So, really, do you need to go to college to be a better writer? My musings.

Well, the problem with college, I think, is that everyone thinks you’re stupid if you don’t go to college, but people think you’re even stupider when you do go to college and choose to study creative writing. Or art history. Or any field in the humanities.

Now, I don’t know about master’s degrees. I’m talking about the good, old fashioned B.S. or B.A. Maybe someday I’ll attack grad school. But like many in my position, it was about all I could do to scrape up enough for an undergrad degree. So, let’s muse about that.

When I signed up for a Language Arts Non-Teaching degree, most people would say, “What, you’re not going to teach?” I would shrug. Nope, don’t want to teach. Then, I’d get a little swagger, a little head tilt, a little grin, and the belittling question, “Well, what are you going to do to make a living then?”

Well, my honest answer was, I’m not going to college to get a job. I’m going to college to study literature, as long as I get scholarships and work three jobs to pay for everything and not go in debt. Then I’ll go get a job that probably won’t need a degree. But since that’s not a very socially correct answer I would say, “I want to work in journalism.” That usually shut the nay sayers up. “Oh, I didn’t think of that. You could be a reporter or an editor.” Yeah. Or I could work at a grocery store and write novels in my spare time.

Right now I am also a part time library clerk working on my public librarian certification, which, coupled with my bachelor’s, does open up a few more job opportunities for the future. The only reason I’m not working in journalism is because I live in an itty bitty town 60 miles from anywhere in any direction and if I did take a part time reporter position at any of the small local papers, I’d still be working part time at the grocery to pay bills. Until I can have access to working in a bigger city, I won’t have the opportunity to apply to a job “in my field.”

At any rate, I never wanted to work in my field in the traditional aspect. I wanted to write books. So, here we are. Did I need those 5 years at college to write books?

I went into college right out of high school. The first years, I bumbled around and kind of just did whatever was right in front of my face. Short story class, I wrote short stories. Poetry class, I wrote poetry. Modern Drama, I wrote plays. You get the idea.

Like I said, I took 5 years to get my B.S. though I tacked on a hefty psychology minor. The first three and a half years I was pretty much input, output. Memorize whatever was needed for the tests, keep one or two assignments I thought were randomly interesting, and sell back most of my textbooks. Sure, I was being exposed to a lot of new and interesting things, and I was learning and growing, but it wasn't until the end of my junior year and the start of my first senior year that I started putting any of it together.

Still, it amazed me how many people in my capstone English class, by far the most deep-reaching in critical analysis of literature, would say things like, “Well…I didn't like that book... that was a bad book,” and “I liked this book a lot, this was a good book.”

Which I suppose is just evidence of the myth of college, that college makes you a professional. College makes you an expert. College is what you need to succeed. This is not true. You make your degree. Buying books on literary criticism are utterly useless if you don’t read them. Skipping or sleeping through modern novel class will never give you insight into the structure of novels. You can say Shakespeare class is hard all you want. Actually reading it is harder.

Do I think there are talented writers without school, right off the bat, from the time they start writing? Yes, I do. But no one can write more than one piece and not start to learn about what they're doing. In various writers groups I've been in, I'm always impressed at how many good pieces are shared, and one piece from someone who has never studied or practiced writing can be just as striking as a piece written by someone with an MFA in creative writing.

And I'm not exaggerating. In fact, sometimes the novice has better pieces than the “pro.” The interesting thing, though, is when a person starts working on the piece, you start to see where it falls short. Where it needs work. When the sparkle of the ideas fade, the structure comes out and authors either hit or miss with rewrites. So, in a way, I think it takes either talent or a lot of work to get to point A, but as writers, we need to study and practice to get to point B, C, D, and E.

To do that, you must read and write, a lot. Which is basically what you do in college. I was restricted to swift paces set by semester classes (or sometimes half semester classes) of 8-16 weeks where we would read 5-8 novels, countless short stories and other materials. One week, my heavy week in all three of my lit classes, I had 800 pages assigned Monday, due Wednesday.

This was great, it made me read things I wouldn’t have sought out myself, maybe never even found on my own. The downside of that is I had to read so much of what was assigned, if something sparked my interest, I had no time to explore it, savor it. If I spotted a spark and wanted to build fire, well, too late, we have a quiz on chapters 1-5 of the next big thing.

