Craft Notes
What I Hear You Saying Is That My Writing Sucks
In the June 2009 issue of College Composition and Communication, Rosalie Morales Kearns wrote an article about the creative writing workshop in which she critiques the traditional workshop (as normative, exclusionary, and focused on fault-finding) and asserts we must rethink the format of the workshop for it to serve as a productive, inclusive experience. Changes she suggests include lifting the “gag rule” so authors can talk about their writing as it is being critiqued, the use of writing exercises, and studying published works because “students are much more accustomed to approaching published texts as literature students rather than as creative writers.”
Abstract:
Creative writing workshops typically feature a gag rule and emphasize purported flaws. This structure limits students’ meaningful engagement with each other’s work; positions the author as inherently flawed; and positions other participants as authority figures, passing judgment without articulating their aesthetic standards. I propose an alternative structure in which authors lead discussion; the work is treated not as inherently flawed but as “in process”; and discussants articulate their expectations about “good” writing rather than allowing them to function as unspoken norms.
The article is interesting and Morales Kearns makes valid points in her critique of the traditional workshop. At the same time, many of those critiqued workshop practices, to my mind, help writers improve their craft. Having participated in many creative writing workshops, my experience has been largely positive. I’ve always gotten thoughtful (however difficult to hear) feedback. Certainly there has always been an asshole (or three) in the room but the assholes have their uses too. And once in a while, I’m that asshole relentlessly dissecting the work in question.
The gag rule, in particular, where you sit there and shut up is one of my favorite parts of the workshop process because you don’t get to explain your writing. You are forced to deal with how people are interpreting your writing without being able to otherwise influence them. If your intentions aren’t well conveyed through your writing, explaining them has little purpose. I also find that when writers are allowed to dialogue with peers in the workshop, the conversation often devolves into a lot of “What I hear you saying…” therapy speak that is fairly soul destroying. Finally, I don’t know that there will ever be a perfect workshop experience because human beings are involved in the process. Our human frailties will always trump the most well-intentioned, thoughtfully structured workshop. How do you all feel about writing workshops and the traditional format? What would your ideal workshop look like?
one thing i thought about when talking to the mfa kids i runs with is that it’d be interesting if halfway through or at some other predetermined point, the writer could speak but only in the form of questions, and a limited amount of them (probably no more than 3-5), so that the workshop could possibly get at a point that the writer may be pondering but the workshop may have glazed over. i think lifting the gag rule is probably a bad idea as shit’ll just lead to defensive posturing but that could also be awesome as a spectator.
welcome to the terrordome.
one thing i thought about when talking to the mfa kids i runs with is that it’d be interesting if halfway through or at some other predetermined point, the writer could speak but only in the form of questions, and a limited amount of them (probably no more than 3-5), so that the workshop could possibly get at a point that the writer may be pondering but the workshop may have glazed over. i think lifting the gag rule is probably a bad idea as shit’ll just lead to defensive posturing but that could also be awesome as a spectator.
welcome to the terrordome.
QFT:
1.Certainly there has always been an asshole (or three) in the room but the assholes have their uses too.
2. If your intentions aren’t well conveyed through your writing, explaining them has little purpose.
I’ve been in many different workshop, online as well as in person, in an MFA and out. It can be difficult to sit there with your mouth shut, while in your head you’re screaming “IT’S ON THE PAGE…LOOK RIGHT THERE…” but if 3/5 or 7/10 in the group aren’t “getting it” then you have to really reconsider if you put the information in here. Is it REALLY on the page? You also have to consider that these people may not be your audience, and keep that in mind. That’s one of the hardest things about editing, staying true to your voice.
Example. I have a story coming out in a horror anthology soon. When I workshopped it, I often got comments that people weren’t sure what was going on, or that I was being too subtle. But my professor said it was fine, send it out. Twelve rejections later I started to question the story. When it did get accepted, a publication with a 1% acceptance rate, the editor actually said that maybe we should CUT a paragraph, that it was too OBVIOUS. So…what to do. Trust your instincts and listen to what your peers have to say, and keep what works FOR YOU.
Often in workshops I’ve been allowed a couple of minutes of rebuttal, not to DEFEND but to ask follow up questions, to further clarify something. That seemed to help.
Peace,
Richard
QFT:
1.Certainly there has always been an asshole (or three) in the room but the assholes have their uses too.
2. If your intentions aren’t well conveyed through your writing, explaining them has little purpose.
I’ve been in many different workshop, online as well as in person, in an MFA and out. It can be difficult to sit there with your mouth shut, while in your head you’re screaming “IT’S ON THE PAGE…LOOK RIGHT THERE…” but if 3/5 or 7/10 in the group aren’t “getting it” then you have to really reconsider if you put the information in here. Is it REALLY on the page? You also have to consider that these people may not be your audience, and keep that in mind. That’s one of the hardest things about editing, staying true to your voice.
Example. I have a story coming out in a horror anthology soon. When I workshopped it, I often got comments that people weren’t sure what was going on, or that I was being too subtle. But my professor said it was fine, send it out. Twelve rejections later I started to question the story. When it did get accepted, a publication with a 1% acceptance rate, the editor actually said that maybe we should CUT a paragraph, that it was too OBVIOUS. So…what to do. Trust your instincts and listen to what your peers have to say, and keep what works FOR YOU.
Often in workshops I’ve been allowed a couple of minutes of rebuttal, not to DEFEND but to ask follow up questions, to further clarify something. That seemed to help.
Peace,
Richard
I like the gag rule. And even when I’m asked questions, I usually just shrug my shoulders.
Once the little poem is out in the world, it doesn’t really matter what you wanted it to do–people will bring their own experiences to it and interpret it in different ways.
I like the gag rule. And even when I’m asked questions, I usually just shrug my shoulders.
Once the little poem is out in the world, it doesn’t really matter what you wanted it to do–people will bring their own experiences to it and interpret it in different ways.
