Monthly Archives: March 2008

Yesterday, I taught a seminar at the Blue Ridge Writer’s conference entitled The Pro’s and Con’s of Getting an MFA. This is a small local conference that attracts primarily hobbyist writers, yet still they put together a very lovely program featuring some diverse classes. The keynote speaker, Joshilyn Jackson, was upbeat and fun. She’s been on a book tour and she was a featured author at the Margret Michel house in Atlanta earlier this month. I was interested in going to listen to her talk, but then Sonia had her heart attack and all personal interests were put aside. Her new book The Girl who Stopped Swimming was featured in a small blurb in people magazine, and again, when I saw that I was very bummed to have missed her. It wasn’t until yesterday that I realized she was the speaker at this convention. I was delighted to finally pick up her book, get it signed, and hear her lecture.  

Joshilyn’s keynote lecture was about how writing is not the same as publishing. It’s a basic premise I’ve known forever, but her talk was humorous as she waded through all her past mistakes and shared her beginner anxiety on her journey to success. She wrote several books that never sold, but she explained they were learning endeavors and acts of love. She talked about letting go of a book you’ve poured your heart and soul into to turn your attentions to the next project. She made it clear there’s no easy road to writing well.

Her first class (which was in the morning so I was available to sit in) was Marketing yourself on the Web.  It turned out to be an hour long lecture to say everyone should be blogging – not about writing interests, but about everyday life stuff. Humm… got that one down pat. Considering the senior seminar I taught to fulfill graduatation requirements was about the pro’s and cons of blogging and an in-depth study of the impact of blogging on writers (which demanded months of study and my reading dozens of articles, books, testimonials, etc.. on the subject)  I know more about that subject than even the teacher, I’m guessing. Her next class was about how to get an agent to represent you, but it ended up a workshop sort of class where you evaluate the first line of your novel to see if it has a “hook”. This too was pretty elementary stuff, but very appropriate for the audience.

I sat there, enjoying the lectures, but knowing at the same time that I had far surpassed the need for the type of input gained from these kinds of writing seminars. I can’t see myself spending money or time on this sort of writing endeavor anymore, unless I was going to pitch to an agent. But considering I’m getting positive responses from agents by cold query letters alone, perhaps even that isn’t necessary. Nevertheless, I do recognize how important these learning endeavors were to me early in my writing journey and as such, I have great respect for their genuine value to people who love to write. I learned a great deal from these kinds of seminars early on, enough to convince me I needed a more in-depth learning experience. It’s all connected. And I enjoyed the camaraderie with other writers, the lunch conversation etc… I like people. I especially like interesting people, and those that write have a sensitivity regarding life that is interesting to me. In some ways, attending a conference does keep you on track and motivated and you can celebrate time spent with like minded people.  

My class (assigned to me) was a hit or miss subject for this sort of crowd.  Face it, getting an MFA is for people who want to take their writing to a higher level. The cost, expense, competitive nature of the academic writing world etc.. is not for hobbyists. I had four people signed up for my lecture. None of them showed up. One woman wandered in and in the end, I taught to her alone. She fit the profile of someone ready to step up their writing education. She was sincerely interested in an MFA, but she’d applied to one low-residency program and had been turned down, so she put the idea on a back burner. She’d attended all the same sorts of conferences and writing groups I’d toyed with early on. Talking to her, I realized that even if I had a room full of people with mild curiosity about what an MFA is all about, the person I’d really be teaching was her. I could make a difference for this one curious individual  – so I dived in with a commitment to do the job well.

I’d done a great deal of research on the subject of getting an MFA vs. an MA or PhD, and in fact, I’ve learned more about what an MFA is and does by preparing for this lecture, than I ever knew by attending a low-residency program for two years and actually earning an MFA. While compiling learning aids,  I kept stumbling over websites and books that put it all in perspective well, and thought, “Why the heck didn’t I do this kind of research before I applied to MFA programs.”  Might have had an easier time of it had I’d known what to expect. I certainly would have prepared a more appropriate writing sample, personal statement etc.. for my application packet. (I was the classic example of what NOT to do – beginning with the discombobulated writing sample I sent in and ending with getting recommendations from well established, published romance authors (they are looked on with distain rather than respect in the literary academic world) rather than from teachers. Even someone unpublished, who might work at a community college teaching English would have been a given a more valuable recommendation, because it’s assumed they understand what sort of student the MFA program is looking for). Ah well – all’s well that ends well.

