Am I the Asshole For Wanting to Switch Writers’ Groups?

Hello everyone! Welcome back to Am I the Literary Asshole?, an advice column that wants to be more than friends. I’m your host, Kristen Arnett, and I’m currently trying to figure out how to talk my wife into allowing me to fill a kiddie pool full of Miller Lite. It’s hot as hell outside, sure, but at least we have each other (and a slew of petty literary gossip).

You know what? Since it’s so goddamn toasty out, why don’t we crank the air conditioning, throw on a couple of sweaters, get cozy, and pour some peppermint schnapps into some piping hot chocolate. Bundle up while the world outside continues to cook and swelter.

Come on, let’s jump right on into today’s questions:

Hey Dad, 

I’m writing a book that I know is sick, but I know I’m out over my skis in a lot of ways. The biggest one is that I don’t have any real training (other than reading a ton, writing in a different medium professionally, and writing a ton of highly gnarly fanfic as a teen) and that normally is just an ego concern, but the deeper into this I get, the rougher the awareness of my limits gets, too. 

I *want* to do so much more than what I *can* do, at least right now. I’ve read a ton of craft books and essays and I listen to interviews by authors I like, but I still feel like my broke ass would benefit from an MFA that I can’t afford (and let’s be real, probably wouldn’t get into). I know lots of authors I look up to (hi) don’t have them or need them, but I think I might really benefit from the structure, not to mention the connections. 

My writer’s group thinks my draft is cool, and my friends think it’s cool, but I know it’s not “MFA acceptance material,” at least not yet. I don’t feel like I have any options to get better beyond “just suck for a long time” which I know is standard advice and I’m totally down to do it, but I also don’t know what I don’t know, and I want to learn on purpose, if that makes sense. Are there other tangible ways for me to learn structure and craft on purpose, beyond what I’m already doing alone? 

I alllllso am anxious as hell about what to do when this thing is done and ready to query. I know in the delulu marrow of my bones that the world would like it, but I have no idea how to get it out there. All the advice I get from friends who’ve sold books isn’t relevant to me. My published friends came up through Pitch Wars, and I wish it was still around, because that sounds like it would save my life. Is there anything like Pitch Wars still out there I really need a mentor and an advocate, and I can’t afford the MFA that would supposedly get me either of those. 

Thanks so much, 
Solid Draft, No Idea What Next 

Hello there! Thanks for writing in with this (very good) question!

You’re absolutely correct, you don’t have to have an MFA in order to get a book published. The reasoning behind why you’re thinking of getting one, though, is solid enough. You’re serious about craft and about wanting to improve your own work. That’s commendable. We should always try to ask ourselves questions when it comes to our art. Growth is a necessary component. We become better writers every time we show up to the page ready to learn.

I guess my question for you here is: why don’t you think you’re a good enough writer to succeed on your own?

We all have to start out somewhere. We don’t magically reach a level where they hand us a certificate and state that we’re finally ready to publish a book. A degree is just that: a degree. It allows us to have time with other writers in order to work and hopefully get to the level that’s right for us (and it probably allows us to teach at other programs). At this point (at least according to your letter), you have plenty of people in your life confirming the fact that your project contains very high-quality writing. People like it! Does having someone from a program tell you that it’s MFA-worthy mean that you will take your own work more seriously?

If you feel that you would benefit from some additional support without the $$$, there are lots of ways to DIY your own writing life, including applying for various summer and seasonal workshops (there are TONS of these out there, and many of them are terrific), taking online classes, and flat-out cold call querying agents. It’s also completely possible to spend time on various parts of social media and find that pitch wars equivalent that you feel you’ve been missing. There are a million ways to get it done. An MFA is just one route of many.

Attending an MFA program is not for everyone (cost, lifestyle, jobs, the need to move, etc), but if you feel strongly enough that you want to make that happen, you can find a way to do it. Mostly I want you to think hard about what it is you’d like to take away from a program. You mentioned structure and connections, and those are things you can certainly get from an MFA. You can do them yourself, too. You can learn craft any number of ways, but no program—no matter how weighty, how lauded, how lofty—is going to give you confidence in yourself and in your art. You’ve got to do that part all on your own, my friend.

Let’s blast the AC and pour a little ore cocoa, keep this train chugging along:

2) I’m having a really hard time in my current writers group. Everyone is very talented, but they all write realist fiction. I would say my work is much more speculative. The feedback I’ve been receiving has been less than helpful. It almost feels as though they’re trying to turn my work into something it’s not? Should I just give up on them and find a group that’s more in keeping with my genre/style?

I’m sorry to hear this!

This writing group sounds like it isn’t the right fit for your work. You’re moving in different directions and it hasn’t been helpful to you with regard to feedback. Maybe it is time to leave.

However, if you’re close with this group—possibly you were friends outside of writing, or have known each other a very long time—you could possibly sit down with them and have a conversation about what would be most beneficial for you when it comes to critique and feedback.

Be specific. State that you’re working in a speculative place, so any criticism needs to fit inside that lens. It’s completely reasonable to ask for that kind of feedback. Even if their work leans more realist in nature, they can surely appreciate the need for specific critique.

And hey, you can always supply your own questions that you’d like answered when it comes to feedback from this group. Maybe have a list of five or so specific questions you’d like answered; tell the group that you’d prefer that any of their feedback stay within the scope of the questions that you offer. Nothing outside of bounds.

If you try this and you’re still getting nowhere with them, then I’d encourage you to find a new group. There are plenty of people out there writing speculative work that would want to spend time with you and would welcome your writing with open arms.

One last drink (and one last question) before we hit the road:

3) I know this is probably me being the a**hole, but I figured I’d ask anyway. There is an essay brewing in me about something important that happened in my life (I won’t say what it is here, but it was life changing in very big ways). However, I’m worried that if I write about it now, I won’t get another opportunity to talk about it again in my work. I don’t want to get it wrong the first time and then feel heartbroken that I can’t make the thing it actually wants to be. Help?

Oh, friend!

This is going to be the easiest question we answer today.

There’s no such thing as “one” essay about a topic like that, especially if it’s something you care deeply about or has dramatically impacted your life. We are different and new people every time we sit down to write about something. The way you’d write about this thing right now is going to be different from the way you’ll approach it five, ten, or even twenty years down the line. And these are all valuable points of view!

Give yourself the space and freedom to write about this thing in multiple ways, multiple styles, multiple times. You can’t get it wrong. The only way to mess this up is to not allow yourself the opportunity to touch it again and again and again.

Happy writing!

And that’s all the time we have for today, folks. Join me next time when you send me your anonymous questions (do it, send them here!!) and I do a cold plunge into a vat of DQ vanilla soft serve because the earth is on fire.

Climate change is real,
Dad

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Are you worried you’re the literary asshole? Ask Kristen via email at AskKristen@lithub.com, or anonymously here.