I was especially a sucker for this in my psychology classes. In each class I had to write a paper. I would get the idea approved and go nuts, purchasing used books on the topic, so after I wrote my paper, I could continue to learn about the subject until satisfied. Well. That never worked. I would barely get through half of one book before the paper was due, so I would scramble to finish the paper then toss the books aside to revisit later. The pile of books I had to read by graduation was phenomenal, and my interests had become more specific, so many of the non-fiction books I thought would be epic ended up being quite sub par because I hadn't done enough looking into them. As for the fiction, well, I've been dying to read The Bluest Eye for 5 years now, and it's still sitting on my shelf.

Now I'm free to read what I'm interested when I'm interested in it. Which is why I've once again pushed Toni Morrison back to read other books I feel like reading now. My interests still tend to be faster than my reading pace, but at least I do get to the books I want to read, and write what I want to.

My first year out of college, I knew I needed to practice writing novels. So I challenged myself to write a novel in a year. It took two, but I’m very happy with how much I learned on my own. In fact, I think I learned more about writing when writing on my own than when I was in school. But without the foundation, I might not have been in the position to make such strides.

Honestly, I feel that I'm just now reading fiction from both the feeling and thinking sectors or my brain. I can get knocked out with brilliance and also appreciate the technical aspects. In psychology and sociology, I'm retaining the concepts and putting ideas together into coherent arguments. It's great that I can finally hold my own in debates, even if they are just friendly, or on facebook. But it gives me encouragement that I can write social commentary books/essays, the goal I had in mind when I added that psych minor.

I’d like to think my bumbling years weren’t worthless. If anything, we all have the bumbling years, whether we’re in college or not. Ultimately, I think writing well takes time, and practice in that time. I had a lot of opportunities to challenge myself in college and produce pieces I may never have otherwise. Some were excellent. Some were absolutely terrible.

The thing is, however, I spent a lot of time writing my own work, working on pieces that had nothing to do with the assignments or papers I had to write. So in many ways, now, it’s a lot like in college. I go to work, I do my librarian certification assignments as I am required, But in my spare time I’m always trying to write my own stuff, read what I want, and better my craft on my own.

One last thought. In both college and now out “on my own,” I participated in writing workshops. I have to admit, these are invaluable for me as a writer. Our little group that meets at the library has been wonderful. Being able to share a piece and receive feedback from a variety of viewpoints is such a great resource. And listening to someone who has worked very hard and made an impeccable piece of work means you glean a lot of insight for yourself. And I learned just as much from college centered workshops as the outside groups, set up by people who simply love to write.

So I don’t have a simple answer for anyone who wants to know if they need college to be a good writer. Ultimately, I think you need to ask yourself this: Is your bookshelf (physical or digital) overflowing with books? Have you read most of them? If a friend interrupts a free afternoon of yours will they find you reading or writing? Do you read and write on your breaks at work, or in the doctor’s office waiting room? College or not, you have to actually do the things you want to accomplish. You must work at it to be an expert. Without the work, degree or not, nothing else matters, because you won’t hold up in the real world. You won’t have readers. Fancy letters after your name aren’t any good if readers put the book down.

So in conclusion, get busy! Go write something!

Better than you

I like to read blog posts about the philosophy of writing, why we're all so crazy to be doing what we're doing. I glean a lot of insight from traditionally published, independent, and self-published authors. I usually find the blog posts themselves don't particularly fire me up, even when I disagree with them. The comment wars that tend to rage beneath the posts, however, sometimes do. Mainly because it boils down to two camps throwing serif-ed insults at each other: Traditional publishing is stupid! Self-Publishing is stupider!

 

After awhile I feel like I'm beginning to see the Matrix. We're all really super human gravity defying martial artists, the mediums we practice are fake and pliable. It's the other people swearing other ways work is what's keeping us from success, keeping the Matrix in place.

 

Or let me put it this way: We're all full of crap.

 

Because, whatever we do, it has to be because it's better than how someone else does it. And knowing we're doing it the right way isn't enough.

 

If someone posts something about how it worked for them differently, it MUST be because they never gave your way enough of a chance. They don't believe.

 

I'm not a Christian. I'm a Buddhist. I've thought about this before. But plenty of people see me as a wannabe hipster with weird hats and even though my religion is based in compassion and Karma, I'm still probably mean to the cashiers at McDonalds. Because all hipster Buddhists with beret hats that you've seen at McDonalds are. So what if I read over a thousand pages of Pali Canon translation. That Mala bracelet isn't a cross, I'm obviously wrong. And of course I've seen plenty of "free thinkers" that turn into a sputtering pile of defensive self-righteousness at the mention of Jesus. We've all seen this.

