No, this is not about talent vs. skill.
Let’s just set that aside for today, shall we? There’s no need to engage the ineffable this time.
“Like toadstools,” one seasoned observer called it in a note to me recently — this sudden proliferation of “author services,” especially the ones there to teach you, instruct you, train you. They’re everywhere, these kitchen-sink companies, and many of them seem to be peddling (or claiming they do) parts of the job we’re not even sure can be taught.
Today’s provocation is about this booming industry on all sides of us. And about expectations in a tight market. Expectations that it can all be learned.
It’s prompted by a recent column at The Bookseller in London from the literary agent who writes for us there from time to time as “Agent Orange.” As I’ve mentioned in the past, I’m not fond of this use of a pseudonym. But I have verified that this is a prominent, working agent on the UK scene. We’ve spoken about this. And he or she writes (very well) under that pen name because she or he fears retaliation. The industry might strike back.
In Vanity fair?, Agent Orange is, as usual, supportive of writers. (After all, the job is to advocate, negotiate, and agitate for them, he or she is a literary agent.) But those many, damp-eyed, Kleenex-clutching “never been a better time to be a writer!” people among us — and they do love that exclamation point — might be heard gasping with alarm at Agent Orange’s opener:
On the face of it, it is paradoxical that while it’s never been easier for authors to get their books into print, there has never been a worse time to be an author.
The explanation for what she or he means:
[pullquote]There has never been a worse time to be an author. — Agent Orange[/pullquote]Author earnings are down and the number of writers able to make a living out of their work is at an all-time low. But perhaps that is because there have never been so many people making money off writers.
Granted, there are opposing viewpoints we respect here. Hugh Howey and “Data Guy,” for example, have issued their sixth quarterly Author Earnings report. They’re focused on proving that a career in self-published ebooks is viable, remember. And they again see what they interpret as ample evidence to support their promotion of this route as a worthwhile alternative to traditional publishing, writing:
What does this report show? Higher ebook prices from publishers continue to erode their market share of ebook sales. Drastically. When you read industry reports on the health of ebook sales, keep in mind that these reports are discussing a mere 14% of the ebooks that show up on Amazon’s bestseller lists. That’s it. Indie ebooks account for 26%. Daily unit sales of self-published titles are now greater than the Big 5 publishers, combined. And indie authors are taking home more earnings from readers every day than those same authors, combined.
Some of us, however, are detecting a tonal shift in the independent sector’s palaver overall.
Gritty, not giddy — the party hats are coming off
In exchanges I’m privy to these days, there seems to be less “We can all publish now!” euphoria than before, and more concern about discoverability under that stupendous overhang of output, the “tsunami of content” enabled by digital means.
If you’re watching the darker edges of that forest closing in, you know what Agent Orange means with:
There are hosts of literary types out there, people who regard themselves as being on the side of the angels, who happily and repeatedly dip their hands into authors’ pockets.
The people who really make money out of gold rushes are the ones selling the shovels. And there are many shovel sellers. This century has seen hosts of companies springing up offering editorial, design, marketing and publishing services. Some good, some bad: all expensive. There are now endless digital vanity presses (sorry, DIY publishers) such as Author Solutions, about which Penguin Random House is now so silent. When did publishers think it would be a good idea to begin selling their “services” to work on books they clearly did not believe had any potential in the marketplace? At least in the past it was clear who the vanity presses were.
That’s an important point. And it’s right for every author to ask how he or she can expect to be found by an audience when walls of new titles get only higher on all sides every day.
This is especially true for someone who hasn’t been writing in some way or another for most of her or his career, the person who needs to “learn how.”
Agent Orange gets us to the central point of today’s provocation:
The writing school at the University of East Anglia was set up 45 years ago and since then there has been an amazing proliferation of writing courses. Every second-rate university in the country has one, yet has the quality of literature increased? Have we not, in fact, seen what might be called (apologies to Jessie Burton) a Miniaturisation of literary culture: middlebrow being passed off as literary?
It is impossible to point to an improvement in the literary scene. That’s because the real purpose of writing courses is to provide novelists who cannot make a living from their writing with an income. Many high-profile publishing businesses have moved into this territory too. There have been occasional successes, but the overriding feeling is that their raison d’être is to allow well-off writers to jump the queue, a kind of cash for literary access. That is not merely socially regressive, but creatively moribund.
There are serious and rightful points.
[pullquote]Have we not, in fact, seen what might be called (apologies to Jessie Burton) a Miniaturisation of literary culture: middlebrow being passed off as literary? It is impossible to point to an improvement in the literary scene. — Agent Orange[/pullquote]That business of providing “novelists who cannot make a living from their writing with an income” hits home once a year here in the States: anyone who has joined the 18,000 or so attendees at AWP, the Association of Writers and Writing Programs’ annual convention knows something about the campus creative-writing mill ponds.
This is what former MFA program professor Ryan Boudinot was talking about in his highly controversial essay Things I Can Say About MFA Writing Programs Now That I No Longer Teach In One. A lot of good points probably were lost in the mulch of Boudinot’s salt-the-earth tone. But there was a strong current of truth running through much of what he wrote. And perhaps part of it that we should take into consideration here at Writer Unboxed — where we mercifully don’t debate the efficacy of the MFA much but do spend a lot of time on the challenges of a writing life:
My experience tells me this: Students who ask a lot of questions about time management, blow deadlines, and whine about how complicated their lives are should just give up and do something else. Their complaints are an insult to the writers who managed to produce great work under far more difficult conditions than the 21st-century MFA student. On a related note: Students who ask if they’re “real writers,” simply by asking that question, prove that they are not.
And it’s along those lines that I think we have to ask ourselves today a difficult question:
How many name-brand writers — standout authors, “the big names,” the people we know and understand as leaders in the field — achieved the prominence they have by “learning it” in writing courses or MFA programs or by reading some of the thousands upon thousands of how-to-write-a-book books?
And do those who can’t sell, teach?
Agent Orange has a word or two for the self-publishing “gurus” of those how-to-write-a-book books:
It is worth noting how many of these gurus seem more successful at selling their DIY books/courses than they are at marketing their fiction.
That’s something I’ve noticed, too. The higher-visibility folks with the how-to books and courses and podcasts and audiobooks and webinars and workshop manuals and 10-point guides and 12-point posters and 20-point T-shirts and 30-point masterclasses…do they also sell their own fiction? If so, do you ever hear about those books? Good question to ask yourself, isn’t it? There’s nothing that says a parasite can’t be attractive, engaging, and helpful, after all. Some mushrooms are gorgeous. Tasty, too. Even psychotropic. But at what point do we need to say that such a person is not a successful writer of creative work? — only of instructive guidebooks?
[pullquote]Students who ask if they’re “real writers,” simply by asking that question, prove that they are not. — Ryan Boudinot[/pullquote]And how often can you point to someone and say this? — “Aha. There goes a writer who spent many years and many bucks on how-to books and four-month courses and instructional CDs and now is doing great as a well-known author.”
I don’t see this happening much. Do you?
Lovely, dark, and deep, these toadstools, fungal opportunism growing on the digital era’s obsession with being published. And to what end?
Agent Orange: “It is impossible to point to an improvement in the literary scene.”
Can anyone say that this mass influx of instructional competition — and the fields of toadstools surrounding it — is giving us better work? A meaningful step forward in our writerly culture? Better books? What say you?
A quick note: Our weekly #FutureChat from The Bookseller’s The FutureBook today is on an interesting question: The problems that many in the industry have recognizing illustrators for credit, along with other artists such as translators, book cover designers and, yes, even our fellow writers. Join us if you’d like, live on Twitter at 11 a.m. Eastern, 8 a.m. Pacific, 4 p.m. British Summer Time.
About Porter Anderson
@Porter_Anderson is Editor-in-Chief of Publishing Perspectives, the international news medium of Frankfurt Book Fair New York. He and Jane Friedman co-own and produce @The Hot Sheet, the essential industry newsletter for authors. Anderson previously was The Bookseller's Associate Editor for The FutureBook in London. Formerly with CNN, CNN.com and CNN International–as well as the Village Voice, the Dallas Times Herald, and other media–he has also been a featured writer with Thought Catalog in New York, creating as a longtime arts critic the #MusicForWriters series. More on his consultancy: PorterAndersonMedia.com | Google+
The proliferation of DIY authors and author training and support may not be giving us better literature, but it’s giving us better people, IMO. It’s glorified journaling, and from that we learn a lot, about ourselves and about the world. Nothing wrong with it, if you can afford it.
I worked for a non-fiction author training program for a while, and for $6000 you got access to the digital materials for a year, with group and individual coaching included. But you paid extra for editing, cover design, etc.
People who bought that program were buying into themselves, and they knew it, or should have known it, whether they eventually published book or not.
For me, law school was the same thing because I never practiced law. And that’s the genesis of my opinion… It’s all about the education.
And all about a self-knowledge, I think, Mia, that informs and makes possible such good use of this kind of experience.
It sounds to me as if you have an excellent understanding of what can be had and achieved in these settings — and your choices of these experiences match your needs wisely.
Yours seems to be a case, if I read you correctly, of form and function well-aligned, and that’s just great, congratulations.
I think that in so many cases in the book-writing/publishing marketplace, we don’t see this kind of self-aware perspective. This is what makes so many would-be writers become easy prey to the programs and people who want to sell them one or another “service,” particularly in the training field.
If one sees this kind of thing as self-investment, then good choices and that mindset could well result in good returns. And I’m glad that’s happened for you.
Thanks for reading and commenting!
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
As always, provocative. But this is why I think it’s writer beware. Do the research. I subscribe to the philosophy in Ratatouille: anyone can cook! I learned from my mother naturally, but I’ve learned from others and my kitchen is filled with excellent cookbooks both on technique and recipes. My writing shelf is also filled with good books that I return to often, some written by people here! As human beings we are wired for story, Porter, and even the smallest child will LIE to keep your attention :) I am Exhibit A: punished for lying, when I thought I was only embellishing the truth to make it a better story. Fast forward 30 yrs: I am a writer molded from community college courses, correspondence courses and a few workshops. Fantastic teachers. Many of them midlist authors.
In the sciences, the best teachers are also often the best researches, but not always. Sometimes, the best researchers are too egotistical to teach very well … sometimes, the best teachers are those who devote themselves to teaching. I teach too and love it. Another philosophy I subscribe to: if you want to learn something well, teach it.
Yes, even us stodgy scientists can be taught how to write a beautiful sentence. I love this writing life. Read, write, rinse, repeat. AMDG.
You see, Vijaya,
I can’t believe a word you’re saying because you’ve been a liar since childhood. :) JUST kidding!
Seriously, thanks. I do get where you’re coming from. While I don’t think learning to cook and learning to be, say, a powerful novelist on the order of an Emily St. John Mandel or Jesse Burton or Andrew Miller are the same educational proposition, I thoroughly believe that concept, procedure and process can be taught and learned. It’s a matter of degree. A writer who can benefit from a good one-day course in the finer points of how a novel is laid out? Absolutely. (Example, did you know that the first sentence of a chapter is not indented? Look at the books on your shelves. For that, you want “book learning,” absolutely, or a good teacher.)
But for the stuff that dreams are made on and sent sailing into our consciousness by somebody with the force of a Didion or even “the Joshes” — Josh Malerman and Josh Weil — that’s a different proposition. And good technical knowledge isn’t want brings an author into the cultural center. It takes more, too easily promised, much too hard to deliver.
Your own experience, however, can well be utterly different from mine and that’s fine. Personally, I’d line up to study with one of your scientific researchers long before I’d touch an “author services” pitch. :)
Thanks much!
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
Porter, this is one of the best and most honest articles on the writing/publishing ecosystem I’ve seen. Thank you. I, too, have been witnessing and pondering the proliferation of author services — all the while making my living in that field! It seems to me that the obsession with being published you speak so lucidly of boils down to a growing need within our society to be SEEN AND HEARD. And that this need has trumped all pre-existing logic about what books and literature are. On the one hand, the industry cropping up around this need is definitely wreaking havoc on those definitions. On the other hand, when they’re honest, they’re providing valuable support to people who are aching to be seen and heard. Whether that ache is healthy and where it’s stemming from is a whole other debate but I think that as we move forward and consider new paradigms for publishing we all need to think about the role of writers’ underlying needs. Perhaps that can inform us a bit about where to draw the line between books / literature on the one hand and “content” on the other — and how to allocate resources accordingly?
Great thoughts, Sharon, thanks,
And I know you’re seeing this full-on, as I am, working as you do in the sector.
You’ve put your finger right on an element of this that’s nobody’s fault, of course: The digital dynamic arrives without warning. Suddenly, everyone can publish. What’s missing? The chance for a sober, thoughtful period of reflection on whether everyone SHOULD publish or should even WANT to publish. So this apparent need to be seen and heard is instantly catapulted into something actionable without filter, without preparation. This is hailed, of course, by those desperate to be seen and heard, as a near-miracle of “democracy online.” It’s understood by those who try to understand what such cattle calls mean to our culture as something very different, potentially delimiting. (Hence what Agent Orange is saying looks like a diminution of quality under way … hard to say no to that, just look at what’s coming out.)
It’s a difficult time and we’re a culture that’s afraid to say no to anyone. We think we’re mean if we honestly critique someone’s work as being less than great. We think we’re impatient if we suggest that every person in the population shouldn’t be publishing. We’re nuts for niceness, horrified by truth. It’s not even endearing anymore, it’s starting to look weak-headed.
Time will sort us out, of course. But it would be awfully good if we didn’t damage what is understood to be our best work in order to be kind to everybody who thinks, for some reason, that he or she has some business in this business.
Let’s keep talking honestly about these things. Only speaking compassionately but truthfully can counter the super-silly excesses of “best time ever to be an author!” (no wonder Agent Orange uses a pseudonym to say, “No, there’s never been a worse time,” lol).
I think of Vaughn Roycroft’s piece yesterday in which he “flipped” depressing concepts into happy ones. Maybe there actually is — duck and cover — a right time to do the opposite. And maybe we need to say these days, “No, making publishing something that everyone can do is not entirely and completely — necessarily — a good thing. There are issues. Let’s talk about them.”
I really need a pseudonym for my own safety, don’t I? :)
Thanks again,
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
“It’s a difficult time and we’re a culture that’s afraid to say no to anyone. We think we’re mean if we honestly critique someone’s work as being less than great. We think we’re impatient if we suggest that every person in the population shouldn’t be publishing. We’re nuts for niceness, horrified by truth. It’s not even endearing anymore, it’s starting to look weak-headed.”
