Vanessa McKay

What I learned about expectations, honesty, and grace — and what it means for anyone who creates, teaches, or buys.

I don’t always get it right

I want to tell you about a workshop that didn’t go well.

Not because I enjoy reliving it, but because I think there’s something genuinely useful here — for me, for other people who run creative events, and for those of you who attend them.

A little while ago, two women came to one of my two-day writing retreats. By the end of the first day, they had decided not to return for the second. They wrote to tell me why, and their feedback was pointed: they felt the workshop lacked structure and feedback, that I hadn’t introduced myself properly or outlined the program, and that their expectations hadn’t been met. One of them eventually asked for a full refund. The situation became uncomfortable.

I sat with it for a long time — the sting of it, the defensiveness I felt, the questions I asked myself in the quiet. And gradually, I moved from those feelings into something more useful: honest reflection.

Because here’s the truth: some of what they said was right.

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What I could have done better

I’ve been running writing workshops for years. I know my methodology, I believe in it, and I’ve seen it work in profound ways. But familiarity can breed assumption — and I had made several.

I assumed participants had read my books, my newsletters, or at least scanned my website and understood the nature of my approach. I assumed they knew my sessions are built around writing using guided prompts to help writers uncover their own stories, interspersed with practical exercises to develop their writing practice at home and formulate a plan for accomplishing their writing goals.

I assumed they understood that this is not a critique class, not a skills lecture, but an immersive creative experience. That assumption cost them — and me.

What I should have done, and what I now do:

• Open every workshop with a detailed introduction — who I am, what our time together will look like, and just as importantly, what it won’t look like.
• Send a pre-event email outlining the structure so participants arrive with aligned expectations, not imagined ones.
• I gift attendees a bag that includes among other things my books — The Creative Writer’s Toolkit and The Wise Women Writes. These are now required reading and sent via Book Funnel before the event.
• Never assume. Ask. Invite people to tell me what they’re hoping for. Create space for that conversation at the very beginning.

These are not dramatic changes. But they matter enormously when someone has travelled a long way, spent real money, and arrived with real hope.

For other creators: set the stage before curtain up

If you run workshops, retreats, classes, courses — anything where people pay to experience your expertise — please learn from my mistake.

Your participants are not inside your head. They have not attended your previous workshops. What feels self-evident to you is invisible to them.

The gap between what you offer and what someone imagines they’re getting is where disappointment lives. You cannot control what people imagine — but you can do a great deal to close that gap before they ever walk through the door.

A few practical things worth doing:

• Audit your advertising: does it describe your actual methodology, or just the hoped-for outcome? Both matter.
• Add a short FAQ to your booking page: what to bring, what level of experience is needed, and what kind of feedback participants will receive.
• Send a warm pre-event message that outlines the experience. It shows care, and it sets the tone before anyone arrives.
• Begin with an introduction — of yourself, your philosophy, and the shape of the day.

You are not just the facilitator of an experience. You are also its curator and its communicator. All three roles matter.

For buyers: do your homework — and give yourself permission to ask

I say this with complete kindness because I have been on the other side of this too.

When we’re drawn to something — a retreat, a workshop, a creative course — we often buy with our heart and our hopes. We picture how it will feel, what we’ll learn, who we’ll become on the other side of it. That’s a beautiful thing. But it can also set us up for disappointment when the reality is simply different from the dream.

Before you book anything:

• Research the facilitator. Read their website properly; look at their work; understand their approach.
• Ask questions before you pay. A good facilitator will welcome this. If they don’t, that tells you something too.
• Understand what the experience is and isn’t. A writing retreat built around prompts and meditation is a different offering from a structured skills workshop. Both are valuable, but they are not the same thing.
• Read the refund policy before you book.

You deserve to get exactly what you came for. The best way to ensure that is to know clearly what you’re coming for — and to ask until you do.

On reviews, and the kindness we owe each other

This is the part I feel most strongly about.

I want to ask you, gently but directly: before you write a negative review, pause. Not forever — just long enough to ask yourself one question.

Was the experience genuinely poor, or was it simply different from what I expected?

Because these are not the same thing, and a one-star review doesn’t distinguish between them.

A bad review written in the heat of disappointment can do lasting damage to a small creator. For many of us — writing teachers, retreat facilitators, independent workshop hosts — our reputation is quite literally our livelihood. We don’t have a marketing department or a PR budget. We have word of mouth and the goodwill of our community.

If you had an experience that fell short, I’d gently encourage you to:

• Contact the facilitator directly. Give them the chance to understand what went wrong and, where possible, make it right.
• Reflect on whether your expectations were clearly communicated — to them, and to yourself.
• If you do choose to write a review, make it specific and fair. What exactly was the problem? What would have made it better? Useful feedback helps the next person — and helps the facilitator improve.

The creative world runs on generosity. We show up, we offer our knowledge and our passion, and we invite people into spaces that matter to us. That vulnerability deserves to be met with a degree of grace.

What I’m doing differently — and an invitation

I came away from this experience humbled, and I mean that sincerely. Not because I believe I ran a bad workshop — I don’t — but because I was reminded that good intentions are not enough. Clarity and communication are not optional extras. They are part of the offering.

I’ve made changes. Every booking receives a pre-event outline. My advertising has been reviewed and tightened. I ask questions as well as answer them.

And I’m still here — still running retreats, still believing in the power of a room full of writers discovering what they’re capable of.

If you’ve been thinking about joining one of my writing retreats, I’d love for you to reach out before you book. Ask me anything. Tell me what you’re hoping for. Let’s make sure it’s the right fit for both of us — because when it is, something truly special happens.

That’s what I’m here for.

— Vanessa McKay

Author | Writing Coach | Creative Writing Retreat Facilitator