I stumbled across this essay by an MFA graduate a few weeks ago, and I’ve been thinking about it for a bit. I do not have an MFA, though a few of my friends (both published and unpublished) do. I had been rather skeptical about them for many years, owing primarily to the fact that the one creative writing class I took in college was taught by an Iowa MFA (widely regarded as the best program in the country) who hated genre literature and was currently — when not teaching a bunch of 20 year olds to read Flannery O’Connor and write just like the good people at Iowa had taught him — getting his law degree from Yale (which is widely regarded as the best program in the country). I assumed once he mastered his JD, he’d be toddling off to a medical program at Johns Hopkins. But I digress. If he wanted to go around collecting degrees, that was his business (and Fannie Mae’s).
What bothered me was that he hated genre. He actually kicked a girl out of class once for turning in a fantasy short story. My first story for the class was, I now think, in the genre of what would later be called chick lit. The girls in the class loved it. The boys “didn’t get it” — spurred on in their mental block by the teacher. That was how the class worked. The teacher would deliver his judgment (“this is not a genre class!” “I’m not sure why this girl is having such a problem with her boyfriend, all he wants her to do is give up her personality and principles to impress his parents”) and then the rest of the class would be set along those lines, and it would take a lot for any of the students to disagree with his pronouncement — especially since he would argue every point a dissenter made, while just nodding and agreeing with one of his pets.
I became very skeptical about workshopping and basically wrote my final short for the class as a ghost story in protest. (In my meeting with him to discuss the story, I referenced Hawthorne and Poe, and he gave me a B+). But my friends with MFAs assure me that this dude was just not a great teacher, and that workshopping isn’t usually such a draconian situation. Indeed, my closest friend with an MFA wrote a magical realism book while in school.
Back in 2006, soon after I sold my first novel, two of the folks in my circle of friends got into MFA programs. All of a sudden I started reconsidering. I got as far as discussing the matter with my editor and agent, who both gave me the incredulous response of “but you’re already selling.” Four years on, I wish sometimes I had at least explored the possibility of some “master classes” like Clarion, though I suppose it’s never too late. And I have attended near-monthly workshops and more than a dozen craft-focused conferences for the past ten years which have also taught me a lot. I’ve also enjoyed the company of brilliant critique partners and received fantastic editing from my editors. So there’s that.
Living the writing life for the past decade has, in general, given me the opportunity to learn a lot of these lessons that the essayist lists on the fly.
1. Don’t play it safe.
Absolutely. This advice takes many forms: a) don’t write the hot genre you don’t like just to break in, because it’ll show, and if it doesn’t, you’ll be stuck there and once you start writing what you love, your backlist will be useless; b) don’t save all the “good stuff” for the next book; c) bleed on the page — make the worst possible thing happen; d) don’t give all your interesting characteristics to your secondary characters… the list goes on an on.
2. Don’t assume that just because one person hates your writing and the other person loves your writing that your writing is “confusing” or “conflicted.”
More like it’s a sign that you have a powerful voice. I’ve come to terms with the fact that not everyone is going to like my writing. It’s a matter of taste. In today’s world of reader blogs, amazon “reviews” and Goodreads, you get the pleasure of post-publication “workshopping” — often from readers who perhaps are not the most discerning, or who aren’t quite able to put a finger on why a certain book didn’t resonate with them, and so cling to something they read in another book review or heard in an English class once. It’s okay. You’re not writing for someone who doesn’t “get” you. If you try, you’ll probably fail, and lose the readers who do get you at the same time. If you ever start feeling bad, go read the one-star reviews of your favorite novels. It’s not just you.
3. Don’t feel like you have to implement every suggestion into your work.
Coming on the heels of #2 above, I imagine this has a lot more resonance to someone in MFA-workshopping mode, but it fits even for me. I get various advice from my critique partners, editors, agent… and then there are the emails from readers, or, better yet, the book bloggers who choose to frame their “reviews” as if they are tutoring the author as to what they should do in their books. Writers can go on all day about these if you catch them at a bar. But one thing I’ve learned is that though editors and critique partners are almost always spot on about identifying what’s not working in your book, they aren’t always right in telling you how to fix it.The best thing to do, when tackling a revision letter, is to find all the problems, then implement your own solution. Sometimes what looks like two different problems (“it starts off slow” and “I don’t really feel like I understand the main character”) are actually the same thing (“if I make her plight more relatable, you’ll be on board with her sooner”).
4. Don’t read just for fun.
To be perfectly honest, I don’t agree with this one at all. Further, I’m surprised that anyone in an MFA program even believed its converse to start with. The educational system in this country is massively good at drumming “reading just for fun” out of you. Many people who think nothing of watching seven consecutive episodes of Law & Order or going to see Avatar or being a devotee of a weekly sitcom or buying a tabloid to read on the beach would balk at buying a paperback mystery, science fiction or romance novel. Television shows or magazines are “escapes” but popular fiction is “trash.” I’ve attended parties and watched folks chat at length about the latest Judd Apatow, then turn around and call chick lit “trash.” Apparently, if entertainment comes in the form of black text on a white page, it’s held to an entirely different standard.
