Strategizing the Mess

MFA Semester 2 and Adapting to My Flawed Process

March already. Halfway into my second semester as an MFA student. Strange, the only suitable response that comes to mind is an arms-outstretched, juvenile yell of "Craziness!" (In my mind, of course.)

What I will say, here, is that it's been a great semester so far. I'm in two workshops this spring -- graduate-level prose and undergraduate-level poetry -- and LORD is it fun! I've sorely missed writing and learning about poetry in an academic setting. There's something very freeing about poems, maybe because they allow my overcrowded mind to tackle the world in bite-size; moreover, the attention to language, to moments, never fails to reinvigorate my enthusiasm for sentence-level writing. The prose workshop this semester ain't shabby either: I'm impressed by the quality of work, response, and support from this group, and the over-observer in me also revels in the experience of silently cheering my classmates on when I see their craft developing. I'm also happy to be taking a third class at my old stomping grounds this semester -- a cross-cultural lit course at my undergrad alma mater. In addition to the great reading, it's always uplifting to be back at the place I still call "home."

Clearly "somebody up there likes me," because my weekly schedule also has its major perks. During the week, I'm fortunate to have writers as coworkers: we've made a ritual of devoting 15-20 minutes semi-weekly to creative writing, sometimes sharing what we've written when we're done. Talk about Nerd Heaven! I also somehow ended up with a four-day weekend in my schedule -- which translates to ample hours to develop some new productive habits. Working out, for instance (a nice way to reverse some of those sitting-at-a-desk-all-day effects), but more importantly, an Unapologetic Writing Day (yes, it's capitalized). One full day to put all other work aside, close the door, and focus exclusively on my writing.

Or drinking tea.

Or pacing around my room.

Or despairing over writer's block.

From adultaddadhd.org

Well, Unapologetic Writing Day has its issues. Mainly, this has to do with the convoluted mess that is my mind and, consequently, my writing process. I've mentioned before on this blog that I sometimes deal with ADD-esque symptoms, something I've always attributed to my introversion and easily-stimulated brain. Lately, though, the presence of these symptoms when I write is downright disheartening. Sometimes I think I have the attention span of a squirrel. (See what I did there? Oh nevermind.) My mind wanders, or freezes up, or feels like its grasp on words has dissipated like smoke. Not being officially diagnosed, I suppose I have no right to call these symptoms straight-up ADD. It may simply be subliminal stress, self-doubt, damned procrastination -- nothing that any other writer has not experienced as well. But the results are disturbing. I'm lucky if I can get one paragraph in four hours on some days.

I think one of the scariest things on the planet is not understanding your own mind. I could spend all day coming up with theories for why my writing stamina feels like it's deteriorating. Perhaps the size of a prose/fiction project scares me, because unlike a poem, there's no way to predict how long a story might become; perhaps I'm paralyzed by my own reservation, afraid of accidentally writing about myself; perhaps I've just become too comfortable, lazier. But at the end of the day, there's no way to really know. All I know is I have this problem, this mind-wandering mess, and it could ruin my writing.

My process, my natural writing inclinations, are flawed beyond question. But I learned a long time ago that I can't always eliminate my weaknesses, I just have to work around them. I believe that self-improvement often has little to do with changing who you are as it does with applying your natural self strategically. So how does one strategize one's writing flaws?

Step 1, I can observe and acknowledge my weakness. Be this a temporary or permanent issue, I know now that unless I'm writing a really short story, I can no longer write a story in a day. I can't -- or at least, any attempts to makes me miserable, and misery makes work harder. So, step 2, I work around that flaw: I break up the drafting process. Against all inner voices yelling for perfect completion ASAP, I've forced myself into a system of working on a story's dialogue one day, action another day, description on another. Sometimes, the only type of "writing" I can get done for a story is the thought behind it -- the brainstorming, the planning, and not a lick of it on paper -- and I tell myself consciously (despite sulking emotions) that it's absolutely fine. That brings me to Step 3, I guess: doing what works right, not what feels right, in a writing crisis. There will be many times in writing where our heads and emotions disagree: my emotions want to say that adapting my process shouldn't be necessary, that I used to write whole stories in a day, that one-sitting writing is the only way to get the "flow" right, dammit. But if that's what my current situation isn't letting me do, if that's what's not productive right now, I have to ignore those feelings. I have to adapt to the problem at hand, and that means being comfortable with one part of me being at odds with the other (at least temporarily).

If I've learned anything this semester, it's that my writing will never be consistent, neither in quality nor productivity nor method. There will be periods where it comes easily, others where it will struggle, still others where previous joy-inducing exercises will become painful as hell. There is no sure-fire formula to writing, simply because I am a fickle, moody, ever-changing human being. My writing flaws will always evolve as I do, so I have to make my process evolve with them.