I’m on board with this statement. I found myself being questioned on a regular basis as a teacher when I refused to lower my classroom standards and “pad” grades. It’s a good thing I kept diligent records. I’ll just say that. We’re not doing anyone favors by dumbing-down the system or making everyone feel as if they, too, can do XXX, and in this case it’s novel writing. I just had this debate with a good friend of mine. She believes everyone can learn to write and be published. I disagree. Yes, everyone with a certain IQ level and developed skills can construct a decent sentence, or body of work. But to say everyone can be published is like saying everyone can produce a van Gogh or a stand-out piece of artwork. That just isn’t true, and this theory belittles the talent involved with crafting a great book.
Boy, Heather, where were you when I was writing this? :)
Really well said, and thanks for your interest in serious, straight-ahead response to folks. It’s become such a problem — in many areas of life, not just in culture — that we’re so timid about saying what needs saying.
I remember writing a WU post about the problems of author obesity and taking quite a pasting from some readers (which was fine) for suggesting that we’re too “nice” to folks who really need to hear that they’re flat-out overweight and endangering themselves badly as such. I guess that in a culture afraid to say, “You know, darling, you’re actually killing yourself” in a bodily-condition crisis, we shouldn’t be surprised that saying, “You know, darling, you’re so creative in many areas, writing just might not be the one.”
We do have to recognize that not everyone wants to be a van Gogh — or at least many people will tell you they don’t. I’m not always sure I trust that. As I’ve always said, if I could turn into Joan Didion, I’d be the happiest former man alive, lol. But except for these self-styled “mediumj-is good” people, I think most of us do want to experience major success in our writing and contribute on a big scale. And this is what, as you’re saying, just isn’t what we can expect to see huge numbers of people accomplish, nor can we teach it to them.
At the very least, the moment puts us into a fascinating era in cultural awareness and debate. What happens when the whole world suddenly can (try to) produce “art” and distribute it? We’re finding out right now.
I guess we should have known it wouldn’t always be pretty. :) But thanks for being willing to say so and to hold the line, especially in educational settings. Think how great it is to redirect someone to something they can do brilliantly instead of encouraging them to struggle for impossible goals.
Thanks again!
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
This is close the the discussion I had on Facebook the other day with some writer friends in one of the writer groups. I am writing my first novel. When I decided to return to writing seriously, I started reading blogs and it was recommended that blogging was a way to start a writing platform. I decided to review books of debut indie authors. The discussion was about the rating system and reviews of such books. It seemed like the vast majority concurred that another author should never review books unless they could give 4 or 5 stars. They didn’t want to criticize. I have always had the policy that I would never review a book that I hadn’t read from cover to cover, so I could give a fair assessment of it. I am never mean or do anything to hurt anyone. I give my fair and honest opinion about a book. If it is only a two or three star, that is what I review it and I tell them why, such as too many grammatical errors or typos, or characters not fully developed, etc. This group thought I was being awful. They said I must not have had any nasty trolls on my blog, or any disgruntled authors. In the two and a half years that I’ve been blogging, no, I haven’t. In fact, my queue is full and I haven’t been able to take on any new submissions for over a year, yet I still get requests.
So, should authors only pat one another on the back, or should they be honest? I was told that I couldn’t be an author and a critic, and I should choose one or the other. When I review, I don’t do it as an author–I review as a reader. I believe that once we release our books to publication, they belong to the readers. Am I wrong? Should I only be reviewing books that I can give a glowing recommendation?
Rebecca, thank you for this.
I’m writing to you now as a professional critic (Village Voice, Dallas Times Herald, National Critics Institute and other sundry venues), so do recognize that my bias lies in the traditions of journalistic criticism, the kind almost gone now from our various news media.
But in that bias, my answers are:
(1) Yes, you can critique other authors and be one, yourself. You want to declare your stance each time clearly. And you want to work to critique, as you say, as a reader. You are correct, it is paramount that you read the entirety of a work you critique. And just as important that you write of it honestly, according to your actual opinion — not what someone wants you to write.
(2) No, you should not feel obligated to write only positive critiques. That isn’t criticism, that’s consumer review-ism, and it has largely replaced actual, helpful criticism in the States today because — as several of us have mentioned here — there’s a strong distaste in our culture for honest, frank exchanges of opinion.
I’d recommend that you also look around for like-minded associates. Clearly the group pressuring you to throw reviews isn’t worthy of your association. That’s unethical behavior.
There’s an interesting campaign led by the Alliance of Independent Authors, the Ethical Author campaign. It lays out guidance for authors who want to perform in an ethical manner and has these lines about authors reviewing:
Reviewing and Rating books: I do not review or rate my own or another author’s books in any way that misleads or deceives the reader. I am transparent about my relationships with other authors when reviewing their books. I am transparent about any reciprocal reviewing arrangements, and avoid any practices that result in the reader being deceived.
That’s good guidance. The Ethical Author campaign is here if you’d like to know more: http://bit.ly/11nO3tq (It was launched in November at our FutureBook Conference in London – I manage The FutureBook for The Bookseller there.)
Many thanks again for your input and questions. Your thinking sounds right to me.
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
Thanks for mentioning my piece, Porter. And I do see your point, here and in today’s post. I do want to point out that the conversation in the comments of yesterday’s post was chock full of words like “perseverance” and “patience.” Of course this is all in regards to ultimately being read. And of course being read usually means being published. But there was a lot of talk about self-recognition, both by those who’ve self-published or are traditionally published, or are pursuing traditional deal. In his comment, Don spoke about my ten years of pursuit as being “par for the course.”
Makes you wonder how many of the titles in the “tsunami of content” bothered to seek such self-recognition. Over those ten years, I’ve thought a lot about the line between external validation and self-recognition of worthiness. I know it’s a line we each have to find for ourselves. Seems to me that many of these author services prey on impatience, rather than self-recognition.
An interesting conversation, for sure. Thanks again!
Hey, Vaughn,
Agree with you entirely, and hope my mention of your column didn’t appear to be derogatory, it wasn’t meant to be.
I’m with Don on your 10 years. I don’t think that’s an extraordinary amount of time for someone good, nor do I think we should even consider this unusual. The impatience you talk about is part and parcel of this “quick fix” mentality that seems to send people rushing to push the “publish” button.
One of the areas I see it is in my quiet suggestion to writers I respect to try the traditional industry before self-publishing, just to find out the response. A lot of support — at the very least, an alternate approach to publication — could be available to them. But they don’t want to wait three weeks, they’ll tell me, for a couple of agents to read their manuscripts. They’re so antsy to push that button, champing at the bit.
Honestly, I think it plays as impatience but it’s a dodge: they don’t want to face the potential rejection and criticism they might experience. I understand that pain isn’t pleasant. But earnest perspective is so much better than some unchallenged dream of being good at something.
So I like your reversals and see them as part of how you’re getting through the actual time frame of difficult work. Sounds right to me!
Thanks, Vaughn,
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
I want to add to the idea of the ten year writing period. I know someone who took ten years to write his “big novel” and he just won a Pulitzer for it. Well, he did write shorter pieces during those ten years and even taught a writing class at the local university.
I lift my Campari to your 10-year Pulitzer winner, Tina. How utterly marvelous. One decade well-spent, I’d say.
Thanks for that!
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
This is one of my favorite Writer Unboxed pieces so far, for all the issues it raises. At its best, the writing cottage industry can offer help and support and community for people engaged in a very lonely task. At its worst, it’s a Ponzi scheme.
Obviously there’s a lot of self-published crap out there. There are a lot of people writing not because they’re authors, but because they want to check something off their bucket list, or because they’re delusional enough to think their life will be as interesting to everyone as it is to them. And obviously there are a lot of people making money off of those would-be authors, trying to convince them they can turn their crap into gold.
I think the key for authors is to ask: Am I doing all of this because it’s intrinsically who I am as a person? Or am I doing it because I’m expecting to make a life-changing amount of money that will cover all my debts and afford me complete freedom? Even established authors don’t usually swing that. (I met Gary Shteyngart at a reading once and told him: “I’m an author…but I have a side job.” And he replied: “I’ve got news for you. We ALL have side jobs. I teach at Columbia University, that’s my side job.”) But it is so easy to succumb to those fevered dreams.
As far as whether it’s good or bad that everyone can publish nowadays–whatever we think about it, it just IS. The calendar will never flip backwards to the mid-90s. And there are good things about the new ways–distribution and availability aren’t problems any more. Eventually things will settle into something like a new equilibrium, and it’s best to make our peace with that, and look for the upside, because it’s going to happen regardless of what we think about it.
Gerald, almost missed your comment, and that would be a shame since you’re being so kind.
(Stop by Keith and tell him how you feel will you? He thinks I’m “beating up on” people. Would that I were such a pugilist! )
I love this: “I think the key for authors is to ask: Am I doing all of this because it’s intrinsically who I am as a person?”
Now, the “on the other hand” you use is “Or am I doing it because I’m expecting to make a life-changing amount of money that will cover all my debts and afford me complete freedom?”
I’m actually not sure the delusion of financial propensity is the lure for that many, though I may be wrong.
What I think is the best framing of what you’re saying, though, is this:
“Am I doing all of this because it’s intrinsically who I am as a person? Or am I doing it because it’s who I think I’d LIKE to be as a person?”
The truest test of the greatest creative power — I am way out on a Porter’s Personal Opinion Limb here, ok? — is whether our supposed writer/artist actually believes he or she IS that writer/artist. And I think the real mistake (casting no aspersions, no one gets up and decides to make this mistake) is misunderstanding creativity to be something one can acquire to *become* the writer/artist.
This is a very interesting line of thinking I’ll put some more Campari, I mean study, into. Well worth a bit of concern. I might be tempted to say — too early, so I wont’ say it :) — to say that something in our cultural chaos of the moment is tending to make people think they can become the creative operatives they want to be and without actually being those operatives in their own minds.
I’m in danger of singing Lena Horne here (“You have to belieeeeeve in yourself”). Which isn’t true. What may be true is that you simply already believe in yourself. And that this, for so many, is what’s missing.
Thanks for the very worthy prompt.
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
Porter –
I do not have the knowledge or perspective needed to decide if a significant “meaningful step forward” in our writerly culture is occurring. And, as is so often the case, semantics dictate the debate. We may not share understanding of what constitutes a step forward or what writerly culture is.
Secondly wondering if you are suggesting one must be a big seller of fiction books that are often “heard about” to provide productive instruction? This is an old debate. Butch Harmon is arguably the best golf instructor of elite players in the world yet was never a PGA star. Golf is not writing but one example in an old debate.
Additionally the reference to parasites – really? The connotation is undeniable.
Why do you feel the question “at what point do we need to say that such a person is not a successful writer of creative work? — only of instructive guidebooks?” is important?
Do you believe that writing instruction can not improve an individual’s writing?
Looks like we rounded back to the ineffable (-:
Thanks –
Hey, Tom,
There are tennis instructors and/or coaches who don’t play the game. There are skating choreographers who don’t skate. And so on. Yes, but these are rare situations and not — normally — what you want to look for in someone working with you on the important work of your life unless you do have one of those rare cases.
So I’m saying that if someone is instructing other writers but has not had the experience of success AS a writer — if they’re teaching you fiction but their own fiction doesn’t sell — then I think, yes, that’s reason to stop, think, and carefully assess whether this is the person to study with.
I don’t mean that cruelly or casually. But I do think we see a lot of blind-leading-the-blind these days, in part because the means to distribute oneself as an instructor is so easy. I see bloggers who announce that they’re going to blog their experience in doing something they don’t know how to do so that others can learn with them. Gosh. Isn’t it better to submit your best efforts to someone who knows what she or he is doing? I think it is.
I’m perfectly happy to disagree with you on all this. You’re perfectly welcome to follow your own thoughts and instincts. This is what independent thought is all about, and it’s probably the one element of “indie” — if we must use that sunglasses-grabbing term — that I like most.
Your opinion is fully valid and I’m fine with standing in disagreement.
Thanks for reading and writing,
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
Thanks for the response Porter –
There is an interesting aspect of this discussion in other areas of art. Unlike sports where there is a score and it is objectively determined who”wins” and how they rank. Writing and other arts are subjective. I worked at the Mpls institute of the Arts for two years and discussions of what artists or works were good or skilled or worthy were common.
These discussions always run up against confusion based in semantics and you are a ninja wordsmith but i’m feeling reckless. When one presumes to definitively identify what is good writing, or worthy writing, or who knows “what they are doing” please consider this –
the same reasoning that supports that teachers must be commercially big names or have books we “know of” (successful by your definition) to be legitimate or worth considering (i.e. know what they are doing) would likewise support that whoever would presume to judge what writing is good and/or skilled and/or worthy would likewise HAVE to be a big time successful author.
No intention to insult but there is a pretentiousness in such reasoning (imo) as well as a gap in critical thinking.
Do you truly believe that the agents, editors working with traditional publishing houses are all steeped with superior knowledge/talents and all who are free-lance or involved in non-trad publishing are inferior?
Perhaps i’m misinterpreting?
Thanks for the discussion. I suspect we will agree to disagree.
Hey again, Tom,
And thanks for the further thoughts. Yes, you’re misinterpreting, but these are not unusual leaps of assumption you’re making, I run into them all the time. BANG. Just ran into them again.
Keith had the same misconception, it seems, for example, that I see big sales as the criterion of a “good” writer. Nothing could be farther from the truth or I’d have to hang out with Amanda Hocking and E.L James, wouldn’t I? Shoot me now.
No, I see “good” as lying in a very high quality of intelligence that merges with emotional vulnerability and then is rendered in linguistic authenticity. It’s a tall order.
At its best — I was just writing this in a #MusicForWriters column at Thought Catalog http://tcat.tc/1Fj88kS — this results in the author actually operating inside the mind of the reader. I see the two, author and reader, as experiencing some exchange of concept skin to skin, their breaths in sync. It is intimacy, sometimes even sensuality, of an extraordinary kind that, when you encounter it, is almost achingly beautiful and can’t be replicated, not quite, IRL, as when one meets that author, say, at a bar or a party.
And is this subjective?
Are you kidding?
This is so subjective an idea of what is “good” literature that I can barely walk and speak of it at the same time, certainly not while rubbing my stomach.
SO subjective. Yes.
And this is one of the most difficult, maybe deliciously difficult aspects of artistic endeavor. It can both turn us against each other and give us each the right to go home thinking that we are right and everyone else is wrong. :)
So you get to go home now thinking that I’m an idiot because my idea of what’s good literature is a complete belly laugh for you.
The difference in me and many others here is that I don’t mind that.
As I was saying to Keith (he pushed many buttons, you see, lol), over time, a professional critic becomes awfully good at disagreement. Hell, I disagree with myself several times a day. You should always try to disagree with me, too. I won’t mind. :)
Thanks again,
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
Porter –
Thanks for the response. Sorry so late in getting back.
