I reread the manuscript (quickly) and answered those questions for myself. Then I went for a run with angry music on. And spent the weekend deleting, down to the exact number, twenty thousand words.
The difference between a published writer and an unpublished one might be their ability to revise. Even if an agent or an editor sees promise in a manuscript, they might pass because they don’t have the stamina for the amount of revision the work needs. If you can train yourself to revise well, you’re pushing your manuscript thirty steps closer to a publication yes.
At the beginning of the revision process, you might be so close to the material that you can’t see your project’s flaws. Happily, there are a lot of talented professionals who can. Online writing programs across the country have manuscript consultants for hire, and many of these offer intensive revision workshops such as the Novel Incubator program at GrubStreet, the Novel Year program at The Writer’s Center in Washington, D.C., the Novel in a Year: Revise and Launch Class at StoryStudio Chicago, the twelve-week Novel Generator Program at Catapult, or the Writing by Writers Manuscript Boot Camp in Lake Tahoe, just to name a few.
If you want to improve the way that you revise, you should use a manuscript consultant as a bellwether, not a crutch. Don’t just read their notes, decode what they are saying for your writing as a whole. Identify any negative patterns that crop up in your writing and keep a list of what they are so that you can start to edit them out yourself. Learn your narrative weaknesses and devise a shorthand for dealing with them. If you’re terrible at landscape descriptions, for example, rather than spending a dark day trying to ace a paragraph about Bolivian salt flats, why not put a line in parentheses about what you want to go there and highlight it in yellow, then come back to it on a day where you have the energy to write a challenging paragraph.
Revision is about editing out the parts of a narrative that take you away from the story’s truth. Belabored points, repetitions, opaqueness, narrative indulgences, all these are examples of nonessentials that can slow a story down, but it’s equally important to learn how to identify subject matter that can belittle or offend.
Writing is about storytelling, and every time we come to the page, we’re taking a certain risk with the stories that we share. Maybe we’re using valuable free time for an uncompensated activity that doesn’t make sense to the people that we love. Maybe we’re telling a true story whose publication might damage relationships we value. Or maybe we’re venturing into territory that we haven’t lived firsthand. If you’re writing from a viewpoint that is vastly different from your own, delving into a culture that isn’t native to you, writing about a historical experience you didn’t live through, or venturing out of your comfort zone in other important ways, your manuscript might benefit from a sensitivity reader who will vet your work for stereotypes, internalized bias, negatively charged language, sexism, and other content that readers could find offensive.
We Need Diverse Books is a great resource for writers and readers questioning the representation of diverse experiences and characters in children’s literature, and until recently, Writing in the Margins maintained a database of sensitivity readers that was pulled down after the writer (and site administrator), Justina Ireland, saw many of their readers being mistreated or not being paid for the work that they took on. In an article on Medium about her decision to stop maintaining the database, Justina writes, “I still believe that Sensitivity Reading can be a valuable tool for those authors who have done the due diligence and have worked hard to analyze their own place within systems of oppression. But for those who see diversity as a way to make a quick buck, it is one more tool to keep the voices of centered identities the loudest in publishing.” The writer and advocate Jennifer N. Baker runs a podcast called Minorities in Publishing in which she discusses the lack of diversity in literature with book publishing professionals. It’s an indispensable resource both for people writing outside of their own identities and for emerging writers from marginalized communities seeking industry advice.
The Children’s Book Council also has a helpful list of resources for people interested in representing (or reading about) experiences outside their own backgrounds, and an Internet search will bring you the writers and editors offering sensitivity-reading services online.
Am I wasting my time and money in this MFA program?
A simple Internet search will prove that there’s a lot of hand-wringing over the value of a Master of Fine Arts degree. I personally didn’t get one, but most of my colleagues did, or are in the process of earning one now. In addition to the trove of online articles devoted to an MFA’s pros and cons, there’s also the informative book, MFA vs NYC, edited by Chad Harbach (a writer and one of the founders of n + 1), which is a great resource for those questioning life with (or without) an MFA.
In my own non-MFA-having opinion, whether you go for this advanced degree or not should depend on your budget and your long-term career goals. Can you afford not only to attend an MFA program, but to go without income while you’re studying? If you intend to teach, can you survive on an adjunct’s salary for several years? (Really? Are you sure?) If you already know that you want to teach in some capacity, it’s wise to pursue an MFA because most academic employers will require that you have one. If you want an MFA because of the prestige attached to it and the certainty that this particular degree will land you a book deal, let’s have a come-to-Jesus talk.
“I really do try to disabuse my students of the notion that the MFA is this magic bullet,” says author Saïd Sayrafiezadeh, who teaches at both the graduate and undergrad level, although he doesn’t have an MFA himself. “It’s not the MFA that’s going to get your book published or bring you teaching opportunities, it’s also the publications. You have to write, hustle, submit, network, go to readings, make contacts, be a nice person who people want to help. In a way, you’re always going to have your own self-directed MFA.”
Although Saïd isn’t self-conscious about not having an advanced degree, it does trouble him how often he is asked by his own students—MFA candidates—whether they’re wasting their time with one. Usually, Saïd responds that an MFA is useful, but it’s not a one-way ticket to anything: not only does it not guarantee a book deal, it doesn’t even mean you’ll write a book.
“There’s this idea that people have that they’re going to write a book during their MFA program,” Saïd says. “But you’re probably not going to write a book in two years. At some point, you’re going to have to have a day job. You’re going to have to learn how to carve out time to write,” a skill that Saïd feels should be discussed and privileged over the inspiration model of writing, which he once subscribed to himself.
“I had no discipline,” Saïd remembers of his years as a young writer. “I didn’t know that you needed some kind of schedule. No one ever said to me, it’s not about inspiration; you have to sit down. You have to write. I spent a long time just walking around thinking, Well! I’m uninspired.”
At the end of the day, Saïd believes a solid work ethic is the thing that will allow you to write a book and/or acquire teaching experience, not an MFA. This is something that the writer Cara Blue Adams agrees with, a self-described “cautious” person who “always has a backup plan behind the backup plan.”
Although Cara does have an MFA (from the University of Arizona), after college she worked at a law firm, an experience she credits with helping her understand that she could—nay, deserved—to earn a healthy wage. “I considered adjuncting at various points,” says Cara, “but then I looked at what it paid.” Cara optioned to pursue a career as an editor instead, accepting a position at The Southern Review, where she worked for five years. This decision was deliberate; Cara felt certain it would serve her to be skilled across multiple disciplines, instead of just an MFA graduate who wanted to write a book. “Even during my MFA program, I tried to do as much as I could to gain professional skills in a range of areas,” Cara explains. “I was thinking of my career more holistically: How could I be part of the creative and intellectual