On the Writing Workshop

With thoughts from my teachers George Saunders, Arthur Flowers and Dana Spiotta

Hey fam,

I’m just back from Aspen where it felt like they had me breathing diet air

Joke. Though I really was surprised by how difficult it was to catch my wind up there. That said, I had a wonderful experience and much love to the Aspen Words team for setting up an incredible space to focus on our collective love of the written word.

I was there to facilitate a workshop, which is a thing I often do. I had a particularly awesome group of writers and spending the mornings with them up in the thin air has inspired this post…

Because it has been integral to my growth and I like to know how others have felt, I often ask writers about their experiences in workshop.

I have a particular memory of asking a young writer enrolled in a prominent MFA program how their workshop was going. This is an approximation of the convo.”

I asked and she said, “it’s okay,” in the way that meant “I don’t want to be rude.”

I prompted her to continue. To say the truth they were holding back.

“A lot of people don’t give me feedback, but expect feedback every week. And of course I give it to them but it doesn’t seem fair.”

“What do you mean they don’t give me feedback?” I don’t know if I’m naïve or what, but I asked what she meant because I literally didn’t understand.

“They don’t really say anything and they don’t give me my manuscript with suggestions or a page of thoughts.”

“So they give you nothing?” I was legit shocked.

“Yes.” She said. “Maybe they comment in class but that’s it. If that.”

“This hurts to hear. I am so sorry.”

And I wasn’t lying. It hurt my heart to think this was happening at a legitimate MFA, but I think that’s because I have been very lucky. This is a post about workshops, not the broader idea of an MFA (which in most programs the Workshop is the heart of. I think enough people have commented about the good and bad of programs and I think, honestly, the discourse *shudder*, is basic and silly. That is to say, we often talk about MFA in an intellectually jumbled and ridiculous way. Every program differs immensely for obvious reasons. To lump them all together is frankly dumb. )

That said, I also went to an MFA. Syracuse to be specific. And I took workshops led by people like George Saunders and Dana Spiotta and Arthur Flowers. I view them as luminaries and waymakers. I asked them about their thoughts on workshops and they offered some ideas which I’ll include in this post.

The writers who I came up under and who I emulate as a workshop facilitator brought me up to view the Workshop as an almost sacred space for writers. A place where you could feel comfortable enough to be truly vulnerable. Where you could disagree in the spirt of communal growth. I was taught to view it as a space of essential care and warmth. It’s foundation is trust.

As I get older I can feel the tug of cynicism asking me to believe in less and less. But this, the power of workshop, is something I believe in completely. It’s a belief that is reinforced over and over again. For me as recently as last week in Aspen.

Arthur Flowers is one of the most important instructors I’ve ever had. He’s an author a griot, a literary hoodoo and the first professors I ever had who reaffirmed, directly that our work could change the world. He offered this on the Workshop. He’s also HERE on SubStack.

I guess what I’m mostly looking for is a certain workshop harmony, in that the mix of voices makes music instead of disharmony, which means I repress ego based dialogues, critiques and responses in favor of a sincere effort to help each other become better writers. I want to build a lifelong cohort, a little literary mob for life, so more than anything they got to develop a trust that allows them the freedom to expose their most vulnerable selves to each other and me.

– Arthur Flowers

I am my teacher’s student. Trust is essential. A desire to help, genuinely is lifeblood to spaces like workshop. And again, this is part of why I’m so disheartened by the idea that people who supposedly are serious about wanting to be writers would be willing to blow off a fellow writer’s submission.

In my own experience as a MFA instructor I have only once seen the kind of behavior where a student wasn’t actively on to top of their responses. Maybe I’ll post about it later on cause it’s just so strange to me and I have a lot to say about it.

As you can tell, I’m a little bleeding heart about this stuff so please forgive me. I also realize I may be getting ahead of myself…

For those who are not already initiated when I talk about workshop I mean Iowa format workshop. The Iowa format is where a Writer will submit a story or story/novel excerpt, probably a week in advance. Over the course of that week the Readers will read the submitted piece and provide feedback. In my workshops, they will provide written feedback directly onto the manuscript as well as a (at least) one page of typed of feedback reflecting on the experience of reading. In my workshop, I have students begin with what they believe was working and move on from there to what they think can be improved. This is all very basic. standard even.

