That’s what I used to think anyway. Bull-shit. Or, to put it another way, oysters don’t learn to make pearls by attending workshops. I read that somewhere, and it became my off-the-cuff rejection to anyone offering a conference, a workshop, a meetup, a readup, a writeup, or any other event where writers got together to, well, get together.

If you’ve followed our fledgling adventures here, you’ve doubtlessly noticed that there’s two halves to the Creative Cusp: La Chingadera, which is our forthcoming publication featuring literature and art directed to a San Diego audience, and Write on the Cusp, our weekend writing workshops. Abbie and I work together on both halves, but the publication is my baby, and the workshop is hers.

“You’re teaching at our workshops, did I tell you that?” she asked/told me in one of our first meetings.

“Of course…” I said, in my usual cocky way, actually thinking something closer to, “Oh sh!t!”

Teaching! Not that I didn’t have experience teaching - I’ve been mentoring and teaching in the IT industry for close to ten years now. It’s a good part of my day job. But I’d never even been to a writing workshop, and I didn’t even know if I believed in them, and now I was being asked by my new business partner to teach at one.

When our inaugural weekend workshop came in June. I was both excited and nervous. Excited about bringing to other writers some of the hard lessons I’ve learned in 10+ years as a self-taught writer, but nervous too.  Would any of the attendees get anything out of it? Or, would it be one of those things where everyone has fun, but in the end we all shrug our shoulders and go, oh well, whatever?

I can’t speak for the other attendees, but I left that first workshop quite humbled. What I’d thought might be a waste of time turned out to be two of the most valuable days in my writing career. What I’d assumed would be soft, pointless exercises turned out to be loaded with insights and little ah-ha moments. What I’d scoffed at before - being part of a community of writers - suddenly made sense.

Maybe best of all, when I went back to work on Monday editing A Story About San Diego, I found I had new ways of looking at and attacking my prose. Anyone who’s tried to edit a novel knows the value of a new point of view - you get so far into the bush that you start to lose sight of the trees, let alone the forest, right? Suddenly I could see the whole thing again, from a new perspective. Was it one of the lessons I learned? Was it the sum of them? It was hard to say.

But the big lesson was this: Writing workshops, contrary to everything I said about them for years, aren’t bullshit after all, or at least not necessarily. Actually they can be pretty damn useful. I know I’m pimping my own show here, but I believe in it, and I hope you’ll come see for yourself what a writing workshop can do for your work.

Our next Write on the Cusp is September 13-14. Joe Kane is coming back as a guest writer - he’s a local  teacher and fiction writer with a Cleveland attitude. Abbie will be bringing us her insights and I’ll be sharing some more of those hard lessons. You can signup here.

- Jon Oropeza is a local writer, an enthusiast of San Diego fiction and a Co-Founder of The Creative Cusp.

Here’s an idea we want to run by you, our growing community of San Diego writers (thank you for joining us!) -

Have you ever wanted to write a song with an experienced songwriter? This might be your chance.

Rock On The Cusp will be a one day Creative Cusp workshop focused on lyric writing. We’ll have a local songwriter/musician/rock star lead us in song writing exercises. You’ll leave with lyrics and the inspiration to write more.

We’re in the middle of dreaming this one up. Please let us know what you think!

- Abbie & Jon

I love San Diego for the weather.  Don’t you? 

But this city is so much more…

I love San Diego because of the people who live here:  The women who work at La Jolla Dry Cleaners, my favorite English teacher at Mesa College, my mailman, the Firefighters, your mom, the regulars at the restaurant I worked at for too many years, Sarah, Will, Bobby, Stacey, Tony…so many of you. 

I love San Diego for the local artists.  The bands that play any night of the week.  At the Ould Sod, Beauty Bar, Twiggs.  CityFest, Street Scene, Pride, The Little Italy Art Walk.  The Hillcrest Book Fair.  The artists who inspire and are inspired by our city.  Art.  Books.  San Diegans.

I love San Diego for our restaurants and bars:  Turf Club, Mamma Mia, Ono Sushi, The Linkery, Pizza Port, Neighborhood, The Casbah, Belly Up, House of Blues, Canes, Whistlestop, Hamiltons.

I love San Diego for the neighborhoods:

The darkness in Golden Hill in the evening is loud.  Noises talking screaming a car door slams sirens music “frank over here” and occasional helicopters.  The buildings tell stories from the outside in, of families lost and ideas born and ghosts.  Always ghosts.

The toilet runs.  The landlord needs to fix it.  The fan is set on medium as the sounds of the street grumble and spew outside the windows and walls.  In Golden Hill there are no diamonds or Bloomingdales or mansions with loud expensive parties.  Instead, dive bars with eclectic folks who exchange ideas and consume one another for entertainment.  Instead, men pee behind the 7-11 and the firemen close the garage door at night to avoid visitors. 

Women do not walk the street alone at night.  Those El Cajon Boulevard street walkers stick to their part of town.  Mostly. 

In the apartments that were once nice houses now split in threes or fours or seventeens, wood paneling, wood floors, fireplaces that work or don’t, a mess, a love, a desire to build. 

At sunset, the glance towards The Gaslamp, described, as layered in thick buildings, tinker toys, legos built up, smashed and rebuilt again.  Old men and layers.  The needy and abused.  The debt.  The credit.  The park.  Frisbee.  Volleyball.  The lovers of central San Diego.  Art fairs.  Notions of offering what one can give to help.  “Screw yous,”  “Ok thens,”  tourists and you.  In my bed.  Again.  I sleep in.  The darkness of Golden Hill.

Abbie

Abbie Berry is inspired by our city every day.  She wants to know what you think and feel about San Diego.  Email her at creativecusp@gmail.com.

Our next workshop is coming up quick.

http://www.creativecusp.com/august/

We are pleased to have Joe Kane join us again as a Guest Writer. Joe, Jon and I will be focusing on Fiction and all of its pleasures:

• Characterization.
• Voice.
• The experimental.
• The concrete

And anything else in between.

Join us and help grow this community of San Diego writers.

Write on!

- Abbie