 

Sadly, the more I read author blogs, the same principle is surfacing again and again. Writers that read a perfectly well thought out and informative blog post, but find SOMETHING in it they disagree with and go nuts in the comments.

 

Now, I supposed I understand if someone is completely and unfairly bashing the way you do things, you would probably feel upset. But even when an author puts a disclaimer at the beginning of the post saying "this is the way it works for me and I'm sharing, you do not have to do this" comments still get crazy. It makes me wonder if writers are reading these blogs to gain insight, or just looking for affirmation that their way is right and to argue when someone does something different. I still have faith that there are plenty of writers learning from these blog posts, but they just keep quiet and don't try to skewer other authors on literary sticks when they disagree.

 

When I first started writing, there was still a stigma attached to self-publishing, and ereaders had not taken off yet, so I was very much swayed toward traditional and print publishing. But I changed my mind and found independent publishing worked very well for me. Unfortunately, I'm seeing a lot of Self-Pubbers trying to trash the traditional route, trying to attach a stigma to authors that are having a good go at traditional publishing. Trying to steal the elitism from "an editor approved my work and I was paid an advance, I'm better than you," to "I had to direct the formatting and cover design and plan all my own marketing, I do way more than just write, I'm better than you."

 

Well, if that makes you feel better about yourself, go for it. But why tell either a self-published or traditionally published author, who is happy, successful according to their definition, and has a readership, that they are wrong and stupid? I certainly can't imagine walking up to a successful traditionally published author and saying, "Hello, have you heard of Smashwords? Allow me to enlighten you."

 

I obviously live in the Matrix, since I have a writing blog and opinions on such things are keeping me from jumping up and flying around like superman delivering my bestsellers to the puny drones below. If only everyone listened to me and shaped the writing game to my standards, but noooo we all have to do things differently than me to keep the Matrix in place, to keep everyone asleep, and make stupid authors more successful than me.

 

Right.

 

Here's the deal, or at least, my opinion: There's no formula for success. Success is defined by the author and each book, author, target audience tastes, and means of transmission are going to have so many factors, there will never be a perfect way to publish a book. There's no perfect combination for a great cover, no super-elite tips or tricks for a synopsis that will get everyone to read the book. There's no scale to rate perfectly-flawed characters. There's no way to determine exactly how abstract or how relatable a plot should be. So don't argue like there is.

 

There are good ideas out there. I have gotten excellent marketing tips from traditionally published authors. I've found wonderful ideas that work in crafting my non-fiction books from fantasy e-book authors. I've looked at hundreds of covers and observed things I liked and things I didn't like and applied it to what I was doing. There are great ideas out there.

 

The only way you can learn and advance is to look at how others have done things, put things together, arrived at their conclusions, then arrive at your own.

 

 

Sexiness and book...iness.

Time for too-much-info confession of the day! I secretly try to vamp up my subtle-but-sexy librarian skills when shelving. Even if I am but a lowly clerk and my skirts brush past my knees, damnit, I am a sexy librarian!

The topic I’m attempting to segue into here is a literary pinup calendar in association with artist Lee Moyer that goes to help Worldbuilders.

There’s a bit of a hubbub surrounding the work (as much of a hub or bub that can be generated in the literary world…) about whether the calendar is great or terrible. Thus far the arguments have been pretty balanced: half of the input says the calendar is cute, sexy, fun, and interesting and half say it is offensive, cheapens literature and no one should enjoy looking at pin up images.

Well, this is my blog, so this is my opinion.

If you are turned off by any part of the pin-up girl concept, then you won’t like the calendar. And trust me, I’ve been in enough male-occupied garages to develop a strong distaste for a lot of stuff that the modern pin-up has evolved into.
I can also tell you that this calendar is nothing like that.

First off, I think these are really tastefully done. Even the Twain one, set to be more provocative is very cute in my opinion. No gratuitous side-boob, and she’s not set in a position where you can see both cleavage and a full view of her derrier somehow simultaneously. (I don’t know how a model ever gets into this pose ever, but it’s pretty popular from images I’ve seen.) The outfits are beautiful in themselves and honestly are not that revealing for being pinned as pin-up (See what I did there.) I saw much more the last Halloween party I went to, and there was no intelligent irony to be found. And the women look fairly normal. I mean, yeah they are mostly thin and done up, but they still look real.

