First time.

When was the last time I did something for the first time? Today.

I went to my first in-person creative writing group. The intimidation and anxiety I felt of walking into the coffee shop was palpable. Do I belong here? Will they think I am terrible? I am going to make a total fool of myself. This is the worst idea I have ever had. These thoughts volleyed in my mind as I stood in line to order my coffee, still debating, running away, and pretending this venture never happened.

I had been battling my imposter syndrome since last night. I had proposed dozens of reasons why I couldn’t or shouldn’t go but managed to slay them all. I couldn’t let my last-minute excuses ruin me. I ordered my coffee and walked over to the cluster of people forming with notebooks and laptops that could’ve only been the group I was there to meet.

I wonder if I came across as awkward as I felt as I said hi and introduced myself. The group is a mixed bag of men and women, interests, writing styles, and ages. There were 11 of us total, all complete strangers to me. They have been meeting since January, so not only was I new, but I was a new and entering an established clan. That extra layer made me even more nervous to share myself and my writing.

But I came for a reason. I wanted to meet new people, people more experienced than me. This was an easy line to cross because I had never written fiction before. It quickly became apparent that I was the low man on the totem pull. These writers are brilliant. We completed 2 different writing exercises.

The first exercise was an old-school mad lib prompt. We each filled in the blanks of our random mad lib, then passed it over twice. We then had 10 minutes to create a story based on the mad lib we ended up with. My inspo mad lib read, “Everything is copacetic, and the two decide that such a harrowing ordeal has caused them to fall in deep respect with each other.” But I need to paint the scene even more. I could hardly read the handwriting on my prompt, and on top of that copacetic was spelled wrong. So here I am, low-key googling what letters I could make out because I was scared of looking like a dumbass by saying, “Excuse me, I don’t know this word.” Google did not have my back just as much as this person’s handwriting. Someone else broke the ice and asked a clarifying question, which gave me courage. Once I knew what my damn prompt said, I got started. It was scary to try and write when I had no idea the caliber of anyone around me. I know I shouldn’t have been worried about that, but the mind does what it will.

So, in my first panicking and terrified exercise, I wrote-

“I can’t believe we made it through,” Cali said.

“And for everything to be copacetic immediately after,” said Sarah as she sat down on her couch with her coffee in pure disbelief that she survived being kidnapped with her biggest rival. The event was more than harrowing.

They were blindfolded, beaten, and questioned about their company’s next move. Their company held secrets, and they both were scratching, clawing, and throwing one another under the bus to climb the ranks.

However, in the face of adversity, neither gave anything up. They found themselves awake in Sarah’s house that morning.

What is there to say after waking up after something like that, Cali thinks. She looks at Sarah with sudden, overwhelming, deep respect.

Maybe they were the same after all.

I read mine after about half the group shared, thinking how I didn’t measure up the entire time. What these people could pull out in 10 minutes was shocking and inspiring. I quickly identified whose style was most like mine and who I thought were the group’s stars. I felt slightly inadequate but invigorated at the opportunity to learn. Their feedback was more than kind and encouraging. I didn’t hate mine. I see lots of room for more within it. And as far as everything I fought in my mind to get to that seat, write those words, and share them, I’d say it was pretty incredible.

We were tasked with one more exercise. Another 10-minute writing prompt. This time, I felt a tad more confident with my feet underneath me. My prompt read, “I was walking to work one day when the sidewalk opened and swallowed me. Suddenly, I wasn’t in Kansas anymore. Now I was in ____, a world of _____.

I wrote-

I was walking to work one day when the sidewalk opened and swallowed me. Suddenly, I wasn’t in Kansas anymore. Now I was in who knows where, a world of rainbows and lollipops, it would seem.

Things like this don’t happen to people like me. People grounded in logic and reason, with deadlines and quarterly goals.

Wait a minute. What is actually wrong with me? Lilly thinks.

I wind up in a land that could only be described as a 10-year-old’s wildest dream, and my first thought is clerical responsibilities. I should have listened to my therapist more when he wanted to uncover my childhood trauma. Look at me now.

Thanks for all the scars, Dad. Thanks for turning a blind eye, Mom. Becoming a pseudo-adult at 10 led me to here.

No sense of humor. Completely unable to see the bright side or good in anyone, anything, or myself. Instead of seeing the rainbow and the perfect cotton candy cloud raining glitter in front of me, I am spiraling in anger.

What the hell? I might as well follow the yellow brick road.

_________________________-

While reading this one, I elicited a couple giggles. Pats self on back. Then, I received praise I actually believed compared to my first. I am proud of this one. I like it. I could see a story here.

In the end, I found what I was looking for. I am happy I went. I tried to rephrase my anxiety as excitement, and even though I was scared shitless, I did it anyways. I am better for it, too. I am going to continue to show up and learn from these people. Maybe eventually, I’ll feel like my work is comparable, but I am content to keep trying my best until then.

The group plans to work on pieces to enter in a writing contest, with submissions due at the end of November. I now consider myself a part of this group, so I am, too.

Here’s to commitment, pushing myself, being scared and unprepared, but doing it anyway.

I am proud of myself for doing something new today.