Do you want to be an artist? Do you want to be novelist, a screenwriter, a director, an actor, a musician? Then I urge you to read this magnificent rant by Karina Meléndez about her experience with wannabes in the prestigious UBC Creative Writing Program. And then please never, never, never do any of those things.
I’ve written before about why I think the professional creative game breaks artists, especially when it can take a long time for a person to come into her art. And I have seen what Karina describes a hundred times in workshops, at parties, on blogs — wannabes who have already bought into some version of Real Artists are Born, not Made. It’s hard, because there are just enough young geniuses out there that when we are learning our art, we almost always run into a couple. They shine early, they get attention and approval, they are special; and they make the rest of us feel inadequate and frightened and desperate to shine as well.
And here is what happens then: the goal for students in programs or workshops becomes not to learn, but to be validated. Because if one has something to learn, well, yeeps, that means you aren’t there, sister, you’re no genius, you’re not a Real Artist. Go drown your inadequacies at the Losers Pub: the rest of us will be here defending our Precious Genius to the death, explaining that people just don’t get how good we really are.
And resisting with all our might the essential qualities of real artists: self-honesty, vulnerability, and a hunger for learning so fierce and relentless that you’ll take a lesson wherever you find it — because real artists make themselves.
There’s a reason that a person’s art is commonly referred to as her work. It’s not coincidence or just a wacky way to use that crazy word. You want to be a real artist? Do the fucking work. Yes, it’s hard, and it can be the most please-just-shoot-me-now combination of frustration and despair and blazing hot I will do this somehow hope that you may ever feel about anything except possibly falling in love; and that’s when you finally learn that art is the way that real artists love themselves.
So what do you want? What’s more important, loving yourself and your art with such fierce passion that you’ll do whatever you must to make both of you better? Or being so frightened of the work and the life that you’ll spend all that energy instead on superstitious behavior, or complaining that no one gets your work, or refusing to be honest, or withholding your support from others. Spend all that precious never-get-it-back energy on trying to make everyone around you see you as a genius. Oh, baby, that’s like trying to make someone say they love you. Making them say it doesn’t make it true.
Thanks for sharing this, Kelley. I hope it’ll help other aspiring writers, such as myself, to understand the importance of learning through reading; the need to work at actually writing down the stories by investing and making ourselves vulnerable in the process; to allow room for mistakes we can later catch and acknowledge with the help of reading peers and revise with humble awareness; to come to terms with the reality of having to go through this cycle all over again with each and every story we attempt to tell.
I had lunch with a friend yesterday and he was telling me that the more he grows as a writer, the more he realizes writing is very hard work. He has come to appreciate this Amazing Thing We Are Trying To Do as a craft worthy of respect and apprenticeship. So have I.
I’ve been thinking about my rant these past couple of days. I wonder how the teachers feel about those students. Because we have fantastic teachers: all of them very strong and dedicated writers, all of them prolific and published. I’m sure they spot the non-readers quicker than my peers and I can. And they must know those people will leave UBC with the same self-delusion they came in with. How do teachers cope with this knowledge? How do they refrain from tearing those students’ heads off?
I’m going to hang on to the speculation that such infuriating students (there aren’t many, but every workshop does indeed have at least one of them) were placed among us on purpose, that their function is to teach us by example about the dangers of catering to our insecurities by sheltering our egos and not doing the hard work.
In our “Writing with an Aboriginal Focus” workshop, we talked about Contraries—people who are trained since birth to do the opposite of what is expected: they will mourn at weddings, laugh at funerals, spread any secret you tell them, remain silent when required to speak up, be late, etc. They are The Sacred Fool: The Joker: The Trickster: Coyote: Raven: Loki. Not that our non-reading, non-sharing, non-investing, non-listening wannabe-writing peers are part of that society of Contraries. But they may very well serve the same purpose unknowingly. I’ll try to think of those students that way, just so I can resist the urge to slap them every time they defend their laziness and insecurities.
Kelley,
Thank you so much. I’ve been struggling for nearly three months with feelings of being not good enough, of fear and yes, desperation. Not realizing what I have been after all along is validation. Working so very hard in the wrong direction for the the wrong thing is painful and exhausting.
Now I have your post to remind me to return to the center. I think I’ll print it out and carry it in my pocket for a while. Again, your words have perfect timing.
Jan, I’m sorry you’ve been struggling with this. It’s so hard — I know, I’ve been through it myself. I’ve lost years of my creative life to it. And every once it while it still comes back to bite me.