Kudos on your energy and effort in responding to all the comments – had to be exhausting!
Sitting up and taking Campari now, Tom, thanks, recovery from the Comment-a-Thon going well. :)
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
You have to LEARN to write somehow.
First, it should involve a love of reading, followed by a realization that writers are actual people, and you can write, too.
After that, it depends on what you like to read.
I always knew I would write some day, though I thought it would come after retiring from childrearing and engineering.
Back when I got serious about it, before the turn of the century, I took an eight-night course at the local community college, ‘How to Write the Mystery.’ The syllabus promised that, by the end of the 8 weeks (yup, one a week), those who did their homework would have characters, a basic plot, an idea of setting, and the first chapter of their mystery written.
I did my homework. It wasn’t that hard (nor very expensive).
After that, when it became obvious that there is a lot you have to learn how to actually do (craft), I tried a writer’s group supervised by the teacher privately, but realized quickly that it was going to be expensive – and I was doing all the work anyway.
The objective was to make the story on the page match the story in my head.
From then on, whenever I need to learn some aspect of the craft, I buy a book on writing on that topic. Very inexpensive DIY education.
Specific ‘how’ information plus lots of practice seems to be my style of learning (for everything else, too). I’ve been reading the blogs for the past four years, too – and I’m teaching myself enough graphic design to do a decent mockup of my final cover.
If it doesn’t turn out professionally enough (those 10,000 hours help), I’ll find myself a cover designer whose covers I like and who I can work with.
No MFA program for me – just plugging away at it until I understand it, and lots and lots of practice.
I don’t know what I would have done in the ‘olden days,’ but I did have a stint with the early writing of going through the traditional submission process (and even got a few handwritten notes!).
But I much prefer the modern days.
There isn’t anything you can’t learn well enough, if you have some natural talent, and are willing to put in a LOT of hard work. Not money. Lawrence Block taught me that one, I think: money should flow TO the writer.
Thanks, Alicia.
I know that many agree with you.
Cheers,
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
My dear Porter, I find your post has a valid point stuffed like an olive pimento inside an outer, briny, and nearly indigestible skin, the point being: Hey, writers out there, watch out who you give your money to. Which advice is sound in any free market. It is called caveat emptor.
Ah, but the rest of the piece…I shall have to reserve my comments for a blog post of my own, as it will take time. There is a lot to
evisceratediscuss. But since I’ve dropped by, I’ll just ask for a bit of clarification. You write:And how often can you point to someone and say this? — “Aha. There goes a writer who spent many years and many bucks on how-to books and four-month courses and instructional CDs and now is doing great as a well-known author.”
Good thing you weren’t asking this in a courtroom, Porter. You’ve packed it with so many qualifications a judge would have pounded the gavel, maybe even on your noggin.
How many years, how many bucks, how many books and courses are required by your inquiry? What exactly do you mean by “doing great”? What qualifies as “well-known”? If someone is making five figures a year from indie fiction, is that “great” enough? If he or she hasn’t been mentioned in the NY Times or on a sitcom, does that mean they don’t qualify as “well-known”? If they are followed by thousands of readers who regularly buy their books, does that even count as “known”?
I will provide my own answers anon. In any event, thanks for the jump start to my morning, Porter. I may not even need a third cup of joe!
My dear Jim,
I knew I’d be hearing from you on this. :) Thanks.
And not a thing you say surprises me, of course, any more than does a thing I say surprise you. We understand our differences on these points quite well, I think.
Thankfully, we’re not in a court of law — that’s your domain, sir, not mine — and I’d tolerate not one tap on the head with that gavel, lol.
The same court of law, I believe, would strike your own commentary from the record with instructions to disregard it because, of course, you make a certain portion of your living as an instructor and writer of how-to-write-a-book books. That’s a pretty well-vested interest in the issue, and nothing wrong with that, but you’re hardly arguing from a neutral spot. In truth, I think your how-to books are a lot better than many and I know for a fact — because I’ve seen you do it live — that your instructional efforts are sturdy, well organized, and full of great film clips. :)
I do believe, however, that we have generated here an overheated “training wing” attached to this new everybody-into-the-pool stage in the industry’s development. I think the mushrooms are getting pretty thick on the ground and that many, many offerings are neither as adroit nor as potentially valuable as yours. Beyond the buyer-beware rule, always good, is an implication that I think overstates what many people believe they can learn to do on the receiving end of instruction.
What do I mean by people we recognize as successful? The major bestsellers. That’s close enough. Not being in that court of law, no, sir, I do not owe you a list, alphabetized and categorized by genre of who I might have in mind. I think it’s pretty clear that when I talk of brand-name authors — the people most regular readers know, at least to hear their names — we can all get the level of major success I’m talking about. And I don’t believe that a large percentage of those folks have worked their way through large libraries of how-to books and long hours of webinars and podcasts in order to do what they do. AND I do think that when we sell instruction to many who are new to this industry, we’re tending — even unintentionally — to trade on dreams of joining the name-brand folks at the top.
And I think you understand all this, too. :)
I’m sure you’ll feel you need to head for your column with wonderfully pull-able quotes, to which I’ll look forward.
But Jim — agree or disagree — I think you know exactly what I’m saying. I think you know that I have never, ever included you in the pile of fungal charlatans I decrcy, and I think you very well understand the difference I’m talking about in one kind of success that is not usually (I did say usually) learned in instructional settings and the kind that is.
You were never on the stand here, my friend. Let your defensiveness rest. (That was good, you have to admit.)
And God knows I’m dying to try on a powdered wig so let’s at least get this over into the UK court system if we have to take it to the bench. :)
Cheers,
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
My dears Jim and Porter,
I always enjoy your gentlemanly jousting. I want to see Porter in a white wig!
Thank you, Kellye,
I’m so glad you like the powdered wig idea. I think I need to wear it monthly while writing my Provocation, don’t you?
I’m put in the mind of that marvelous line in the Bible, “from thence he shall come to judge the quick and the dead.”
Well, alas, I don’t know anybody dead, let alone quick. So in my white wig, I shall judge only the slow and the living. I know a lot of people who are alive and very slow. :)
I’ll need to work on the robe next…
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
I think a distinction can usefully be made between predatory services–you quote Agent Orange’s mention of Author Solutions–and genuine attempts to be helpful or useful to writers. I don’t really blame all those homegrown helpers for jumping into a market niche that’s clearly lucrative for some, because that’s the way business works and it’s hard to make a living from the actual writing at times. So why not make money from providing useful advice? As long as you’re actually providing what you promise. The self-help industry (of which the author services industry is an offshoot) thrives for a reason–people like good advice.
And, frankly, I’ve read a lot of the writing books other people say are great, and not been very impressed. I think there’s still room in the market. I’d just advise writers to spend more time actually writing than reading the books.
Hey, Jane, and thanks,
I do like your “spend more time writing” than reading the how-to books advice. That sounds exactly right to me. :)
Cheers!
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
Amen brother! Writer Beware has never held more meaning. Researching some of these “kitchen sink” companies has also become more labor intensive with the birth of reputation defender and other services that allow you to remove negatives from a google search.
Hey, Jacquie, good to hear from you.
And you’re right that this creates a whole new layer of effort for authors, totally true. The research can be daunting and probably has never been as important with so many outfits presenting themselves as legit.
Thanks for reading and commenting!
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
I taught writing in universities for 35 years — academic writing, business writing, tech writing. Never fiction writing, which I’ve always aspired to do myself, without much to show for the aspiration. I did teach, and have managed to write, what is loosely called “creative non-fiction.” (I would call it the personal essay and blogging, but I would also argue that all writing is creative to some degree.)
Here’s what I know: even the more practical and mundane types of writing can’t really be “taught.” As a teacher, I set up situations in which my students could improve their writing a little faster than they otherwise might have. Not all of my students improved — only the ones who were actively trying to write better. That was a small percentage. Their writing would have improved without me, but I perhaps provided a shortcut. Certainly I provided a responsive audience. I kept them going a while longer.
Make no mistake, though, regardless of the field of knowledge or area of expertise, all learning is self-learning. The learner’s engagement in the process is the only essential factor.
Bingo, as Aristotle used to say.
Man, pass me some of that spare style of yours, will you, David? Bingo to your bingo. Exactly. :)
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
Hello Jim, some intriguing input here.
It’s particularly interesting to read you saying — after a career in teaching — “even the more practical and mundane types of writing can’t really be ‘taught.'”
And I really join our good colleague David Corbett in his acknowdgment of your point: “All learning is self-learning. The learner’s engagement in the process is the only essential factor.”
This may be a lot more graceful way of saying what I was working at. (Your experience is showing, you see.)
I think that if I felt that more on the pedagogical side were, like you, able to enunciate where that responsibility lies — with the writer, not the supposed teacher, master, guru, etc. — then I’d feel better. It takes grace and even courage to say what you’re saying here, as I think it took a lot for Ryan Boudinot to write his piece, though his delivery didn’t show such measured thought as yours.
Thanks for this and for taking the time to share it, Jim, means a lot.
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
I noticed the implicit assumption here that one must write well to do well as an author. And yet, I’ve seen plenty of what I would consider sub-standard self-published works sell quite well, while better-written works languish. High-quality writing, it would seem, is only one part of the equation, and often not a particularly large contributor. It may be true that everyone can cook, but not everyone is a gourmet cook–and there are quite a few ravenous eaters out there who have neither the interest nor ability to distinguish between the two. The upshot is that many capable authors find themselves in the position of asking “would you like an order of E.L. James with that?” Good, perhaps, for slaking a base appetite, but not for developing any sense of nuance or craft. If brilliant writing isn’t your forte, instead of wasting all that money and effort trying to improve (particularly since there’s no guarantee you will), there’s at least some evidence to suggest you might be better off simply aiming lower.
Hey, Doug.
You know, you’ve just laid out an awfully interesting premise for “writing down,” and I’m only using that phrase to try to handle the moment –not to criticize anyone who isn’t Voltaire, of course.
I must agree, obviously, I think from my argument here, that there may not be much chance of improvement ahead, especially for the writer whose personal makeup doesn’t supply the writerly chops as a natural trait. Thus, if someone is bent on writing, then taking the route toward a lower goal can certainly be said to reflect a lot of logic.
And I think that one of the risks I take when I pick up topics like this is being thought to respect only the highest levels of writing. While I admire and revere the Didions and deLillos and Camus’s among us, I don’t have to have a diet of only such stunners and nothing else, of course, anymore than anyone else does.
There’s nothing wrong with working at one’s level as well as one can. If that’s the intent of your interesting comment, I quite agree. And to that end, I hope that everyone doing so simply can find a certain comfort in what she or he can do. A wealth of diversity includes a range of quality and no one needs to feel bad about his or her spot. A clear-eyed recognition of it is what I hope for everyone. And to that degree, I think our “training” types can do no less than be honest — compassionately honest.
Thanks again,
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
Seems like a rather arbitrarily chosen question/accusation you’re posing: if all these instructional tools exist for writers, why isn’t literature better?
This argument can be taken apart in different ways. First of all, in this modern age, more instructional tools and resources now exist for pretty much everything – not just writing. But are people on the whole smarter and more productive and better at every skill? Do we have more geniuses? Not that I’m aware of. So angling this argument specifically at writing seems a bit too selective.
Also, the writing that most of us are made aware of – i.e., the bestsellers – are more a reflection of the market than of the writers themselves. People buy James Patterson books because they want a familiar experience, and it’s easier than shopping around, and/or taking a risk on an unknown author. Much like why more people drink Budweiser and smoke Marlboros – it’s easier than trying to navigate a complex and ever-growing marketplace. But are they all the best products possible? Or simply the most popular and easily available? I’m pretty sure it’s the latter.
Western society in particular likes things to be easy. Good marketers have figured this out, and as a result, we have a market dominated by a small group of best-selling brands, which obscure most of the other products that lack this kind of marketing horsepower. I submit that this has far more to do with the lack of better books you bemoan. Beating up the people who create instructional materials – whether they are truly insightful and helpful or merely opportunistic predators – will do little to change the state of popular literature.
Your argument – intentionally or not – also beats up on the people who use these materials. I for one have benefited immensely from training and instructional materials – as a writer, as a musician, and as a business professional. But as most of the other commenters have observed, you need to put thought into the instructional resources you select.
And here’s probably the most important point: with writing or any other subject matter, it’s not the instructional materials themselves; it’s what you DO with them. For example, I own several workout DVDs, and oddly enough, merely owning and watching them has not turned me into an Olympian athlete or supermodel. Similarly, reading a writing how-to or attending countless writers conferences won’t make you a better writer. Doing the hard work of trying to find ways to apply what you’ve learned to your own story is what will do that. And who knows? In the process, you might elevate the level of contemporary literature. But it won’t happen if you don’t try.
Me, I’m in favor of constantly learning, so I expect my collection of instructional materials will only continue to grow. I’m hoping my skill as a writer will continue to do the same. Just don’t hate me if I don’t manage to single-handedly raise the bar for all literature. I might need Patterson’s help to pull that off.
OK, Keith, I won’t hate you, but I did, of course, think that those workout programs had turned you into both an Olympian and a supermodel. I may have to pause to get over the disappointment.
Seriously, thanks for your comments and I have no quarrel with a thing you’re saying.
I perhaps have made it appear that I count high sales as the criterion for the strongest writers. Far, far from it, and sorry if I threw you that curve. If that were the case, I’d be here to honor E.L. James as a good writer, and I do not do so. If anything, I’m sorry — on behalf of the craft — when I see such successes that so badly skew a lot of people’s ideas of what is good work.
No, my brand-names are such because of their quality. Didion will be far less widely read on any day of the week than Patterson and his garage full of associate writers. And yet she is the brand-name of my heart. As is Camus. As are Cunningham and Woolf, Mandel and Le Carre, Miller (Andrew) and Miller (Henry), Shute and Gibson, etc. These will not be the biggest sellers, no. That’s not the criterion. My apologies if I made you think that.
I also don’t think that what American marketing recognizes and promotes as “ease” is much of a factor here. That ease — of access or choice or price — is a motivator for some may be true, certainly, but that truth doesn’t make it desirable.
You’re right that the idea of saying the canon overall isn’t improving is about as gassily broad as we could ask for, too. I don’t think it’s wrong, though. Would you like metrics? I don’t have them. I have sharp eyes, a pretty good mind (on a good day), a lot of experience. But hard numbers on some magical scale with which to offer you proof. No. That doesn’t make the statement wrong. It makes it my opinion. And I have called it nothing but. All you read in my columns are my opinion, I own them readily, willingly. As you know. Dismiss this opinion, by all means. I’m fine with that.