I have attended and taught hundreds of workshops (this is my profession). Kearns is making a logical error: her workshop experience as ALL. All of her suggestions (except the gag rule) already happen in a quality workshop.
If you were in my workshop:
1.) I would have exercises. In fact, I would pick out a certain technique or concern–say, breaking voice or tone with your word choice–and then we would study the technique, and practice it. We would use YOUR story as a place to spin-off from.
2.) You would read professional texts EVERY workshop. In fact, again using YOUR story, I would bring in at least two author excerpts that “match” (in whatever way) your draft. I would show the class these authors doing similar things, often in a more effective way. And you would now have two authors to go read exhaustively. If you aren’t going to do that, why are you in the workshop?
3.) You would get to speak AFTER the story was workshopped. The gag rule is in place for a reason, folks. When I am reading a page of your text, you can’t be over my shoulder explaining. The page stands alone. Also, logistically, the author and workshop peers will get into a back-N-forth that will quickly consume the class. The teachers job is to facilitate a constructive experience. The gag rule does this, and remember, the author GETS TO talk AFTER.
Look, workshops are run a million ways, but any good teacher is going to point out specific techniques, give specific authors to read, and give the author time (eventually) to ask questions or respond to feedback.
Lastly, it is only a draft. I mean it’s the first gesture of a long process. So chill.
my 2.4 cents
Sean
I have attended and taught hundreds of workshops (this is my profession). Kearns is making a logical error: her workshop experience as ALL. All of her suggestions (except the gag rule) already happen in a quality workshop.
If you were in my workshop:
1.) I would have exercises. In fact, I would pick out a certain technique or concern–say, breaking voice or tone with your word choice–and then we would study the technique, and practice it. We would use YOUR story as a place to spin-off from.
2.) You would read professional texts EVERY workshop. In fact, again using YOUR story, I would bring in at least two author excerpts that “match” (in whatever way) your draft. I would show the class these authors doing similar things, often in a more effective way. And you would now have two authors to go read exhaustively. If you aren’t going to do that, why are you in the workshop?
3.) You would get to speak AFTER the story was workshopped. The gag rule is in place for a reason, folks. When I am reading a page of your text, you can’t be over my shoulder explaining. The page stands alone. Also, logistically, the author and workshop peers will get into a back-N-forth that will quickly consume the class. The teachers job is to facilitate a constructive experience. The gag rule does this, and remember, the author GETS TO talk AFTER.
Look, workshops are run a million ways, but any good teacher is going to point out specific techniques, give specific authors to read, and give the author time (eventually) to ask questions or respond to feedback.
Lastly, it is only a draft. I mean it’s the first gesture of a long process. So chill.
my 2.4 cents
Sean
Whenever someone starts by critiquing workshops as “normative” that’s usually when I reach for my revolver. There is no such thing as a normative workshop, because any given workshop can only ever be the sum of the various biases, prejudices, tastes, genius, enthusiasm, and tics of the people in it, multiplied by the instructor facilitating it. I’ve been in workshops where some or all of the “changes” Kearns argues for were in use. She’s not really arguing for anything new. She’s just saying she wants more of X and Y, and less of B and Q. Well, fair enough, lady. Go publish a book, then get yourself a workshop, then run it however you want.
But that’s a little obnoxious, isn’t it? About the writing exercises- these are great for younger students or a more casual class. I love using them in my CRW 101 and I think that the students get a big kick out of doing them, then sharing. But for an advanced undergrad class or for an MFA class, I wouldn’t use writing exercises. For a casual or entry-level student, being forced to write spontaneously can be a big thrill, and trigger breakthrough moments. For a student already seriously pursuing her craft, it’s just a waste of class time. Somebody’s project could be getting critiqued in those same minutes.
But about reading published literature- I’m right there with her. I think teaching close reading as a writer is essential to developing writing craft at every single level. Though, even with that said, at New School–where I did my MFA–we took a seminar course and a writing workshop. Some workshop instructors chose to teach literature, but most assumed that the literary education was happening in the seminar, and that the whole of the workshop time ought to be devoted to student work. I’m not so sure that approach is wrong. If people are serious and advanced enough that they’re in an MFA workshop classroom, maybe their time is best spent learning to be editors, writers, and critics, rather than reading “A Perfect Day for Bananafish” for the umpteenth time.
I feel like critiques of the workshop are typically focused on a model of efficiency, where we try to gauge what the writer “gets” in terms of “useful” feedback, and then we critique the workshop itself if it seems like the numbers are low. This is dead wrong. The workshop is useful for everybody in it, if they are doing it right. Critiquing, line-editing, and close-reading somebody else’s work teaches you how to be a better reader. While your own work is frequently too raw or too close for you to edit it dispassionately, another person’s work makes the perfect training ground for your editorial and critical eye. After those skills develop, you will be in a position to bring them to bear on your own work. You’ve become a stronger self-reader. This is invaluable, but it can’t be quantified. Most of the time you probably can’t even point to the moments when it is happening.
Finally, has anyone anywhere ever taken a workshop that wasn’t prefaced by a million disclaimers about being nice to each other? I think more often than not, the problem with the workshop is that it’s TOO nice. The real “normative’ behavior is to find something–anything–mildly affirmative to say about work you secretly believe is in horrendous shape, rather than be cast as the bad guy.
Whenever someone starts by critiquing workshops as “normative” that’s usually when I reach for my revolver. There is no such thing as a normative workshop, because any given workshop can only ever be the sum of the various biases, prejudices, tastes, genius, enthusiasm, and tics of the people in it, multiplied by the instructor facilitating it. I’ve been in workshops where some or all of the “changes” Kearns argues for were in use. She’s not really arguing for anything new. She’s just saying she wants more of X and Y, and less of B and Q. Well, fair enough, lady. Go publish a book, then get yourself a workshop, then run it however you want.