Struggle when you must, and be honest when something’s not good enough, but as much as you are able, try not to despair. Because there is no need for despair. Learning is good. Learning is what will make you better. And I don’t know any other way to learn than to understand what I do well and what I do not.
The key for me is that it’s my understanding. One of the hardest parts of beginning in an art is having few reference points for my own sense of good/bad, effective/not, essential/irrelevant. And the trap of seeking validation indiscriminately — especially from other beginners — is that without discernment, we cannot develop our own barometer for the quality of our work. So it seems to me that one of the key lessons for any artist is to find someone who is at minimum her actual equal in skill (as opposed to simply her peer), and preferably her better. Those are people we can learn from.
Put quite bluntly, much of what passes for criticism in workshops, in classrooms, in writing groups and in the coffeeshops of the world is bullshit. You do not need to meet the standards of bullshit or be validated by those who sling it.
Here’s my advice to, well, everyone (grin): if you’re not getting validation from people who are not very good artists, well, who gives a fuck? It’s annoying and sometimes stinging, but I promise your ego (and your art!) will survive. If you’re not getting validation from someone you really respect, then ask them to be specific about why. It will sting: let it, while you get on with doing what you must to improve.
And one more thing, since I find that I am lecturing (sorry….) — “return to center” is exactly the right way to describe it, in my opinion. Growth isn’t about always being centered, and art certainly doesn’t happen because we are all so perfectly balanced… the trick is not to stay centered, because the world is always knocking us off balance in a hundred daily ways. The trick is to develop strategies to find our balance again, return to our center, as quickly as possible.
Karina, thanks for these further thoughts. I have more thoughts too, but they’re still coming together, so I hope they’ll be ready to turn into pixels later.
So it seems to me that one of the key lessons for any artist is to find someone who is at minimum her actual equal in skill (as opposed to simply her peer), and preferably her better. Those are people we can learn from.
Yes! I know I’m in the right place when I feel my work sucks when compared to the work people around me are producing. It is a scary and very exciting place. Thank goodness I’m addicted to it. I like hanging out with colleagues and teachers who set the bar impossibly high, people I admire, people who leave me breathless; it forces me to push myself, to stay on my toes. Whenever I feel too comfortable, I go and do something embarrassing or daring. I go and find someone who doesn’t think I’m great, yet.
Maybe, Karina, people in your UBC Creative Writing Program are young, inexperienced, dealing with their own issues, and have an interest in writing. No need to “want to slap someone” or, even worse, be a snob about who’s more of an “artiste”. Obviously they have an interest in writing or they wouldn’t be in the program. If I were to be forevermore judged on my behavior and pretensions of my early 20s, it would be intolerable for me. Thank God I’ve moved on and changed for the better. I’m sure your 20-something classmates will too. This too shall pass. (And maybe they have their own opinions of you, too. Ever think about that?)
Or maybe not artiste, but the equivalent word for “I’ve read more than you have” attitude. I can understand if you’re all 50 year-olds, but give a youngin’ a break, will ya?
Youth and inexperience may explain bad attitude and the attendant refusal to do the work, but it doesn’t excuse it — especially in what it essentially Canada’s premier academic training ground for professional writers. The same is true in programs like Clarion and Clarion West, that I’ve both attended and taught. It doesn’t matter that some people are young and less experienced — they have to learn the lessons of learning to do the work. We all do. And when we behave in a way that negatively impacts the learning experience of those around us, then we have done badly.
No one’s talking about judging these people by this behavior in 20 years. We’re talking about judging them by it now, while they are doing it. I’m happy to give anyone a break, but that doesn’t include excusing the kind of behavior between artists that Karina describes in her post merely on the grounds of youth. I can understand it, sure. And I find it infuriating, counterproductive, and believe it shouldn’t be tolerated at the expense of people who are actually doing the work.
Addendum to my previous comment — let me clarify. I think everyone screws up and makes mistakes. That’s cool, we all learn and move on. It’s the consistent behavior that’s problematic for me. The consistent insistence that one doesn’t have to play by the community rules of mutual support that are part of most training programs, and the consistent refusal in a learning situation to accept criticism or allow for difference in artistic viewpoints.
It’s a hard thing to learn, and we often learn it at each other’s expense. That’s a fact of life and we have to deal with, but I think it’s fine to get cranky about it.
My four cents.
This is my favorite part of your whole post Kelley, and the part that has stayed with me days later:
“….and thatâs when you finally learn that art is the way that real artists love themselves.”
