September 2006

The Clarion Quandary:
A Point/Counterpoint with M.K. Hobson and Jessica Reisman (Part 1)
Moderated by Sue Lange
www.tritcheonhash.com

For many people the Clarion workshop is a stumbling block. It's expensive and requires a good chunk of your life to attend. At the same time, promises of glory are held before the aspiring writer of speculative fiction if only she could find the funds and time. Should a writer make the sacrifice? Will she ever be taken seriously in this genre if she doesn't?

A few months ago Mary Hobson suggested presenting a point/counterpoint in these webpages on the subject of Clarion. Her idea was to present an argument for not attending and then to have someone else counter that with an argument for attending. Below is the result of her debate with Jessica Reisman, a Clarion graduate. You will see that both Mary and Jessica have enjoyed success as writers but their approaches have been different. For those of us teetering on the brink of a decision regarding Clarion, this discussion proves right on time.

First, let's meet the debaters:

Mary Hobson writes under the name "M.K. Hobson." She had her first publication back in 1991. Her first pro sale was to SciFiction in 2003, and since then she's had pieces in F&SF, Strange Horizons, ChiZine, and Polyphony, and has pieces forthcoming in Realms of Fantasy and Flytrap. She is not a Clarion graduate.

Jessica Reisman has been writing fiction since she was about nine and it was always fantastic fiction. She went to grad school and got an MA in creative writing, where she modulated her voice to magic realism for the sake of the genre-shy academics; she was lucky enough to receive several fiction fellowships while in grad school and post-grad. She went to Clarion West in 1995. Some years later she started to sell stories, slowly — to Realms of Fantasy, The Third Alternative, SciFiction, Interzone, and anthologies — and ten years later her first novel, to a small press. She continues to sell stories and is sending out her second novel. She feels pretty positive about Clarion.

Now, after checking to make sure nobody has a battery pack and ear prompter, on to the debate:

Q: Why did each of you make the choice to either attend or not attend?

Jessica: At the time I chose to attend Clarion West, I was floundering, about what the heck to do as a grownup, apart from writing fantastic fiction, as I knew that was unlikely to pay the bills. I had some notion I was supposed to work in the publishing industry, since I'd decided I didn't want to be an academic, that being the default grownup work for the literary writers with whom I'd gone to grad school. I hadn't gotten much out of all the workshopping in grad school, nor much in the way of professional contacts. Aside from the money of the fellowships, which rocked, I was pretty disappointed in the whole experience. It didn't seem to have prepared me for the career I really wanted, writing science fiction and fantasy — literary science fiction and fantasy, but sf/f nonetheless.

I'd been writing since the age of nine, always fantastic fiction, and that was what I most loved to read, but I'd never been a fangirl, never gone to a convention, and grad school's only real benefit was that it had given me time, and the money (to take the time) to write.

So, floundering, I was working as a library clerk and freelance writing film program summaries and things of that ilk to pay the rent and eat. I was still writing of course, sending out my first novel to decent response but no takers, and without much in the way of connections in the sf/f world. I subscribed to Locus because I didn't know any other way to get some sense of the sf/f community and publishing world. One day I saw the ad for Clarion West there. It said something to the effect of: for people wanting to pursue a career writing science fiction and fantasy professionally. Well, hey. That was exactly what I wanted. It very literally answered my prayers and needs. Clarion promised to be six weeks of nothing but writing, reading, critiquing, and learning from and getting to know writers I'd been reading a long time and loved. To me, that sounded like heaven. And possibly my only hope of ever doing what I'd wanted since childhood, writing novels and stories and getting them published and having people enjoy them as much as I'd enjoyed so many books.

A big part of what convinced me to take the plunge was the line-up at this particular Clarion. Joan Vinge and John Crowley were among my best beloved authors, whose books I'd been reading for years. And Gardner Dozois was, I knew — non-attendance to conventions notwithstanding — a pretty important editor in the field.

I was broke, essentially, and couldn't even take leave from the library without losing my job, because I hadn't been there long enough. But I knew that this was something it was important for me to do. So I applied, and applied for some financial assistance while I was at it. I was accepted, and got the assistance. I said goodbye to the library, trusting (nervously) that I would find a job to return to.

Mary: To me, it seems that much of one's "career track" as a writer of speculative fiction comes from how one comes into the genre. I came to it in a halt and slantways fashion which bears some exploration.

Reading and writing speculative fiction has been a love of mine for as long as I can remember. I wanted to become a novelist from the age of 10, when I started writing epic stories about unicorns and dragons on flimsy spiral-ring notebooks. I was always deeply self-conscious about my writing, though, and wouldn't allow anyone to read it. As a result, I missed out on what might have steered me toward Clarion early on: peer interaction.