But that’s a little obnoxious, isn’t it? About the writing exercises- these are great for younger students or a more casual class. I love using them in my CRW 101 and I think that the students get a big kick out of doing them, then sharing. But for an advanced undergrad class or for an MFA class, I wouldn’t use writing exercises. For a casual or entry-level student, being forced to write spontaneously can be a big thrill, and trigger breakthrough moments. For a student already seriously pursuing her craft, it’s just a waste of class time. Somebody’s project could be getting critiqued in those same minutes.
But about reading published literature- I’m right there with her. I think teaching close reading as a writer is essential to developing writing craft at every single level. Though, even with that said, at New School–where I did my MFA–we took a seminar course and a writing workshop. Some workshop instructors chose to teach literature, but most assumed that the literary education was happening in the seminar, and that the whole of the workshop time ought to be devoted to student work. I’m not so sure that approach is wrong. If people are serious and advanced enough that they’re in an MFA workshop classroom, maybe their time is best spent learning to be editors, writers, and critics, rather than reading “A Perfect Day for Bananafish” for the umpteenth time.
I feel like critiques of the workshop are typically focused on a model of efficiency, where we try to gauge what the writer “gets” in terms of “useful” feedback, and then we critique the workshop itself if it seems like the numbers are low. This is dead wrong. The workshop is useful for everybody in it, if they are doing it right. Critiquing, line-editing, and close-reading somebody else’s work teaches you how to be a better reader. While your own work is frequently too raw or too close for you to edit it dispassionately, another person’s work makes the perfect training ground for your editorial and critical eye. After those skills develop, you will be in a position to bring them to bear on your own work. You’ve become a stronger self-reader. This is invaluable, but it can’t be quantified. Most of the time you probably can’t even point to the moments when it is happening.
Finally, has anyone anywhere ever taken a workshop that wasn’t prefaced by a million disclaimers about being nice to each other? I think more often than not, the problem with the workshop is that it’s TOO nice. The real “normative’ behavior is to find something–anything–mildly affirmative to say about work you secretly believe is in horrendous shape, rather than be cast as the bad guy.
@ Justin – great post
“Finally, has anyone anywhere ever taken a workshop that wasn’t prefaced by a million disclaimers about being nice to each other?”
Sure. I just did one where people were pretty much raped for three hours. By the professor and in a lesser degree, by the students. It was a “constructive” abuse, but there was no holding back, nor was it encouraged. At the end of the three hours, we realized we needed to say something nice, so we all pointed out a couple things that we liked – setting, a line, etc.
Sometimes we need to take off the gloves, and just take it. And give it. I guess I’d rather get the hard comments, the brutal truth and deal with it then get a bunch of “I liked the story”. But there is a way to criticize and still do it constructively. Somewhere in there is a good middle ground I think, between nice and brutal, yes?
Peace,
Richard
@ Justin – great post
“Finally, has anyone anywhere ever taken a workshop that wasn’t prefaced by a million disclaimers about being nice to each other?”
Sure. I just did one where people were pretty much raped for three hours. By the professor and in a lesser degree, by the students. It was a “constructive” abuse, but there was no holding back, nor was it encouraged. At the end of the three hours, we realized we needed to say something nice, so we all pointed out a couple things that we liked – setting, a line, etc.
Sometimes we need to take off the gloves, and just take it. And give it. I guess I’d rather get the hard comments, the brutal truth and deal with it then get a bunch of “I liked the story”. But there is a way to criticize and still do it constructively. Somewhere in there is a good middle ground I think, between nice and brutal, yes?
Peace,
Richard
In the undergraduate workshops I teach, we read more work from master writers than we do each other’s, and teaching is privileged over student comments. It is as undemocratic and uninclusive as possible.
In the undergraduate workshops I teach, we read more work from master writers than we do each other’s, and teaching is privileged over student comments. It is as undemocratic and uninclusive as possible.
one another’s, I mean
one another’s, I mean
I agree that all too often the workshop is too nice. It’s hard to be the one voice of reason when everyone else is being polite.
I agree that all too often the workshop is too nice. It’s hard to be the one voice of reason when everyone else is being polite.
I’m glad this discussion is coming up. (Again, yes. Always again.)
I agree with a large portion of what both Justin and Sean have said. The traditional versus nontraditional debate is a bit worn at this point and some of Kerns’ ideas are already at work in good environments; between the instructor and the students, no two workshops in which I have ever participated have ever been the same, even when their formats have been practically identical: gag rule until the end of the critique and all.
Speaking from my own experience – and doing my best to avoid generalizing experiences I haven’t had – I’ve gotten more from sitting at a table as if I am bound in a straight jacket for a measured period of forty minutes, squirming under the weight of criticism or misreading wanting to lurch out and scream, “You have to be kidding! We talked about this last week, I already wrote it, are you paying attention? Do you give a shit?” than through any other method of editing. Whether I like it or not, the book I’ve written in my head does not always reflect the book on the table, and that’s true whether or not my fellow workshoppers are brilliant or practically illiterate. It’s true whether or not the gag rule is in place or the workshop format is seemingly unconventional. And isn’t that the purpose of workshop, anyway?
As for the setting facilitating participants to see work as inherently flawed, I partially agree and partially disagree. I don’t think I’ve ever been in a workshop where not a single good thing was said about a draft. However, when you get down to it, workshop is there to pull you out of your writing – that means your connection to the piece, your writer’s identity, and ultimately, your hubris. We’re not all trying to become writers because we think what we have sucks – most of us think we’re god’s gift to the written word, and that reality check of having workshoppers view my piece as inherently flawed is sometimes what I need. I’m IN workshop to find out what’s terrible, what doesn’t work. If I want to pad my ego, I give my book to my grandmother, or circle little things in the manuscript that I can’t believe I had the chops to write. Or something. I don’t workshop for sugarplums and puppies; I see it as a unique privilege to watch people interacting with my work, and I am lucky if I get to speak on its behalf afterward.
