Five Ways
Subscribe to my newsletter and get a free story!
Share this:

On Clarion and Privilege and the Internets

Neil Gaiman has been catching a lot of flack for this tweet.

a tweet by Nail Gaiman

People are, understandably, saying that the equation clarion + student = pro writer is not the only way you can reach that particular sum, and they are absolutely correct, although the drama is — as is often the case on the Internet — a bit hyperbolic.

This is the fact of F&SF (and any other genre) writing — there are writers disadvantaged by gender, or race, or sexuality or other physical circumstances. But there’s also a big group — which contains a disproportionate number of those differing physically — affected by economic issues.

Here are two simple facts:

  • If you have the economic means to attend a workshop like Clarion West, Clarion, Kevin J. Anderson’s Superstars, the workshops given by Kris Rusch and Dean Wesley Smith, etc, it can give you a career advantage, primarily in terms of forming a support network of peers, although there are a number of other plusses. The degree of advantage depends on both luck and how willing you are to make the most of the time at the workshop.
  • If you have the economics means to attend a convention, it can give you a career advantage, primarily in terms of industry contacts. The degree of advantage depends on both luck and how willing you are to make the most of the time at the convention.

But there is nothing being taught at a workshop that you cannot pick up by yourself, given time, though it is true that workshop teaching can often be inspirational, effective, and sometimes entirely life-changing.

Being able to attend a convention or workshop is not just a matter of being able to pay the substantial fee. It’s being able to travel and most importantly — it’s being able to take time away from both work and family. That’s an incredible privilege.

I came through Clarion West in 2005. My instructors were (in chronological order) Octavia Butler, Andy Duncan, L. Timmel DuChamp, Connie Willis, Gordon Van Gelder, and Michael Swanwick. I am a pretty convivial person, and remain close friends with the majority of my instructors. I also was part of a talented class that included E.C. Myers (winner of the Andre Norton Award for his book Fair Coin), Rachel Swirsky (frequent nominee and winner of things) and goddamn Ann Leckie, whose Ancillary series has set the bar for success so high the rest of us are just going, “Yeah right.”

I was able to do this because I had a partner willing to let me quit my job and try writing for a while. A decade later, I have yet to make half of what my Microsoft salary was through writing; I continue to persevere. If I had a family to support, it would have been incredibly difficult to do it — perhaps simply impossible. It gave me an advantage, and it also kicked me in the ass to be productive, because I was intensely aware of just how lucky I was.

Neil is — obviously — not saying you can’t be a writer without such a workshop. Note that Gaiman himself did not go to such a workshop, as far as I know. He is, though, enthused about the workshop (as befits a former instructor) and aware of what a big advantage it can prove.

But it also depends on what you make of it. In any class there will be those who persevere and those who fall by the wayside. Of the people in my writing workshop from decades ago at Hopkins, only a handful are still writing. Ten years later, a few members of my Clarion West class seem to have dropped off the face of the planet.

You have to want it hard enough to work for it, no matter what. You have to be willing to make time for writing words down and thinking about the order and what happens when you rearrange them. You have to have a hide hard enough to survive the day when there’s three rejections plus a nice fan letter whose writer is confused and thinks you’re someone else with a similar name. You have to be willing to trim away some bullshit activities and substitute stuff that lets you work at your craft, like reading or taking online classes or whatever. That’s the part you need.

A while back, I read someone saying that we all have someone who gives us permission to call ourselves a writer. For me, it was John Barth: sitting in his sunlit Hopkins office, a bookcase framing his smiling, balding head talking about my stories and a fellowship he wanted me to apply for is something I will always remember. But that is less important than giving yourself permission to call yourself a writer. It’s harder — it requires a certain amount of adamant ego and determination — but that permission can — and must — come from inside as well as externally. That’s the most important component, and you can do it with or without the aid of a workshop.

TL;DR version? Ain’t nothing going to substitute for hard work. Why aren’t you writing?

Later addendum: Most of the workshops do offer some scholarships; if there’s one you’re interested in, I do suggest asking about what financial aid is available.

90 Responses

  1. Spot on, Cat. My own take (five-plus years after Clarion and no real sales to speak of) is that it’s not necessary, but it sure as hell helps. As for the present outrage, my own working hypothesis is that most folks are full of angst and rage at things they can’t (or won’t) do much about, so when an outside target arises, they are all too happy to direct their vitriol at it as a way of venting some of the pressure. OMMV.

    Also, in case anyone’s interested, I also blerged about this particular kerfuffule, at http://wp.me/p1BIcx-j0

    1. ” my own working hypothesis is that most folks are full of angst and rage at things they can’t (or won’t) do much about”

      This seems pretty on the mark to me.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Get Fiction in Your Mailbox Each Month

Want access to a lively community of writers and readers, free writing classes, co-working sessions, special speakers, weekly writing games, random pictures and MORE for as little as $2? Check out Cat’s Patreon campaign.

Want to get some new fiction? Support my Patreon campaign.
Want to get some new fiction? Support my Patreon campaign.