I have modified the format a bit and emphasize talking about what’s working at the start so we ensure we are trying to center and ground all conversations in the writer’s intentions and what the story wants to be. Again, that’s not surprising considering the people who taught me. The legendary writer/professor Dana Spiotta is probably who my teaching persona is closest too. She was the first workshop leader I had in MFA and her style kept me in the game when I was really vulnerable and green.

In terms of how to structure it, the workshop should come up with its preferred form. It often works to let the writer tell us what they want to focus on, what questions they have. I do believe describing the work and its form is a good place to start. And everyone should be sure to mention what is working as well as what isn’t, given what the story is up to. I like to empower the writer, because it is their story, their artistic project, their vision. – Dana Spiotta

When the group reconvenes and the Writer is in the room with the Readers I usually set it up so that the Writer privileges listening although they are in no way gagged or silenced. (I think the traditional Iowa method suggests the Writer be silent). I also start each workshop session with the writer reading a very short portion of their selection to kind of set the vibe and as Dana suggests they can maybe reaffirm for us the things they are interested in exploring.

Then we discuss, starting with what ‘s working and considering what the story is and trying to be and then after doing that we move on to revision potential.

As we make suggestions I try my best to listen to the story and try to understand it on its own terms. I really want to remember the story is the Writer’s and not ours. We are helping something find itself. But don’t just take my word for it.

Here’s are some thoughts from SubStack extraordinaire and one of the best writers alive George Saunders…

I think the main thing is for everyone (students and instructor) to mentally foreground the aspiration "to be truly helpful." Describe, don't prescribe; be specific in detailing your precise reactions; ask, always, "Will saying this, in this particular way, actually give the writer something to work with?"– George Saunders

That is a great summation of the spirit I try to carry into workshop. Be precise, be thoughtful. Center helpfulness.

As I’m still riding the high of being with an incredible group I figured it’d be good to just throw some more ideas that might help. Here, quickly, are some easy principles that will make your workshop experience solid.

• Don’t try to “win” workshop. I’m a competitive person, but art transcends competition. I say don’t aim to “win” because workshop is a listening process. You are listening, in conversation, and not trying to dominate others.

• Don’t be an asshole in workshop. Ways to be an asshole include but are not limited to 1) Not reading the work of your peers 2) Not giving feedback 3) Trying to be cruel or condescending 4) Thinking that because you believe you are a more advanced writer you don’t have to be engaged with the work of others. 5) Being regularly late to workshop 6) Racist, Transphobic, Anti-Semitic, Islamophobic, Misogynist otherwise fucked up. (I mean you as an individual. Stories can and should explore these issues. ) 7) Assuming the worst in others, again, grace goes a long way

Somewhat related to not being an asshole, Dana has more thoughts…

But workshops can go wrong and even do damage. The essential things I keep in mind: try to judge the work on its own terms, the terms it sets for itself. Distinguish the text from the writer. Be very specific about where the text confuses you or loses you and why you think that might be. Assume good faith/intention. Use your empathy. As a workshop facilitator, I sometimes find it helpful to remind people to listen to one another, converse, and try not to make a speech. Sometimes I summarize what I have heard people saying. I hope people leave workshop with some practical, actionable ideas to consider. – Dana Spiotta

• You can and should learn as much about writing when you are the READER in workshop as when you are the WRITER. Take every session with seriousness and energy.

• When you receive “bad feedback,” and this is important, learn to transform it into useful feedback. This skill will serve you in life and as a writer. What I mean by this is, if you can learn what it feels like to receive feedback you viscerally, spiritually, intellectually or ethically disagree with, it can be clarity making. Bad feedback is clarifying and sometimes reveals to you your non-negotiables. Having a strong sense about this is so important not only in workshop, but as you continue with an editor and so on. To me the workshop is also an exercise in the practice of receiving feedback effectively.

• Have fun with it. Let joy be lighthouse. Learn to articulate feeling, that’s an important skill for us. And don’t be afraid to be enthusiastic about yourself and others.

There is something really beautiful about the workshop space. It’s something I truly believe in. And I think that it reaffirms my faith, generally, in kind of all of it. In life. When people come together, vulnerable and willing, honest and in good faith. So often it’s beautiful. I’ve seen it myself many, many times over.

But….it’s only right I end on one more gem from Dana.

One thing I remind people of is that workshops, flawed as they can be, can work a kind of magic. By focusing on close reading a peer's work, you become better at editing and evaluating your own work. You develop this ever expanding toolbox of skills that you draw on. It just sort of happens as your practice it. – Dana Spiotta

WISLY