A Sort of Depressing Post on Writing Camps

I feel terribly out of place.

I've been going to this writing camp, lead by a professional writer I respect very much and who has become a mentor to me, for years. She runs a teen summer camp/class thing for older writers, above twelve, and a camp for younger writers under twelve. It's a simple thing: you write for a while, then we read our writing to each other and receive comments.

When I was eleven, I was already well above the standard of writing most of the younger writers had. I was no longer receiving useful comments--most of them were things like "Wow, that was awesome". While that's encouraging, it's not helpful in the least.

So I moved into the teen camp. My mentor thought I was ready to give and get comments on the same level the teens could, so she let me in a year early.

For two glorious summer camps, I was home. These were writers who understood me, who could help me with my writing. The camps were the highlights of my year. They were something of a home away from home.

The year between the last camp and this one, I got the One Year Adventure Novel (OYAN) curriculum and the Other Worlds follow-up curriculum. I learned a lot about story-telling, writing, and genre. I felt for the first time like I really knew how to craft a story--a serious, well-written, tightly-plotted story. 

This year I was pumped. I had Treacherous Ice, a novel I'd plotted out and carefully outlined. A novel I absolutely loved. I had three chapters of it ready and I couldn't wait to give a few critiques to the other writers and get a few myself.

First day? Amazing. Best day of the year so far. Two Norse mythology fans who would understand my novel, lots of writers, my mentor, lots of positive feedback on the first few pages I read.

Positive feedback, yep.

Helpful critiques, nope.

The week goes on, and I'm enjoying myself, and then a girl writing a spy story reads a scene where her hero is kidnapped by the villain. Instead of escaping cleverly, the hero's dad, a spy, shows up and rescues her. Everyone asks where the dad came from, how he knew where the hero was, how he got to her. The girl's excuse is that he's a spy with awsum skillz.

Me: I think the Dad is a Deus ex Machina.
Everyone else: -blank looks-
Me: You know, God out of the Box?
Everyone else: -more blank looks-
Writing mentor: -explains-
Another author: I think it's okay, just don't dwell on the dad!
Someone else: Yeah, I think it makes sense for the dad to be monitoring his daughter!
Me: :| -thinks: Why can you not see how terribly cliche and horrible that is?-

Anyways, I've outgrown this camp. I've grown as a writer and I'm...I'm no longer getting anything worthwhile out of this. And that's really sad, because...this has been my home-away-from-home for a long time. One of the few places I felt like I belonged.

And I don't fit in anymore.

So it was wonderful fun while it lasted, and it helped me to grow as a writer. But I've moved on, I guess.

My mother says that my dad will drive me to the OYAN Summer Workshop next year in June, and the year after that I can fly on my own. I know a lot of you OYANers from online, and I know you guys are the talented, serious-about-writing people that I want to spend a week of my summer with.

I can't wait for June to come around again.