Second of all, these images contain a lot of details. I haven’t seen the full calendar, but some are very subtle and you have to look for clues about the books. Which brings me to point three: this wouldn’t work if you didn’t know about literature. Certainly you don’t have to have read the complete works of the authors presented to get it, but the cleverness emerges with the interpretation of the literature.

So, I mean, really, why can’t literature be sexy? Or intelligence, or love of classics? I’ve always held the position that we live in a sex-visible culture instead of a sex-positive one. And right now I’m pretty sure Fifty Shades of Gray is the most reserved book in our collection. People have gone bat-lunatic because it’s all edgy and erotic and crazy and right now holds the top 4 on the New York bestsellers list.

And, honestly, if we are paying homage to literary works through sex, I would much rather have this calendar on my wall than badly written erotica on my shelf.

Showin' some love for Herman ;)

Life.

I haven’t been blogging lately, and I’d love to say it’s because I’ve been oh-so busy writing, reading, and researching, being generally productive. In actuality, I’ve been doing a whole heaping load of not much, nothing really.

Not to say nothing has been *happening*. I had spine surgery, my husband started a second job, and we’ve been hunting for a place to live that’s resulted in us beginning to sort and pack up our things to move at the end of the month. A lot’s *happened*, but I haven’t gotten anything done. (Well, today I managed to dig out our kitchen and find our bedroom floor beneath the laundry, so that’s something, I suppose.)

Lately life has been a balancing game of investment and chances. How long can we afford to live here, how long can we afford not to live here, is the gas worth it there, can we cut our grocery bill here, when can I lift anything over five pounds?
My writing has been the same way. I have several unfinished short stories, and even more ideas that I haven’t put down. I screeched to a halt on burnout with one book, only to bounce in between three other book ideas a sentence at a time. Every time I go to write, I think, ‘what’s the chance of this getting published’ or ‘what contest could I put this in’ or ‘will this poem fit in a collection’ or ‘if I publish myself, what order would this book be best in, marketing wise?’

And honestly, it’s killed my creativity.

Much like life, I remember when writing was somewhat magical, if not easy then at least pain-free. There wasn’t chance, there wasn’t mistake, there weren’t so many make-or-break decisions.

The problem is that unlike life, writing can still be the pain-free freedom it always has been. I remember when the words were practically dragging me across the page, leaping out, without a thought to the clock other than if I had to stop, when I could continue on. With my first book, when I didn’t know the difference between self-publishing, traditional publishing, and vanity publishing, I couldn’t write enough. I finished the book and was inspired to edit it. I didn’t know where it was going and it took me to the end of several drafts. Then the publishing, the marketing, the author platform, social networking, why self-publishing is doom, why traditional publishing sticks you in a box, how everything in school began to be focused on resumes and job fairs and starting wages. And it all stopped. Hesitation. Doubt. Back tracking. Squeezing, speculating, shrinking. Three years later and not a damn thing has happened with that manuscript.

I can’t say that it’s all bad. I’m not saying writers shouldn’t be business savvy, or enjoy looking into trends in the industry, or never think about their audience. But don’t get lost in the game of cost/benefits or succumb to the indoctrination of the writing religion where the book becomes the least important part of the process, taking a backseat to sales and stats and taxes and marketing.

I get enough of that balancing our monthly expenses, why would I drag all that into my historical-paranormal-time travel?

I don’t know how to keep life out of my notebooks. The emotional and physical pain of your life and that of loved ones will always take precedent over art, no matter what. I’ve found that I may think about creative stanzas while looking out a hospital window, but it’ll be some time before it actually gets put down in some form of expression. But maybe if I put aside the profitability of those creative stanzas looking out the hospital window, I would be much better off.

I’ve definitely fallen off the writing bandwagon. But I’m realizing that the tumble wasn’t such a bad thing. It’s given me time to clear my head and really think about why I write and what I’m trying to do. The answers to these questions have been surprising. As I prepare to move, I’ve even given away some how-to-be-a-writer books (for lack of a better description) and am finally getting my stride back after some growing pains.

I hope with the next chapter of my life I can get back to doing what I love – now that I realize I still love it. That, and I can begin to live with life.

(PS – As for the blog, I’ll still have random rants and posts about the writing industry. Call it a hobby… sadistic as it may be…)