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So, I’ve recently joined a workshop for writers. It’s something that I have never tried before, to present my work so publicly, in front of strangers that can see who I am. Certainly, it wasn’t easy reading my story aloud, I think I was even shivering while I was doing it. And it wasn’t even cold in the room.

The first impression when I got there was a bit strange, and to be honest, I immediately wanted to leave. But, then I thought how I rarely try new flavors, so I might as well stay and maybe come back the following week.

The concept is four hours each week, for a month. This was the first one, meaning there are three more left. Each person present read their story or a poem, we had a bit of a discussion and then we got an assignment that I found very interesting. We got a sentence, then some time to continue the story after it, then the second sentence, and some more time, and finally, the third sentence and then time to finish the short story. My story wasn’t so long, as I could not get much inspiration that fast. Still, it was something. Then each one of us read our short story and we talked about it before ending the meeting.

It was an unusual experience for me, but surely the one that I will go back to and I hope to learn more about people’s styles and the literature they want to write in the next three weeks. There will be a new post after every workshop meeting, this being the first one, and for now, here is what I wrote for our task.

Only firs and pines can keep their green dresses. On the other hand, birches, lindens, oaks are total nudists and they are such when the weather is the coldest. It is obvious what is coming once they start showing their necks, and arms, and the rest of their bodies. Streets are grey, clouds are grey, and only sometimes some coat of warm colors would walk down the grey pavement.

He was certain now that his friend made a great deal. Great deal for himself, because he would have never done that. It was a bad time for him to get involved with the unknown. Actually, the time was never good enough for him. And then it also started to rain.

Police commissioner appeared next to him, whom he knew from the school where he would come to explain children how to smartly act in critical situations. But, the commissioner was an expert for critical situations of twelve-year-olds.  He could not help him. Unless… Of course he could. The commissioner had an umbrella.

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