looked at me and said, “I just went through all of that with Zuma (not her real name).

Oh. Ok. My bad, well, in that case, there’s something else I’d like to talk about with this story.
And Zuma talked right over me. Now, keep in mind that they’d had a good 5-8 minutes without me in the room to talk, and it really looked like Zuma was dominating the conversation.

Ok. Whatever. No big deal.

I waited for another chance. When it came I tried to open up what I thought was a really important discussion topic. When I started talking, well, it was met with resistance and everyone thought I was wrong. Ok, I’m good with that. Just my opinion after all. To each his own. But, I was going to move on to a related topic, dropping the first, when Zuma changed the subject and talked over me again. Filled with self doubt because of the reaction I’d received, I shut up.

Ok, I get it. She must have thought I was belaboring the point. I was moving on to something else, but whatever, no big deal.

I waited while this chick, who had dominated the conversation throughout, continued to go on and on. Eventually, I brought up what I thought was a point that should not be overlooked. I only got three words out before: “Eagle, we have two more stories to do, so we need to move on.”

Thinking back, now, I’m curious as to why it was specifically when I started talking that we suddenly had to move on. Let’s recap the events: I was out of the room. I came back in the room and I was talked over. Then, I talked for about 1.5 minutes before I was shut down, then talked over again. Finally, I started to talk about the ONE thing I wanted to bring up about the very story we were discussing at that time, and I’m basically told, “shut up, nobody is listening to you.” Keep in mind she wasn’t nice at all when she said “We have to move on.” It was the tone of voice that said, “we’re tired of putting up with you, so shut up.”


The purpose of a workshop, ultimately, is to give feedback in order to help other writers. This is not easy to do while maintaining that emotional balancing act. It’s a careful manipulation of words when you’re telling someone something that they may not want to hear about writing that could be very precious to them. It’s takes tact. It takes finesse and, sometimes, some serious dancing around. Because of this, I had prepared to carefully structure what I wanted to say to Ben; NOT because he has thin skin and would be hurt, but because what I wanted to explain was complicated and required time and consideration in order to be taken seriously. Come on too hard, and it sounds hateful and therefore should be ignored. To only let me get three words out was doing both Ben and me a disservice. And for what?

If I can be brushed aside while doing what I thought we were in that room to do, then why should anyone else at this table be allowed to talk? Why don’t we just throw our edits at each other and call it a day? If I’m not allowed to speak, why are you?

All of this is in hindsight, however. At the time, I was caught off guard. None of the thoughts in my head were coherent. They were just a jumble of thoughts like “Oh, no she didn’t!” Looking back, I’m glad I didn’t go off. I would have sounded like an idiot. The pieces were all jumbled in my head and I was upset without a foundation to land upon.

Well, we moved on. I looked down at my papers and realized that I, truly, had nothing more to say. As a matter of fact, without the important thing that I wanted to bring up to Ben, I didn’t even feel the need to be there, anymore.

But, there I sat. Pissed.

I was angry. Now, in my emotional balancing act, I really, really try not to over-react. My hands were shaking, I could feel myself getting flushed, I was sick to my stomach and (worst of all) I was filled with self doubt. The more I thought about it, the madder I got. I went to the bathroom. I took a leak, washed my hands, splashed water on my face, but it was too late. I was in serious fight-or-flight mode and I couldn’t calm down.

But why? Why did I get so mad? Why did I let that incident get to me so badly?The short answer is that I had been dismissed. Disregarded. Pointedly ignored. Treated like just another noise. In short, disrespected. I didn’t do anything to earn it. I tried like hell to figure out what I could have done to deserve being treated like that. I thought maybe I was coming off the wrong way. We were discussing was Ben’s story, not Zuma’s!

To add injury to insult, we talked for another thirty minutes about the last two stories. Zuma went on and on and on. Hmm. Funny. The same time we didn’t have for me to talk we now had in spades for her to run her mouth.

I just sat there. I had no input unless somebody asked me point-blank, which they did. (I resisted the urge to respond with “I don’t know a fucking thing, obviously.”) In short, even though I was seething, I handled it. Anger management has taught us that we should always hold back; that if we go off in the moment, we will handle the situation poorly. Once that happens, it’s all damage control. Anger is weakness. I was feeling mighty weak.

After class, either she figured out (or somebody whispered in her ear) that she should make amends. Zuma said, “I didn’t mean to cut you off. She (the instructor) had just came into the room and said that we had five minutes to get done.”

My response: “Well, I took that hard. I’ll be honest. I was ready to chew nails when you did that to me and I had to go to the bathroom to calm down.”

Her response: “Well, She had just came into the room and said that we had five minutes to get done.”

That’s a reason, not an apology. Also it’s straight-up bullshit. Let’s think back, shall we? I was in a meeting WITH the instructor. We came back at the SAME TIME!

If I’d been ready, I could have stood up for myself. Hell, I’m good at it. At the time I could have said, “I’m going to say this because I think it’s important.” But, I was pushed off-balance. I was too busy catching my equilibrium, making sure I didn’t do something wrong. If I was ready for that kind of push, she never would have made me falter. Now that I’m back in balance, can think logically, and now that I know how she is going to approach me, I’ll be much more stable if pushed again.

I won’t be caught off-guard. My blood pressure will remain constant. I’ll be pleasant and gentlemanly while I tell to go fuck herself and then continue to have my say.

It’s a real shame that we have to walk around ready for trouble. But, those people are out there. They see the whole rest of the world as “them” and enemies around every corner. I had no ill will toward Zuma. I’m not all that interested nor invested in the workshop. I just wanted to help Ben with what I thought was a good piece of advice to make his writing stronger. Well, he and I talked about it after class. He’ll consider it. That’s all I would expect. He may tell me I’m full of shit and that’s OK, too. But, I will never leave a door locked if I think I might have the key. Worth a try, right?

Turns out, Zuma has completely the wrong idea about me. We were in another class, together. She has pre-conceived notions about who I am despite my efforts to prove otherwise. In her mind, I will always be one of “them.” And, since I’m one of “them” in her eyes, I want nothing to do with her.

It’s a shame, too, because I think she is a very promising writer. What happens when the publishing world gives her too hard of a criticism or an editor says something she takes the wrong way?. Soon, she’ll be sitting by herself, surrounded by “them.”

I pity her, really.