I’ve been having a conversation on my Facebook page about what the perfect creative course might focus on. Those who have responded so far are screenwriters (who mostly would like to learn to get of their own way, and to understand story better), but I’d love to hear from other writers.
If you could take one class, what would it look like? Three hours or two years? Part-time or full-time? Online or in-person? Workshop or lecture or MFA? And what would you like to learn? What’s the single most important area you would like to focus on?
This is a question for editors, agents, publishers, booksellers, marketers, critics and readers, too. What do you desperately wish most writers knew but obviously don’t? What do we need to be able to do that we can’t? Where do most writers fail? Or, looked at another way, what wonderful things do we do that you’d like to see us do even better?
Please, be as honest as you can. Go as long or as short as you like. Feel free to include links or examples.
Nicola Griffith 
In my case, it would be perseverance. Just the strength of will to keep pulling the thread when it’s not easy.
Finding voice.
The class would focus on everything I needed to complete a story/novel.The classes would include readings and class critiques by writers at a similar or better level. I could do part time classes, but only if it were at least several hours per week. I hate the idea of on line classes. I learn best when person to person/face to face. Online (to me) goes in my head but doesn’t flow out through my imagination on to the paper. I can’t be bothered.
I have been told that I have a brilliant imagination. I can build an interesting story from sawdust. My problem is not knowing how to structure large stories/novels. I’ve had a class or two on structure but I needed many more. I needed an intense course that was longer than two hours with homework assignments. I want to know the best way to structure my novel BEFORE I complete it. I would also like to be great at showing different POVs at the appropriate times. I am tired of hearing “you’ve changed the POV”. Have I? Where? And the idea that because I write in chronological order as opposed to *throws papers in the air* makes the story suffer and makes me want to cry for help.
The single most important thing I’d like to focus on is getting the story out there without crippling myself with censoring and editing through out the entire process – because of my fear that my writing isn’t grammatically perfect or isn’t as academic or polished as others in the class.
This is so interesting.
On Twitter and Facebook I’m getting a lot of outwardly focused response, ‘tell me how to write what sells’ kind of thing. Here I’m getting what I actually asked for: responses out of self-understanding, very particular needs.
Fascinating. Thank you.
If anyone else has a perspective, I’d love to hear it.
This comment has been removed by the author.
My ideal program would be a mix of lecture and workshop, in-person, part-time, over a period of at least two years.
I don’t care for online classes. I find I already spend too much time at the computer, either writing or researching or just socialising/procrastinating through Facebook, Twitter, blogs, whatever. Also, I find that a significant amount of the feedback I get in a workshop environment comes from body language. When someone says, “I love this or that scene,” I can look around the table to see some of our peers nodding, others twisting their mouths and wrinkling noses in disgust and disagreement, etc. I can see which elements get strong responses (usually, half of the people will hate the same passage the other half hates, so I flag those as important for revision); which parts of the story didn’t even register and could possibly be cut out; I can walk someone to the bus after class and try to find out what it was that bothered them about my piece, etc.
I think lectures can offer a few pointers and shortcuts to those of us who are very new at Writing for Real and would otherwise spend years and decades trying to understand the basics through the trial-and-error method. I’ll treasure every lecture I attended with screenwriter Peggy Thompson (even if screenwriting is not my current genre of choice), along with some of the theory I picked up from a translation workshop that alternated between lecture and hands-on practice and critique. Those sessions have given me at least three or four epiphanies that would have taken me ages to come by on my own.
My ideal workshop will last at least a year, with the option to sign up for Year 2 with the same prof and peers. I get bored easily and tend to prefer short, intensive classes, but this year I had the opportunity to watch how some of the people in one of my workshops went from totally clueless to handing in a final story that made me go, “Wow!” If the course had lasted only one school-term, I would have left the workshop convinced that it had all been a futile, berserk-making attempt at turning careless, bone-headded, non-spellchecking, grammar-challenged, OMG-what-a-waste cases into potential writers. I love being surprised, and I was. Some things take time to learn, and writing is definitely one of those where being in-for-the-long-haul gets you places.
