Editor-in-Chief Mary Beth Sammons reflects on her recent trip to Ireland for the Dublin Writer’s Workshop - and how embracing imperfection shaped a deeply personal writing journey.
Earlier this month, I had the honor of attending the Dublin Writer’s Workshop, a week-long writing retreat and a Moth-inspired storytelling event where I worked with a group of 10 incredible nonfiction writers, several New York Times best-selling authors and a publishing industry veteran.
A Literary Mission
Sponsored by WritingWorkshops.com, the program is open to writers who want to strengthen their voice, develop a greater understanding of craft, and forge a path to publication along the way. Participants take their writing seriously and place the highest importance on tutoring and workshopping to produce meaningful, memorable, and publishable work.
Thrilled when my book project was accepted, I embarked on a literary mission to accomplish one thing: move my newest book-in-progress along the path to a book deal.
It was exciting to see that the ranks of fellow writers included what I have dubbed narrative practitioner soulmates; among them were a writer/parent chronicling her daughter’s journey through cancer, a physician assistant writing about her end-of-life experiences with people from marginalized populations, and a female physician exploring the emotional side of well-being and relationships and more.
As an author of 12-plus nonfiction books, I’ve walked the concept-to-proposal-to-agent-to-publisher journey before, but this time, my idea was deeply personal and inspired by an emotional, often humorous, and ultimately transformative account of caring for my Aunt Dorothy—an elderly woman with a long-undiagnosed mental illness.
What began as a family obligation, i.e. an uninvited inheritance, evolved into a profound journey of discovery, where long-buried secrets came to light, stereotypes about aging and mental illness were challenged, and the messy beauty of human connection was revealed.
Blending personal stories with broader social commentary, I gave a first peek into the pages of my first memoir/guide, Who Cares? Stories and Strategies from the Front Lines of Unexpected Elder Care (Part memoir, part map, part love letter to the unseen work of showing up.)
Scary to be sure! I had applied to the Dublin Writer’s Workshop with fingers crossed that if I saw the book to fruition, someday it could serve as a resource for caregivers navigating the many facets of elder care—from managing psychiatric symptoms in aging relatives to facing the realities of hospice and end-of-life decisions. I want to inspire the courage to keep showing up, the healing power of laughter, and the unexpected gifts that come from loving someone all the way to the end.
Courage, Craft, and Critique
So with trepidation, I presented my 10,000 draft words. We workshopped chapters about everything from estrangement and pet grief to sexism in physician careers, cancer, and QAnon. We covered it all and critiqued each other’s work because feedback is a vital part of the writing process.
For example, I have written and received feedback on this description of the book probably two dozen times:
When I became the unexpected caregiver for my Aunt Dorothy—an aging woman with an undiagnosed mental illness—what began as a burdensome obligation evolved into something far more transformative. “Who Cares?” is part memoir, part practical survival guide, and part raw meditation on the messy, beautiful reality of loving someone all the way to the end.
Through laughter, chaos, grief, and grit, I share what it means to show up when no one else can. Along the way, I offer real-world tools for navigating caregiving with empathy and sanity, especially when mental illness, estrangement, or complicated family dynamics are involved.
With days packed with workshops, industry insights, literary pub crawls and walking treks through Ireland’s city of literature, I was surprised by our instructor’s mantra of writing wisdom: “Let yourself write bad.”
“That advice (inspired by poet Ruth Danon), completely changed my approach to writing. It gave me permission to get words on the page and out of my head,” said instructor Tawny Lara, author of Dry Humping and co-host of the Recovery Rocks podcast. “To me, letting yourself write bad means word-vomiting on the page (or screen!) without editing in your head first.”
Anne Lamott, acclaimed American novelist and nonfiction writer, describes it this way:
“Almost all good writing begins with terrible first efforts. You need to start somewhere. Start by getting something—anything—down on paper. What I’ve learned to do when I sit down to work on a shitty first draft is to quiet the voices in my head.”
So, there in the city cleaved by the River Liffey where three of the bridges are named for writing greats James Joyce, Sean O'Casey and Samuel Beckett, I was inspired to explore a new way of narrative and storytelling: Write bad!
