Making A Contract With Myself

With that first day under my belt I began to feel a little more comfortable in the workshop. I had made the right decision to come here.

The next day, Laurel and I took our lunches and popped into a few quaint shops to pick up coffees to go and some pastry delights for dessert. We made our way down to the Seine where we found a spot under the shade of some trees to eat our lunch.

"I like this - having a picnic between classes. I love the workshop, but I find I need time to process," Laurel said as she sat and pulled out sandwich fixings. As I watched she put the tuna onto the baguette and added the tomato and cheese slices. I had to smile knowing I would have done the same had I bought a sandwich like that.

I took a bite of my ham and cheese croissant I had made that morning. After I finished chewing I said, "I know what you mean. It's intense. I keep feeling like I should be reading my own stuff, but I don't feel quite ready to go there yet."

"Same. By the end of the week we should both step up. Agreed?"

I smiled and nodded. Having this kind of accountability was helpful. I knew she'd push, but not too much. Just enough for me to seize the day. And I would do the same for her. "Agreed," I said holding out my coffee for her to tap.

"I think we should do something like this every day. It doesn't have to be the river. Some days if the wind is blowing in the wrong direction you can get a disturbing smell. We could explore the gardens as well. They aren't far and would provide a well deserved break."

"Oh, Bronwyn. I like that idea. We could explore the city on our lunch breaks -"

"Soujourns into the heart of Paris," she said giving a body wiggle that I copied. Our own little happy dance.

"What if we do something like a cafe on Fridays? A way to celebrate having made it through the week. A reward for stepping up and sharing our work." I began and was encouraged by her smile. "We could go to cafes made famous... like Deux Magot. I have a list of them I want to experience during my time here. It would be fun to have someone to go with."

"I'm all for that. I love having something to look forward to."

"So Deux Magot this Friday?"

"Most definitely."



I didn’t share any of my writing with the class until the end of the week, but I did voice my opinions of those who did. I made sure to be kind and offer only constructive comments. Slowly I was stepping up. Letting my voice be heard.

It wasn't too hard when I was really quite impressed with pieces that were shared. This workshop was turning out to be better than I had imagined. I was inspired being surrounded by all of these strong, creative writers.

On Friday, I did share. Despite being enveloped by a terror that wrapped itself like a shawl over my shoulders, I took a deep breath and almost giggled at the thumbs up Laurel gave me just before I squared those very shoulders. My voice held strong as I read and as the story unfolded my chest unfurled with a spark of confidence. It really did sound pretty good.

When at last I finished and brought my eyes up to glance at the class I felt suspended. My breath caught in my throat and my heart began to race as I waited for the first comments. That heartbeat of time lengthened and a light headedness swirled as I dropped my papers to the desk and clasped my hands tightly. The grip kept me grounded as I waited.

William's kindly smile helped to steady me. Laurel was the first to comment. Her words were kind and positive. I felt like I was beginning to float. Other comments followed. Each of them positive. The questions generated had me grabbing my pen and writing them down. Some of them would help me add more depth to my story.

The experience was as exhilarating as a rollercoaster. I had gone from terror to a elation, to thoughtful and contemplative. In the end I was glad I had taken the plunge.

William was a great teacher. He had a way of making us all feel comfortable and willing to open our hearts and share our souls. He never pushed and that made me feel more willing to put myself out there. I wanted to be heard and I was.

Every time he looked my way I felt special. His smile warmed my heart and I began to feel things I thought were long dead.

My last relationship, a failed marriage to Jimmy Sanders, had dissolved after I had begun to help my mother with her health. He had been verbally cruel in our marriage and when I had finally asserted myself and went to help my mother, he became even more vile. He threatened divorce and I had seen my way out. I left him. Cut out his emotional brutality and saved myself. I had had to start again, but I was prepared to do that - though it felt good to have an ocean between my old life and this new one.

I wasn't sure it was wise to get involved, but knowing someone thought me that 'kind of special' made me feel like I was crawling out from under a dense cloud. I could feel my life coming back to me. Like my writing, I felt inspired.

Next week we would be sharing longer pieces we had had the week to work on. Pieces that were more in line with our bigger projects. I was nervous about sharing parts my novel, but I also wanted some honest feedback. Learning if I was on the correct path or if I was just some crazy nut with a dream of becoming so much more.

It was all well and good to get positive feedback on small pieces, but something that I had worked on for over a year. Somehow that felt so much more personal. So much more raw and vulnerable.

It helped to share my writing each day after class with Laurel. It became our routine. We would take our lunches, grab coffees and a bag of pastries and head out to some beautiful spots in Paris. So far we had been to the banks of the Seine and to several pristine parks

If time permitted, would walk along the book stalls that lined the river or browse the quaint shops in the area. We shared bits and pieces of our lives and I felt a true kinship with this woman.

There was something about her that made me feel connected. Not just because we were writers. I had a feeling her story was one that needed telling and I was willing to listen and also share my own.

On Friday our classes ended after the workshop. Knowing that we were going to experience a posh cafe we each dressed up. Gone were our shorts and t-shirts. Both of us wore flirty summer skirts and brightly coloured tops. Each William gave us an impressed kind of nod.

"Where are you two off to today?" he'd asked.

When I told him, he nodded his approval. "Oh, how I would love to do that, but sadly I have some meetings this afternoon."

"Maybe next week," Laurel said giving him a wink that had him chuckling.