 

"(On the writing F&SF workshop) Wanted to crow and say thanks: the first story I wrote after taking your class was my very first sale. Coincidence? nah….thanks so much."

~K. Richardson

You may also like...

Documents of Tabat: Ducal Correspondance
What are the documents of Tabat? In an early version of the book, I had a number of interstitial pieces, each a document produced by the city: playbills, advertisements, guide book entries. They had to be cut but I kept them for this purpose. I'll release them at the end of April in e-book form; careful readers will find clues to some aspects of Beasts of Tabat in them. -Cat
What are the documents of Tabat? In an early version of the book, I had a number of interstitial pieces, each a document produced by the city: playbills, advertisements, guide book entries. They had to be cut but I kept them for this purpose. I hope you enjoy this most recent installment. -Cat

Addressed to Alberic, 23rd Duke of Tabat, Commander of its Navies and Armies, and Peace-Keeper in the fourth month of winter of Year 299 of Tabat’s Rule

We trust that this letter finds His Grace well. Because we are so keenly aware of the interest the Duke finds in our works, we have set aside a costly resource in the form of a skilled scribe, in order to furnish the daily reports His Grace requires, although the number of them may be better reduced to fit within our budget.

“Translation: give us more money and fewer demands,” Alberic, 10th Duke of Tabat snorted.

Our foremost researcher, Master Mage Faustino, has prepared quarters for the Manticore we spoke of. In this endeavor, he is assisted by the College’s own Sphinx, who has taken the Manticore under her figurative wing, and who evidences great interest in each and every proceeding having to do with her newly found friend.

“Gibbledy gibbledy gibbledy. They can never get straight to the point.”

Theories regarding the wellspring of the Manticore’s unwonted aptitude differ. Some credit the raising by the Beast Trainer (who is unfortunately no longer available, having perished in a recent training accident, and say that he perhaps bathed the egg in the light of certain salubrious stars, or introduced fluids designed to increase its intelligence while it was still an embryo, via the mechanism of a slender needle inserted through into the shell, such as Master Mage Faustino has recently attempted, perhaps with better results sealing the gap than he has experienced.

Still others credit the breeding, saying this is no true Manticore, but rather one adulterated with the blood of a more intelligent creature or a sport, such as Nature gifts us with from time to time. They propose various ways to investigate his parentage, whether through costly time mirrors or expensive rituals allowing the ghosts of his forebears to be questioned. Of course, we are extremely lucky here at the College of Mages of being the only establishment capable.

“Would it were not so! If they had rivals, I’d patronize them at ten times the cost just to be rid of these sniveling, timorous, mealy-mouthed and never certain, doddering old fools!”

Mage Rehallow (“That conservative old fart!”) continues to worry that its combination of mental faculties, magical potential, and brute force represent the vanguard of a new race of intelligent magical creatures that will undertake the overthrow of Humanity. (“The man’s been rowing that leaky rowboat of an idea since before I was born! At one point, he thought earth elementals were undermining the city and funding a revolution with plundered gems!”)

As always, (“There they go again!”) we have checked the signs and portents, using what we have learned of reading the future (“Reading my peach-colored rear!”) in order to reassure his Grace of the future happiness of his realm. (“Oh, this should be good.”) However, portents are cloudy and ominous at this time — events are in such turmoil that nothing can be predicted with accuracy. (“For once they’re right.”)

We urge his Grace to pay attention to ensuring that he and his surroundings are magically cleansed each hour (“More incense and muttering.”), that he adheres to the purifying diet prescribed by Magus Rehallow, (“Old fool!)” in order to avoid repetition of last week’s distressing events, and that each night where he lies down to take his repose, he focuses on the patterns, or mandalas, we have furnished or else take three drop of our prescribed elixir in a small glass of tepid — not hot! — milk.

On a final, lighter note, your Grace may recall the Fairy Champion Quickblade, who defended the Duke’s Honor in the last Spring Wars. He requests a boon of you, that you endow the College with a fund to ensure the hive is always supplied with sugar.

Master Mage Faustino, Diligent Scholar of the Fence of Illumination

“Feces of Illumination, them and their mysterious names! What’s the next letter then? Indeed? That one next, then.”

***

To Master Mage Faustino, Diligent Scholar of the Fence of Illumination

His Grace bids me tell you that under no accounts must any experiments be undertaken that in any way jeopardize the Manticore ““- if this slows down the investigatory efforts, then so be it.

As to the matter of the bill for the feed for the creature, it is His Grace’s understanding that the Circus known as the Moon’s Accomplice should be paying for that creature ““ it is an expense that they were already due to incur, and they are being paid well for the loss of their creature’s time, as well as being housed in prime territory within the Inner Walls of Tabat and allow to take in monies from the crowds there. Accordingly the Duke wishes to decline responsibility for this bill, but remains ready to pay the bills for the circus already agreed upon.

It is his understanding that the profits from the ship Saffron Bloom are to be split and that the ship is due to harbor soon. Is there any word of its arrival?

As to the Fairy, have it drowned in honey and sent to the Ducal Table for enjoyment. His Grace has had enough of insolent Beasts.