My research uncovered a great deal of anti-MFA material too, books, websites and critics who think an MFA is a waste of time. In all fairness, I presented the negative opinions too, admitting some of the flaws in the MFA format. I suppose some people get their MFA and have a chip on their shoulder because they spent 40 grand on an education that doesn’t promise you a job or success. But the truth is, I believe getting an MFA made a profound difference in me as a person and as a writer, and for all that it was difficult on my ego and heart, and for all that I wanted to quit the entire time, I’d do it again. You can not expose yourself to so much wonderful literature, serious contemplation, harsh honesty, caring criticism and personal challenges and not come out changed for the better. Evolved. And I’ve never been one who needs tangible evidence or measurable returns to justify money spent. You can’t put a price on life experience or personal growth, and if you demand measurable returns on every dollar spent, you’ll probably forgo the best investments of your life. You’ll end up poor in spirit – and in the end, you’ll simply spend the money on something else -something “practical” that will wear out or be used up in time and as such, doesn’t prove nearly as lasting.

As someone who did everything wrong, I feel I have pretty good insight about what NOT to do in regards to pursuing an MFA, which makes me a perfect candidate to teach the subject now. I began with the premise that if I can get into an MFA program, anyone can. That put my one student to ease and gave her hope. We had a wonderful hour together reviewing my notes, discussing my experience, and looking over my resource list. In the end, I packed up my books on MFA schools and gave them to her along with some literary magazines and the Writer’s Conical. I certainly don’t need them, such publications become obsolete in short order. I picked up these materials as visuals for the class and had thought all along I might distribute them to anyone with sincere interest. I was glad to see they’d be put to good use. My student felt she had won the MFA information lottery and I felt I had helped someone a lot like me several years back.
 
I used to think I’d have had a far better dance career, if only I’d had a teacher like me when I was a young passionate student. Sounds funny, but I knew I gave more to my students than any teacher ever gave to me, and I was always proud of that. I left my seminar thinking my student (Deborah) will have an easier time of it all should she decide to carry through. I certainly know I inspired her to reach higher rungs. It felt right and good.

I told the organization they didn’t have to pay me for lecturing, because honestly, I know it’s a small fledgling group that could use a break and they need the money more than I do (I’ve chaired enough arts seminars and struggled to make them break even so I understand how difficult it is), but they insisted on paying me something. I’d been handed my check at lunch. It made me smile. I’ve been teaching seminars (in dance) for 25 years, and my average check is 20-50 times this amount. But that check gave me a profound sense of joy and accomplishment.

I waved it in front of Mark when I got home and said, “See that! Now, all I need to do is earn $39,900 more from my writing and my MFA will have paid for itself!”
Mark looked at the check, grinned, and said, “You go, girl.” 

Teaching comes very naturally to me. I’ve been a public speaker for years and years. Being a master teacher in dance, organizing comprehensive teacher’s training seminars, writing syllabus’s, and working with literally thousands of students at every stage of the learning curve gives me a broad understanding of how to best organize material for better understanding. I have an innate sense of respect for what my audience needs at any particular stage of development, and I try to always leave the people on earlier stages of the journey with a deeper understanding of the big picture – rather than focus on a single subject mater and expect the poor student to figure out how and why it’s important on their own. It was nice to discover this isn’t a dance skill, but a life skill that transfers easily to other subjects.

“There are no bad students – only bad teachers. Stop blaming the students and making excuses for their inadaquacies. Take responsibility for what your students know and don’t know, dig in and do what it takes to make them better!” I always said to my staff, to their total annoyance, I’m sure. I hated to see professionals tredding water, going through the motions of teaching without truly making an affect, just to get a check to support their dreams. 