I would love to see more published reading required in workshop. In four years of undergrad writing, only ONE class asked me to read anything other than student submissions, and that was my into class. Now, after figuring out HOW I write, I’ve taught myself so, so much from reading, and really wish this would have been part of my curriculum.
I’m glad this discussion is coming up. (Again, yes. Always again.)
I agree with a large portion of what both Justin and Sean have said. The traditional versus nontraditional debate is a bit worn at this point and some of Kerns’ ideas are already at work in good environments; between the instructor and the students, no two workshops in which I have ever participated have ever been the same, even when their formats have been practically identical: gag rule until the end of the critique and all.
Speaking from my own experience – and doing my best to avoid generalizing experiences I haven’t had – I’ve gotten more from sitting at a table as if I am bound in a straight jacket for a measured period of forty minutes, squirming under the weight of criticism or misreading wanting to lurch out and scream, “You have to be kidding! We talked about this last week, I already wrote it, are you paying attention? Do you give a shit?” than through any other method of editing. Whether I like it or not, the book I’ve written in my head does not always reflect the book on the table, and that’s true whether or not my fellow workshoppers are brilliant or practically illiterate. It’s true whether or not the gag rule is in place or the workshop format is seemingly unconventional. And isn’t that the purpose of workshop, anyway?
As for the setting facilitating participants to see work as inherently flawed, I partially agree and partially disagree. I don’t think I’ve ever been in a workshop where not a single good thing was said about a draft. However, when you get down to it, workshop is there to pull you out of your writing – that means your connection to the piece, your writer’s identity, and ultimately, your hubris. We’re not all trying to become writers because we think what we have sucks – most of us think we’re god’s gift to the written word, and that reality check of having workshoppers view my piece as inherently flawed is sometimes what I need. I’m IN workshop to find out what’s terrible, what doesn’t work. If I want to pad my ego, I give my book to my grandmother, or circle little things in the manuscript that I can’t believe I had the chops to write. Or something. I don’t workshop for sugarplums and puppies; I see it as a unique privilege to watch people interacting with my work, and I am lucky if I get to speak on its behalf afterward.
I would love to see more published reading required in workshop. In four years of undergrad writing, only ONE class asked me to read anything other than student submissions, and that was my into class. Now, after figuring out HOW I write, I’ve taught myself so, so much from reading, and really wish this would have been part of my curriculum.
I am moving today and I just threw out about a year and a half of marked up submissions from 07-09, kept some of the written notes, though. Probably will throw them away the next time I move.
I am moving today and I just threw out about a year and a half of marked up submissions from 07-09, kept some of the written notes, though. Probably will throw them away the next time I move.
Workshop will start to seem exceedingly normative, at least in many programs, if you write with genre elements, or experimental stuff, or anything that isn’t what the leader of your particular workshop feels you should be writing. My wife wrote a story for workshop that was, IMO, spectacular, is coming out soon in PANK, etc. It had a yeti in it. The instructor said it was impossible for the story to have an emotional impact or any importance, essentially, because it had a yeti. I was recently told my story about a body being carved up and destroyed one piece at a time by a small town couldn’t work because I didn’t describe the body realistically — which was, well, part of the point. It was supposed to be unreal. Nobody else really felt that way, but because instructors often dominate the workshop, I didn’t find that out until later.
Another thing that we say a lot when discussing published works in the MFA is “we would crucify this in workshop, but he/she gets away with it.” To me this suggests that we are (or at least my MFA is) indeed far too flaw-oriented in our comments. Which is not to say that we need to be nicer, exactly, but that when professors and students truly take out the time to see what a writer is doing well and how they are doing it, the workshop experience is a thousand times better. It turns out that most students have some fuckin’ idea what they’re doing in at least some sense, if not a great one — but often you wouldn’t know that from conversations.
This is not to say that I agree with most of the author’s suggestions. The gag rule is sacred to me.
Workshop will start to seem exceedingly normative, at least in many programs, if you write with genre elements, or experimental stuff, or anything that isn’t what the leader of your particular workshop feels you should be writing. My wife wrote a story for workshop that was, IMO, spectacular, is coming out soon in PANK, etc. It had a yeti in it. The instructor said it was impossible for the story to have an emotional impact or any importance, essentially, because it had a yeti. I was recently told my story about a body being carved up and destroyed one piece at a time by a small town couldn’t work because I didn’t describe the body realistically — which was, well, part of the point. It was supposed to be unreal. Nobody else really felt that way, but because instructors often dominate the workshop, I didn’t find that out until later.
Another thing that we say a lot when discussing published works in the MFA is “we would crucify this in workshop, but he/she gets away with it.” To me this suggests that we are (or at least my MFA is) indeed far too flaw-oriented in our comments. Which is not to say that we need to be nicer, exactly, but that when professors and students truly take out the time to see what a writer is doing well and how they are doing it, the workshop experience is a thousand times better. It turns out that most students have some fuckin’ idea what they’re doing in at least some sense, if not a great one — but often you wouldn’t know that from conversations.
This is not to say that I agree with most of the author’s suggestions. The gag rule is sacred to me.
this reminds me of reading donald murrays teach writing as process not product and how he talks a lot about how comp instructors are trained to read final products due to lit crit training, but then apply those reading methods to student work. the little tiny connection in my head to cw/workshops is that it seems to me that the workshops ive taken have trained me to look for ‘errors’ in a work, to look for how it can be improved, to assume the work is in need of correction/reivions/whatever. im not saying this is true of all workshops, but that i think its taken me a while to change how i read workinprogress because of my old ‘training’ i dont really know what im adding to this conversation, sorry.
this reminds me of reading donald murrays teach writing as process not product and how he talks a lot about how comp instructors are trained to read final products due to lit crit training, but then apply those reading methods to student work. the little tiny connection in my head to cw/workshops is that it seems to me that the workshops ive taken have trained me to look for ‘errors’ in a work, to look for how it can be improved, to assume the work is in need of correction/reivions/whatever. im not saying this is true of all workshops, but that i think its taken me a while to change how i read workinprogress because of my old ‘training’ i dont really know what im adding to this conversation, sorry.