It takes some of us a lot longer than others to figure that out. And, I’m guessing, some people never do.
I rather enjoyed Karina’s rant, and was surprised to hear that there are actually people who want to write that don’t read. I also thought it sounded like she’s been pretty patient with them up until now and found a good outlet for her (justified in my mind) frustration. She’s probably been more patient with those people than I would’ve been. But it doesn’t hurt to remember that some people learn faster than others I suppose.
I hope some of those people in Karina’s classes read her post and yours, and it helps them find their way to that love. There’s hope for them yet. I certainly found some here.
Jennifer and Donna, you’re both right that some people learn more slowly than others. I’m certainly still learning lessons and I’m not exactly a kid anymore.
The thing is, this isn’t a zero-sum game. The fact that some people learn slowly doesn’t automatically make their bad behavior okay, anymore than quick learners have license to behave badly because they are “special.” And yet as a culture we seem to apply both of those assumptions at times.
Nope, you’re absolutely right it doesn’t make it ok. Certainly and especially not when their bad behavior impinges on others – which it almost always does since no one lives in a vacuum. I’m a lot more understanding of people (including myself) who are sometimes slow learners if they are working at learning and not working on self delusion.
And yes I agree that our culture does teach us to apply those assumptions. And I think it sux.
I’m not familiar with Creative Writing Programs so I don’t really know what’s up, but Karina is–if I interpreted her rant correctly–a student in one of these programs, not a teacher. And she’s ranting about certain classmates within that program.
Maybe the only reason I commented is because within the last week I happened to have read Thomas Larson’s “Freshman Comp, 1967” that relates in absurd detail the breakdown of the “literary hierarchy” that existed at Larson’s college.
Besides, don’t the lame-o’s just weed themselves out of the program anyway? What’s to waste time ranting about? You just learn your lesson (God, I *never* want to be like that), and live and let live. There’s no need to get your feathers all ruffled about it.
Teachers are a different story; it’d make more sense for me for a teacher to be incensced about it.
Like I said, I don’t know what Creative Writing Programs are all about–maybe they’re based on a group dynamic (unlike regular B.A. in English degrees) that makes every student in some way responsible to the group. I don’t know. But if you’re just in a class with some bozos, and the quality of your experience in the program or your grade has nothing to do with them, well, you could just let them be your foils.
Also, I’m not saying I’m above such pettiness myself. For instance, another reason I may have posted was because I read Katrina’s rant (led to it by the link in the above essay, and while I was there I checked out another one of her posts and I was completely clueless on a metaphor she was using. So I posted asking her to explain it, and so far there has been no explanation, and not that it’s her fault for not replying or that her metaphor didn’t make complete sense in the first place and I’m just one of those people who aren’t well-read enough to get it, but it just kind of….didn’t sit well with me that she was bagging on her classmates when maybe her own writing is also less than perfect (but who am I to judge, I’m not even *in* a Creative Writing Program).
Donna, it’s my experience that Creative Writing programs such as this one are very much based on group dynamics. Students are expected to workshop each other’s writing intensively, developing and applying professional critical skills which they can then turn towards their own work. They are expected to study form, technique and produce writing in a number of different areas (fiction, memoir, personal essay, screenplay, stage play, poetry…).
Perhaps we’re having a terminology disagreement. If you are visualizing a college undergrad English class, yep, it doesn’t pay to get too grumpy about the slackers. But this is a small long-term program. If I remember correctly, there are fewer than 50 people in the entire program and they interact with each other exclusively for 2 years, and all they do is focus on creative writing. So yes, in that context it really does matter whether they treat each other professionally or not.
Karina, my apologies for speaking for you here, and please let me know if I’ve made mistakes.
I’m only speaking about Karina’s program because I know that she is traveling and does not have online access. Donna, I doubt she even knows that you have left a comment on her blog, or that this discussion is going on.
I’m very happy to keep talking about these ideas in general — I enjoy these conversations — but I prefer that we don’t talk about Karina anymore in her absence. It feels wrong.
Okey doke. (And truth be told I find myself griping about my fellow teachers-to-be, and I’m not expected to interact with them much and it’s only for 3 semesters.) Maybe I shouldn’t gripe about teaching credential candidates because Lord knows I could stand to know a thing or two more about teaching methodologies and ed. psych. (But I’m not griping about their teaching abilities–even worse–I’m griping about how darned annoying they are.) Pot meet kettle!