Believing it’s the teacher who makes the profound difference in the development of an artist enhances the importance of my roll if I dare accept the responsibilities of instructor or mentor to someone else. How much I’m going to get paid, or how many people will benefit from my lecture, shouldn’t affect how much effort or energy I’m willing to invest in my seminar. Reaching one person has to be enough to make the time invested count. 

For me, it did.

The other day, Mark had plans to go into Atlanta to take a woodworking class. It so happened that there was a featured author reading at the Margret Mitchell Literary Center whom I was very interested in as well, so we decided to make a day of it and go in together. We spent the afternoon visiting a small coffee roasting company and visiting one of their three shops, checking out antique stores and finally ending at Akeia where I purchased every sort of coffee and tea making device imaginable – for experimentation you see. I brought home a French press, a nifty glass teapot that has a built in infuser and a few steel German coffee and/or espresso pots – all for people who might want to order a personal pot of coffee to nurse while hanging around the fireplace.

The problem with this full day plan was that my reading was from 7 – 8, but Mark’s class was from 5 – 10pm clear across town. While he is familiar with Atlanta, I was bound to get lost.  It began as an overcast, mid-temperature day but by afternoon, it was freezing and windy, and of course, I was dressed in just a thin raincoat.  Ah well. I had Mark drop me off at 4:30 and I nestled into a booth at a coffee shop near the literary center (after inspecting their bakery case and menu and doing a bit of sleuthing, of course). I am reading a book about screenwriting now. I’ve very interested in learning more about that genre, so the time went quickly enough.

At 6:00, I scurried over to the Literary Center, the blasting wind almost carrying me past the front door. Burrrr….The moment I stepped inside I knew it was worth baring the cold, the wait, and the unknown. The cozy museum had been transformed. They set up a small stage and seating for a hundred or so literary enthusiasts and the room was awash with mood lighting, a bar serving wine (bingo) and a room filled with intelligent and enthusiastic readers. I felt instantly at home. Best of all was the music playing – wonderful blues filtered from speakers overhead. Now, if this wasn’t an event designed for me (mental, audio, visual, and orally pleasing) I don’t know what is. 

I bought a glass of wine, purchased the author’s book (I had already ordered it from Amazon, but it hadn’t arrived yet and I wasn’t planning to come and not have a book for reference or to have sighed, so I took out my crowbar and bought the dang thing again) and took a place front and center of the seating area. And I started reading.

The author, James McBride, would soon be discussing his novel, Song Yet Sung. It’s a novel dealing with the issues of Slaves and the Underground Railroad in 1850 (happens to be the subject and background of the book I am now working on, so of particular interest to me). I read the first three chapters while nursing my wine, thrilled because the book has the beautiful flow of a literary novel while also a wonderful plot. Something actually happens in this story and each page compels you to read on– which if you read many literary novels, is rather rare. (Sad, but true.)

At seven James McBride took the stage. He was a wonderfully unassuming man. As a young man, he went to Oberland for a degree in music and it just so happened we were listening to his CD on the speakers. (He made arrangements to give one to everyone in attendance as thanks for them baring the horrible wind to come to a reading. Yippee!)  He later got his Masters in journalism at Columbia and wrote for many prestigious journals and newspapers. Then, he wrote a memoir about being raised in a bi-racial family called The Color of Water, and this book received critical acclaim and was a best seller. His second book was about war and it didn’t sell so well, but they are making a movie of it and he just finished the script for Spike Lee. 

He said, “If I’d known so many people were going to read my first book, I would have written it better . . .”
Ha. He claimed he has grown into a much better writer now. I believe that. We all do as time marches on and experience pushes us forward.

His lecture was filled with easygoing jokes and down to earth honesty. He only spent about 10 minutes actually reading from the book (which was nice and brief, but I do love hearing an author’s work in his own voice) and then took questions.

Most people asked about his writing process or about how he gathered historical information to write such an authentic book. Most were fascinated with the subject of the book. I listened, enjoying his answers, but then had a question of my own.

“Why no quotation marks?” I asked. “Is it a style thing, or an allergy, or what?”
You see, he only uses a dash to denote a conversation. There are no quotation marks in the manuscript, and I found it peculiar.