We left him with a wave and headed through the streets of Paris our fancier shoes clacking along the cobbled streets of the old quartier.

Les Deux Magot was on the more expensive side but we deserved it. Each of us had stepped up this week.

“When I was at the academy all those years ago I couldn’t afford to come here. I had to satisfy myself with just walking by so that I could get as many of the sensory details into my memories as possible. There is something very satisfying in knowing that I can afford it this time.”

At the cafe we made our way to a table on the far side of the patio.

“Can you believe Hemingway and Fitzgerald sat here in the evening after a day of writing.” I mused while trying to absorb the atmosphere of the place. I snapped a few photos knowing I would write about it later as part of my journal writing assignment. I wanted to capture the essence of the place.

“It really is amazing - the history, I mean.” I added when I noticed her doing the same thing.

“Simone de Bouvoir and Jean-Paul Sartre came here as well.” Laurel said.

“I read this place first opened in 1812 and then moved to Place St-Germain-des-Pres in 1873 so they could expand.”

Laurel gave me a warm smile as she said, “It amazes me that you love all this history.”

I chuckled, “I find it crazy when someone says something occurred not that long ago and then say 150 years ago. Canada is barely that old. It puts things into perspective.”

“I guess it would,” she said raising her glass of chardonnay to me.

I clicked my glass with hers before we sipped.

“So tell me why now. Why did you decide to come back to do the Paris American Academy again. Didn’t you mention you were in the corporate world?”

“I guess you could say I outgrew it. After my bout with cancer,” she paused to take in my look of compassion as I reached out to place my hand on hers. “I had a double mastectomy.”

She took another sip of wine before going on, “I decided that life was too short to be doing something I didn't really love. I mean, I was really good at it, but I had no passion for it. It was draining me. Killing me, you could say.”

“I hear you,” I too, had been very good at my teaching position but I had wanted more.

“So I decided to follow my dreams. Writing has always brought me happiness.” The waitress set down various appetizers we had ordered to share. We each took a sampling and smiled at each other when we both moaned at the luxuriousness of it all.

"I know it sounds weird… but before I left my corporate job I drew up a contract for myself. I think it helped me make the transition a little easier.t I needed something to give this,” she waved her hands about her emphasizing this place and time, “a kind of legitimacy.”

“I get that.”

“Maybe I should call it a commitment, but it just seemed like the thing to do; make it real, somehow. So I did up the contract with myself and signed it. Made it a more formal thing than a simple resolution. Kind of like the contract you make with yourself in Julia Cameron's The Artist's Way."

I smiled knowing exactly what Laurel was talking about. I had signed that contract myself and to this day, made sure to do my morning pages each day and take a frivolous Artist Date once a week. "That's not weird or silly. Makes perfect sense to me."

Laurel smiled, "somehow I knew you of all people would understand."

I lifted my wine and Laurel lifted hers to tap. We grinned stupidly at each other.

"Can I see this contract?" I asked. "I wouldn't mind doing something similar."

"Sure. I carry the thing with me. I pull it out every time I feel myself wavering or feeling foolish for following my dreams."

I nodded. That made a lot of sense. Some people just didn’t get why I was ‘throwing’ away a perfectly good career to travel and write.

What kind of life is that? Echoed in my head. I had heard it too many times to count.

"I wouldn't share this with just anyone," Laurel said as she handed it over.

"Thank you," I said, feeling the swell of kinship that warmed me from head to toe.

After a few moments of perusal, I said, "I love this. You create a solid guideline and provide stepping stones.... some are concrete expectations, like this creative writing workshop and others are more vague and open to interpretation. It gives you flexibility within a structure that is not confining."

"Exactly, right. I didn't want to make myself feel like a failure if I didn't do something, but I'm also not sure what each step wouldl entail, so I left it flexible to accommodate for those kinds of things."

“Do you mind if I take a picture of this? I’d love to come up with something similar.”

“Go ahead. My plan is to evaluate my progress every 4 to 6 months and see if I am on track. I can make adjustments for things that change. It’s a learning, breathing document, in a way. I still have that corporate analytical side. I may as well put it to good use”

“I love that.”

“Do you see a publishing contract in your future?” she asked before sampling another tender morsel.

“I suppose many of us do, but there will have to be side hustles, like taking editing jobs online or even teaching a creative writing class. I do love to teach. I’d just prefer to do it with a group of people highly motivated to learn what I have to teach. High school students are not always thrilled to read and discuss great literature. I did get lucky enough to teach a creative writing class last term. That was amazing. It got me thinking I could try something like that on my own.”

“I get that. In time I may broaden my skill set, but this first year I’m planning to focus on taking various creative writing workshops and enjoy writing at some retreats I have longed to go to. My hope is that by the end of the year my book will be ready for a publishing contract.”

“So this contract is a way to learn and grow into your career.”

“Exactly.”

“Brilliant. Teaching others that sort of thing could be a future side hustle for you.”

“You know, you may have something there.”

As we enjoyed our meal and sampled some of the desserts as well, we continued to talk about possible plans for the future. Things we could do and teach.

“Speaking of plans. Have you got anything on for tomorrow morning?”

Laurel shook her head, raising her brows as she waited for me ot continue.

“I have a writing group that I joined during Covid. It meets right here in Paris. Tomorrow is the first time I will be meeting them in person. Do you want to come?”

“Oh, my god. Yes.”

Word Count = 2503.