Is your wife T. Bowling? Her story is swollen with emotion. I mean, seriously. That last line… Can’t wait to put it up.
In the article I’m talking about, the author also talks about how minority writers are often normed in the workshop. I don’t know how I feel about that assertion but it is interesting to think about.
I think many instructors/workshops are resistant to genre/experimental work because they believe writers.
Writers can be too flaw-oriented but the great thing about workshop is that you can take or leave the feedback. You aren’t held hostage to it so at the very worst, you suffer an hour of discomfort.
Is your wife T. Bowling? Her story is swollen with emotion. I mean, seriously. That last line… Can’t wait to put it up.
In the article I’m talking about, the author also talks about how minority writers are often normed in the workshop. I don’t know how I feel about that assertion but it is interesting to think about.
I think many instructors/workshops are resistant to genre/experimental work because they believe writers.
Writers can be too flaw-oriented but the great thing about workshop is that you can take or leave the feedback. You aren’t held hostage to it so at the very worst, you suffer an hour of discomfort.
If you are handsome you do influence things while keeping your mouth shut.
If you are handsome you do influence things while keeping your mouth shut.
haha
haha
I would like to be in your workshop. If I ever headed a workshop, this is how I would like to think I would ‘run it.’
I would like to be in your workshop. If I ever headed a workshop, this is how I would like to think I would ‘run it.’
At Alabama any experimental stuff was appreciated. I mean our fucking professor was Michael Martone! You just need to be in the right workshop and this is why you make sure the MFA you go to has the correct sensibility for you. You see the name Martone and you know that Bama will embrace innovation, oh, you know, like this guy I graduated with, Ander Monson.
On another topic, I think workshops should be moved out of tiny rooms. I take my class workshopping on a large boulder in a nearby river. You have to walk in the river to get to the boulder. I also held workshop in the sporting dept of our local Walmart.
S
At Alabama any experimental stuff was appreciated. I mean our fucking professor was Michael Martone! You just need to be in the right workshop and this is why you make sure the MFA you go to has the correct sensibility for you. You see the name Martone and you know that Bama will embrace innovation, oh, you know, like this guy I graduated with, Ander Monson.
On another topic, I think workshops should be moved out of tiny rooms. I take my class workshopping on a large boulder in a nearby river. You have to walk in the river to get to the boulder. I also held workshop in the sporting dept of our local Walmart.
S
@ mike
“The instructor said it was impossible for the story to have an emotional impact or any importance, essentially, because it had a yeti.”
that’s funny, because my prof kept asking this guy who was writing a little fishing tale to put in a sasquatch, he kept asking for that sasquatch – we laughed, but maybe he was right!
@ mike
“The instructor said it was impossible for the story to have an emotional impact or any importance, essentially, because it had a yeti.”
that’s funny, because my prof kept asking this guy who was writing a little fishing tale to put in a sasquatch, he kept asking for that sasquatch – we laughed, but maybe he was right!
2. If your intentions aren’t well conveyed through your writing, explaining them has little purpose.
Categorically disagree.
I’ve been in too many workshops where, when the author’s intention unclear, the workshop participants either became fixated on offering guesses as to what the author’s intention were, or became hung-up on offering fairly narrow suggestions in that belief that the author was attempting one thing when they were actually attempting another.
By explaining your intentions, if they’re initially unclear, there’s actually a hope that someone will offer you suggestions that will help fulfill your goals in writing a piece. It also opens up the possibility of discussing whether an author’s initial intentions are the right ones for a piece at that stage in its development. A workshop where there’s an open-dialog, instead of where each workshop participant offers his or her own advice for a very narrow view–often divorced from the writer’s view–of a work of writing actually has some hope of improving the story in question. In a gag-rule workshop, the off-topic advice is discarded; in a discussion-based workshop, it’s avoided entirely or at least curt-tailed early on enough that both the writer and the workshop participants can have a meaningful, productive exchange on the work of writing in question.
When I taught CW, I ran my workshops this way: first, we’d discuss an author’s intentions. If we were far off, or confused, the author could explain them. I never had particular problems with students arguing about what they were trying to convey, but part of teaching a workshop is being a strong voice and modeler of acceptable workshop behavior.
I don’t disagree with Justin that line-editing and workshopping are meant to be as useful to the participants as they are to the writer, but in the writing relationships I’ve had outside of workshop (proofreading, editing, writing groups), suggestions are usually offered as just that, particularly where the writer’s larger conception of a piece is concerned. I think the necessary flexibility to edit is also an important lesson for workshop participants. But then, I also gave my students the ultimate authority over their work: in their final revisions/portfolios, I just wanted to see that they revised, not that they revised in absolute accordance with my, or anyone else’s suggestions.
Anyway, in my MFA workshops at the University of Florida, there was no stated gag rule in place. I also had one workshop where “being nice to one another” wasn’t emphasized–instead, it was an incredibly catty environment where the professor’s favorite students (graduate students! people in their twenties!) seemed to get a kick out of telling people how “awful” their poems were. It was a toxic environment, and cast a pall over what was otherwise a good graduate school experience, not only for me, but for several other people in the workshop as well. Some may think a “harsh” approach is most helpful, but I think that, when offering editing suggestions and critique, it’s impossible to do so productively without some acknowledgment of the subjectivity of one’s own taste and, likewise, the ultimate ownership that a writer has over his or her own writing.
And, as usual, seconding everything Mike says about genre in mainstream workshops.
beyond awesome as a spectator. there would be blood balloons.
2. If your intentions aren’t well conveyed through your writing, explaining them has little purpose.
Categorically disagree.