He explained it was just an experiment – he felt dropping the quotation marks gave immediacy to the dialogue. I asked if he had to fight with his editor to keep his choice, but he said the first book was so successful they pretty much let him do what he wanted. He doubted he’d write a book without quotation marks again.

I always have mixed feelings about this kind of thing. To me it is sort of affected, as if someone is trying too hard to make an artistic statement and can’t come up with another way to accomplish uniqueness. I feel great writing doesn’t need to break rules, because it only makes it harder for the reader to follow. Communication is key, and to mess with uniform language always means giving up control of how the work is interpreted to some extent. But I also recognize that art has no rules, so I try not to pass judgment. Still, these kinds of experiments always seem self-indulgent to me.  But I must admit it didn’t take away from the book, because it took two chapters for me to even notice. But then, I couldn’t help but notice and notice and notice and notice…..

McBride was inspirational, informative, and fun to listen too. He made more than a few derogatory remarks about Margret Mitchell’s Gone with the Wind, because of her stereotypical portrayal of slaves. But it was done with good humor and respect too, and it was obvious he recognized that she was a product of her times.

A woman leaned over to me and whispered, “Do you think he is offended to have to read here?”
I said I very much doubted it. He could always refuse a gig if it truly went against his moral code. I think he just spoke of that book in a comparison of his own as a way of social commentary. It brought forth a true example of the great diversity of how people view slavery and how today, he can write such a more authentic book.

He is remarkably talented. Remarkably likeable, and I enjoyed every moment of the lecture.

Since I had hours to kill after the reading, I hung back at the end of the line to get the author’s John Hancock. This gave me time to enjoy some vibrant conversation with some of Atlanta’s elite. The people standing with me just bought a penthouse in a high rise next door (they came just to see what goes on in their neighborhood) and they talked about their personal jet…..
 
I was like, yea, that’s nice. I don’t have a jet, but I do have a donkey…. Believe it or not, they found that fascinating, and we ended up talking about why a person who loves literature can adore mud too,  and we talked peacocks and mountains, and books and what is good and bad about living in a big city (I’ve done that too)  ….. Well, it was a diverse conversation. Needless to say, it was fun.

When the line cleared and I got to meet with James McBride, I said, “I want to be the only person on earth who has quotation marks in her book, so can you put your name in quotes?”
He laughed and said “sure”.
He wrote, “To Ginny, Peace, love and truth . . . the only quote here in this book is “for you”.” And followed it with some scribble that I suppose is his name. Why is it men can’t write legibly?

It was a wonderful night. I came home and read the entire dang book the next day. It was moving beyond description. Anyone who loves good literature would appreciate it. Song Yet Sung. Buy it.

After the reading, I braced myself for the biting wind and walked a few blocks to a raunchy bar to hold up till Mark was free to pick me up. Funny, but I felt just as at home there in a smoky bar as at the refined reading. I was a bartender when I was young and living in New York, so I’m only too comfortable sliding into a worn wooden seat at a bar and having someone slide a glass of wine over the brass rail my direction. This bar was filled with pin-up posters of girls from the 1940’s. Inspirational! I was just sort of sorry Mark wasn’t there with me to discuss the reading and enjoy a drink. Always makes these things more poignant when you share them with another interested party.

Mark left his class early to pick me up – I told him it wasn’t necessary, but he didn’t like the idea of me traipsing around alone in Atlanta at night. Really, I was feeling fine and didn’t feel the least bit abandoned, but it was sweet he was concerned. He picked me up and we went back to his woodworking class. I read a bit in the car, then we had a hamburger and a glass of wine at a little Atlanta dive on that side of town, and drove the 1 ½ hour home –with plenty of conversation to share about what we experienced this night. That is one of the joys of going different directions when you’ve been married a long time. Makes for inspired conversation when you touch base.

Anyway, the reading inspired my own writing, which is important.
Speaking of which . . .
This week I started getting responses to my agent query letters. The first few were rejections. I figured as much, considering they were boomerang responses. Sigh.

