Heptadecagon

The first writing class I enrolled in outside of high school or college billed itself as a workshop. Which meant that each week, one person's writing would be read and critiqued by six other strangers sitting around the conference table. To this day, I'm not entirely sure what possessed me to think that I could survive a class like that, but I went ahead and not only survived--I found a family there, too: The Plot Sisters still meet every two weeks to read and critique each other's work. Since that fateful day in May 2012, my reaction to being critiqued has changed. In the beginning, I would cower at the side of the table with an explosive heart rate and sweat on my brow, while now, I find myself looking forward to everything my cohorts have to say. And by everything, I mean everything. Even on those days when the ladies look at me, eyes bright and energetic, and say, "This piece needs some work." Because that's why I'm at writing group, right? To get...