Thanks for enduring the long and rambling update, which I will conclude with one belated bit of news about change, in the words of my favorite literary heroine:

Reader, I married him.

(Jane Eyre, by Charlotte Bronte)

Publication Alert: Thoreau's Rooster & Prairie Margins

Dear Reader,

Happy New Year! My hope and prayer is that your 2015 ended smoothly and that your 2016 began with joy. For my own part, the New Years stretch was a bit rocky (finals right to the end, plus some traveling mayhems), so it is only now that I've had a chance to update you on the good end of 2015: two new publications!

It occurs to me as I write that that it is only the conclusion of what was a very full and wonderful year of publishing -- over 20 pieces in 2015 alone! (Whoa.) I realize how fortunate and rare it is to have that kind of success (even at non-elite, non-paying venues), and I'm extremely humbled by it. 99% of the time in this field, I'm a self-stabbing self-critic and a frightened rabbit; it is only with love, support, and patience from my mentors that I can even muster up the courage to submit anything. So, thank you, to everyone who helped make last year a successful year for me.

Now, back to those publications . . .

Both pieces are featured in major undergraduate literary magazines, due to my submitting them just before graduation. My nonfiction essay "Bella" is my second time appearing in Thoreau's Rooster, while my poem "Sometimes a Banana…" is my debut in Prairie Margins. It's always a privilege to be re-featured in a national publication, especially as I'm in the company of some wonderful beginning writers at Thoreau's Rooster. Prairie Margins, moreover, is an enormous honor since the magazine is historic: founded in 1963 at Bowling State Green University under original title Inkstone, the yearly publication has over fifty years of experience publishing new writers from around the nation.

While the websites do not yet reflect the current issues, you should be able to purchase print copies of the 2015 magazines by contacting the editors of Thoreau's Rooster and Prairie Margins via these links. Prairie Margins also updates its Facebook page relatively frequently, so I'd recommend checking that out here.

Beautiful spot to write (taken during a hike on my recent travels)

About the works:
Both pieces were written during my undergraduate years at Westfield State -- "Bella" in Spring 2013, and "Sometimes a Banana..." in Spring 2014.

The first piece is meaningful to me on many levels: it was composed not only during my first semester as an English major, but also in my first creative writing class. I was still tentative about pursuing creative writing at that time, especially as I hadn't attempted to write creatively since I was a young teenager; so this class was me testing the waters. The entire course ended up changing my life, but "Bella" was particularly impacting for me as my first breakthrough in nonfiction, both stylistically and emotionally. Its subject matter dealt with a family tragedy from some years before that I'd never properly processed; in writing, it was always too difficult to talk about myself and my thoughts at that time, especially with any kind of traditional story arc. After reading Lois-Ann Yamanaka's "JohnJohn's World," I suddenly found myself asking: "What if I told this story from someone else's perspective? And what if it didn't have to be a story, but anything I needed it to be -- fragments, scenes, pieces of a life? What would the impact be?" So began "Bella," along with my ability to talk about a subject that once paralyzed me.

Fast-forward a year later, and I was writing "Sometimes a Banana" for a poetry class. Its backstory is a little humorous. I'd been slightly frustrated with a teacher who put a perverted spin in his explanation of one of my favorite poems, which I'd interpreted as mere innocent beauty. In addition to this, there was an ongoing inside-joke among my friends about how paranoid I was of writing something that could accidentally be interpreted as sexual. (Oh, Freudianism abounds in English departments!) In response to this self-turmoil, I ended up penning this poem as a way to poke fun both at myself and at how much Freudian analysis has taken root in the literary world. Hope you get a good laugh!


In other news, Grad School Semester 2 starts next week, I've just returned from a beautiful and perfect trip abroad, and I'm looking forward to making some big changes in my life. (Including exercise! Oh boy...) More updates soon, I hope. Enjoy the works!

Grace and peace to you.

Dear September through December...

A Letter to My First Semester in the MFA

Dear September through December,

Where on earth have you gone?

When I came to Southern Connecticut, I was warned that the estimated 2+ years in the MFA program would fly quickly. But I had no idea that *you,* oh First Semester -- with all your baggage of new location, new people, new standards, new life at home -- would be so nimble and slip by so easily. Yet here we are, at the end of the experience.

So I step off the whirlwind and survey what's left. Like any new experience, you brought some things, eliminated others. There are novelties, lessons, and yes, even damage (but that's normal and okay). There are some doubts removed, others inserted. You are messier than I (naively) thought you'd be. But that doesn't I change how grateful I am for the encounter.