I think people should read “just for fun” (not least because it’s how I pay my mortgage). I think that writers, especially, should read just for fun, or they risk losing the joy in their work. Writers who read only what is “good for them” may get some screwed up notion in their head that they should only write a certain kind of book, maybe not the kind that is the best fit for their voice and their passion. I know this happens. It happened to me when I was in college and was being told that “genre” was a dirty word and that if I wanted to be a writer, I’d had better go after a Pulitzer and not a paperback romance.
In terms of “reading for craft” — which is the essence of her point — I think that comes with the territory. If anything, it’s hard to turn that off once you’re in the business. I relish the books that make me forget that I’m a writer, that are so compelling I forget to look for the man behind the curtain, to keep stock of the tricks of the trade the writer is using. Those are my favorite kind.
There are six more items on the essayist’s list. I’ll be back tomorrow to tackle those.
August 9th, 2010 at 9:51 am
From an editorial standpoint, MFAs are hits and misses–in fact, I know for a fact that many editors are dismissive of MFAs, citing that graduates are taught to “write pretty with no substance.”
I’m ambivalent on MFAs. While I don’t believe it will help anyone get published, I do believe that two years to work on craft is certainly an advantage for some. Certain MFA programs are more open to genre than others and I think it’s all about finding the right match. MFAs also allow the graduate to teach creative writing at a higher level, and if that’s something you wish to do, then I think the program could be great.
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August 9th, 2010 at 11:55 am
I’m also ambivalent about MFAs, though that’s a step up from what I was a decade ago. I do see how it has improved the craft for some of my friends who have taken them (and for others, that it has actually forced them to finish their books). Does it make a book more saleable? Two of the most successful authors I know don’t have college degrees, let alone graduate writing ones. I don’t think i learned much about writing in college, except that I read a lot of great books, which was an education in itself.
There is definitely more than one way to skin that cat.
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August 9th, 2010 at 2:44 pm
Even though I’m in the middle of an MFA program, I can’t help agreeing with you, and truly understand your reservation about some MFA programs. After my undergraduate writing program, I swore I would never again subject myself to this type of program. Genre hatred was the norm. Since I was the only student who wrote a fantasy story (and was mocked for it), I didn’t feel at home. My current program is much more accepting of genre fiction. Nevertheless, I don’t subscribe to the theory that you need an MFA to get published. I already had 30 published books without the degree. I’m in the program, but I enjoy what I do.
Diana, I love your books (especially Rampant! I cannot wait for the sequel). Obviously, you know what you’re doing. I would love for you to come to the school (I’m in a low residency program) and speak to us about fantasy writing.
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August 9th, 2010 at 7:38 pm
I’m ambivalent about MFAs, and I have one!
Mine was good for two things: 1. Finding cool people to hang out and drink with (granted, you can find these sorts of people in all kinds of places. But my program often felt like an idyllic summer camp for 20-somethings). 2. Helping me decide on the type of writer I didn’t want to be–namely, a literary poet. My MFA is in poetry, and I had never been in a fiction workshop. Naively, I thought that my mixed-genre (in terms of being into both poetry and fiction, and into both literary writing and commercial) were the norm. Adults weren’t really biased against sci-fi and fantasy, I thought. But when I started to get interested in writing fiction, I learned that I couldn’t bring my writing to workshop if it featured any genre-elements–unless they were incorporated in a tongue-in-cheek, self-conscious sort of way. As someone who was, at the time, writing a YA space opera, I opted out of workshop and turned to self-education and online forums instead. It felt clear that there was no place for me, unapologetic nerd that I was, in that world.
(Luckily, my school had a stellar kid’s lit department on the critical side of things, and I made some great connections with professors and students there.)
As for the original article, her MFA taught her not to be competitive? There were a few people in my program who were absolute gems, but quite a few who were overly aggressive and competitive and loved to be cutting. That attitude wasn’t particularly discouraged by professors. But then, different programs create different experiences, I guess.
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August 9th, 2010 at 7:40 pm
Mixed-genre interests, rather.
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August 10th, 2010 at 7:56 am
Phoebe, your program sounds like the nightmare my undergraduate program was. One of my profs was the editor of the campus literary magazine. Many of the students tried to score points with him by being particularly cutting during critiques. I\’m sorry you had that experience. While we\’re told that we need to have a thin skin, I wonder why that maxim doesn\’t always work both ways. Why are the egos of those who offer biting criticisms never called into question? Criticism is often subjective and sometimes driven by the need to impress the hearers. In my program, at least I have learned to filter out that kind of criticism.
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August 13th, 2010 at 4:41 pm
i just wanted to say that i think if you ever stop reading “for fun”, you’ve done something wrong.
that said, i find biographies and jane austen to be fun (no, really) so you know. but i also love what i endearingly call “trashy thrillers”. every book can teach you something about writing – even if you are just reading it “for fun”.
read read read.
i also know a lot of people that are published without MFAs – but they, i think, have created kind of an MFA program of their own with their agents and writing circles/critique partners. in a sense, the book is workshopped completely, just without a “professor” at the head.
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