There are two types of writing, or maybe three. The two I’m referring to are the writing that I plan out and the writing that comes to me. The latter is the best. The possible third is a combination of the two.
I sometimes think I should enroll in a Master of Fine Arts (MFA) program. I have friends who’ve done it and they seem to have less trouble finding a publisher. After all, credentials mean something. I don’t have thousands of dollars to spare at the moment, so I’m trying to figure out what I can teach myself.
An MFA program is one where you pay to write. You meet other writers and maybe study with someone renowned. They tell you, I imagine, how to craft stories. Plan out writing. Type number one.
No doubt this works for some. I had a writer I barely know call me out of the blue. He’d studied with Harold Bloom and knew Jane Smiley as a student. They were in a writing program together. Bloom has always been famous, but Smiley broke out with Moo.
I took a walk through the Sourlands. The Sourlands always remind me of Joyce Carol Oates. My companion on the walk said that Oates was at the Iowa Writers' Workshop before moving to New Jersey. She’s now famous, of course.
For me, though, the writing that comes to me is best. Whether I’m in the shower, walking through the city, driving a car, or riding on a bus, snatches come to me. Usually when I can’t write them down, but oooh they’re good! The best ideas.
The story writes itself as I fret, sometimes fumbling for a pen—most of the time when I can stop to scribble. Entire stories work themselves out in my head. By the time I get to where I can write, often they’re gone. Those moments I had alone with them, however, were wonderful.
Perhaps I should take a writing program after all.
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