So September through December, with every writerly fiber of my being, thank you for teaching me the following:

1. Time is rare and precious in the MFA.

As noted earlier, I realized quickly that my time in the MFA is going to speed by. Add to that a busy semester schedule of a graduate assistantship, commuting, non-writing classes, and life in general, and I've got much less "pure writing time" than I thought I would. In fact, I was devastated to find that I produced very little *new* material for workshop this semester, but rather re-worked some old things (although that's not entirely uncommon, apparently). While the hecticness of grad school left me overwhelmed as a newbie, I think it was valuable for me to learn how easily time can be taken for granted. If I'm to make the most out of this program, I have to use wisely every minute of it (and as an ADHD-esque person, I have to work doubly hard). Short-term, that means sacrificing what little "free time" I have to do anything MFA-related, whether it's writing or reading. Long-term, it means knowing ASAP what my thesis is going to be and getting started on it. (There's no such thing as a "head start" on that.) The MFA, as a parallel to the writer's existence, is not a 9-5 job; it's a lifestyle.

2. Messy is okay.

As a perfectionist, this was a hard lesson to swallow, but a lot of times quantity trumps quality in the MFA. Because time is hard to come by in this program, it's important that I make writing a regularly scheduled habit (*not* something at the whim of the Muse) to constantly churn out new material -- and one result of that is going to be a lot of less-than-superb work. Basically, I just don't have the time or luxury to make every single thing I write brilliant, but that's okay. The expectation in my MFA workshops (in the beginning, at least) is not that I prove I'm a great writer, but that I'm writing.

Moreover, because workshops are expecting drafts and not polished pieces, they're a good opportunity to grow in my work via trial and error. After I turned in my first workshop story, my professor commented (to paraphrase): "It's a very neatly structured and deftly-written story, but human life is much messier than this. I give you permission to be messy." Essentially, I had played it safe, writing something that I knew I could pull off successfully, without endeavoring to *grow* as a writer by stretching new muscles. But in MFA workshops, taking risks -- even if the result is an ugly mess -- is commended, because it means I'm not remaining content or stagnant with my process. Conclusion: improvement will come with much more material and many more tried strategies, not with a few pretty pieces.

3. I will both love and hate my literature electives.

Due to the structure of SCSU's curriculum, I had to take 2 literature courses and 1 workshop this semester, which was a lot tougher than I anticipated. (I probably read more in this semester alone than in my whole college education combined.) On my worst days, I felt like the literature classes were a waste of time and a distraction from my writing, particularly as it's so difficult for me *not* to work hard at everything (I promise that is not a bragging right, it's a curse). But as I mentioned at the beginning of the semester, maintaining a scholarly / reading perspective is extremely helpful for the creative part of the brain, mainly because the insane amount of mandatory reading has introduced me to so many different styles and structures for writing. While I don't think I'll be producing a novel like Dickens's or Zora Neale Hurston's, reading their work (and noting their contrasts) has definitely given me some ideas for my own.

4. It's not cool to slack off in workshop critiques.

Especially with end-of-semester stress, it's very easy to get caught up in how the program is benefiting me and my writing, and yet to forget about my fellow workshoppers. The MFA is a program that relies on community, on giving and receiving feedback from fellow, professional-aspiring writers. So while an MFA writer might not necessarily follow my advice, there is nevertheless an obligation to try to give them good advice -- to respond to their work as thoughtfully, professionally, and respectfully as I'd want them to respond to mine. It's a waste of people's time to give BS-ed, last-minute critiques that are not reflective of their hard work. If my workshop experience is dependent on the quality of the people in it, I also need to strive to be a quality contributor. So, even when the personal stress is high, critiques are the last thing I can get lazy about.

5. It's all on me to prioritize my writing.

My takeaway this semester is that, if I want to be a writer, I have to be in it 100%. It's easy to blame lack of writing on my classes, my GA schedule, my ADHD-like symptoms; but at the end of the day, how much I write or don't write is all on me. If this were professional life and not grad school, I'd have even less "free time" to devote to writing. The goal of the MFA is not to make it easy for me to write, but to train me to make it a priority amid the chaos of real life. If writing is my top priority, it means I will revolve everything else I do around that -- that I will be always writing or brainstorming to write or reading to get inspiration to write or just getting a non-writing assignment out of the way so I have more time to write. Sometimes it will means doing less-than-stellar work in some areas so I can work harder on my writing. Sometimes it will mean writing even when I'm not well-rested or comfortable. But just like every other passion in life (family and friends and dreams), if I love it enough, I will make the time for it.

September through December, it's been an enlightening, harrowing, doubtful, happy, crazy, and uplifting experience. Thank you for your lessons.

January through May . . . here I come.

Grace and peace to you.