Did I mention that the sky is green? LOL
I’ll offer a counter opinion, in fact — also ready for your dismissal :) — that I’m “beating up on” someone.
No, I’m not. I’m just writing a point of view that is unpopular with some people, not with all people — some here have been quite supportive, perhaps you missed them. You are confused in thinking that some sort of violence is being done here. You’re wrong. But I won’t “beat up on” you for that. :)
A funny thing happens to you over decades (three and counting, for me) of work as a professional critic.
(1) You get more willing than than many folks are at saying that someone’s ideas are, in your opinion, wrong. I think you’re wrong on these points, but I’m glad to have you say them so well, seriously, you bring a lot of mind to WU, and I will always be glad to see some mind coming our way.
(2) You get over the discomfort of having someone else think you’re wrong. I’m fine for you to think that about me. Hell, you may be entirely right! I don’t think so but, then, I wouldn’t, would I? :)
And I thank you for your thoughtful reply.
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
Thanks for replying, Porter. I probably didn’t make my point clearly – I wasn’t suggesting that you were equating what is popular with the “best” writing. My point was that the overwhelming presence of the most popular books in the marketplace leaves little room for other works to be discovered. In other words, maybe the better writing you seek *does* exist, but it’s not even on your radar, because the noise generated by the bestselling juggernauts drowns out the weaker signal of these lesser-known books.
But I’ll stand firm on my “pugilistic” charges. Call it provocation, call it poking, call it beating up, but one way or the other, it was clear your goal was to create enough discomfort in your readers to elicit a response. And you succeeded smashingly!
Now step outside, and let’s settle this like men.
Rock, paper, scissors? Or would you prefer to thumb-wrestle?
Bring it on!
Real “men” don’t do rock, paper, scissors anymore.
It’s rock, paper, scissors, lizard, Spock.
How did you know what a pushover I am for a good lizard?
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
Hey, Keith,
This makes much more sense, thanks for clarifying. Totally, totally (don’t you love doubling “totally”? lol) agree with you that the blockbuster populist work crowds out all daylight for the actual strong work (which I want to read). I’m lucky to have sources in many places calling significant work, most of which will not catch the public fancy, to my attention. Sometimes this work is from folks we don’t know yet and at other times it’s interesting to see that it’s from one of the major serious names, not specifically but like a Roth, for example. I’m afraid that “name-brand” means populist in many folks’ minds. To me, Joan Didion is a “name-brand” but the Detergent, sorry, Divergent readers won’t be stopping to read her, of course, so I may have thrown you a curve using that “name-brand” phrasing. (I’d say that Tesla is a name=brand, but because of its expense, etc., it’s far from a populist buy.)
And right, meet you out back. Tina is telling us that lizard is an option to rock, paper, scissors nowadays. I’m very tempted by that good-looking lizard, I must say…
(Thanks)
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
Hi Porter,
Thanks again for honing in on a topic of real importance–creative writing/marketing snake oil.
Agent Orange (and you) are no doubt right on many fronts. I especially like this from you on the many putative how-to experts: “Do they also sell their own fiction? If so, do you ever hear about those books?”
To be fair, it’s true that great coaches have usually not been great players. But all coaches did play the sport they presume to teach to others. A teacher like Writer Unboxed’s David Corbett is the exception: he’s made his bones as a novelist, and he writes very good fiction. He’s also broadly and deeply read in both literature and theory. But I’d be willing to bet this is not true of very many how-to writing “life” coaches.
As for those who did write fiction in an earlier life, I won’t name names, but I know of three gurus who did write it. And they have zero interest in talking about it, now that their principal focus is on this-is-how-it’s-done manuals, conferences, CDs and workshops.
Granted, in a single blog post you can’t be expected to take up every aspect of a complex topic. But I think some reference needs to be made to all the new social/technical forces that work to degrade literary values. How many wannabe writers have not read serious books? How many are deeply read in one or two genres only, the ones they’ve decided to write in? The word itself–genre–used to mean something different. Now, it includes not just literary, children’s, crime, SF and romance fiction, but books aimed at zombie/paranormal/dystopian/steampunk etc specialists. This fragmentation is analogous to cable TV: a niche for every taste.
One last thing: in their teaching of how to write fiction, consider how dependent most self-styled experts are on using films to make their points. That’s because their readers can’t be assumed to know literary works. Or: the experts themselves are on much closer terms with movies than with books.
Anyone else think there’s something wrong with this picture?
P.S. Along with David Corbett, I want to also reference Cathy Yardley and James Scott Bell. Like Corbett, both of these legitimate experts write fiction, both are widely read, and both are very knowledgeable about all aspects of the writing business. I am grateful to all three.
Vote early, vote often, Barry, sounds like you’re working on a nice slate of winners to me. :)
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
You know, Barry,
Just to take your last point, I’ve written on this problem of book-writing teachers and coaches using film as their material. I was completely dismayed at The Muse and The Marketplace in Boston recently, to find that a writer I’ve always liked got up to do a seminar and used nothing but film and TV clips — and the seminar was about literary writing. The techniques are not the same. boy, did I feel let down.
I haven’t pushed point today, though, because there are certain folks here who are, I’m sure, put out quite adequately with me already — and they tend to use a lot of film and television in teaching the writing of books. Far be it from me to, as Keith puts it, “beat up on” anyone. :)
Thanks for your comment, as ever.
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
Long ago and far, far away during a previous recession, eating being a habit of mine, I took a job as an insurance agent. In that industry, too, people conducted seminars, often to hundreds of people at once, on How to Sell a Million Dollars of Life Insurance. Or some such topic. I never knew if the person did belong to the Million Dollar Roundtable or not. As my attendance was always sponsored (paid for) by the company I worked for, I didn’t question the speaker’s right to instruct us.
They sold their books and other stuff, and we scooped up everything on our own dime in order to learn and copy the secrets. In my case it didn’t work.
In other fields, too, Porter, selling secrets to success attracts the unwary. As you wrote, they sell shovels; they don’t dig the gold.
Part of the reason why such seminars are so well attended and why people buy the shovels may be the individual’s quest for the silver bullet. (Or map to the pot of gold, to continue your metaphor.)
There isn’t one, though, as most of us know.
We writers who break granite every day at our keyboards and wash occasional flakes of gold dust from the rubble do often learn something from them — a better method, a more efficient use of time, a technique for increasing tension. How to design a better website. My mind has opened to different approaches to the importance of a novel’s architecture.
We learn how to write from reading and rereading books that most appeal to us, from long knowledge and use of the English language, and from the music we listen to.
With patience and hard work I persevere, and look for other rewards than striking it rich.
Totally true, Carol,
The misunderstanding of “training’s” potential and the dream of a magic bullet can warp things in strange ways in many fields other than … whatever field we’re in now.
I know you don’t mean to say this, of course, but a certain idea of “the shysters will always be with us” doesn’t mean that we can stop talking about the problem and trying to get things to go better.
As for your days as an insurance agent, I just was putting in a claim on the ASPCA insurance I carry for Cooper the Literary Beagle, who had some minor surgical work this week for $645 US currency. It occurred to me that perhaps that’s the business I should be in. Dog insurance. Imagine what fun their blogs must be. :)
Cheers, Carol, and look at a mountain for me.
–p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
You’re right, Porter,
I certainly did not mean we should not discuss this issue. I’m happy you wrote about it and sparked some useful debate, because although the shysters will always be with us, we can’t stop bringing their activities out into the open.
It’s interesting, though, that I’ve met the same activities in two very different occupations.
Hope the dog and your bank account make a swift recovery. As you well know, you are not in the wrong business. Nor am I, now.
Thank you for the article. As always it’s thought-provoking, as shown by all the intelligent responses.
I usually just lurk, but your article states that writing services are a NEW phenomenon. In the interest of fostering an honest and accurate discussion, I will partially contradict you.
People selling writing services have always existed. Before Author Solutions came along, there was the Famous Writer’s School and countless other correspondence schools stretching back all the way to 1728 in Boston. I picked up a copy of the Famous Writer’s School curriculum dated 1961 at an estate sale for $10, complete with the previous owners writing notebooks and the correspondence with the teacher. The owner got through three of the four modules before the notebooks stopped. Most of the first module was what I’d call ‘business writing,’ how to be a more effective communicator. The previous owner’s skills started out pretty unintelligible, and by the third module, she had definitely improved, but not to the point she would ever make a novelist. It wasn’t until later, when I learned how much that previous owner likely paid for the books and feedback I paid $10 for, that it seemed exploitive. But not for the price, I would state it was a decent home-study course that did its job.
There were also self-publishing services companies way back when. Authors who wanted a book published could, and often -did- privately publish their own works through a local printer. Charles Dickens did it for some of his works. So did Benjamin Franklin. They even had crowdsourcing back then … avid fans of their work or a patron would chip in to receive a copy of the finished product. Again, it’s not the fact these self-publishing printers existed that is the problem. It’s whether nor not they charged a fair rate for a print run, or tacked on questionable services for the unwary.
They also had writing classes back then. There were those who were wealthy enough to attend school all the way to college, and for those who weren’t so lucky, people would apprentice. Ben Franklin learned his trade as an apprentice. As did Charles Dickens and Stephen King. And they had lyceums where people would get together to discuss, argue, and learn.
Correspondence courses trace all the way back to Boston in 1728, with the first correspondence university back in 1858. Even back then, people bemoaned the availability of an education from a distance. And also, as now, success had more to do with the zeal of the student. The teacher could pass along what they know, but it was up to the student to implement the material.
So while it may seem like the proliferation of self-help materials is not creating better writers, the truth is these services, these materials, have always been with us, and it has always depended upon the zeal of the student to make sure they pay a fair price for the service they seek, implement it, and do the hard part to improve their craft.
Caveat emptor! It predates the digital age.
Hi, Anna,
Thanks for this walk down memory lane. I remember every date you cite like it was yesterday.
Just for the record it is “Agent Orange” who speaks of a writing program at East Anglia 45 years ago. Agent Orange and I are not the same person. I look terrible in orange.
And while you’re right that there have, I’m sure, been instructional offerings, there is simply no comparison in history to what we see now in terms of the sheer number and penetration of such entities today. The level of publication and the industry rising around it is almost incomprehensible. (Bowker, which can only see some books in the marketplace, could count 900,000 books in the late 1990s and more than 32 million a couple of years ago. The number of self-published titles being produced, mostly without ISBNs, is thought to be well over one million per year. All this occasions a lot more “services” activity than has been around in the past, but something of this kind, I’m sure, has always been with us.)
Whitman self-published, too. Woolf, too. Many did.
Lovely of you to take the time with this but I think it has no bearing on what we’re talking about now. “It has ever been thus” excuses nothing and if anything suggests we might be better at responding to it now than we are.
Thanks again,
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
Porter-
Nice provocation today. So much to enjoy. Such as…
“Daily unit sales of self-published titles are now greater than the Big 5 publishers, combined. And indie authors are taking home more earnings from readers every day than those same authors, combined.”
Which goes to show that you can get statistics to “prove” anything you want. Good news for politicians, drug companies and motivational speakers.
But why bother to pick apart such statements? One only needs to look around to see reality. One only needs to learn from one’s own learning experience.
Let me ask you this, Porter: Did you learn to write well entirely on your own? Did you never learn a single useful thing about writing from any book, article, course, seminar or workshop? Or, for that matter, from reading other writers?
Of course writing can be taught. But that is not the same thing as the part of writing (especially writing “well”, whatever that means to you) that can happen only in the solitude of one’s writing space at the keyboard.
The truth is that all writers learn the craft but all writers must then write their own stories. No course can hand you that. There is classroom and there is real world. There is learning and then there is experience.
Those of us who write and teach about writing don’t do so cynically. We also know teaching’s limitations. Cap, gown and scroll are only the beginning. The real world is where it really happens.
So welcome to the real world, writers. Wake up. Open your eyes. Think for yourself. Figure out when you’re being sold air and when you’re getting true value. Recognize the difference between useful help and your own effort.
It’s the latter that will make you a living. You can’t buy what you hope others will buy from you.
Hi, Don, thanks for your comment — I think.
I like this part:
“Of course writing can be taught. But that is not the same thing as the part of writing (especially writing “well”, whatever that means to you) that can happen only in the solitude of one’s writing space at the keyboard.”
Do we disagree on this? If so, that’s fine. But I don’t think so.
And no, I’ve never learned a single thing from anyone or anything outside myself. And there’s this bridge to Brooklyn I’d like to talk to you about. :)
I’m not so easily pushed into such corners, and — much as I said to a fellow instructor of yours, Mr. Bell — I know you know this.
I’ll see you at BEA if you’ll be around again this year,
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
Great thought-provoking article.
I did a few writing workshops myself when I started taking my writing seriously and I enjoyed most of them. If anything, they taught me how important it is to share work with others and how to gracefully receive feedback. But I soon noticed how these workshops (and many “how to” books) never rise above beginners’ level, and I decided to go to the masters to learn my art: literary classics and modern classics, classics in my genre, masters in other genres. According to the internet, P D James said “read widely and with discrimination. Bad writing is contagious.” I hope the same goes for good writing.
Annie Dillard advised: Be careful what you read. It will become what you write.
Be careful about the people you hang out with because you are one of them.
Lovely quote from James, Andrea,
And I like the discernment you exercise in saying that you felt what you were getting wasn’t moving the can down the road past the beginner’s level. I don’t think that’s the case in all training experiences — nor is every instance of instruction wrong-headed and awful (as many here seem to want to make it appear I said).
Good of you to chime in and thank you for reading, too.
All the best,
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
My comment comes from the perspective of a prolific writer and a novice author. I’ve been actively studying the craft of writing non-stop for 15 years. Yes, I have spent money on lots of books, a few on-line classes, and several work-shops. I did not expect any of those activities to make me a best-selling author. I did learn the craft of fiction writing and eventually how to avoid some mistakes.
I have not paid anyone to do something for me. Only to teach me to do it myself. Anyone who expects to buy success will be disappointed.
It has been money well spent. In workshops I have met inspiring, knowledgeable teachers and made friends with other authors who have become critique partners and beta readers. I no longer need to buy more than 1 or 2 writing books per year. I go to workshops because I love the experience and the personalized attention to my work.
Of course, there are people out there who will capitalize on the current DIY rush of e-books. Lazy and greedy people will always find each other.
Gretchen,
You seem to have it all admirably figured out for yourself and you’ve managed your experiences in this area beautifully.
There’s nothing left but for me to congratulate you and wish you every success in your work. And thanks for reading me and commenting.
