THE WRITE CLASS

by Steven Piziks

copyright 1997 by Steven Piziks

(Originally appeared in Marion Zimmer Bradley’s Fantasy Magazine, Fall, 1997)

The English department bulletin board announced a new class: Creative Writing Seminar--Novel.  Intrigued, I stopped to read the posting more closely.  Looked pretty cool--I could get credit toward my major and have an excuse for all the time I was spending at the keyboard.
 
“Taking the class?” asked a friendly voice.  I turned to see a tall, striking woman behind me.  She was towing a small two-wheeled cart with a pile of books and a shoulder bag strapped to it.

“I might,” I replied, shifting my shabby little backpack.  “I’ve sold three short stories and I’ve just started a book.”

“Oh?  I’m teaching the course.  What do you write?”

“Fantasy and science fiction.”

The change was amazing.  Her nose tilted upward and her voice frosted like a root beer glass.  “Well.  I really don’t think that kind of writing belongs in a college seminar.  We strive for something more literary and worthwhile.”

“Really?” I gushed.  “How wonderful!  You know, I’ve been trying so hard to stop writing interesting stories that sell to professional markets and start writing artistic stories that just--you know--wrench the soul.”

Well, actually I didn’t say that.  That reply didn’t come to me until several minutes after the professor had strolled away.  I was secretly hoping her nose-in-the-air posture would cause her to crash into a door or something, but it didn’t.  I decided not to take the class.

Does all this mean creative writing courses are worthless?  Not at all.  It just means you have to screen them very carefully, especially if you’re paying for them.

What can a creative writing course do for you?  Plenty, if you find a good one.  If you have trouble motivating yourself to write, a good class can force you to develop better habits.  You didn’t finish that story?  Watch out for falling grades!  You didn’t notice that your protagonists always have no personal problems, no backgrounds, and no life?  Or that your plots are predictable?  Or that your settings never contain sensory information?  A good writing teacher will point out such flaws and help you correct them.

A good writing class also provides someone who will read and react to your work.  Editors rarely give more feedback than a xeroxed rejection letter or a xeroxed contract.  Good teachers, on the other hand, will tell you exactly what they like and what they don’t.  It’s very satisfying to get back a story with “nice description here” or “I like this character” or even “hee hee hee” written in red on the margin.

The steps you take before signing up for a creative writing class are the same for both high school and college.  First, keep in mind that such classes are rarely geared toward professional publication.  Don’t be at all surprised to find yourself in a roomful of students who would never consider mailing a manuscript to a professional editor and will be amazed that you have the courage.  Many will be there because they figure it’s a blow-off class, an easy A.  Whether it is or not, of course, depends on the teacher.

The teacher will also probably know little about submission and publication.  Most of the time, writing teachers “only” have degrees in English and are not professional writers, so only rarely will they know anything about researching markets or formatting mansucripts.  This doesn’t, however, mean that they can’t help you learn to write.

Obviously, then you next need to track down the teacher and find out something about the specific class.  Is it a workshop in which everyone reads everyone’s stories and critiques them?  Or will only the teacher read your writing?  Are grades assigned according to what the teacher thinks is “good” writing, according to how much you improve during the class, or according to something else?  What will you have to write?  Stories?  Poems?  Plays?  Non-fiction?  A little bit of everything?

Another important factor to know before signing up is if the teacher puts restrictions on genre.  Some, like the snobby professor I met all those years ago, are obviously looking only for “artistic” (read, “incomprehensible”) fiction.  Others will happily let you do anything you want.  But do note that limitations aren’t always bad.  A teacher who says, “Try another genre for this next assignment and see how you do” is trying to stretch you, not imprison you.

Finally, specifically mention that you want to write fantasy and science fiction.  How does the teacher react?  With pleasure?  Puzzlement?  Dismay?  Disgust?  The latter is unfortunately all too common.  In that case, you may want to find another instructor or avoid the class altogether.

If, however, you still want (or need) the course but don’t want to risk your report card over literary snobbery, check into taking the class for credit/no-credit (sometimes known as “pass/fail” or “satisfactory/unsatisfactory”).  That way, you can get the instruction and the credit, but it won’t hurt your grade point average.  Just be prepared to fight for your genre’s honor.

Not all literary snobs, incidentally, are permanently snobbish.  Although I decided against the novel writing course, I did look into a class called Creative Writing--Fiction.   When I went to interview the professor, he told me straight off that he didn’t like science fiction or fantasy.

“To be honest,” he said apologetically, “I don’t see much value in that type of writing.  I also won’t be able to help you make sure your material is appropriate for your genre.  You might want to take another course.”

I decided to take the class anyway.  This prof was honest without being cold or snobby.  I also didn’t need help with the magical or scienctific aspects of my writing; I needed help with my flat, stale characters.  I also needed the credit, and a creative writing class would be a welcome break from all the lit classes I was currently sweating through.  And I do enjoy the occasional . . . debate on the merits of F/SF.

On the other hand, however, I didn’t want to jeopardize my GPA over another prof’s literary prejudice.  So I registered the course for credit/no-credit.

Three weeks into the course, I submitted my first story.  That’s when I discovered something—a few years ago, the professor had had a student who insisted on writing Star Trek ripoffs and Conan the Barbarian pastiches.  This, he had assumed, was what fantasy and science fiction were all about.

“But if this is science fiction,” the prof said during the critique of my mansucript, “then I really need to get out there and read more of it.”

A nice ego boost.  I would have had an A in the class, too, but by then it was too late to change the credit/no credit deal back into a grade.  (Mutter mutter grumble gripe.)

So.  You’ve talked to the teacher, decided you can get along well, and signed up for the course.  Now what?

At this point, everyone’s experiences will be different, depending on the course and the teacher’s vision.  You already, of course, know something about all this because you talked to the teacher before even signing up.  However, things do occasionally go wrong.  Perhaps you got the wrong impression about the teacher’s attitude toward F/SF.  Or perhaps the schedule changes unexpectedly and the person you talked to isn’t the one who ends up teaching the course.  Or perhaps you got a low grade on a piece and you very much disagree.

Solution?  Open, POLITE communication.  Make an appointment and talk to the teacher about the problem.  See what you can work out.  Perhaps the teacher made an honest mistake.  Or perhaps the teacher will allow a re-write.  The key here, however, is to be polite.  Most (not all, but most) teachers are well aware that writing is not an exact science and that there is room for debate in grading the stuff.  But snide remarks, curled lips, and snippy insults won’t get you very far.  As a teacher myself, I’m continually amazed at how few of my students seem to know this.

Above all, don’t forget that once the story has been through the class, it’s time to send it to an editor.  A teacher can scribble a comment on a story, but only an editor can scribble a signature on a contract.