Another good aspect of in-person, long-term courses is that you get to see real human beings struggle with the craft. Oh, so I’m not the only one who ritually bangs her head against the keyboard every so many paragraphs, I’m not the only one who has trouble making her sweetie understand the importance of allowing time and space to write, I’m not the only one who worries about the future and the dwindling bank account, I’m not the only one whose stories/poems/scripts have been rejected or accepted or ignored or cheered on into fear of success and/or failure. And, yet, writing gets done and people sign book deals. Yes, there is hope, but, more importantly, we’re developing and sharing strategies to ensure we get enough AIC (Ass in Chair) to make the deadline, and can bear witness to the fact that the writing of those who practised AIC throughout the year shows improvement (some more than others, of course, milage varies) while those who avoided AIC are still in square one and making up excuses.
The skill level of participants, contrary to what I initially thought, isn’t that important, as long as there is at least a couple who are at a decent stage and very committed to the craft. I found that having a group that includes both beginners and experienced writers can benefit both extremes: the ones with more experience get a chance to hone their editing and critiquing skills (which they can later apply to their own writing), while the beginners are challenged to learn the ropes much faster than if they felt comfortable and accomplished for their level.
If it’s not too much to ask, on top of all of the above, I’d love a year-long workshop that focused on genre fiction—SF/F, Horror, etc. I’m getting tired of the highbrow-lit focus that plagues most Creative Writing departments in Canada and the US.
I think it varies depending on the level of the writers — at some point, everyone needs certain technical pointers. I took a weekend intensive writing seminar years ago and the most valuable thing I got out of it was not anything the teacher did or said but just being in a room with other writers and having conversations about writing. It made me remember that everything has its own vocabulary. We turned those conversations into a website, two grants, several events and two collected poetry editions. Eventually, we dispersed, the split encouraged by time and personality issues. It was a very educational experience, but as I said, not because of the content of the class.
Hey Nicola,
This is a topic that I’ve contemplated for many years. Of course there’s no one perfect class, just as there’s no one perfect teacher for every student. But if I could cherrypick the best elements of all the writing workshops I’d organized over the years, this is what it would look like.
It would begin with an intense retreat of at least a weekend, to help people develop trust, friendships, and a real commitment to each other.
Then it would switch to online, because that format would allow a greater diversity of writers to participate and is more flexible.
The class would include discussion of readings, lectures on specific techniques, writing exercises, and critique of works-in-progress. It would be a long-term class, meeting at least once a week.
I’d prefer one instructor who had the grace to share instructional techniques published by other people as well. In preparation for the course, the instructor would have analyzed each topic in depth, defining the most important ideas to understand about each technique for the overview portion of the class. We’d move from one topic to the next reasonably quickly, so that by the end of the first year, we’d have a good sense of all the components of story.
In year two, we’d return to each topic for advanced study. More emphasis on editing. Probably still the same balance of writing exercises and critique, but maybe more critique?
If possible, it would be wonderful to bring the group together annually, or maybe even quarterly. Hanging out with writers for a weekend with no distractions is such a rush!
Unlike Karina, I prefer a juried class. And I’d like to be the least skilled writer in the bunch.
There’d also be resources for understanding the business end of publishing, and trusted people to consult with questions. Not sure what that would look like yet.
And some way to just gossip, because I’ve learned some very important lessons that way.
The group’s culture would be gracious, encouraging, productive, and tough. Very high standards. But — with the understanding there are many legitimate reasons to write, and many career paths. Far too many genre writers are now trapped in the book-a-year rut. I want to learn how to have a different kind of career, and that’s rarely discussed.
That’s all top-of-my-head. Would be happy to keep exploring this.
Jill
As a reader, if I could ask for one thing, it would be an ending. Walter Jon Williams is a master at this. I loved his Praxis space opera trilogy, and it had an ending that took my breath away. I just finished (and loved) his latest novel “This is not a game” and it also has a well-crafted ending.