But the third response was from a very prestigious agent and she made a request for the full manuscript with exclusive rights. I was delighted and yet, I felt I should wait the weekend and think about it. Don’t know why.

And the next day, I received another request for the full manuscript – from the agent of my dreams….. She happens to be the woman who discovered and represented Rosemary Rodgers (author of Sweet Savage Love, my favorite historical romance of all time) and several other very renowned and beloved historical romance writers. If you know my writing history and what motivated me to begin writing historicals– you would know just how significant this agency’s history was to me…. I sent the manuscript off within the hour. It doesn’t hurt that the agency is called Coffey (pronounced coffee). Ha. It has to be a sign, don’t you agree?

That night, I got another full manuscript request from another very prestigious firm. They said, “Your proposal sounds very intriguing and your writing sample is promising. Please send us more so we can consider representation…..”

Someone else might want me? I’ve been doing the happy dance ever since.

Mark started seeing these positive responses (four years ago my queries for the same book resulted in not a single offer – which goes to show I’ve improved either in the writing, the idea or the way I present it… perhaps the MFA opens doors because it is a statement of my commitement to writing). And he said, “Wow. You’re going to really sell this book. You’re going to do just what you set out to do…” ‘
Then he grinned and added, “Not that anyone ever doubted you would…”

That’s my guy.

I reminded him that getting an agent to read your work is a big step, but it is a long way from being represented and/or selling a book. I don’t want to get my hopes up….. I might still have lots of work ahead… and disappointment and …. Well, this is only a promising start.

But I know he is right. Because these agents will either represent me (required to get in the door of a publishing house now a days), or say no and with their rejection, they’ll probably make an explanation of why not. And that will give me direction so I can go back to the drawing board and make changes which will enhance my work. Every “no” is one more dart getting closer to the “yes” bulls eye, ya see.

As I printed my book to send out, I kept pulling out pages and reading. Often I thought, “Not bad . . not bad at all…” Then I thought, “I can do better….”
This is funny, because a teacher I had at Lesley often wrote  “You can do better” in the margins of my submitted work and it drove me crazy. Because I felt I was trying hard, and I wasn’t sure I could do better….. but of course, I’ve learned I can. And now, that is the overriding theme regarding how I feel about everything I write.
I can do better.
And I will.

I know that there is only so much fixing I can do on a book I wrote 4 years ago. My next book will be better – because I’m a far better writer now. And the book after that will be even better. I’m actually looking forward to starting something from scratch soon, knowing my newer material will be so much stronger than the old.

So it doesn’t matter if this book sells. Of course, I hope it will because I happen to adore the characters and the story and it represents time and energy and hope. But if it doesn’t, the next one will. Or the next.
The point is, I have put ego aside, I am open to learning and I understand growth takes time. And frankly, I’m not in a hurry or inclined to get frustrated because writing is hard and breaking into publishing harder. Growing and learning is a joy in itself, so all the effort is valuable. Publication is sort of secondary…

At least, that is how I feel today.

Anyway – my book is now in circulation. And if agent one says, ‘Not my thing” perhaps the next agent will adore it, or agent three, or one of the others I have yet to receive a response from but might show an interest…. The point is, I’ve dipped my toes in the water of publishing at long last. Feels refreshing and I seriously can’t wait to plunge in head first. Hope I don’t drown.

When I took my manuscript to the little country post office, I told my friend working there that after all those dozen of packages I picked up during my MFA, I was finally sending one out – I told her to send it with care and good vibes. It was my book finally leaving home.

She said, “About time”.
I agree.


P.S. Every morning, Prism walks out to the sunshine and opens his tail in a huge fan of irredessent color and circles. My girl peacock dances through the feathers, adoring him. I can’t believe something so beautiful is right in my back yard. And I’m guessing I’ll be discovering fertilized eggs pretty soon. Yippee.
I’ll take a picture when I can find my dang camera….. A peacock showing off is impressive and inspirational and a marvel of nature! Like all th emost splendid things in life – it was worth the frustration, the mistakes, the wait, and the painful learning curve….