I know, me too in lots of cases (pot/kettle). The thing is, sometimes we just all annoy the hell out of each other (grin). That’s one of the features of being human, I guess. Just because you aren’t perfect doesn’t mean you can’t gripe about stuff — if that were the case we’d all be in Grumpy Jail a lot!
Donna, I’m sorry it has taken me so long to reply to your comments and join this conversation. Kelley is right, I was traveling to/around Mexico and away from the computer; my focus was on a family emergency. But all is well now and I am on Wi-Fi and ready to be reinserted back into the Land of Blogs.
The people I’ve been ranting about aren’t in their twenties. Nope, they are in their 40s. I’m usually very patient/forgiving with twenty-somethings because I remember how clueless I was at that age. It makes me hopeful to see the young, white, straight, well-off kid try to write about lesbians or explore issues of gender. He makes mistakes, sure, but he is truly eager to learn. And he reads. Right now, he’s reading one of Nicola’s novels because he found out it had inspired me to take risks when I was a young egg. He probably reads more than I do and will be a superb writer one day.
I’ve been wondering about how teachers see non-readers because I was also a teacher back in my film days. I got my share of nightmare students: the ones that don’t do the work, they don’t ask questions. Worse, probably, is that they don’t drop out. They keep showing up and chewing gum in the back row and wasting people’s time. I tried every way I could think of to get those two girls inspired or at least mildly interested. After a year of trying, I sat them down and told them to go home, enjoy the summer and think about all the money and time they were wasting on film school when their heart, mind and energy wasn’t into it. Of course, it was not my job to tell them so because I wasn’t the school counselor or their parents. Understandably, I almost got fired because “I shouldn’t discourage students who paid their tuition on time, blah, blah.” How can you discourage someone who so blatantly has no interested invested in the matter? Whatever. I still think they were wasting their parents’ money and their own time. I can be very patient, but I can also be a snob and a monster and very out-of-line in my reactions. I have many flaws. But it takes me a year of investing my time and energy on someone to snap like that.
Then there are the cases that make me hopeful. There was one student who submitted the worst video exercises I’d seen. The pitch of her voice drove me crazy, too, and I got to hear it ALL the time, since she asked question after question. She followed me around after class with more questions. She wanted me to suggest movies or books or anything I could think of that would help her make better videos. Those students deserve all the support they can get, even if they drive teachers and fellow classmates bonkers. Even if they make mistakes and mess everything up. They are learning. They need room to learn. I gave her every single hour she requested of me, because I could see she was eager to learn and she kept getting better with each exercise. A couple of years later, I was on a jury for a video festival and all four judges, including me, supported her piece for one of the prizes.
Kelley is also right about the tight dynamic of our Creative Writing workshops. Our groups usually accommodate 12 students (15 max). The quality of the workshop depends greatly on the quality of the work we all do individually. Each week, I’m expected to read 4 short stories (between 12-20 pages each) written by my peers, and comment on them. That’s between 48-80 pages of fiction per week. Then there’s non-fiction, which adds another 48-80 pages I must read closely and comment on. Each week, we also read and workshop 5 poems. And I’m also expected to write in every one of those genres so I can submit pieces of my own every third week, plus a few screenplays. If people are slacking, it means I end up reading 100-165 pages of crap every single week—which, thankfully, is not the case; a lot of the work my colleagues produce is enjoyable and some of it even amazing. But those few who don’t do their work and are disrespectful with our craft really bring the whole workshop experience down, especially after you’ve spent two years with their annoying writing and self-delusional attitudes.
I know the non-readers also have an opinion of me. And it’s not nice. They hate every single comment I’ve made on their pieces; the only comments they are willing to acknowledge are the ones that say, “This is great, keep writing.” They won’t get that from me. Not even the “keep writing” part, not until they get down with the reading and revising requirements of this craft. Peter Greenaway has been criticized as a fascist of cinema because he believes people should not be allowed anywhere near a camera until they have spent at least four years immersed in the appreciation and understanding of Fine Arts and visual language. I’ll motion for the equivalent in the World of Writing (I’m not going to use the word “literary” to avoid confusion. I’m a genre junkie and to me science fiction, horror, fantasy, etc can also be high literature when done masterfully).
🙂 I’m enjoying our conversation here. I’m glad my rant has gone so far. It hasn’t been a waste of wind.
“If people are slacking, it means I end up reading 100-165 pages of crap every single week”. Torture! Now I understand completely everything you’ve said.