I’ve been in too many workshops where, when the author’s intention unclear, the workshop participants either became fixated on offering guesses as to what the author’s intention were, or became hung-up on offering fairly narrow suggestions in that belief that the author was attempting one thing when they were actually attempting another.
By explaining your intentions, if they’re initially unclear, there’s actually a hope that someone will offer you suggestions that will help fulfill your goals in writing a piece. It also opens up the possibility of discussing whether an author’s initial intentions are the right ones for a piece at that stage in its development. A workshop where there’s an open-dialog, instead of where each workshop participant offers his or her own advice for a very narrow view–often divorced from the writer’s view–of a work of writing actually has some hope of improving the story in question. In a gag-rule workshop, the off-topic advice is discarded; in a discussion-based workshop, it’s avoided entirely or at least curt-tailed early on enough that both the writer and the workshop participants can have a meaningful, productive exchange on the work of writing in question.
When I taught CW, I ran my workshops this way: first, we’d discuss an author’s intentions. If we were far off, or confused, the author could explain them. I never had particular problems with students arguing about what they were trying to convey, but part of teaching a workshop is being a strong voice and modeler of acceptable workshop behavior.
I don’t disagree with Justin that line-editing and workshopping are meant to be as useful to the participants as they are to the writer, but in the writing relationships I’ve had outside of workshop (proofreading, editing, writing groups), suggestions are usually offered as just that, particularly where the writer’s larger conception of a piece is concerned. I think the necessary flexibility to edit is also an important lesson for workshop participants. But then, I also gave my students the ultimate authority over their work: in their final revisions/portfolios, I just wanted to see that they revised, not that they revised in absolute accordance with my, or anyone else’s suggestions.
Anyway, in my MFA workshops at the University of Florida, there was no stated gag rule in place. I also had one workshop where “being nice to one another” wasn’t emphasized–instead, it was an incredibly catty environment where the professor’s favorite students (graduate students! people in their twenties!) seemed to get a kick out of telling people how “awful” their poems were. It was a toxic environment, and cast a pall over what was otherwise a good graduate school experience, not only for me, but for several other people in the workshop as well. Some may think a “harsh” approach is most helpful, but I think that, when offering editing suggestions and critique, it’s impossible to do so productively without some acknowledgment of the subjectivity of one’s own taste and, likewise, the ultimate ownership that a writer has over his or her own writing.
And, as usual, seconding everything Mike says about genre in mainstream workshops.
beyond awesome as a spectator. there would be blood balloons.
On the heels of the Brandi Wells rape discussion, I applaud your courage in comparing a workshop to rape.
ha ha, just playin…i know what you mean.
and uh that would be better phrased as the Brandi Wells “rape story” discussion, I applaud your comparing a workshop to rape.
On the heels of the Brandi Wells rape discussion, I applaud your courage in comparing a workshop to rape.
ha ha, just playin…i know what you mean.
and uh that would be better phrased as the Brandi Wells “rape story” discussion, I applaud your comparing a workshop to rape.
The middle ground would be criticism in which the students actually WANT to help one another, instead of simply trying to best their classmates and tear one another down. I’ve been in many workshops in which people criticize the work to make themselves feel better, to be superior, instead of criticizing because they genuinely care to help the author make the best story he/she can possibly make.
‘Raping’ does not connote ‘construction’ to me. It basically connotes rape.
If I were to head a workshop, I would put in my syllabus: ‘Only attend this workshop if you genuinely want to help and be helped. Otherwise, drop this course now.’
i just laughed out loud and embarrassed myself
looking fwd to reading your carving body story…please let me know when it gets published – daveerlewine@yahoo.com – so i can read it. sounds good.
The middle ground would be criticism in which the students actually WANT to help one another, instead of simply trying to best their classmates and tear one another down. I’ve been in many workshops in which people criticize the work to make themselves feel better, to be superior, instead of criticizing because they genuinely care to help the author make the best story he/she can possibly make.
‘Raping’ does not connote ‘construction’ to me. It basically connotes rape.
If I were to head a workshop, I would put in my syllabus: ‘Only attend this workshop if you genuinely want to help and be helped. Otherwise, drop this course now.’
i just laughed out loud and embarrassed myself
looking fwd to reading your carving body story…please let me know when it gets published – daveerlewine@yahoo.com – so i can read it. sounds good.
I think this is significant and changes what one gets out of workshop immeasurably. I mean, there are attitudes like Nate’s upthread–“Once the little poem is out in the world, it doesn’t really matter what you wanted it to do–people will bring their own experiences to it and interpret it in different ways”–which is fine, but implies that that little poem is a bit more finished and, in light of that attitude, I can’t wonder, why edit (or, at least, workshop) at all? I learned to bring in poems which were less “finished” to workshop just so that I’d be more amenable to changes–but at that stage, it’s hard for me to view the poem as “out in the world.” It’s a draft, and much closer to a bunch of words I’m willing to play with than anything immutable. But that might be why I’m comfortable with conversation in the workshop, too.
I think this is significant and changes what one gets out of workshop immeasurably. I mean, there are attitudes like Nate’s upthread–“Once the little poem is out in the world, it doesn’t really matter what you wanted it to do–people will bring their own experiences to it and interpret it in different ways”–which is fine, but implies that that little poem is a bit more finished and, in light of that attitude, I can’t wonder, why edit (or, at least, workshop) at all? I learned to bring in poems which were less “finished” to workshop just so that I’d be more amenable to changes–but at that stage, it’s hard for me to view the poem as “out in the world.” It’s a draft, and much closer to a bunch of words I’m willing to play with than anything immutable. But that might be why I’m comfortable with conversation in the workshop, too.
thanks david. i nearly snarfed when i re-read what i first wrote. ha ha
great shit, by the way, in mud luscious – “twirl from silk strands of drool”
thanks david. i nearly snarfed when i re-read what i first wrote. ha ha
great shit, by the way, in mud luscious – “twirl from silk strands of drool”
much thanks, yo
much thanks, yo
I once participated in a workshop where other people’s works were read to us by the “mediator”. We didn’t know who we were critiquing. People were merciless. I kept commenting on how it all seemed like the oeuvre of one writer because the mediator read every story in the same voice. He kept accusing me of being off-point. Which I was. I was just having fun. I even slammed my own story (in truth it wasn’t very good at all).
