…my, my, my… yeez wait all year, reading and enjoying blog posts of yer fellow Lads and Lassies of Blog Land…. and out of the blue, almost at the last knockings of 2014, comes this gem from my pal, Authoress, Lauren Sapala… this is arguably among the finest ‘all-writers-must-read’ blog pieces I’ve seen this year… with her permission, I’m gonna cut and paste it (coz, being the computer Jurassic that I am, I can’t seem to reblog it automatically onto WordPress) …with attribution to Lauren I’m banging it out on all my SOSYAL NETWURK channels … THIS is what it’s all about! the passion to write! Thanks for sharing this, m’Lady, Lauren 🙂
Why I Never Got An MFA by Lauren Sapala
Growing up, I loved writing and books. Storytelling in any form was one of my great passions. So when I got to college I was super excited to take creative writing classes.
But my first creative writing class was far more disappointing than I expected.
Our professor gave us different essays to read by prize-winning authors and then spelled out a bunch of rules that we should all follow if we wanted to be good writers. Realism was important, he said. For example, if we included a can of soda in our story we should make sure the can was 12 oz. just like a real can of soda would be.
My heart sank. I had about a bajillion words inside me ready to spill out, fragments and images and flashes of fire and lightning that I yearned to piece together into the story I knew was there. This guy was telling me to focus on how many ounces a can of soda contained.
The yearning inside of me to write and my professor’s set of rules felt worlds away from each other. Did this mean I was going to be a bad writer?
I didn’t do well in that class.
The assignments I turned in felt flat and stale. I didn’t care about them. I was writing to compete with my classmates and get a grade, hopefully a decent one.
The next class I took was even worse.
This was a critique class. We each wrote a short story and then sat in a circle of 25 people who critiqued it. I knew my story wasn’t awesome to begin with—after all, I had hated writing it.
Sitting through the critique was worse than pushing out all those unwanted words on the page.
My classmates took it apart line by line. I felt like I was watching a machine being disassembled.
No one asked me the things I wanted to ask my classmates but was too shy to bring up. Every time we critiqued someone else’s piece I wondered, “Is this the story you really wanted to write?” “Does writing feel as hard and scary to you as it does to me?” “Do you think other writers feel this way?” “If that’s not the story you really wanted to write, when are you going to write the one you do?”
To me, those questions felt so much more important instead of pointing out a metaphor that could have been fresher.
After that last class, I was done. Writing had lost its joy to me. I already felt shy and insecure enough about my writing without having it picked apart and picked to death by more people. My own inner critic was doing a fine job of that, thank you very much.
So I stopped writing. And I didn’t start again for seven long years.
It took me seven years to join a writing group. Seven years to try writing anything creative down on paper. Seven years to tell people I wanted to write. Because of my couple of bad experiences I totally shut down. I didn’t pursue writing in college beyond those two classes, and I didn’t even consider going for an MFA. I didn’t pursue the one thing in my life that I was truly passionate about, and that fulfilled me on so many different levels.
Instead, I went into resistance. And I let my writing life be ruled by fear.
I don’t regret the path I took, because I do believe that it was the one I was supposed to take in this life. However, I can look back and see how many opportunities I turned down and how many people I didn’t meet who could have been great writing friends.
The funny thing is that when I was turning stuff down and missing out, I thought I was making a good decision. I thought I was protecting myself.
But the reality is that I was living from a place of resistance and fear. I was just plain scared and so I didn’t take the risks that could have brought so much joy. Many writers do this and our resistance can take so many forms. It might look like:
Saying no to going to a writers’ conference because you won’t know anyone else there
Saying no to submitting your work to agents because you think it’s not good enough
Saying no to starting your novel because you don’t have it all worked out just yet
Saying no to sitting down and writing once a week because you’ve convinced yourself you don’t have the time
There are tons of different avenues our resistance can take, but you see the main theme. When resistance is in the house with us, we say no to our writing. We say no to life.
The only solution is to do the opposite. We have to say yes. Even if we’re scared (which we still will be, almost guaranteed). Even if our mind totally freaks out and goes into panic mode. Panic doesn’t last forever. In fact, it can’t even sustain its own energy much beyond an hour or so. But saying no can close doors permanently.
Start by saying yes. Say yes to something that makes you nervous. Say yes to sitting down once a week and writing for 30 minutes. Say yes to going to a writers’ conference, even if you won’t know anyone else there.
The fear will dissolve later, on its own. That’s not yours to worry about. The only thing you need to concentrate on is saying yes, and let life take its course and do the rest.
…wonderful stuff… yeez can follow Lauren’s blog on laurensapala.com
…see yeez later…LUV YEEZ!…
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