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
Porter, I am a graduate (if from the quill-pen days) from one of those infernal MFA programs, and indeed the givings and takings were mixed. A number of my instructors did seem to be sleepwalking through the coursework. But I had a couple of stalwarts who were demanding, probing and inspirational—they galvanized me to look at language and literature in more complex and rewarding ways. One of them, a big-souled guy long dead to AIDS, really pushed us to look at what’s under the surface of stories, and supplied us with those dreaded shovels—sharp and sensible shovels—to dig in those tunnels ourselves.
Time in those dank tunnels probably turned me into one of those parasitical fungi you mentioned, because I’m about to publish my own “how to find your writer’s voice” book. I can only hope that I can indeed be attractive, engaging and even psychotropic. But damn, I didn’t write it with any of the predatory, grasping, bandwagoning motivations ascribed to some of my fellow toadstools in the post. More that I penned an invitation to play in the fields of language, with some hints as to where the picnic baskets are.
So, yeah, a lot of dreck is being published, and now there’s a lot of publishing of dreck on how to get your dreck published, dreck-haste. But I’m uncertain if we can stack all that dross unerringly in the “miserable” column and be done with it, without some sense that perhaps a percentage of writers-to-be might have heard that telling click in their heads from some instructional counsel, and have been moved to work with words, and work well with them. Add some garlic and olive oil to even the most miserly of mushrooms and there might be a meal there.
Tom.
Did I write that all instruction is bad?
(Congrats on your how-to book to come.)
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
Porter, no, you didn’t. Forgive me if I sounded prickly. I appreciate, sincerely, what you do here (and elsewhere in the galactic reaches of the Porterverse, which seems to have synaptic stretch over all things publishing). My peach pit of a comment was probably a result of doing so much ding-dang work on this book lately, so that my skin thinned in anticipation, rather than from actual insult.
I invariably find your work as a provocateur eye-opening, well-argued, and idiosyncratic in the most appealing of ways. Keep steering those boats against the common current. (And just look at how many voices in our Athenian senate here you’ve summoned—good work!)
It’s OK, Tom, and of course you have reason to feel sensitive when you’re working on a how-to. I’m finding that several of our teaching associates here at WU have had a hard time with the piece — probably predictable, but I wonder if this is indicative of a sense of pressure already in place before I got here? Not likely something we can know, but as you say, a lot of reaction and I do appreciate everyone’s responses. Just hoping to keep a gentle lid on the overstatements about what I wrote.
Thanks much,
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
[Apologies if this posts twice–first try seems to have not gone through.]
“How many name-brand writers — standout authors, “the big names,” the people we know and understand as leaders in the field — achieved the prominence they have by “learning it” in writing courses or MFA programs or by reading some of the thousands upon thousands of how-to-write-a-book books?”
Here’s a short list I put together in 10 mins. Many of them also teach.
Alice McDermott (National Book Award), U. New Hampshire
John Irving, Iowa Workshop
Junot Diaz (Pulitizer, National Book Award), Cornell
Noviolet Bulawayo (Booker Prize), Cornell
Michael Chabon (Pulitizer), UC Irving
Richard Ford (Pulitizer), UC Irving
Alice Sebold, UC Irving
Ayana Mathis, (Oprah—now there’s real success), Iowa Workshop
T.C. Boyle, Iowa
Eleanor Catton (Booker Prize) Iowa
Ethan Canin, Iowa
Gail Godwin, Iowa
Jane Smiley (Pulitizer), Iowa
Paul Harding (Pulitizer), Iowa
Michael Cunningham (Pulitizer), Iowa
Tracy Kidder (Pulitizer), Iowa
Phillip Levine (Pulitizer), Iowa
Jorie Graham (Pulitizer), Iowa
Charles Wright (Pulitizer), Iowa
Mark Strand (Pulitizer), Iowa
Rita Dove (Pulitizer), Iowa
Jhumpa Lahiri (Pulitizer), Boston U.
Elizabeth Kostova, U. Michigan
Kiran Desai (Booker Prize), Columbia
Jay McInerney, Syracuse
David Foster Wallace, U. Arizona
Karen Russell (“Swamplandia!”), Columbia
Phil Klay (National Book Award), CUNY
And a self-education from the how-to books? Who knows, because who will ever say? It’s possible there are quiet successes. I have a writing degree and I still learn a lot from books about writing. I’m particularly enjoying the “Art of …” series put out by Graywolf Press.
“Can anyone say that this mass influx of instructional competition — and the fields of toadstools surrounding it — is giving us better work? A meaningful step forward in our writerly culture? Better books?”
Hell yeah.
Porter, I think you’re setting up a straw man argument. It’s not that MFA programs are worthless. Some are great, some are merely good, some are actively bad, rather like a lot of things in life (marriage comes to mind, or diets, or jobs). Same with independent editors and coaches, like myself. Book packagers, yeah, more bad than good, none great. There’s a lot of arsenic and opium being sold as cure-all snake oil; anyone who unquestioningly believes a book packager’s marketing b.s. has a personal issue with gullibility. The problem isn’t that there are too many terrible writers suddenly enabled by technology. There has always been a spectrum of writing talent. Lousy books will sink (although a few, like certain floaters in a toilet bowl, do seem to rise, 50 Shades-like).
Why not have a nation of writers, of artists? A few will be great, many merely good, many more bad. Oh well. That’s life. Why not encourage the hoi polloi to be writers if they have a mind to try? People get to write because they love writing, love storytelling. That is a good enough reason for any endeavor in life. If they are smart enough to mind their wallets, it’s all good.
Great list, Mary. We must have passed in the ether because I didn’t see your reply as I wrote mine.
It is indeed a super list, Kellye, as I’ve just written to Mary. May your passings on the ether be smooth. :)
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
Mary,
Thanks for this lovely list, I fear it must have taken you more than 10 minutes, and I appreciate the effort that went into it (let alone having to post it twice, isn’t that maddening when it happens?).
I think I must have made the mistake of saying somewhere in words invisible to my own eyes that there are no exceptions to my concerns and that all instructional effort can be discounted as voodoo. I don’t recall writing such blanket condemnation but I note that several commenters here have taken it as such. I do think this is more in the eyes of the (sometimes defensive) commenters than on the page of what I wrote.
Thus it is that I appreciate your response. Indeed, as you know because you quote me, I did not write that NO writers of marvelous capability and merit and significance and contribution have studied in MFA and other programs. As you correctly quote me, my question (not statement) was “How many name-brand writers…” And, by God, you proceed to answer me. Brilliant! At least this many. I think there are more, and I assume that you do, too.
After a long day of being told that I wrote something I did not, I find your response terrific because you answer the question, even if you go on to dismiss me as setting up a straw-man argument. That’s fine. We can disagree. You know that’s not my intention. If it’s your reaction, I’m good with that.
I have nothing but appreciation for the achievements of the writers you list here and I’m very happy for what they — not us, but they — might feel was contributed to their work by their various studies. This is great.
And thanks again for such effort, it’s a reflection of a strong and energetic reaction to what i wrote, and I’ll comfort myself with that as the compliment I’ll bet you didn’t intend it to be. :)
All the best,
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
Wonderful post, Mary. And thank you – “straw man” is the phrase that had been eluding me all day. That’s exactly how the original post felt to me as well.
Or to put it more succinctly: hell yeah!
Porter,
the evidence of this article’s true nailing of the snake oil vs. medicine debate is in its wide range of responses. My reading of history says this argument travels with humanity through the ages. Inspiration vs. perspiration, gift vs. training. Born to it vs. you can make it if you try.
I love this: “The people who really make money out of gold rushes are the ones selling the shovels.” Snake oil needs salespeople. And suckers are those who genuinely want something . . . which is to say all of us in one way or another, at one time or another. We who love words and want to contribute to literature, or feel that we must, are in line to pay great sums both to those who serve their clients as well as to those who serve themselves by taking from we who struggle to make it. (And those groups are never distinct; everyone in the boomtown of commerce wears a marshal’s star and has a good swagger.) And that is just the way of the world. Some organisms foster growth and some foster dissolution.
In my other career, I had a great voice teacher who was not a singer himself. But his gifts were the ear to hear the sound of a voice, better than most, and the knowledge of how a body generates it and the wherewithal to explain it for dummies like myself. He taught me to add a whole octave to my range, which made me a better songwriter, because I could hear in a new way. No regrets.
I guess Caveat Emptor comes with fine print such as, another skill that we who want to learn need is discrimination about the quality of what we are being taught. Some of us are gifted in that, others not.
I’m mixed on this debate and leave you with another image supporting the teaching of art: most guitar players find different guitars inspire new songs. So if I had endless money and time, I might dip into writing workshops all over on the chance I might hear something the teacher wasn’t even in command of. But mostly I perspire in the garret. Thanks for peeling back the layers on how this world functions.
Hey, Tom,
Such a kind message, thanks. Here on the 36th response I’ve made today to comments, I find that my fatigue is — of course — making it progressively harder to feel charitable toward folks who seem to rather wantonly misconstrue what I wrote as being far more a blanket condemnation of all training than it was. As you suggest, the breadth of response — amazing, really — is an honor and I’m working to remember that.
By coincidence, I had a voice teacher of the same kind. Mine was a man named Cyril Haskins and in Bath, England, he gave me a wonderful series of lessons that helped me later to terrorize a lot of musical-theater audiences in ways I could never have done without him, lol. Seriously, he was super for me and, like your teacher, he was not a singer.
I love the shovels line, too, one of Agent Orange’s best, isn’t it?
Thanks again. If I’ve peeled any layers, I’m afraid they may have released more hostility than understanding but I take heart in the fact that the answers are so vehement in many cases, and yet respectful. I’ve yet to read, “Porter, you ignorant slut,” though that may come in the next or the next or the next comment, lol.
Be easy with yourself in the process. You’re always open-minded here, more than many who frequent our columns, and this will serve you very well as you work your own gifts and intents.
Cheers,
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
Staying away from the writing life sucks/doesn’t discussion because am intrigued with the how we learn portion.
I’ve been riding all my life. (Sound of teeth grinding — just how many years that amounts to.) Guess what? Still taking lessons. Still learning. Come off my horses joyful, anticipating the next lesson. My teachers are not only riders, but trainers, as I used to be myself. If they weren’t ready to swing a leg over any problem I had, they would not be my teachers.
OTOH, I’ve read writing craft books, then checked out fiction by same ‘expert’ and went, woops. I’ve won positions in classes with “names” who could write and sat through mind numbing nonsense re ‘how to.’ None of this constitutes fact — just personal experience.
But the biggest laugh I’ve had lately was an invitation to take a self-directed writing class from a whale of a published writer. Monster NYTBS. A person who absolutely does not need the money. After the belly laugh, came Why? If a teacher doesn’t have skin in the game, (accountability) how can they help?
My best writing teachers have been the kind of craft books that pose Socratic style questions & a couple of no holds barred, in the same trench as myself crit partners. We don’t hesitate when our fellow ’emperor’s’ new clothes are missing.
One naked emperor to the empress, Morgyn, lol,
I do like this line: “I’ve read writing craft books, then checked out fiction by same ‘expert’ and went, woops.” Quite the experience, isn’t it? I know a couple of very fine fiction writers who are doing a lot in the how-to space, as well, but only a couple. It’s rare, I’m afraid. More frequently, the woops, yes.
Your skin in the game point is actually very good, and something I want to think about. I’d like to sort out a model in which a pedagogical scenario would present a “master” to a class in such a way that this master DID have skin in that game. There could be a very interesting experiment to be had there, especially if said “master” were of the monster-name variety.
Always interesting, Morgyn, and appreciated. Thanks!
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
Oh, Porter…just when I thought I was out, you manage to pull me back in. (Not I’d planned to be “out” permanently, you understand.) You raise so many interesting points–as do your lively commenters.
It’s funny because just before I saw Sir Bell’s tweet about this post (something about hornets nests and sticks?), I read a tweet that said: Do you want to write a best-seller? (YES, I said to myself, breathlessly, YES! YES!) And the tweet continued: Fast?
As you can imagine, I groaned to myself and did not click. (I’m assuming she gave all the answers in a 500-word blog post that probably linked to a class she was offering for a bargain price.) I hear you, Porter, and appreciate your concern here.
At the same time, when you talk about big name successful writers and instruction, I would be remiss in not mentioning my former state. Of course, I’m alluding to the famed Iowa Writers Workshop. I’m not speaking pro or con for the program, but there’s no doubt that it has birthed a roster of shining literary stars. Many critically acclaimed authors (as well as best-sellers–often they’re not the same thing) have had the benefit of a writing education. The Golden Workshop even offers a summer program where mere mortals can spend a weekend or a week in the ivy-covered towers learning to [better] wrangle the written word. It seems to me there is a long tradition of writing books and workshops but they’ve been controlled by “the system” (the system! the system!–is that a copyright infringement?) until recently.
The internet makes writing instruction much more accessible, which I think is a great thing, overall. But it also makes it easier for any Tom, Dick or Mary to hang a cyber shingle as a teacher. Buyer beware is right!
At the same time (am I on the third side of the coin yet?), I have to quibble with your thoughts that someone who is well-published is the best writing teacher (to paraphrase badly). The teachers at my non-Iowa MFA program were all well-published, and, obviously, people who are well-published can give great insight.
However, some of the best teachers were NOT the best writers and certainly not the best selling. Their gift is difficult for me to put into words (and I’ve already deleted several terrible metaphors, so bear with me, please). First of all, they know the process of writing novels and the human urge to hide and lie. And they can read a novel and recognize a piercing “hot spot” of emotion below the surface that the writer may not even be aware she is hiding. If they can help the writer touch this pain–which takes great courage–the resulting literature can tell us something about truth and beauty. (Oh! I pray I don’t sound pompous! I hate pompous lit-fic stuff. There’s got to be a good story there, too, okay!?) I say this as a lover of stories and language and books–all kinds.
Even though I’m still paying off my student loans and have taught writing at two universities, I continue to add to my collection of how-to-write books. Firstly, it’s a sickness. Also, reading about writing is easier than writing. AND—wait for it—there are some damn good books out there, that can teach you a lot. One of the things I love about writing is that no matter how good (or bad) you are, you can always improve. That’s a good thing. But balance is important, too. So often I still find myself hoping for the quick and easy answer, and it’s just not there.
May I add that I’m particularly fond of Mr. Bell’s Plot and Structure and Mr. Maass’ The Fire in Fiction.
Thanks again, Porter! Cheers!
If not on the same page, I think we’re staggering around in the same chapter, Kellye, and knowing that you’ve now seen Mary’s catechism as I have — and I love it — I think you know that I did not say that no extremely valuable writers were veterans of training. Indeed, Mary wonderfully took care to quote me asking “How many” not saying “There are none,” a misreading shared by several others.