I can go back and read “The Sun Also Rises” and blast it for the lack of variation in the voice of the characters. Or the fact that sometimes he has so many charaters in scenes that you don’t know who is speaking. Even great stories have flaws.
I think workshops are for critics, not writers. I don’t want to spend all day worrying over someone’s usage of the word “voluptuous” when the story itself doesn’t interest me at all. I don’t care. At the same time, no one cared that I was using a similar style and format to Restif de la Bretonne’s “Nights in Paris.” They would rather talk about how “prosaic” the prose was. And if you ask them what they mean, they say, “Oh, I just didn’t like it. I was bored.”
Someone mentioned before, everyone brings in their biases and preferences when it comes to these things.
I once participated in a workshop where other people’s works were read to us by the “mediator”. We didn’t know who we were critiquing. People were merciless. I kept commenting on how it all seemed like the oeuvre of one writer because the mediator read every story in the same voice. He kept accusing me of being off-point. Which I was. I was just having fun. I even slammed my own story (in truth it wasn’t very good at all).
I can go back and read “The Sun Also Rises” and blast it for the lack of variation in the voice of the characters. Or the fact that sometimes he has so many charaters in scenes that you don’t know who is speaking. Even great stories have flaws.
I think workshops are for critics, not writers. I don’t want to spend all day worrying over someone’s usage of the word “voluptuous” when the story itself doesn’t interest me at all. I don’t care. At the same time, no one cared that I was using a similar style and format to Restif de la Bretonne’s “Nights in Paris.” They would rather talk about how “prosaic” the prose was. And if you ask them what they mean, they say, “Oh, I just didn’t like it. I was bored.”
Someone mentioned before, everyone brings in their biases and preferences when it comes to these things.
I’m always tempted to bring in something that’s been published in, say, the New Yorker or Atlantic and submit it to see how badly some people treat it, assuming it is mine, a lowly student’s. Of course then I’d be expelled from school for plagiarizing. I wonder if I could do that and at the end of the workshop say something like ‘Just kidding!’ and whip out my real story.
I’m always tempted to bring in something that’s been published in, say, the New Yorker or Atlantic and submit it to see how badly some people treat it, assuming it is mine, a lowly student’s. Of course then I’d be expelled from school for plagiarizing. I wonder if I could do that and at the end of the workshop say something like ‘Just kidding!’ and whip out my real story.
I feel like writing exercises and studying published work are both completely essential… but any decent MFA program should be making you do that anyway in the non-workshop classes.
For undergrad, I think there is already a fair focus on exercises.
I feel like writing exercises and studying published work are both completely essential… but any decent MFA program should be making you do that anyway in the non-workshop classes.
For undergrad, I think there is already a fair focus on exercises.
Just sounds like a bad instructor to me. At my MFA program, or at least the instructors I had, experiments and genre elements and weirdness were completely encouraged.
Just sounds like a bad instructor to me. At my MFA program, or at least the instructors I had, experiments and genre elements and weirdness were completely encouraged.
Hi Phoebe,
I didn’t mean to suggest that editing poems, or workshops, are a waste of time. Once a poem is in a book, anthology, whatever, it has to stand on its own. The author is not going to be there to answer questions about it.
If one wants to make sure his/her message gets through, there are certainly ways to do that. And workshops are good to see if the message IS getting through.
Hi Phoebe,
I didn’t mean to suggest that editing poems, or workshops, are a waste of time. Once a poem is in a book, anthology, whatever, it has to stand on its own. The author is not going to be there to answer questions about it.
If one wants to make sure his/her message gets through, there are certainly ways to do that. And workshops are good to see if the message IS getting through.
Exactly right. If you’re TRYING to say something but it’s not coming across, then you need help with that. If the people reading it don’t see it, they’ll just keep tossing out shit you don’t care about.
As Gene mentioned, this could be done in “question” format. But when people don’t get it, having them stumble around with why isn’t always the best solution.
The last workshop I was gag rule first, followed by author-directed questions. Worked better than gag-only and better than the kind where the author can reply to every comment (which is useless and awkward).
Exactly right. If you’re TRYING to say something but it’s not coming across, then you need help with that. If the people reading it don’t see it, they’ll just keep tossing out shit you don’t care about.
As Gene mentioned, this could be done in “question” format. But when people don’t get it, having them stumble around with why isn’t always the best solution.
The last workshop I was gag rule first, followed by author-directed questions. Worked better than gag-only and better than the kind where the author can reply to every comment (which is useless and awkward).
Awesome. Point 2 is work-intensive but a great and unique idea. Force people to engage quality writing instead of just reading some random teacher-selected pet-examples.
Awesome. Point 2 is work-intensive but a great and unique idea. Force people to engage quality writing instead of just reading some random teacher-selected pet-examples.
But it’s usually awkwardly nice in a way that everyone knows that the past twenty minutes have been giant “I like your descriptions”-based tugjob.
But it’s usually awkwardly nice in a way that everyone knows that the past twenty minutes have been giant “I like your descriptions”-based tugjob.
Becoming a “stronger self-reader,” as you say, is definitely what workshops are all about. The misapprehension is that they’re only intended to benefit the writer who’s up. Any good workshop is more about, through repetition, discovering and learning to convey one’s aesthetic concerns in a way that doesn’t make other people hate you forever. Workshops are also invaluable for writers in that they throw all sorts of insane shitheaded ideas at a writer and s/he has to learn to discard all those except the ones that hit the spot they knew was there all the time but were trying to ignore.
