In an earlier A Work in Progress I wrote about what I most missed after completing coursework for my MA in writing. To fill that gap, I started a writing group. It’s meant so much to me and been so helpful to me that I started a second group. (I’ll write about the second group in a later article.)
I needed the writing workshop experience. I wanted people to read my work and make suggestions about how to improve it, and I wanted to continue learning from the writing of others.
My group—now our group—meets every Sunday. We call it Church. We’re a welcoming church, but not too welcoming. Over the year we’ve built a culture of commitment to each other, to give thoughtful, actionable feedback, to do our best to make use of each other’s input, and to taking our writing seriously.
We submit up to ten pages whenever they choose, and those submissions go into a queue. Each week, we read and discuss two of the submissions. We don’t expect excellence, but we expect excellent effort in both the writing and the critiquing.
I studied at an outstanding university with amazing professors and students. I worked with accomplished writers, both the teachers and the students. A fellow student was a Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist, another was a wildly famous historical fiction author, and many graduates from the program have achieved the success I aspire to. Every week I read or heard something that improved my writing.
I so miss Elisabeth McKetta, Bryan Delaney, Theoharis Theoharis, and several other professors and students from the program. They rebuilt my foundations, and everything I write in the future should be dedicated to them. They are irreplaceable, and yet, somehow, our writing group has continued the momentum they started.
My MA was a fantastic experience that enriched my life. Nearly every professor changed how I see my craft, and every course included students who inspired me, but not every professor was invested in their course, and many of the students seemed to be there so they could hang a brand name diploma on their wall. Still, it was well worth it, and I recommend the program to anyone who wants to write professionally.
After I finished my courses and was working on my thesis, I asked Dr. McKetta for career advice. I could find work as a writing instructor, which would keep me in a creative environment, or I could pay my bills with a part-time gig bartending or driving Uber, and focus more on writing.
Honestly, I was fishing for any leads she might have on teaching jobs, but she surprised me. She advised me to write during the day and tend bar or drive people to/from bars in the evenings. She told me it’s difficult to write when you spend all day working on other people’s writing. So, I went with Uber, and I loved it from the first ride. People will tell their Uber driver all sorts of secrets with just a little bit of prodding. It turns out a car—a confined space where the rider has a discussion with someone whose face they never see—is a modern confessional, conveniently engineered to move you from where you are to where you want to be while you spill your sins.
People I knew for ten minutes became characters. I believe I stopped at least two sexual assaults and talked with the women afterward. I helped a young woman make some plans; she decided to dump her merely useful boyfriend, quit her dumb job, and empty her savings to find a more interesting life in Italy. I kept a young man from going to jail, or at least I kept him from going to jail that night. I heard a frustrated mother remember the lessons she learned from her mother and a son learn to focus on what his father had done right. I listened silently for twenty minutes while a young man bullied a younger woman into going to bed with him, then drove her away from his house while he loudly cursed both of us at three in the morning.
I met countless characters and heard a thousand stories, and the passengers paid me to write about them. They gave me so much to write about, and yet, no one helped me become a better writer.
With Church, I found purpose, redemption. No more lost semesters with Dr. XXXXXXXXXX. No more wasted Sundays critiquing, last-minute first drafts or reading responses from people who had barely read my work. Of course, without workshop classes, I lost the amazing feedback from my best teachers and fellow students, but I found creative support in Church. The diamonds without the rough.
I’ll never have another McKetta, Theoharis, or Delaney. They prepared me and sent me on my lonely way. Writing—the actual writing part—is a solitary process, but the occupation does not have to be lonely. Along the way I’ve found fellow travelers. We started a Church. They give me examples of excellence, and when my life fell apart, they gave me support. They walk beside me and give me strength. We work quietly, side by side, and will excel together.
If you write and you’re trying to write better, find your group. If you can’t find your group, start your group. Be welcoming, but not too welcoming. Give them your best work, and when they give you their writing, support them thoughtfully and meaningfully.
So let it be said. So let it be written.
When he's not swimming or paddling in the ocean, Jack works on his current project, We, a novel of love, loss, vengeance, and peace. An excerpted chapter of We has been published in Harvard's The Brattle Street Review. He also writes the twice monthly column "A Work in Progress" for Story Street Writers.
- A Work in Progress: If You’re Not in a Writing Group, Find or Start One Today - July 26, 2024
- A Work in Progress: The Value of Short Fiction Contests, Even for Novelists - June 27, 2024
- A Work in Progress: OK, I’ll Focus, But on What? - April 18, 2024
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