To your input, I must say that you’re paraphrasing me more badly than you realize here: “I have to quibble with your thoughts that someone who is well-published is the best writing teacher (to paraphrase badly).” I just didn’t write that. I wasn’t talking about meritorious writers as teachers at all, it simply isn’t a part of what I wrote. (Which is kind of amazing because everything else seems to have been part of what I wrote if today’s comments are to be believed, lol.)
No worries. And you’re right to feel good about Iowa. It’s a great and rightly honored program. Did not say otherwise, did I? Did not condemn all such programs, did I? Did quote another person who felt rather bad about them, didn’t I?
Tonight’s Campari cannot come soon enough, where is that waiter?
Thanks, Kellye,
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
Porter,
You raise very interesting points and I had read Agent Orange’s post. In short, writers all need a few tools in the tool box: a profound desire to write good stuff; the ability to discover good writing and yes thanks PD James, “read widely and with discrimination. Bad writing is contagious,” and the constant questions that push to rewriting and improving our craft. Will we know what’s good and what’s bad? I’m a product of education. Much of what these folks are selling–I learned years ago. After a while most of it is automatic. I just read a book by a writer who has published 5 books (I won this one) and though there was a plot, she had no idea how to work with dependent clauses. But then many of her readers don’t either. I sound snarky, but writing is on a very broad spectrum these days and maybe settling down with a well written novel or nonfiction work is the only way to heal our wounds. Bad writing is everywhere–just go a movie. But then, when I sit with my own work, I must ask the same hard questions. And keep working. Thanks for your post.
This is a very gracious line, Beth:
“Bad writing is everywhere–just go a movie. But then, when I sit with my own work, I must ask the same hard questions. And keep working. ”
I like what you’re saying here, your comment shows the wisdom of that educational background. (Isn’t it remarkable how many think it’s all or nothing — all valuable or all crap.)
Mostly, I appreciate your nuance and willingness to sit gingerly in the “not too sure” zone of these issues. A day of commentary here at WU often produces the exhaustion I feel now as I see how many respondents seem to be able to handle what I wrote only by recasting it in their minds (and in their comments) as far more black-and-white than it was.
Oh, gosh, if I said that such blanket-hallucinating respondents may not have the best chance to be good writers, imagine the reaction THAT wold get. :) But sadly, it’s probably true. Success in the arts lies in an ability to hold good old cognitive dissonance as a friend, not an enemy.
Thanks for doing that,
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
Porter, you seem to be asking, “Can teachers really help aspiring writers?” As a writing teacher for over thirty years, I reply: It depends. Just as writers differ in knowledge, skills, experience, vision, ability to communicate, and so on, so do teachers. Of course a writing teacher has to really understand the domain of writing, which means being able to write well. But to be a great teacher, he or she also needs to understand the domain of teaching and learning.
Agent Orange says, “The real purpose of writing courses is to provide novelists who cannot make a living from their writing with an income.” I teach in an MFA program, and I know that isn’t true. When a writing program hires a writer to teach, administrators expect teaching and learning to happen. Sometimes it does. But often it does not– sometimes because the writers hired believe that the real purpose of writing courses is to provide them with an income (and time to write), but more often because these writers don’t know anything about how to teach or about how people learn.
It’s a commonly-held assumption that anyone who has excellent skills in some activity can also teach those skills. But this assumption is simply not true. (Would you want to learn hitting from Manny Ramirez?) Occasionally expert writers are also great teachers, but in my experience that is not the norm.
Rather than pointing a shaming finger at teachers who publish how-to books without having also published “real books,” perhaps we ought to consider making published writers who want teaching jobs get some training in teaching, so they could do their job better. I suspect that then the MFA programs would produce better writers.
As one of the other responders pointed out, we have to learn our craft from someone. Ideally, aspiring writers learn from the professionals, the writers whose books they love. They can, however, also learn from good teachers, just as aspiring athletes and musicians learn from their teachers and coaches. It’s unlikely that good teachers will be found among the ones who’ve turned their particular “method” into a little marketing mill (videos, podcasts, 12-steps to success programs, etc.) because these methods don’t do justice to the complexity of writing or to the individuality of writers and their particular learning needs. Nor is anyone going to get good teaching from one of those exploitative businesses promising “We can help you publish–fast and fun!” (not free, though).
Learning to write well is just as hard as learning to hit a home run over the Green Monster or play a Beethoven sonata. It takes time, immense amounts of practice, and good teaching. I imagine Porter responding, “But you’re talking about craft.” Yes, I am. And, yes, there’s more to being a great writer than excellent skills; you also have to have an individual vision. That can’t be taught, exactly, but it can be nurtured–by a good teacher.
No quarrel with a word of what you have here, Barbara, and thank you for it.
I especially like your kicker: “There’s more to being a great writer than excellent skills; you also have to have an individual vision. That can’t be taught, exactly, but it can be nurtured–by a good teacher.”
Next time, I’ll just say that and run out of the room to a waiting getaway car. :)
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
There are plenty of writers who are not well known because they do not write commercial fiction and/or they do not write novels. Some instructors write short stories or poems, and it is VERY hard to make a decent living from short stories and poems, so they teach to supplement their income. Most universities offer courses in short story writing and poetry writing (and they are very popular) but not in novel writing.
Hi, Tina.
Is it odd that campuses offer these courses in short stories and poetry but not in novels? Short stories and poetry won’t be something the students can do a lot with in later life as far as marketable material, right?
I’m very glad for people to study poetry and short stories, I love both, but why would novel-instruction not be there, as well?
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
One of the universities I attended did have a novel writing program. Most do not. Probably because it takes so long to write a novel and most students only sign up for one quarter or semester of class.
Good to see a sharp-edged debate like this at Writer Unboxed.
Thanks, David.
You’re a strong man if you’re following all this. :)
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
Oh to be called a toadstool! Doth not Helios burn brighter in the sky?
I see, Porter, that your own responses to comments have diminished as the day has passed. The view inside a spittoon seldom improves with time, I suppose.
I love what Jim Anderson wrote, and agree with Jim and Don and Keith and several other commenters. I never took a creative writing course — Ohio State didn’t really have a creative writing program when I was there — so I learned on my own. I studied acting from a woman who had never been a big star but who taught me a great deal about story, drama, theme, and scene. I attended conferences — especially Squaw Valley, with the great (but by no means best-selling) Oakley Hall as its founder — and joined writing groups, studied with the great editor Tom Jenks (who handed me my head on more than one occasion), all the while trying to get better. I really, truly had everything to learn.
I’ve benefitted a great deal from a few select writing guides, a few by people who’ve never written a lick: John Truby, Robert McKee. Some by writers who’ve been bestsellers — Elizabeth George’s WRITE AWAY is a wonderful book. Others by writers who would qualify, like me, for toadstool status in your universe. But they taught me something, here and there, and I’m grateful.
I also, of course, read writers who inspired me. Though I didn’t know it at the time, I was following Saul Bellow’s advice: “Writers are readers inspired to emulation.” And I always tell my students: You’ll learn certain techniques from me, and come to know what kinds of questions you might consider asking, but your best teachers will remain the writers you admire.
But I’ve learned from teachers — indeed, some of the most important people in my life have been teachers — and I take my own teaching seriously.
One of my favorite math professors never got a PhD. Never wanted one. He was undeniably the best teacher I have ever had, and his example has inspired me in my own teaching.
That example: don’t solve the problem for the student. Show him where he went wrong, suggest a possible course for correction, then make him go back and work it out.
This works great with the students who have the will to succeed. Aline Ohanesian, one of my favorite students, just had her debut novel, ORHAN’S INHERITANCE, selected as An Indie #1 Pick for April. Aline looks back at our work together with fondness and gratitude. I know only too well, however, who did the work. If a teacher supplies one or two small insights and a little inspiration, the truly motivated student will do the rest. She has to. That’s how it happens.
But even the most motivated student does, at times, need a little guidance. The people who provide it are not parasites.
Finally, I’d like to correct Barry’s very kind but sadly mistaken comments concerning my being widely read. I am in fact one of the “greatly respected but widely UNread.” I am often compared to writers who are far more famous than I am (e.g., Graham Greene, Robert Stone, Richard Price, James Lee Burke) or successful: Don Winslow, for example, who is a close friend, and who once remarked in an email: “We’re the same guy.” Of course, we’re not. He’s an international sensation, with a new blockbuster coming out shortly. I’m struggling against the current, but I’ve as yet refused to drown. But my readers are loyal, they hunger for what I provide them, and if some of them say things like, “I can’t understand why you’re not rich and famous” (as one did recently), I simply shrug and say something like: The true gods never reveal the warriors they favor.
Would I continue to teach if I suddenly “made it big”? Yes, I would, though admittedly not as much. But there are few more gratifying moments than when I see that light in a student’s eyes, ignited by something I’ve said, and I hear her say something like: “You’ve just given me a great idea. I can’t wait to get back to my desk.”
Enough. I’m going to write now.
P.S. Gill Dennis, once of the most influential and inspiring teachers of my own writing life, passed away this past week:
http://variety.com/2015/film/news/gill-dennis-dead-walk-the-line-screenwriter-was-74-1201497890/
He wasn’t a parasite either.
Thanks for this link, and I’m very sorry for your lost. I know Gill Dennis’ name, though I never had a chance to meet him. He sounds amazing. That early AFI Conservatory experience alone must have been astonishing, look at those guys he was with.
Thanks again,
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
So David.
Although you say my comments have diminished today, this is the 40th answer I have written to a commenter here. If Groucho Marx were still alive, I’d get a prize for that. :)
My work doesn’t stop when I post here at WU. I assume yours doesn’t either. So it can take me a long time to get around to everyone. I am here. at 9:15 in the evening, still trying to respond to everyone with something faintly meaningful. (In some cases, I realize, I’m failing pretty comically, lol.)
Now, to your point(s), I’m alarmed that you keep tossing “not a parasite” back at me.
I did not say that you were a parasite, David. I think you know this.
I also did not say that ALL people who labor in the effort to teach aspects of writing are parasites. I think you know this, too.
The harshest responses I’ve had today, though, have come from people who do teach. (I have been a teacher myself, at Ohio State, in fact, as well as at the University of Michigan and at Florida State. Who is the woman with whom you studied acting at OSU? If you say Angela d’Ambrosia, we have a long night of drinking ahead of us.)
Look, you are free to disagree with me as you like, and I don’t hold it against you. As I’ve mentioned to several folks, ancient critics like me who started with critiques of the Magna Carta are quite accustomed to being accused of saying, thinking, and writing things that we haven’t said, thought, or written. People who misconstrue my work like that are just a bunch of parasites. That’s a joke. :)
But I’m seriously sorry to see what I can only describe as defensiveness from, in particular, the teaching respondents to the post here today. I fear that you must not know that I respect you and your work. Please know it now. Similarly, I respect Don’s work (he does know this) and Jim’s work (he does know this) and several others’…not a parasite among you, at least as far as I know. Hmmm, is there something you’re not telling me? :) And must I publish an “I’m Not Talking About These Guys” list every time I take to the page here? :)
Or is it more productive, perhaps, to ask how it is that you folks seem to be so on edge with this column today?
I seem to have touched a nerve. And while I don’t regret that — it’s my brief here, after all, touching nerves — I always regret the misreading and overstatement, maybe overreaction is a better term, from people whose work I respect and with whom I’ve had what I thought was an efficacious relationship.
No, David, you are no parasite. And, dude, I guess it falls to me to point out that I’m not the one saying you are. I know, you wish I’d stayed in the spittoon, now, right?
I hope your writing is going well. Your teaching, too.
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
Porter–
Anyone who reads your post, and then the comments it “provoked” will have ample proof you’ve done a very good day’s work. Thanks a lot.
Very kind, Barry, thanks.
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
Thanks, Porter.
I’m thinking of saying something along the lines of: If you kick a hornet’s nest, don’t be surprised if you get stung. But it seems you’ve been stung quite enough.
I think there was a lot of merit to what you’re saying. I think there are sloppy, lazy, indifferent teachers and outright hucksters shilling junk. I’d agree with Keith, though, that this phenomenon is hardly restricted to writing. I’d also add that the general lowering of literary standards may have less to do with parasitic “toadstools” than publishing houses lionizing blockbusters as “literature” and tossing aside mid-list writers who actually turn out marvelous books.
When did a market model guarantee great writing? And if substandard crap sells millions, why not jump on board the gravy train? If that illiterate bozo can do it, so can I! I’ll just take a couple courses from this whizbang expert on HOW TO WRITE BOOKS THAT SELL!!!! and off I go!
I’d say this has as much to do with the problem as anything else. And it echoes with a comment above about the frenzied gluttony for being noticed that seems to be everywhere these days — and from which no writer, even good ones, can afford to be immune. It ain’t about art. It’s about being seen.
BTW: No, I studied acting in Berkeley with a woman named Jean Shelton, who was herself a Stella Adler protege. I knew a lot of dancers at OSU, but it may have been ahead of your time. But I’ll happily sit down and share a round or two of drinks, if only to pummel you with peanuts! (To borrow a phrase: That’s a joke.)
Hey, David,
Thanks for getting back.
I get what you’re saying and (as I’ve said to Keith in a follow up here in the CommentDome), I agree completely that the populist blockbusters of the major powers do eclipse the work of genuine merit (to which I refer as “brand-name” authors of real pith — Didion is my icon and may be used as a great example of the “good” in my much-stung opinion). No question.
I probably differ with you and Keith on the question of which does the most damage. The same traditional establishment that may steamroll good work with blockbusters IS the one that has given us Didion and the rest of the most magnificent writers we have. It is a badly schizoid industry as such, frequently staffed by people who think as we do. Hence the longstanding tradition of paying for good work (which will sell far less readily) by pushing the blockbuster crap.
I’ve long seen a parallel in the regional theater industry, as long as we’re talking a little about theater: Many, many houses I’ve covered over the years would produce wonderfully adventurous, difficult new scripts (on the TCG circuit of theaters). But when the spotlight of media excitement moved on, if you looked back at one of those risky theater’s other offerings for the rest of the season, you know what you found? Agatha Christie, The Fantasticks Revival #8,557, and Fiddler on the You Know What. Those theaters were paying (are paying) for the Suzan Lori Parks glory of their season with the hoary fail-safe box office feel-good potboilers.
Does that exonerate publishing for doing the same thing? No.
But are those theaters going to eclipse an electrifying work of Eric Ehn with something by Rodgers and the H-man? You bet. Those blockbusters are Younger Than Springtime at the box office, baby.
Just so you know (because I felt rather bad that you’d thought I was calling you a parasite), I’ve also gotten into another comment today here — http://bit.ly/1KdoXRg — with specific references to some teaching/how-to-writing authors I’m NOT referring to as toadstools or parasites, and you’re there. Maybe I really did need that “This Is Not About These People List.” I know I need half my weekend back.
