In my post this morning I said, in part, “I think writing classes are like therapy: if you need more than twelve sessions, you are fucked. And time-wasting. And money-wasting. Because the point of therapy is to find out where you need to do the work, and then go home and do it. That is, the therapist doesn’t fix you, you fix yourself. So endless therapy is pointless. Endless writing classes are similarly pointless.”
Looking at that statement I feel rather dim. And, worse, that I’ve been careless of some readers’ feelings.
I meant what I said–to a degree. But good writing is all about the degree, and I made a sweeping generalisation. I went from the specific (many people I have met who have been through long-term therapy) to the general (all people who have ever been through long-term therapy) without pausing for breath. I screwed up.
So let me clarify. Yes, I have met entirely too many so-called adults who use long-term therapy as an indulgence, a way to have a captive audience for their endless self-serving maundering. But it was ridiculous to then conclude that every single person who has ever been through long-term therapy uses their therapy that way.
Today, I forgot the cardinal rule of good writing and good personship: clarity and specificity and kindness. Tomorrow, I hope to do better.