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I am so fucking done right now.
For about five years now I've been going to Santa Clara Adult Ed's Creative writing Workshop. It wasn't a class on writing, but rather we'd bring stuff to read and share copies so people could write notes and discuss the piece.
As you can imagine, it was far more a mutual support group than a true writers workshop. We attracted mostly older folks (the group was at 1000 hrs on Mondays) and the writing quality ran from horrific to amazingly good. The goals of the attendees differed. Some were just there to work on writing skills. Others were organizing informal memoirs or family histories. A couple of us wanted to write fiction. I came because after the stroke I needed a focus and I wanted to write. I made friends, read some good stuff, even saw one of our classmates finish and publish her novella.
I've been questioning just how much I'm getting from this group for some time now. Yes, it's nice to have a sounding board, and I did make a few friends, especially with a woman who writes amazing YA fantasy stuff, the total investment of time, money, and energy seems wasted in the face of the group moderator. This woman has such a lack of acceptance of anything outside her personal experience that anytime I brought in one of my SF/F pieces she would dismiss it with a "well, I don't get it." I've kept going more out of inertia than anything else, but today was the final straw.
Last week I brought in the 2nd draft of the first section of the first chapter of my novel. This is the first 2,000 words or so of a book that will be close to 80-90,000 words when finished. I read it, got some good feedback, and the moderator asked to keep her copy so she could go over it in some detail.
Today, we have a light turnout. Which resulted in me getting attacked for close to twenty minutes. Because she couldn't understand my writing. Not constructive criticism, but an attack. She said so in those exact words after I complained that I felt like I was being attacked personally.
Eventually, it came to light that she doesn't think that there's a market for Mil SF novels, or any SF/F because she doesn't read them. And I should write "for the group." My immediately reply was that I was writing for myself and an eventual audience who do understand common terms like "gas giant." Also, she was judging my entire novel on the first fraction. I was ready to walk out right there. But then the bomb dropped.
She said I should dumb down my writing.
Fuck you.
I stayed simply because I had a good bit to read, and I didn't want to give her that satisfaction of me walking out.
I didn't say that, but I did point out - again - that I was writing for myself and for an audience that was intelligent and scientifically literate. Just as Stephen King writes for people who like horror, I want to write for people who appreciate massive battleships, existential alien threats, and political maneuvering.
After the session mercifully ended, The YA author and I chatted, and we've agreed to look at forming our own group of people working towards publication.
But right now, I'm still fuming.
As you can imagine, it was far more a mutual support group than a true writers workshop. We attracted mostly older folks (the group was at 1000 hrs on Mondays) and the writing quality ran from horrific to amazingly good. The goals of the attendees differed. Some were just there to work on writing skills. Others were organizing informal memoirs or family histories. A couple of us wanted to write fiction. I came because after the stroke I needed a focus and I wanted to write. I made friends, read some good stuff, even saw one of our classmates finish and publish her novella.
I've been questioning just how much I'm getting from this group for some time now. Yes, it's nice to have a sounding board, and I did make a few friends, especially with a woman who writes amazing YA fantasy stuff, the total investment of time, money, and energy seems wasted in the face of the group moderator. This woman has such a lack of acceptance of anything outside her personal experience that anytime I brought in one of my SF/F pieces she would dismiss it with a "well, I don't get it." I've kept going more out of inertia than anything else, but today was the final straw.
Last week I brought in the 2nd draft of the first section of the first chapter of my novel. This is the first 2,000 words or so of a book that will be close to 80-90,000 words when finished. I read it, got some good feedback, and the moderator asked to keep her copy so she could go over it in some detail.
Today, we have a light turnout. Which resulted in me getting attacked for close to twenty minutes. Because she couldn't understand my writing. Not constructive criticism, but an attack. She said so in those exact words after I complained that I felt like I was being attacked personally.
Eventually, it came to light that she doesn't think that there's a market for Mil SF novels, or any SF/F because she doesn't read them. And I should write "for the group." My immediately reply was that I was writing for myself and an eventual audience who do understand common terms like "gas giant." Also, she was judging my entire novel on the first fraction. I was ready to walk out right there. But then the bomb dropped.
She said I should dumb down my writing.
Fuck you.
I stayed simply because I had a good bit to read, and I didn't want to give her that satisfaction of me walking out.
I didn't say that, but I did point out - again - that I was writing for myself and for an audience that was intelligent and scientifically literate. Just as Stephen King writes for people who like horror, I want to write for people who appreciate massive battleships, existential alien threats, and political maneuvering.
After the session mercifully ended, The YA author and I chatted, and we've agreed to look at forming our own group of people working towards publication.
But right now, I'm still fuming.
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I'm not reliable enough right now to be part of a writers' group, but maybe in the future we can swap beta-reads or something.
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May those of us who haven't experienced this be spared the like.
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I reach. Some years ago now, I worked at a call center that handled UPS business. The company was Politically Correct to a toxic, ultimately lethal degree - if they could have hired black females only they would have, and such were preferred and fast-tracked into supervisory and management positions with no regard whatever for competence - accident of birth was the prime virtue.
Calls were monitored, pass / fail, and I kept flunking calls for “using jargon.” Now in truth UPS uses acronyms like the US military, and it is possible to “talk shop” to a degree baffling to outsiders. I wasn’t doing that - and when I asked my (black female) supervisor what “jargon” I’d used on these calls, she wouldn’t tell me! I soon realized why: She couldn’t tell me, because she didn’t know what I’d said. Any time I used a word beyond her subliterate, fourth-grade education - like acronym or baffling or subliterate - she’d flunk the call!
I took it to her (black female) boss. “Her ignorance of the one language she knows at all, is endangering my job,” I said. I was moved to a different team - the supervisor remained. Blatant incompetence was disregarded: Possession of the proper “Historically Disadvantaged Victim” cards was all that mattered.
UPS disagreed, and eventually dropped that company, which closed that office and everyone lost their jobs. It’s called “the economic cost of Political Correctness,” and it’s been estimated in the billions of dollars.
At least your self-appointed “gate-keeper” wasn’t your boss!
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Nor does she know anyone who does.
You should tell her -
https://weheartit.com/entry/303433358
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