Scribe Hasten, for Alberic, 10th Duke of Tabat, Commander of its Navies and Armies, and Peace Keeper for the General Good

***
Love the world of Tabat and want to spend longer in it? Check out Hearts of Tabat, the latest Tabat novel! Or get sneak peeks, behind the scenes looks, snippets of work in progres, and more via Cat’s Patreon.

#sfwapro

...

WIP: No Clue What the Title Is Yet

Photograph of a diagram showing the different kinds of starting points for a story.
A story in very rough form.
Working on a far future space story that is getting very complicated with its gender stuff. This is one of the things that annoys me sometimes about future space stuff — that it superimposes early 21st century (sometimes earlier) gender patterns in a way that I know is hard to avoid but which infuriates me when it’s unquestioned. I just reread The Pride of Chanur (OMG how is that out of print in hardcopy??) yesterday and love the way Cherryh handles the question.

Hence this story of two cultures clashing, and both the gender norms and the norms around the sex act are getting tangled up in interesting ways.

Anyhow, this is currently the story’s beginning (and is a good candidate to remain the beginning):

“It can’t be avoided, Tom,” Gayathri said to her spouse. “I know it’s Age-Come for Suzette and Bit, but they must deal with an outsider visiting. To keep Grace, they must be taken in by one of the Lines, and everyone else is dealing with emergencies right now. i can’t create a diplomatic incident over the feelings of two family members. They must learn to adapt.”

“It’s not the quarters that’s a problem,” they grumbled. “Since Bethany and Besa moved over to their new Line, we’ve had extra. But Gaya, this means adjusting all my meal planning.”

“A few more servings here and there”¦”

“Individualized cakes with names on them for the party, for one,” they said. “And the centerpiece was a fondant scene of the family. Now how will I incorporate them?”

“I’ll send you a couple of images from her press kit. Dress her in scarlet, that’s the Corps color for women.”

They frowned at her. “They dress in different colors? What do they do about in-betweeners or asexuals?”

“The Corps doesn’t allow them.”

They rolled their eyes. “One of those.” They eyed her. Her own insistence on keeping the same gender without ever attempting other forms or sexualities was a sore point in the relationship. While not unknown, it was eccentric enough that Tom found it embarrassing.

“A wealthy one of those, with money to invest on the behalf of her coalition. You will be nice.”

In the end the tiny fondant image of the Gräfin was easy enough. A little twiddling let Tom print a sugar face, which they affixed with a dab of icing. They’d been working on faces for the family members for a month: seven generations would be represented, which they privately thought a poor showing, but Gaya’s family was so much newer than the one they’d married out of. And cooking for that family on such an occasion had been making food for several hundred. Tom might have had more help in their family of origin, but there would have been considerably more work.

Still, the loss of Bethany, the most interested in kitchen work, had grated on them. Bethany had known how to help, how to clean up after Tom as they moved through the kitchen as well as how to supply whatever it was that was needed, prepping the mutual mise en place to perfection. And the pair known each other’s depth of perception, could tease each other with tastes, ask advice on building a sauce that reached past acid and sweet to take on other notes and textures.

They tapped air bubbles out and tamped the face down with a toothpick, then set it in the diorama to one side, clearly an onlooker. They relented and moved it a few inches further in. The poor woman couldn’t help it that she came at an odd time.

The diorama sprawled, a meter in diameter, on the kitchen’s center counter. They circled it, looking it over in the lime-tinted sunlight cast through the rear windows that overlooked slopes of garden leading down to the lake, an expanse that would have swallowed the massive house entire without a thought, its surface glutted with water-lilies.

In a week the swollen cream-colored heads would burst into blossoms, soft explosions that would happen as dusk settled, while the nightbirds sang, and the children would have an Age-Come that let them step into new roles and responsibilities if they chose. Sometimes children decided they did not want it yet and retreated. Tom didn’t think Bi would. They had borne the baby, carried it within their body till birthing time, and that gave the two of them a special knowledge of each other. Suzette had come into the family as a baby when one of their parents had married in, and the affection Tom held for them was the same as that towards most of the two dozen children: pride and affection, but perhaps not to the same fierce degree they experienced when teaching Bit “” not cooking skills, to their chagrin, since the child expressed no interest, but other basics, like how to tie a knot or do daily chores.

Tom had been expecting them for a while, but they came late to breakfast and inspected the diorama dutifully, without focus or remark, before sitting down.

Turning from the heat counter, Tom slid a plate of pancakes in front of the child, who inspected it with the same lack of interest the diorama had evoked.

Jitters. “Having second thoughts? Should I move your figure to the sidelines? You wouldn’t be the first.”

A headshake in reply. You try not to press them, let them grow at their own pace, but they do it to themselves. “It’s only one change, one of plenty in your life. Take it at your own pace, however you like.”

Enjoy this sample of Cat’s writing and want more of it on a weekly basis, along with insights into process, recipes, photos of Taco Cat, chances to ask Cat (or Taco) questions, discounts on and news of new classes, and more? Support her on Patreon..

...

Skip to content