So fancy

Want to write? Scared about what will happen to your writing in your twenties? Max Rettig, a young man in his (early) twenties (so he hasn’t yet reached the HOLY CRAP I’M IN MY TWENTIES phase yet), explored the Writing in Your Twenties Panel and has written a piece about it. 

Late last night, well into the darkness of a late October evening and as high as one can go in Kent, I looked through the window onto an angled but clear view of a well-lit Butler, where just two nights ago, I had spent eight hours working on my first submission for my nonfiction creative writing workshop, the first class in what will likely become my major. Ah, Creative Writing…this was the topic, and host department, of last night’s discussion about writing in your twenties.

The panelists have been, or are currently going through, “that kind of awkward part” in their lives, according to moderator and fiction professor Stacey D’Erasmo. Those panelists were: Jenna Johnson (CC’99, editor at HMH), Jennifer Miller (MFA fiction ’11, author), Josh Edwin (MFA poetry ’14, GS advisor, UW Fellow), and Chris Prioleau (MFA, founder and editor of Apogee). Each panelist had a chance to speak about their twenties experiences, sometimes slightly directed by D’Erasmo but mostly free to say whatever they wished. Chris Prioleau was the first to speak.

Chris’ main theme was that, with writing, unlike for every other profession, there’s no switch that flips and suddenly you understand your life. He made a strong case for developing a very good work ethic, but also not necessarily writing every day. His reason? “Once you’re out of school, no one is asking you or chasing you down for a workshop submission.” Chris drove that point home by mentioning “the bubble”. We, as undergraduates, think of the Columbia bubble as a geographic location. Chris thinks of “the bubble” as an idea, in which we are protected by professors and advisors who care if we are successful or not. Outside of that bubble, save for our family and friends, no one cares. He finished by suggesting that writers get out of their own box and try every type of writing possible.

Next to talk was Josh Edwin, who described his twenties as “untethered and adrift.” His main theme was solitude, and, helped by quotes from James Joyce and others, he went on to discuss the pros and cons of being alone as a writer. Solitude is both his best friend and worst enemy. A positive aspect, he felt, is the absence of people telling him what he should read and the absence of a syllabus of reading assignments. This allowed him to explore hidden gems he wouldn’t have found otherwise. As a con, he mentioned the lack of a community with which to be excited about and get feedback for your work. His most striking point, however, was that “the world doesn’t give a shit, especially about poetry.” Take yourself outside your work, he encouraged, and look at it from a new perspective.

Jennifer Miller focused on two central ideas: being flexible with expectations and being flexible with feedback. These two ideas would focus her entire career. She began by talking about being a fiction writer or freelance journalist, in which there is no real system, but a lot of ups and downs. Most of her career has been dealing with the uncertainty of working on her own, outside of any established institution. Her first experience with this came when she wrote a fictionalized account of work she did in Israel: When she pitched it to a publisher, her feedback was “The writing is good, but the book will never sell.”  Her options were to take the book elsewhere, or to take her editor’s advice and make the story purely non-fiction. For another story, she spent time traveling the country with Vietnam veterans on a motorcycle. Trying to make that into a nonfiction book failed, but she ended up getting an article in the New York Times. Back to the central ideas: Be flexible with expectations and with feedback. Criticism can create a whole other opportunity if you keep an open mind.  Miller published the critically-acclaimed Year of the Gadfly in 2012.

Finally, Jenna Johnson, with some direction from Professor D’Erasmo, spoke about the publishing side of the industry with which she is so well acquainted. She cautioned young writers against becoming editorial assistants at the risk of becoming jaded and losing their creative touch. Assistants, she said, become too concerned with the actual process of editing and publishing. She told a story of an intern of hers who had a chance to pursue a journalism fellowship or work on a sheep farm. When asked what she should do, Johnson told the intern to go to the sheep farm: “You have the rest of your life to work in an office.” Point is, take your twenties and do something unique and interesting. Don’t settle down. Travel. Work in a bookstore. Immerse yourself in the business while keeping your creative flair, and surround yourself by work you’ve never seen before but now have unlimited access to. Organize your life around your creative pursuits so that you always have time for them.

With the night getting later and later, the audience had a chance to ask some questions. A woman asked Jennifer, “How do you pay the bills while working on a creative project?” Her answer: Living cheaply and taking small jobs. Always put your writing out there until it gets accepted somewhere. I then stepped in and, driven by a personal experience, asked “How do you get the drive to keep going if/when your work keeps getting rejected? That must get discouraging.” The answer, mostly by Chris, involved not being too attached to your work and taking criticism to heart. Rejection stings, but it can be a huge learning opportunity if you keep an open mind. The last question involved diving into a certain type of writing, and the answer involved finding what speaks to you, reaching out, taking a shot in the dark and joining the intellectual conversation around that type of writing.

As the panel emptied out of that sky-high Kent room, with Butler still well-lit through the window, I walked out having learned what I thought to be pretty invaluable information from a group of people who know what they’re talking about and have been through the experiences many young writers at Columbia will go through after graduation. Though I intend to pursue journalism, I’m sure I’ll have to apply that information somewhere. Good thing I now know.