Fiction Workshop 2, the Reckoning
I haven't been here in forever, even though I've had tons to write about, because
A.) I've had a ridiculously busy semester, jam-packing the time around my classes with things like karate and fencing and jogging in an attempt to expand in as many kickass directions as possible, and
B.) I've lost all faith in myself as a digital artist. All. And this is very very very very BAD, as I still have a commission for the saintly just_ann_now who hasn't flambeed my ass...yet...before I can hang up the art pad for good and focus on my beloved watercolors. I almost had it finished, but then I pulled it up and couldn't look at it without gagging, so I erased about half of it to start over, and I just can't make it work! I am still trying, but I did the immature thing and hid, because I am not a very good grownup.
But I really, really need to get out some scary writerly concerns.
I'm in a 400-level fiction workshop this fall with a teacher I've had before, a Professor Howell, whom I like and respect, and I think - think - he does as well. This is the third workshopping class I've had him for, and he's one of those teachers I'm comfortable with, with whom I can make smalltalk and have honest rapport. And yes, he's the teacher I've bitched about before that doesn't like any genre writing and will always say so. But lately, we'd reached a kind of truce: on every piece of mine, he would mention something about how "he'd like to see what I can do with realism" and sometimes how facets of my stories could be converted into mod. realism, and I in turn would ignore the token genre-related comment. In the 200-lvl class I had with him my first year, I wrote a draft of a sci-fi story and he gave me a B, even though the class raved about it, and encouraged me to try realism. I did, and could barely manage, and hated the outcome, but I got an A. Then when he urged us to submit stories to the school's annual Dantzler Writing Award, I submitted my sci-fi story, and won the whole shooting match, as they say. I took that as a lesson, to stay true to myself and what I feel called to write, and I'd hoped Professor Howell took that as a sign to ease up on the anti-genre commentary.
Aside from those recently-few genre-flagging comments though, I feel like I learn and grow a lot in his classes outside of this: I do take to heart what he tells us, and the reviews of my peers. I know I'm nowhere near proficient or publish-worthy yet, and have a lot to learn, and not only that, but I know that anything worth doing is a lifelong education. I pay very rapt attention in these workshops.
Today, however, I got back the first draft of my first short story due, the workshopping of which wasn't nearly as painful as I thought it would be (see: stage fright), though I do have several things to tweak/work on. It involves a cattywampus, something I've been focusing on/have had the story for in my head awhile now, and I was excited about how well it was received and what I could do to better it and take it to the next level. So I'm sitting on my bed rifling through everyone's notes on the copies of my story now (we burn up so much damn paper in these classes) and of course I sought out Professor Howell's first, as I really value his personal opinion on my writing, no offense to classmates.
I was excited, and a little nervous, to see nearly the entire back page of my story filled up with his scrawl - he never writes that much. And to boot, it started, "Sarah; you have genuine talent, a lively imagination, and a passion for writing, all of which I hope you sustain (and nourish)." I know batgirls don't do it, but I 'squee'ed on the inside. This praise from a teacher I respect and have known for so long, has seen me grow a lot in the past three years, was exhilerating. The letter continued, "You can DO something in the world outside/beyond UK--" ('squee' the second) "--if you work, and IF you remain willing to learn." This confused me a little. Aside from the genre-hating, I am always ears perked and mind open in his classes. I feel I learn a lot from them, and more than willingly.
The letter continued with a very little commentary on the story itself, making apt suggestions about certain scenes and a character relationship we discussed in class and I expressed that I do intend to work on. And then, glory hallelujah, he conceded, "And MAYBE the whole 'cattywampus' device/conceit does work, if...in fact winds up metaphorical (acknowledged as such)." I about swallowed my tongue. Of course, there was also the feeling Cinderella must have had when her stepmother told her she could attend the ball IF she finished her chores.
I should explain: in story, the cattywampus does serve as a metaphor, even though talked about between characters, even actively sought out as if a real creature. The cattywampus was supposed to symbolize in the story what one isn't supposed to do (although according to workshop I need to further reinforce this idea), and I told him beginning in our little sit-down over it that I intended it as such. The cattywampus doesn't actually appear in the story (though a tailypo does). It's the closest thing to mod. realism I've managed without being sick over it after.
Back to the letter, Professor Howell went on to say, "But the weird little fantasy critter and J---- as the cattywampus (see, he missed my metaphor too, need to build up obviously) are pretty close to impossible to accept in the realistic world. And how are they even necessary? The emotional content centers around 1.) the grandfather's death and 2.) the speaker's confused feelings for J----. I mean, this is so close to being a strong, touching, realistic story...and how is that bad? TEST YOURSELF."
I have been. I test myself with every new story, every premise.
I thought my story could be all those things without having to be realism. I think it's possible - it hurts that he doesn't. And if that's how he feels, I'll never be able to write a story he really thinks is good: that "passion for writing" he mentioned is for fantasy. I can't produce anything else, it doesn't interest me, especially stories about things that just happen to any person any given day. My brain can't produce anything of substance from that. It hurts to realize, now, I may never be able to make him proud with a story.
I am open all the time. I learn so much in his class! I really value what he teaches me. But he thinks I don't, because I can't/won't do realism. He thinks I'm not trying, not "willing to learn". Does he think I'm proud, that I think I know everything? I behave confidently in class. Does he take that as ignorant pride?
I'm trying so hard to tell myself that maybe he's being so hard on me because of the things he said at the very beginning of the letter, but...so much of it is about genre, I don't know. Maybe he's lost his temper with me?
