Sinking in the Sea of the Workshop

A few weeks ago, I had a conversation where I was reminded of one of the pitfalls of writing workshops and college writing programs.  I put it out my mind like a bad friend, someone your trusted to help but who failed you in the end. Let's face it: almost anyone who has been told a few times that they write well, or anyone who thinks they write well, despite being told the contrary, has likely tried their hand at one or the other.  The problem that I remember with these well-meaning instructors is that they don't so much teach the craft as they expect you to learn from your fellow writers.  Trouble is that most of these schmucks are just as clueless as you are.  Effectively what they do is throw you to the sharks, sink or swim, each man for himself.  Further, most times they strip you of your life boat, which we call genre, and force you to cram all your creative juices into a small dinghy full of nasty people with BO that they call Short Literary Fiction. 

In the workshop, we have limited time.  I get it.  Really I do.  But when you are finally asked to swim that mile to the shore and don't know a basic stroke, you're going to drown.  So rather than berating me for choosing a genre that sells as opposed to some high hipster shit that would have died out years ago (and rightfully so!) had it not been for you and your fellow English-degreed friends, why don't you spare me the lecture and posturing and teach US HOW TO FUCKING WRITE.

Oh yeah.  Maybe it's because no one ever taught you either.

From the beginning, I was fortunate.  In high school, I learned shit that even some published (/cry) writers don't know.  I learned how to create concrete images, not to mix my metaphors, and by God avoid the evil -ly words which make you look weak and feeble.  I had an amazing teacher, Mrs. Morrison, who was as connected as she was gifted with teaching kids and other folks how to write.  She knew Raymond Carver before he died, and I met people like Lucien Stryke, Tess Gallagher, and Gwendolyn Brooks.  She still enforced the short-fiction-lit-fic crap, but she also taught the fundamental skills of good writing.  With almost two years of writing experience under my belt, I taught workshops to middle school students.  I was pumped, excited.  I was looking forward to continuing my writing education in college (I was into poetry then).

And sank. 

There are two main problems with college writing workshops:  one, they are designed to teach you by example, the example being the writing of your peers.  If your peers suck, however, you learn nothing.  You become the teacher yourself, the big fish leading a school of little guys.  This happens because, two, most workshop "instructors" don't act like a teacher insomuch as they behave like just another member of the workshop, except that their critique is also probably your grade.  Also, because they read about 20 other stories besides yours, no doubt they won't spend time discussing the effectiveness of a certain character or a specific line.  They won't tell you why ly and ing endings suck balls.

It wasn't until a transfer to a private college that I found a teacher who was actively teaching writing.  By then, I had come to recognize that the "workshop" format was all the rage, and totally useless for honing actual skills.  So when I returned to school to finally complete my degrees years later, I knew what to expect.  I slogged through it anyway and learned almost nothing.  Hell, I think the only thing I took from the classes I endured were the words of fellow student, novelist Robyn Bachar:  "Enough with the commas already, woman!"  I can say with confidence that Robyn is probably the only person in any of these classes who has gone on to "be" a writer.  And I can also say that Robyn walked into the room with both talent and training, which confirms my belief that many of these classes teach you virtually nothing.  For all I know, there were other people in the class who had talent, but because they could not write a fucking sentence, Robyn and I found veiled ways to make fun of their arrogant lit-fic bullshit while secretly writing novels like the good little genre whores we are.

So if all classes are backwater cesspools that breed mosquitoes and not writers, where do writers go to perfect their craft?  The answer is simple: other writers and the Internet, my dears!  Maybe you already know that I am carrying on a not-so-secret intellectual love affair with Chuck, the terrible mind behind terribleminds.com.  If you want to understand writing in an easy-to-chew format, check him out.  He breaks writing down into easy to parse lists, and much of his advice is invaluable.  Though I think I know more than a few things about creative fiction, the man has saved my bacon more times than I can count.  He has some great books out, too. 

You can also visit the blogs of writers you enjoy and respect.  Though they may not teach you much when it comes to the bare bones of the craft, they can at least help you become more genre savvy.  Some writers may even be willing to recommend books to you if you're trying to get up on the basics.  If you crave the workshop format and want to share your work with other writers, shop around for a writing group where the skills of the others are on par with your own, or even start a workshop group of your own.  I did the latter; there is something to be said for sharing my work with people who are on a level similar to mine.  Online or in-person, it doesn't matter these days.  I am still learning, of course.  And I still get a little comma-happy from time to time.

I have some ideas swirling in my head for a set of workshops that delve into the uncharted waters of writing skill.  The more I learn, the more I realize that the ironclad dos and don'ts of writing are few, but the few are irrefutable and need to be understood, if not followed.  Also, I won't turn people away at the door because they write novels or genre fiction.  And I won't ask anyone to learn from the writing of someone they don't respect.  That defeats the purpose of taking our work seriously, which is the basic goal of a writing workshop, in my opinion.  Hell, where else is it going to happen for most of us?