And certainly, the “I can do what that bozo did” approach is common in businesses outside publishing, you’re right, Keith is right, everybody is right. Never said this problem is specific only to publishing.
I’m sorry, though, when the fact that “this phenomenon is hardly restricted to writing” is used — NOT by you, mind you — as a reason not to talk about it, debate it, consider doing something about it in publishing.
I’m doubly sorry (can one be that?) when the bozo decides to write a book telling OTHER bozos how to do it, and calls it “author services.” Just because that could happen in other industries (including theater), I don’t think I’ll be quiet about it happening in the world of books. Not my style. I wear hornets’ nests to work and think they’re headgear.
There are a lot of bozos leading other bozos here in booksville.
I think it must be a tough time to be doing what you and Maass and Bell and some others are doing, surrounded by such bozos, who may look like toadstools to me and — again — you are not one of them.
I’m not ready to cede the forest to the bozos, myself.
I think publishing and literature are suffering an extraordinary and utterly unprecedented invasion by amateurs. Digital has enabled them. I think that how publishing handles this says something about the books world. “Well it happens to everybody” is — just in my opinion, of course — not an adequate response.
I think the literary arts are a lot better than many other endeavors. They didn’t deserve this downside of digital’s dynamic. But as long as the amateurs have come over the hill in such force, I cannot believe that offering them a special $1.99 deal on a how-to book written by the fourth bozo from the left is our best response.
Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, I’d love those drinks (Uta Hagen here) and the peanuts would be a welcome change, yes, have at me with them. :)
Thanks again, David,
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
Porter, I’m guessing that when you posted the piece that started this discussion, you had no idea you’d receive so many responses. I commend you for taking the time to respond personally to everyone who’s commented.
You’ve made many interesting points. Here’s the one that stands out for me: “I think publishing and literature are suffering an extraordinary and utterly unprecedented invasion by amateurs.” I agree entirely.
No amateur ballplayer in his right mind would walk into Fenway Park and tell the manager, “I want to play tonight.” That’s because he knows he isn’t good enough to play professional ball. In sports, in classical music, in theatre, there’s still a wall between the amateur and the professional, and on that wall is a sign that says, “Are you good enough?” In the world of creative writing (and in the visual arts as well), that wall, that sign, have vanished. Today, anyone can be an author.
It used to be that being published meant that you were a “real writer.” These days you can be an author and not have the faintest idea what it means to be a writer. Writing teachers (the good ones) can show students what it really takes to be a writer. You can’t teach vision, heart, persistence, patience, and all those other qualities professional writers must have, but you sure as heck can teach professional-level skills. Maybe those of us who are dedicated teachers can help rebuild that wall. . .
Thanks, Barbara.
Many times I’ve written that we’re incredibly lucky that the advent of the digital dynamic didn’t awaken in everyone a desperate desire to be an airline pilot. We’d all be wearing planes on our heads right now.
I love your analogy of the amateur at Fenway Park, a perfect corollary to my airline pilot scenario. If anything, i think the depth of amateurism we’re seeing here can be understood in how hard it is for so many hobbyists to discern the gulf between themselves and accomplished writers. We somehow have taken the old saw about amateurs — “they don’t know what they don’t know” — to an extreme degree. Many newcomers who don’t understand why their expectations are inappropriate don’t read truly good work at all, indeed seem never to have picked up the real stuff. If you have spent your reading life in the fields of light genre entertainment, apparently it’s pretty easy — as we discover now — to think that one can pick up that bat at Fenway. I find this baffling because the genres, themselves, hold many superb writers of huge depth and capability, and yet the main throngs of “aspirationals” don’t seem to have read them — or, at least, don’t seem to have understood how difficult excellent genre writing really is, nor literary work, for that matter.
Several things impinge on this situation to make it worse, of course.
For example, the traditional publishing industry has been callous, condescending, and dismissive of authors, on the whole during the main of its regime. There have been exceptions, but the industry’s development really has been unfair to writers — grossly so when you consider how poorly paid they are and how badly compromised they are by terrible contracts. There is no excuse for this and the industry is still, to this day, too slow to turn around and start amending many transgressions in its relationship with authors. If we were talking about governmental action, we’d see the Big Five making formal apologies for past transgressions. Instead, we now see corporate marketing palaver mentioning “for the good of our authors” at every turn, an ugly fig leaf in many cases. Again, there are exceptions — I find pockets of genuine, rightful intent and change in even some of the largest houses now and those leading such efforts are courageous and valuable people to us all. But, alas, these are still just pockets and too many in the traditional world would be happier if writers just weren’t part of the game at all, let alone the very foundation on which the product stands.
Additionally, the Internet’s inception has diminished the popular appreciation of professionalism and expertise to a ridiculous and sorry degree — and this goes far, far beyond publishing and books. The ability of any person with a connection to speak to, potentially, huge audiences has, for some reason, encouraged many to think they had a lot to say to those huge audiences without –as you say — “vision, heart, persistence, patience, and all those other qualities professional writers must have.” Once enough folks are willing to say that “professional” is a dirty word and an overrated concept, then Andrew Keen’s “The Cult of the Amateur” ( http://bit.ly/1KdoXRg ) is fully at hand — and to think that Keen saw what was occurring and published that book in 2007.
In answer to your first comment, I’m not completely surprised at the response here to my article. The WU community is known for its eager “commentariat” (I’m indebted to Mike Shatzkin for that fine phrase) and those of us who contribute regularly come to anticipate a good deal of interaction. While that can be very rewarding — as in this case, certainly — it’s also extremely time-consuming and I think that many of us who are regulars tend to handle it more gracefully sometimes than at others. I often wish my own response rate was more even but at this time of year (it’s the high season for conferences and travel for me), this level of exchange is very demanding.
So I’ll stop there, but thanks again. Let me know if you have a Twitter handle, I don’t believe I’ve been able to spot one for you.
All the best,
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
I agree with everything you’ve said, Porter. I have the feeling that part of the problem is that the Internet “came of age” at the same time as the generation raised according to the educational “principles” of the self-esteem movement. These are the kids who got gold stars for taking their seats in a classroom, trophies for just showing up when their team had practices and games. They’re the ones whose every step was photographed, every word praised. No wonder they feel that anything they might have to say is of world-shattering importance! (I yearn for the days when kids were told, “Keep your eyes and ears open, and your mouth shut. You might learn something.”)
Thanks very much for making me feel welcome here. I don’t spend time on Twitter, but you can always find me at wherewriterslearn.com
David Corbett–
I am not mistaken, and I do not stand corrected. Anyone familiar with The Art of Character knows I’m right.
While it’s true that many writers will never earn a living with their works (self published or otherwise), those same authors achieve satisfaction by seeing their words in print. They get the accolades of friends and loved ones. They give talks to book clubs. They’re treated with a bit more respect than before.
In short, money isn’t always the end game.
Anderson could have done so much more by pointing out the barriers he did so well and then give writers some advice on how to overcome the barriers, some inspiration to dream on, to never give up. To keep writing.
Winston Churchill he is not.
True, he is not Winston Churchill. He is Porter Anderson.
He does not write to inspire us. He writes to provoke. He has succeeded.
Thank you, Tina.
Although this is very rough news about the Churchill confusion.
What am I going to do with these monogrammed towels?
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
Wait a minute.
Wait a minute.
I’m not Winston Churchill?
And when, David, did I say to you that I am Winston Churchill? My goodness, so many things people say I wrote in this article today…and I didn’t write them.
You are quite right that I could turn this and every post I write here at WU into some sort of inspi-vational anthem for us all to hold hands and sing. You know what? There is too much inspirational material being written for our author corps these days. We are drowning in waves of Kumbaya-driven sobs of togetherness and inspiration.
I think that you’re plenty able to handle what I have to say. And I think that if you’re not, then you need to rethink the writing gig. We have serious issues to discuss in this industry and they are not — sorry to have to tell you — all inspirational. No rousing choruses of “Climb Every Mountain” will be sung on my watch. (I do a mean “How Do You Solve A Problem Like Maria,” though.)
You can always just click right away and just about anything that our friends in Mountain View can show you when you ask Google about “writing” will come with truckloads of inspiration.
But once a month, if you want to check in with me, that’s probably not what you’ll get. Instead, I will try to give you a chance to think, maybe to think hard, in another way about what you and all of us are doing in this business. Which is an important business. And deserves, as I think you deserve, something better than inspiration. This is why my posts carry a graphic that reads “Provocations in Publishing.” You’ll find it near the top of today’s article.
While you may want to dream that everything on the Web for writers is inspirational, I hope you’ll expose yourself to to worthier things and I appreciate you suffering my piece today.
Because we shall go on to the end. We shall fight in France. We shall fight on the seas and oceans…
Oh wait, that’s right, I’m not.
Just as well. I couldn’t have stood that cigar much longer.
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
David Edmonds–
What you say at the end of your comment makes it hard for me to think you’ve fully understood Anderson’s post. He isn’t advising anyone to give up and stop writing, especially those whose goals don’t have to do with the marketplace. He’s cautioning writers to be realistic in their expectations, both as writers and as consumers of the many products being marketed to writers.
Thanks Barry, and David.
Appreciate all your good input.
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
Porter, your post continues to provocate. :) I’ve enjoyed the feedback. I think one of the problems with our discussion, though, is that you’ve managed to cover an array of important issues in one post. I think the key development you’ve hit on here is that the disruption that has allowed a plethora of new writers to publish has also unleashed a bevy of new writing services, including training, from folks who may not know what they’re doing.
Next month, Kellye,
I’ll just throw you into the Writer Unboxed pool and dash away before anybody sees me. You’ve just done a far more succinct rendition of it than I did and here I am at 9:52 p.m., only now finding it.
That’s it then, we’re changing the graphic:
“Provocations in Publishing with Porter Anderson who is not Winston Churchill: See Kellye.”
I’ll be in Tahiti if anybody needs me.
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
“And do those who can’t sell, teach?”
You totally made me laugh. I’ve been noticing this very thing. It seems like everyone has some sort of “secret” to publishing, marketing, writing, getting an agent, etc… :)
Hey, Lara,
Whatever you do, don’t say this true stuff aloud.
Not going down well.
Recommend you hum Kumbaya and walk quickly away.
Meet me at Blenheim.
Bring the Campari.
Love,
Winston.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
Porter Anderson,
Perhaps you could write with Agent Orange as Agent Provocateur.
I know you have had a long day, no need to respond.
BAM! I love it.
I tell you, I’m weary of looking at the blog feed and seeing “Guest Post: How to Write 3-Dimensional Characters With Super Author.” More often than not, the post is penned by someone who has a half-a-dozen How to Write books to their name, the latest of which just happens to have been released TODAY!
I don’t know if I’ll ever be good enough to be trade published, or to make a living at this, but I DO know that if I get there, it won’t be from reading “how to” books. It will be from reading fiction of all types, thinking critically about my work and the work of others, and most of all writing, writing, writing.
Thanks for the great post.
Hey, Jeffo,
Yeah, I have to agree that I’m a bit over the craft-‘n’-plug style of post, too, the ones that end in, “So that’s why I’ve written my 48th how-to book, to tell you everything I’ve just told you in this blog post but at much longer length and for money.”
This is a style of post that has come out of the amateur-marketing efforts of the community. (There’s no marketing like amateur marketing, you know.)
And we do have to recognize that there’s an audience for this. Not my cup of tea but others like it with lemon. It seems to make sense to many in the self-evangelizing camp and, perhaps, is a way to pass on the empowerment. “It’s okay to do this kind of column because 62 other how-to people have done it just this week.”
On another level, it can answer the need that many blog sites seem to have for guest posts. Some of these colleagues may not be willing to contribute a guest post until they have a new offering of this kind, and thus they become available because the new how-to needs a spotlight.
At bottom (and can we be far from it?), I think we have to note that so much of the how-to factory is also helping to hold the community in this author-to-author posture, which I think — especially for self-publishers — is a kiss of death. A lot of independents seem to be comfortable only in marketing to other independents. Finding an actual lay readership is much harder, of course, and (like John Updike’s church ladies who sell cupcakes to each other for fund-raisers), many of our writers just keep hammering away at each other for sales. The how-to’s are, perforce, just that: pitches to one’s colleagues.
This is why I think that having “outside” work, by which I mean fiction — or nonfiction — that sells to a true, lay readership is an important credential for a good how-to writer to able to show.
I know one very fine how-to writer in the UK, for example, Roz Morris ( http://amzn.to/1bWjijr ), whose money is where her mouth is — she produces fiction, and well, and sells it with integrity, while expanding a line of how-to books based on her work as an editor (formerly inside traditional houses). Morris has a huge backlist as a ghost writer in high places, so she has the unusual benefit of being in the marketplace under many guises.
Orna Ross, also in the UK, is similarly positioned, a Yeats specialist, poet and novelist, whose list is extensive. When she writes guidance material it comes from the deep field. She has an interesting meditation on money, especially for creative people, and for some reason, I don’t see it on her Amazon page, I have to ask her about it. ( http://amzn.to/1d6b1en )
James Scott Bell, heard from here on this tortured comment chain, lol, is another. He has the street cred from having written and published both traditionally and independently, and is an active teacher, as well — one you can actually spot in the marketplace. ( http://amzn.to/1PpIktN )
Don Maass, a fellow contributor here at Writer Unboxed, is a longtime literary agent of high visibility and thus is actively engaged in the trade, finding and developing work. Again, you can see him in the marketplace of the real thing, not just in The Valley of the How-Tos. ( http://amzn.to/1PMItm3 ) Yo, Don, you need a photo on your Amazon page. :)
David Corbett is another writer I’d term a genuinely “working author,” not just a teacher of craft, and, again, therefore a viable marketplace operative. He has a book out, “The Art of Character,” and is a dancer from the dance, too, a working writer of real merit, and also a contributor here at Writer Unboxed. ( http://amzn.to/1EP6y6m )
It’s been interesting to see some of these folks I’ve mentioned struggle with this piece. On the surface, of course, that looks natural in that no one wants to be painted with too broad a brush. But you note that I mentioned none of them, nor would I — they’re not the kind of problematic how-to players I’m talking about. And yet, to some degree, they seem unsettled by even the discussion of the problem.
This makes me think (I’m speculating here, they have not told me this) that the problem of “the toadstools” — who are NOT these writer/teachers — is much on their minds. I think (again, my opinion) that they must be worried that so much fungus is attaching to the same log on which they legitimately thrive. They’re in a difficult position, plying their work well but surrounded by lesser elements and not able to be as openly honest as I can be about all the psilocybin popping up around them.
Obviously, what I’m talking about is proof in pudding.
