These days, it is normal for authors to go to writing workshops – or teach them. So why does the idea they produce derivative writers persist?
What makes a writer? How do you become one? When I was younger, even asking those questions seemed to disqualify me: a writer isn’t something one becomes, I thought, a writer just is. Despite writing, rewriting and reading all through my 20s, I was no closer to completing, let alone publishing, a novel. I realised I would need help if I was going to succeed, and I applied to several creative writing MAs.
This was, depending on who you ask, either a decision that condemned my writing to being forever derivative and tired, or, an important step on the path towards the publication of my first book. The debate about the value of a degree in creative writing has been done, one might think, to death – good writing depends on an innate facility that cannot be taught, versus good writing depends on devoted time, support, and elements of craft that can be studied – yet it continues to rage. This week, a much-lauded debut novel was criticised in a review by an author for its “MA creative writing-speak” and “oh so tediously writing workshop description”. For some, “writing workshop” is shorthand for bad. But why?
'One must have in mind between 68 and 73% of the ending' before starting a story, my teacher once advised
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