I was asked by a friend to describe the Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop.
It’s a lot of peopling and a bunch of transparency. It starts off calm and quiet, then there's a bit of a welcoming, buzzing chatter, and by the last day it’s a rock concert. The lights can be bright and swirly, and the sound can be energetic and intense.
During the final dinner, had I had an Apple watch, I am most certain that it would have told me it was too loud in the space I was in and to move away. The words of the Grinch in the Dr. Seuss classic come to mind about “noise, noise” when he leaves his cave. But, alas I put in my Loop earplugs to even out the sensory experience, and the hubbub and conversations were glorious.
The world has an assumption that, while we all have a unique voice, our process of actually producing the written word is by using our hands. Sometimes I write putting my fingers to the keyboard, or pen to the paper in my hand, but mostly I dictate into Google Sheets or Evernote as I walk or drive. I then later listen to my work through Speechify to hear my mistakes. Afterwords I hunt and peck around on the document to correct and edit.
At the workshop, we talk about the phrase Erma heard, “You can write!” This is awesome, but then what?
These workshops have given me the next steps. For years I have had stories to tell, but could I really share my writing and challenges with others? Could I truly open myself up to the potential of a very large rejection? Could I understand the difference between rejecting me for who I am versus editing the words that I put onto a piece of paper when I have spent my life making sure to achieve so as not to be thought of as less than or different?
What the Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop has given to me is an incredibly safe place to be able to hear people's honest ideas and authentic suggestions for editing. I am surrounded by people who know what it feels like to be turned down, but have figured out how to pick themselves up and start writing the next day so they can share again and again and again.
I discovered the workshop virtually during COVID while I had six little kids, some were even mine, wriggling around my house. It was the lifeline that I needed to keep my mom sanity, if there even is such a thing.
Two years ago in person at the workshop, I accidentally ended up doing comedy with the huge encouragement from stand-up comic Jane Condon. When Jane asked me at rehearsal how long I've been doing comedy, I said, “Approximately 30 minutes now.” She said, “That's funny,” to which my honest reply was, “Yes, quite funny because it’s true.” She then came back with, “Well, then we have some work to do.” She got me up there, handed me a mic and said go.
Getting up there on stage gave me the courage to write my first blog. After the blog, I wrote my first submitted story, which is now part of Gina Ramsey’s Animal Mayhem. I then shared a piece, Ragdoll, with Cindy Ratzlaff, Kathy Kinney and other writers during one of the workshop’s Virtual Essay Cabarets. At the spring workshop I went all in and tried Pitchapalooza.
For many years, both professionally as a counselor and personally as a writer, I could have shared more works but didn’t quite know how to submit my writing. So, thank you EBWW for guiding me to the swimming pool, accidentally shoving me into the deep end and then giving me more than 500 lifeguards who encouraged me by not simply telling me that I wasn’t going to drown, but by showing me they wouldn’t let me, even if I felt I would.
At this year’s conference I landed myself in a few fantastic workshops that involved actual writing after the leaders provided prompts. Sometimes I would write things with my fingers on the phone or pen to paper. At times I wanted to slink into the hallway, dictate and come back into the room. But, since I didn’t want to look like the kid going to the bathroom to escape the assignments, I would quietly enjoy being in a group of thinkers.
During most times that was just fine; however I did get caught once. In one session we were to write from the prompt given. The behavioral pattern was students write, presenter talks, students write, presenter talks, students write, ut oh! Now we are going to share our words to each other in a group of three. This was one of the times I honored my inner need to sit and be present by not misspelling words that I might struggle to re-read on paper anyway, and now, I’m supposed to share.
But that’s the cool thing about the Erma Workshop. It has taught me I can be "unapologetically" me. No more hiding. Like Agatha Christie and her Dictaphone that enabled her to tell stories, I can share the written word. I love books and enjoy writing. I just simply need to write and read differently than the world thinks I do. I dictate the words. I listen to them and then edit. I don’t know how or why I was built this way. I just am.
At the end of the weekend, I joined the Substack of one of my small group partners, Beth Broderick, after I told I hadn’t written anything during round three. Her writing has literally been music to my ears ever since. She shares her written words in black and white and reads every single one of her pieces.
I can’t tell you how much gratitude I have for Beth, other writers I met and this conference overall. I look forward to 2028 so I can start the “noise” on day one by saying “thank you.”
(Photo credit: Maggi Colwell)
— Robin Raniero Norris
Robin Raniero Norris is a Virginia-based author. She firmly believes that “diversity is anyone who is not me,” and looks forward to hearing more people’s stories. As a therapist and teacher, she writes case notes and grades papers, but has added public speaking to her repertoire with the hope that others will come out of the shadows to share their reading and writing differences. She can be found through www.wind-opt.com or on Linkedin if you feel like saying “dyslexia” or simply hello.