If we must have more how-to books, that’s the kind of author we want creating them, someone with real skin in their own game.
And that’s why Stephen King’s “On Writing” still stands as a big bit of work in this regard. ( http://amzn.to/1B3gLe5) E.M. Forster’s lecture series, “Aspects of the Novel,” can still blow you away, to no small degree because we think of him as a radiant novelist, not as a teacher/how-to writer. ( http://amzn.to/1EP6y6m )
Your expectation of the gains you can make is right. Reading (including some of these authors), critical thinking, and writing. All can be augmented by a certain amount of coursework, of course. As I told Vijaya, there are simply technical points that don’t reach all authors without some instruction, such as the fact that the first sentence of a chapter is never indented. Unless you’re very, very keenly attentive, myriad details of that kind can get past you. And for more extensive issue-driven inquiry, some of the “marketplace” authors, like those I’ve mentioned, are certainly to be accessed.
Thanks again for reading and commenting, and for not seeing a carpet-bombing mission in my work. Less adept readers enjoy the crisis mode of “you said never, ever do this and that.” And how very rarely do I say any such thing.
Campari is the exception. Always drink Campari. Always. (http://bit.ly/1JOYtlF)
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
Porter–thanks for your blog post within a response. You hit on something very important in all this: the rabbit hole of author-to-author connection. It’s important to connect with other writers, especially in the “I’m trying to muddle through this and get published” stage for reasons I don’t need to get into here, but it becomes its own little insular world. Looking at the 136 followers I have on my own little blog, I’d say about 95% are people looking to make it as an author. Most of those people have their own blogs that are not all that different from mine. It’s an easy pattern to fall into, and it reflects both the “follow me, I’ll follow you” nature of the blog community, and the reason many of these blogs—including mine—got started in the first place: because it’s something we’re told we’re “supposed” to do, and writing about our writing experience seems to be the easiest point of entry.
In looking at my own blog, non-writers have almost no reason to go there (neither do writers, for the most part; I think most of the comments and views I get at this point are just out of habit!). I actually like blogging, and want to do it well. Aside from the platform to launch a million book sales, there’s a great benefit to writing focused pieces on a regular basis (though lately I’m specializing in bullet-pointed updates), but I think it’s past time I re-examined why I’m doing it and who I’m hoping to reach. Maybe it’s time for me to write a book on how to be an effective blogger—and then I can do a million guest posts on that!
I will have to try Campari one of these days. Thanks again.
Porter–
I’m out of Campari and sweet vermouth (I like Americanos), so one more word. I really like something in this final comment of yours (before you jump into the pool at whatever hotel you’re at today). On the plethora of repetitive you-can-do-it posts: “It can answer the need that many blog sites seem to have for guest posts.”
Small though this point may be, I think it’s important. Many writers maintain blogs, for the obvious purpose of marketing themselves and their own work. The best of them provide lots of useful content, but it’s demanding and time-consuming, and I see lots of mediocre guest posts that figure. Maybe the more ethical or professional approach is to post less often, and thereby rely less on other people’s guest posts, the sole purpose of which–again–is to market themselves and their work, whatever it happens to be.
Yeah, I’m coming to agree with you, Barry,
The use of guest posts that are driven purely by the release of some new property (how-to or otherwise) is actually not necessarily the wisest way to procure content. Particularly if there is a financial element (as in something to be sold to that blog’s readers).
On one’s own blog site, certainly touting one’s wares is right and predictable and garage sales happen in the front yard, too, all fine.
But “taking your business” to another site as a guest, while not unethical at all, does have certain features of reality that I think a good site wants to consider. The value of the offer and the transparency of the ask, I think are the top things to be questioned. If it’s a pitch, let’s have it as such. Even “Pitch: BooBoo the Book Writer Announces His New Thing” as a title would be quite right and wonderfully open. (Here at Writer Unboxed, I think Teri does a good job of making sure a “five questions” or other post that’s about a new work is clearly what it is and not guised as purely informational, although some of those can certainly carry good info, too.)
All told, it takes simply clear, decent, upright, sensible, honest, professional thought to get it right. Amazing how many folks (not WU) are willing to step around some of that and purvey guest posts that aren’t as transparent as they should be, isn’t it?
As I say. There’s no marketing like amateur marketing. Suddenly Madison Avenue looks like a highway of saints. :)
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
One problem with the proliferation of classes is the focus on publishing rather than writing. A lot of people want to write because they want to record family stories, or have something to share with their grandchildren, or have a creative outlet, etc. They don’t necessarily care about getting thousands of readers or making money. But when classes, online tutorials, etc. focus as much or more on submitting/self-publishing/marketing the work, people feel like they *should* care about those things. And well-meaning teachers trying to be encouraging (or perhaps simply trying to sell their courses as an “easy” way to success) make the process sounds easier than it is. Students can get caught up in the idea of being a successful author, forgetting that in the beginning they simply wanted to write for the sake of writing.
I’m one of the writers who make some of my income from teaching and critiquing (though more comes from writing). I try to remember to encourage people to follow their own dreams, not giving into pressure from family/friends/critique partners/society to reach for a different kind of success. For many, the focus on publishing takes a lot of the fun out of writing.
Hi, Chris,
You certainly have a point that much of what is offered by the influx of startups for authors tends toward “services” related to publishing. I think this is because in many cases, writers will engage such services on the hope of being published or of publishing themselves faster, perhaps — not always but frequently — than they might pay for such things simply for “the joy of writing.” Paying for a hobby might not come as readily to some as paying for a (presumed) career move.
What’s more, many author services can structure themselves in such a way as to take part of the revenue that might come in from sales of a book. There is no such opportunity in pure-craft training scenarios that don’t have an element of publication in their program.
It’s definitely good that you try to help people know they don’t have to publish. At the same time, I suspect that a good 95 percent or more of the people who get anywhere near the idea of “writing a book” actually want to publish. They may not feel they can say so, at least early on, but it turns out to be a very prominent dream in our culture (as we have discovered that doing something like news reporting is highly attractive to many).
You can see Sharon Bially, early in this stack of 8,433 comments, saying that there’s such a drive “to be seen and heard.” And she’s right. It’s massive.
So to no small degree, that is what the “toadstools” syndrome is responding to and trying to capitalize on. That dream of being “seen and heard” through books. A naive dream? Certainly among the amateurs in their thousands upon thousands — and they can become the quickest victims in the forest of digital publishing to the “author services” toadstools.
Thanks!
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
I have seen that proliferation of “every service for every author” websites exploding in my email inbox. I made the mistake of checking out Author Solutions and ended up having to stick their numerous emails into my spam filter.
At this point, as a still new writer, I am developing relationships with more experienced authors and learning from them. I’m making several mistakes, but I am learning.
Today, I just ignore the emails from those websites. Don’t open them. Don’t respond to them. Because I can’t afford what they are selling.
Hi, Barbara,
Yes, indeed, a great many battles of this war are fought in your inbox. I’m more skeptical than some of the guidance that says email is the best way to contact people for that reason. It’s an avalanche in there.
I do find SaneBox ( http://ow.ly/mV7lG ) to be very helpful in sorting this kind of promotional email. You simply move a piece from one of the offending companies over to a box outside your inbox, and then that company’s email won’t come into your inbox again.
As a new writer, if you simply take your time and decide what works best for you in each instance, slowly and independently of what others are saying, you’ll be light years ahead of the thousands and thousands of sheep-like would-be writers who are always in such an infernal rush to “take it to the next level.”
Love the level you’re on. :)
Thanks,
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
The vast majority of MFA courses seem designed to produce teachers of MFA courses. The list produced above are the exceptions. It’s a self-propagating world.
Can writing be taught? Yes. But every year at the Maui Writers Conference we talked about the dreaded T word: Talent.
I’ve taught writing for a quarter of a century and here’s the bottom line: it’s not the teacher or the material. Less than 5% of people are willing to learn and are capable of self-motivated change. But for those who are? The sky is the limit.
Hey, Bob,
It’s almost like we need another pass from George Bernard Shaw on his Revolutionist’s Handbook, isn’t it? Instead of “Those who can, do. Those who can’t, teach,” maybe “Those who can, do. And they pay for it by turning everyone else into teachers.”
While the comments of #AgentOrange I quoted in this article have been wrongly attributed to me several times in the reactions (many writers do not read well, notice that?), I have to say that I think #AgentOrange has a point, if overstated, in the idea of MFA programs being a way to create salaries for writers.
I agree with your point here. it’s the application of training — whether in an MFA setting or anything else — that makes it effective, and this is an application that only the learner can affect. If anything, I frequently feel for teachers in our culture who are accused of not making something interesting or exciting or engaging enough. As if that were their job. I would argue that we send way too many dim minds to them, weak heads that can’t find any interest or excitement or engagement in what’s put before them. And then we blame it on the teachers.
I count the ability to act on and apply training as a function of intelligence. In fact, I count “talent” as a function of intelligence. While this will not be my special pathway to popularity, lol, I think it’s right and I think your observation on what makes teaching “take” or not in a given instance is correct.
Thanks much,
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
This article really hit home for me. Recently, a fellow writer in my writer’s group has been encouraging me to charge for writing and publishing advice. She suggested I write an instructional book and host a webinar, but I immediately balked, expressing my non-interest in fleecing writers. Though I’ve responded negatively to this suggestion many times, she continues to make it at every meeting I attend.
Thing is, I’ve yet to sell any of my own fiction, so I’m no expert. Additionally, I am of the firm belief that money should flow toward a writer and not away – even when those writers are not me. This flow includes the world of “consultants” who would happily subsidize their own writing lives with the dreams of fellow writers. I don’t know – it just seems predatory, I guess. Cannibalistic.
Workshops are a little different, because I’ve seen great personal gains in a workshop setting. Plus, depending on the work shop, you can find some great writing/editorial voices if you just do your research first.
I’m getting weary, though, of the growing economy of leeches sucking the money from any and every credulous writer. It makes my head hurt.
Thanks, Carrie,
And what terrific restraint it sounds like you’re showing in your response to your colleague urging you to “hang out a shingle.” This takes guts on your part, I respect that.
“Cannibalistic” is a word I’d considered for this story, myself. It’s used in other parts of the industry, too, however (for example, it’s thought by some that subscription services are cannibalizing publishing’s inventory), so I felt it might be misconstrued. It’s a good one for the worst excesses of the syndrome we’re discussing here.
I think I understand your comment about workshops, in that the author’s work can become the focus or part of the content in such a setting, thus there may be more interaction and engagement. I’m glad this avenue might suit you.
And I admire your sense of integrity and measured response. Great of you to read and leave a comment, all the best with your work, and thanks again!
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
Thank you. Thank you.
:) Thanks, Jamie. Leave it to an editor to be the most succinct among us, lol.
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
Hi Porter,
I’m coming to this discussion a little late, but it appears that you’re still in the discussion, so I’ll contribute, too.
As a soon-to-be indie-published writer, the amount or resources being offered to me is overwhelming, and it can be difficult to sort out what is really, truly necessary for me and my own skill set (cover designer!) and what would be worth very little at this juncture in my career (marketing specialist, for example). So your article is a provocation that speaks to me.
But there’s a detail that Agent Orange and you added that spoke to what I saw as a hierarchical assumption–that writing and selling a non-fiction, how-to genre book ranks lower on the scales of writing prestige than fiction. As if the author’s “real” writing is the fiction and their non-fiction is just the cash cow to support it. Couldn’t the opposite just as easily apply? This sounds suspiciously like the genre fiction/literary fiction hierarchy as well, which (thankfully) doesn’t seem to get much support on WU.
Just about all book genres can be creatively, superbly done. Okay, I’ll concede on instruction manuals and the like, but I do believe that writing in almost all genres can be creative, fulfilling endeavors from an author’s heart–even if their expressed purpose is to sell writing and publishing to writers, and even if the author’s fiction doesn’t sell.
In comparison, as a long-time English teacher, I’m fairly confident that I can teach 10th grade English better than some of the authors we read–even if could never write with the grace that they do.
Thanks for listening!
/Rebecca
Hi Porter,
Sorry to be weighing in so late, but just to be clear:
Are you implying that many of the agents and acquiring editors at major publishing houses can’t be very good at their jobs or qualified to accept or reject submissions because they’re not successful fiction writers themselves?
Or what about freelance editors like me who work closely with novelists to hone their skills and take their fiction up several levels, to produce stellar stories that sell well and garner great reviews? Are you implying that we shouldn’t advise new writers about fiction techniques that result in compelling stories because we haven’t published novels ourselves? Personally, I just haven’t had time in the last few years for personal writing, with my heavy editing load and writing and publishing my award-winning writing guides.
“You know nothing, Jon Snow.”
Kidding.
I learned after dueling with you a few months ago (civilly, I think) more about challenging my perceptions and initial reactions to any provocative posts I read. Putting those ole critical thinking facilities to work. Thank you for that.
And for this article.
I usually err on the side of being too kind and because of this I won’t review books for authors anymore. I became aware of a dangerous breach of ethics within myself at which kindness becomes a mucky danger, not a desired trait.
This means I also took a break from critiquing others work as well. Someone had once said, “Sandwich every criticism between two compliments.”
I found out when a reader or two put this on my plate, I couldn’t touch it. Completely unappetizing when I knew I need sustenance, a challenge. Which meant I couldn’t serve it up that way, either.
The best critiques I had were mostly meat. Aesthetically, I would have liked a cracker, but my writer heart knows when I’m learning something valuable and that applying it to hard work is the only way I will close the gap.
Yet, I’m a softie, a defender of any perceived underdog. I’m not offering to beta read until I can come to terms with this. I know I would do more harm than good.
The point being that I am aware of the dual nature of my “kindness” and I’m not buying everything everyone else is selling.
This is where I know I am a writer and am confident. Because when I am most self-aware, I know what teachers, etc. will best suit my need for knowledge, applicable knowledge. Discretion. That’s what I’m learning, and it’s what I’ve taken from this post.
There are fabulous instructors here, of course, but that’s hardly always the case. I’m sure someone at the WU table used their discretion in asking the instructors to write for this group. Just as I am using my discretion in what methods best service me on my quest to write the way I want to as suits my taste and personal vision.
I spent many years in sales and learned to tell a shyster from, say, a Donald Maass or a Cathy Yardley. Not everyone has this attunement. So, yes, I feel this article is a matter of ethics. A call to writers to use their discernment when seeking instruction. You’ve clearly done your job.
The question needs to be, “Will this help me bridge the gap between my taste/vision and my current output of work?” Not “How can I make this damned thing go faster?”
In the meantime, I think principle demands we challenge the fungi. Examine them with a magnifying glass and use that same lens to burn away what is not helpful. Because, well, underdogs.