I'm really, really hurt.
A.) I've had a ridiculously busy semester, jam-packing the time around my classes with things like karate and fencing and jogging in an attempt to expand in as many kickass directions as possible, and
B.) I've lost all faith in myself as a digital artist. All. And this is very very very very BAD, as I still have a commission for the saintly just_ann_now who hasn't flambeed my ass...yet...before I can hang up the art pad for good and focus on my beloved watercolors. I almost had it finished, but then I pulled it up and couldn't look at it without gagging, so I erased about half of it to start over, and I just can't make it work! I am still trying, but I did the immature thing and hid, because I am not a very good grownup.
But I really, really need to get out some scary writerly concerns.
I'm in a 400-level fiction workshop this fall with a teacher I've had before, a Professor Howell, whom I like and respect, and I think - think - he does as well. This is the third workshopping class I've had him for, and he's one of those teachers I'm comfortable with, with whom I can make smalltalk and have honest rapport. And yes, he's the teacher I've bitched about before that doesn't like any genre writing and will always say so. But lately, we'd reached a kind of truce: on every piece of mine, he would mention something about how "he'd like to see what I can do with realism" and sometimes how facets of my stories could be converted into mod. realism, and I in turn would ignore the token genre-related comment. In the 200-lvl class I had with him my first year, I wrote a draft of a sci-fi story and he gave me a B, even though the class raved about it, and encouraged me to try realism. I did, and could barely manage, and hated the outcome, but I got an A. Then when he urged us to submit stories to the school's annual Dantzler Writing Award, I submitted my sci-fi story, and won the whole shooting match, as they say. I took that as a lesson, to stay true to myself and what I feel called to write, and I'd hoped Professor Howell took that as a sign to ease up on the anti-genre commentary.
Aside from those recently-few genre-flagging comments though, I feel like I learn and grow a lot in his classes outside of this: I do take to heart what he tells us, and the reviews of my peers. I know I'm nowhere near proficient or publish-worthy yet, and have a lot to learn, and not only that, but I know that anything worth doing is a lifelong education. I pay very rapt attention in these workshops.
Today, however, I got back the first draft of my first short story due, the workshopping of which wasn't nearly as painful as I thought it would be (see: stage fright), though I do have several things to tweak/work on. It involves a cattywampus, something I've been focusing on/have had the story for in my head awhile now, and I was excited about how well it was received and what I could do to better it and take it to the next level. So I'm sitting on my bed rifling through everyone's notes on the copies of my story now (we burn up so much damn paper in these classes) and of course I sought out Professor Howell's first, as I really value his personal opinion on my writing, no offense to classmates.
I was excited, and a little nervous, to see nearly the entire back page of my story filled up with his scrawl - he never writes that much. And to boot, it started, "Sarah; you have genuine talent, a lively imagination, and a passion for writing, all of which I hope you sustain (and nourish)." I know batgirls don't do it, but I 'squee'ed on the inside. This praise from a teacher I respect and have known for so long, has seen me grow a lot in the past three years, was exhilerating. The letter continued, "You can DO something in the world outside/beyond UK--" ('squee' the second) "--if you work, and IF you remain willing to learn." This confused me a little. Aside from the genre-hating, I am always ears perked and mind open in his classes. I feel I learn a lot from them, and more than willingly.
The letter continued with a very little commentary on the story itself, making apt suggestions about certain scenes and a character relationship we discussed in class and I expressed that I do intend to work on. And then, glory hallelujah, he conceded, "And MAYBE the whole 'cattywampus' device/conceit does work, if...in fact winds up metaphorical (acknowledged as such)." I about swallowed my tongue. Of course, there was also the feeling Cinderella must have had when her stepmother told her she could attend the ball IF she finished her chores.
I should explain: in story, the cattywampus does serve as a metaphor, even though talked about between characters, even actively sought out as if a real creature. The cattywampus was supposed to symbolize in the story what one isn't supposed to do (although according to workshop I need to further reinforce this idea), and I told him beginning in our little sit-down over it that I intended it as such. The cattywampus doesn't actually appear in the story (though a tailypo does). It's the closest thing to mod. realism I've managed without being sick over it after.
Back to the letter, Professor Howell went on to say, "But the weird little fantasy critter and J---- as the cattywampus (see, he missed my metaphor too, need to build up obviously) are pretty close to impossible to accept in the realistic world. And how are they even necessary? The emotional content centers around 1.) the grandfather's death and 2.) the speaker's confused feelings for J----. I mean, this is so close to being a strong, touching, realistic story...and how is that bad? TEST YOURSELF."
I have been. I test myself with every new story, every premise.
I thought my story could be all those things without having to be realism. I think it's possible - it hurts that he doesn't. And if that's how he feels, I'll never be able to write a story he really thinks is good: that "passion for writing" he mentioned is for fantasy. I can't produce anything else, it doesn't interest me, especially stories about things that just happen to any person any given day. My brain can't produce anything of substance from that. It hurts to realize, now, I may never be able to make him proud with a story.
I am open all the time. I learn so much in his class! I really value what he teaches me. But he thinks I don't, because I can't/won't do realism. He thinks I'm not trying, not "willing to learn". Does he think I'm proud, that I think I know everything? I behave confidently in class. Does he take that as ignorant pride?
I'm trying so hard to tell myself that maybe he's being so hard on me because of the things he said at the very beginning of the letter, but...so much of it is about genre, I don't know. Maybe he's lost his temper with me?
I'm really, really hurt.