Becoming a “stronger self-reader,” as you say, is definitely what workshops are all about. The misapprehension is that they’re only intended to benefit the writer who’s up. Any good workshop is more about, through repetition, discovering and learning to convey one’s aesthetic concerns in a way that doesn’t make other people hate you forever. Workshops are also invaluable for writers in that they throw all sorts of insane shitheaded ideas at a writer and s/he has to learn to discard all those except the ones that hit the spot they knew was there all the time but were trying to ignore.
At the pretty decent grad program I attended the number of exercises done there was exactly zero. The talk in most workshops was way more thematic/content-minded than formal. Just sayin’, as they say.
At the pretty decent grad program I attended the number of exercises done there was exactly zero. The talk in most workshops was way more thematic/content-minded than formal. Just sayin’, as they say.
i really like all of your descriptions, but you might work on your transitions.
i really like all of your descriptions, but you might work on your transitions.
No, I understand that–just that I think that if your attitude is that your poem is “out in the world” at the stage when you’re workshopping it, is it really worth editing after that point? After all, people are going to bring to workshop what they will, etc.
“And workshops are good to see if the message IS getting through.”–Well, sure, but once you’ve established that (which doesn’t take long), what’s wrong with asking your peers how you can better transmit your message so that it can be heard more effectively?
No, I understand that–just that I think that if your attitude is that your poem is “out in the world” at the stage when you’re workshopping it, is it really worth editing after that point? After all, people are going to bring to workshop what they will, etc.
“And workshops are good to see if the message IS getting through.”–Well, sure, but once you’ve established that (which doesn’t take long), what’s wrong with asking your peers how you can better transmit your message so that it can be heard more effectively?
phoebe, i think most would say they are seeking validation or improvement even after the piece has been “out in the world”.
a fully realized idea is a goal most never attain.
phoebe, i think most would say they are seeking validation or improvement even after the piece has been “out in the world”.
a fully realized idea is a goal most never attain.
Second this. By necessity last week my workshop was held in a van on Route 101 and Route 95. I was driving. The rearview mirror afforded an interesting perspective on my class. The tollbooth provided a natural pause in the action. Having to yell over the rush of the highway made me choose words more attentively than usual. A week before that with another class we played a round of Texas Hold’em at the outset of workshop, as that was the theme of the story. Obviously this could become gimmicky–one does not want to distract from what is on the page. In this case I had some specific issues of description and characterization that I wanted to bring into the room in a performative fashion rather than just expounding.
Second this. By necessity last week my workshop was held in a van on Route 101 and Route 95. I was driving. The rearview mirror afforded an interesting perspective on my class. The tollbooth provided a natural pause in the action. Having to yell over the rush of the highway made me choose words more attentively than usual. A week before that with another class we played a round of Texas Hold’em at the outset of workshop, as that was the theme of the story. Obviously this could become gimmicky–one does not want to distract from what is on the page. In this case I had some specific issues of description and characterization that I wanted to bring into the room in a performative fashion rather than just expounding.
workshops.ahhhhhh. ive been in so many different types of workshops. all flawed, all beautiful.
while i agree that i get the most from the “brutal honesty” approach where people just pick the shit apart. the problem always seems to be. while douche bags are busy criticizing and ripping and shredding, and picking out all your flaws, what those kind of people never do is attempt to recognize your vision, your intentions, and offer suggestions on how you can turn those flaws into something positive. they are so busy trying to be clever, trying impress the prof for recommendations, trying to make themselves feel better about their own shitty writing, that they are so quick to tell you how they would “do it better” or “fix it.” instead of concentrating on how to help you reach your intended goals.
workshops.ahhhhhh. ive been in so many different types of workshops. all flawed, all beautiful.
while i agree that i get the most from the “brutal honesty” approach where people just pick the shit apart. the problem always seems to be. while douche bags are busy criticizing and ripping and shredding, and picking out all your flaws, what those kind of people never do is attempt to recognize your vision, your intentions, and offer suggestions on how you can turn those flaws into something positive. they are so busy trying to be clever, trying impress the prof for recommendations, trying to make themselves feel better about their own shitty writing, that they are so quick to tell you how they would “do it better” or “fix it.” instead of concentrating on how to help you reach your intended goals.
what if instead of that “this reminds me of Marcus Twain, have you read Marcus Twain?” thing that happens in workshops, you were like “This reminds me of a grapefruit spoon. Do you have a grapefruit spoon? I think you should try eating a grapefruit with a grapefruit spoon and see what happens to this story.”
what if instead of that “this reminds me of Marcus Twain, have you read Marcus Twain?” thing that happens in workshops, you were like “This reminds me of a grapefruit spoon. Do you have a grapefruit spoon? I think you should try eating a grapefruit with a grapefruit spoon and see what happens to this story.”
She’s the one! That story is amazing. You’ve got one of my stories, too. (Sorry I never managed an audio recording. Tech problems — I read it out loud three damn times to no avail)
Wondering what “because they believe writers” was going to turn into there.
She’s the one! That story is amazing. You’ve got one of my stories, too. (Sorry I never managed an audio recording. Tech problems — I read it out loud three damn times to no avail)
Wondering what “because they believe writers” was going to turn into there.
David — I’ll just e-mail it to you when I finish revising. If I can remember. I’m not protective.
David — I’ll just e-mail it to you when I finish revising. If I can remember. I’m not protective.
Hmm, I did a lot of exercises, but as I said in the non-workshop classes mostly.
Hmm, I did a lot of exercises, but as I said in the non-workshop classes mostly.
it’s an imperfect system, it always will be, but if we don’t gag the writer being critiqued, we’re all fucked
it’s an imperfect system, it always will be, but if we don’t gag the writer being critiqued, we’re all fucked
[…] are talking about what it means for someone else to tell you that your writing sucks (see here, here, and here). Well, this never happens in any of my graduate writing workshops. Even the ones […]