If I could tell writers one thing, it would be that I can only remember seven things at once. If a character steps into a room, feel free to describe seven or eight interesting objects in the room, but I’ve just forgotten the character’s name.
If I could make one rule, it would be, “No infodumps!” As carefully as you have arranged for the duke’s letter to the prince explaining the warp-generating properties of dilithium to be intercepted by the chamberlain who reads it to the regent, I’m sorry but I don’t care.
But I love, love, love reading, so I have one request for anyone involved in the creation or production of books: Please keep going! I want more!
I know you’ve mentioned that you and Kelley do teach some writing (or maybe I just dreamed it because I want to come back to Seattle) but have you ever given thought to growing a summer Breadloaf in the City? Talk about laying the groundwork for publishing through a group collaboration seems to me to suggest that this may be worth exploring?
As for as writing work, I need to be alone, need a challenge and a deadline, need to stop, excuse the expression ladies, dicking around.
As Kris Kristopherson’s Close to the Bone puts it,
Ain’t it kinda funny
Ain’t it just that way, though
Ain’t you getting better
Running out of time
I need to talk through work through this belief that comes over me every time I walk in a bookstore. I could, I would, but why should?
Rhbee,
When you said: _I need to talk through work through this belief that comes over me every time I walk in a bookstore. I could, I would, but why should?_
Did you mean why should you write, or why should you publish? Two entirely different questions.
Jill
Yes, Jill, they sure are. I can’t not write. But do I need to publish? Do I want to enter the lists? The books on the one hand new, on the other stacked to sell cheap and not so new. We are a culture that appears to need to read but then race on. As one of the constant readers I know that there are an amazing number of incredible works being published everyday. Yet, I still find myself asking do we need more? My own shelves groan.
But as Nicola is wont to say, I should shut it and write you whimpering simp.
We most certainly need more art, of all types. How better to understand ourselves and others?
If the consumerist aspect of publishing bothers you, then why not put your work on a website? You can always donate books to your local library. That’s how I keep the volume under control.
I’m not sure I understand your concern yet.
Jill
To me, all riveting writing, including non-fiction, is magical realism. It isn’t just descriptive. The writer makes me feel that she is there and I am there too. I have often felt that we create the world with language as much as explain it. You can see now why I am a reader, but no writer.
No Jill, it isn’t the consumerist aspect though I do have some thoughts on that for a different thread. What it is is that overwhelming sense that there is just too much to being written and not nearly enough being done with the written ideas that we already have in play. Unique as each new and old work is, we still seem, no are, the same. To me that’s why time travel actually works. We never change. Unfortunately. An example, I’ve just finished reading the script for Lynn Nottage’s Pulitzer Prize winning “Ruined”. What the hell, what a waste. While we in schadefreudan are stuck, more humans are being ruined as we speak. Ask R. Silverberg why he moved to Oakland or John Brunner why The Sheep Look Up.
Aaah. Now I understand. Yes, some fine works do not receive their due, but that’s probably less true these days than in the past. Consider that Mozart played some of his finest works for small gatherings of (only rich) people; how many people heard his music during his lifetime? Our technology makes it possible to share and play with ideas easily.
I absolutely dispute the idea that we are still the same. If you’re losing faith, I urge you to volunteer with a charity that’s working on an issue that matters deeply to you. Dirt under the fingernails is often good for the soul.
One of the reasons why I write is to change people — as other writers changed me.
I wonder how you got so off the track, Jill. And when did writing become some form of religious worship for you? You're not one of those Chicken Soup followers, are you?
I am talking about less is more. Not to be irReligulous but writers who are trying to convert the world aren't ever going to be my cuppa'. Meanwhile, want I thought I was making clear is the way that the number of choices available when I walk into a bookstore such as B&N or Borders is simply overwhelming in a way that makes me think why do we need anymore? You don't have to think that way.
So to get back to the workshop idea, Nicola, I would definitely need for there to be a clear separation between church and state.