For many people, an enjoyment of the genre serves as a bridge to other social interactions, such as an involvement in fandom. That wasn't the case for me, and sometimes I wish it had been. I've just come into the Con scene over the past few years, usually as a participating writer, and I mostly feel like an outsider looking in. When I attend Cons, I often find myself wishing that my self-conscious 12- or 13-year old self could be there instead of me! I think it would have saved her a lot of headaches. Had I, as an ugly little writing duckling, found such a swan family earlier, I would have discovered resources and made choices much earlier in my life that would have made Clarion more of a possibility for me.

When I entered college as an English Major, I made myself miserable with self-doubt — by this time, I had discovered what hideous label to brand myself with; I was a genre writer! Quel horreur!

So, instead of bringing the SF/F stories and novels I'd written to my college writing classes (in which case I might have gotten some useful guidance from a sympathetic professor), I continued to write them in secret.

It was this kind of self-consciousness that probably resulted in me never even hearing of Clarion until a couple of years before I made my first pro sale. David Levine was one of the founders of the first "Clarion-style" writer's group I ever participated in. In explaining the rules of the group, he said that all critiques were "Clarion-style" — and I didn't know what that meant. He kindly described the whole Clarion experience for me.

Of course, the idea of attending a 6-week writer's workshop staffed by a cavalcade of guest stars sounded fantastic. On the other hand, though, it didn't seem to mesh well with real-life obligations. Later, as I learned more about the advantages that Clarion grads seemed to enjoy, (e.g., getting stories passed up to editors they'd met through the workshop) I started to feel somewhat bitter and resentful.

"Some trust-fund baby has money for room and board and teachers for six weeks, and they get a free pass to Shawna? And here I languish, I can't even get past the BFOD! Well, I have to work for a living! I shouldn't have to take six weeks out of my life in order for people to take me seriously... this is just FANTASY writing we're talking about!"

My thoughts have evolved, of course. Jessica's story is one of a woman who took her speculative fiction writing seriously enough to make sacrifices and take chances. I've heard many stories like hers. I think an important part of how you feel about the sacrifices you might have to make to attend Clarion has to do with how you feel about the genre itself. I'm just now coming to the place where I'm taking myself and my writing "seriously." I think when you start to take the writing of speculative fiction seriously, as a legitimate form, then the idea of Clarion becomes vastly more important, and some of the resentment drops away.

Another evolution in my thinking — Elite does not have to mean Elitist. The fact is, much of the help I've received in my career has come from Clarionites — from David Levine to Doug Lain to the members of my current on-line writer's group (all Clarion graduates, including my esteemed co-author). Every Clarionite I have met has taught me something I didn't know before. Each and every one of them bring a seriousness and a passion to the crafting of speculative fiction that has inspired my own seriousness and passion. Thus, even though I've never attended Clarion, I feel like I've gained some of the benefits from those who have. And for that, I am vastly grateful.

Q: And is attending still an option?

Mary: I would love to attend Clarion, if for no other reason than to come out at the end of six weeks with some new stories for my inventory. But here's the hard truth — the older you get, the harder it becomes to clear your schedule and put your life on hold. At a certain point, you aren't just making sacrifices for yourself, you're asking others (your family in particular) to make sacrifices along with you. That's hard to do. So attend Clarion when you're young!

Jessica: It's interesting that neither of us had that fandom involvement. My first cons weren't until after Clarion, and I felt like an outsider looking in — which was strange, since what I was looking in on had been my internal refuge most of my life.

I think if someone has been involved in fandom for a long time, some of what Clarion gives you, the networking/connections side, isn't so essential, because you already have it from being in fandom.

Mary, you never heard of Clarion until a couple of years before you made your first pro sale. To which I say, wow, brava! 'Cause you did it all on your own — not that Clarionites don't, but it's just that much harder without the little breaks Clarion can provide.

There definitely are some advantages to Clarion, which is the point, right? Just like with going to school and getting a degree, the perks of the degree, that's what Clarion is meant to be: training, honing, tools, entree to the professional world of sf & f, networking connections.

I understand your resentment regarding those that are able to attend, but most of the folks I went to Clarion with, including me, were far from trust-fund babies, and the median age was probably about 30, with some pretty young folks and some respectably older folks. While it's an awesome six weeks, it's also hard f***ing work. There are some dues being paid. And it's never a free pass — the work still has to pass muster, the stories still have to be good. It was a few years after Clarion before I had my first pro sale (sometimes I feel like I've been paying dues all my life).

Q: Jessica, what about Clarion has helped you the most: the intense instruction or the networking with important people in the sf field?

Jessica: That's a tough call actually. In the long run, I guess I'd have to say the networking. Here's why: the networking also allows the instruction, learning, and growing, via connections with other writers and continued workshopping with former Clarionmates and others, to continue.

As far as the networking, in terms of publishing, goes, I'm not sure, finally, how much difference it makes. Yes, mentioning the Clarion grad thing gets you out of some slush piles, but in the end the story has to work for the editor or it's rejectorama anyway. Having had Gardner as one of my Clarion instructors helped in that he took the time to direct certain stories of mine to other markets, anthologies and such, for which he thought they'd be right, but he's never bought one of my stories himself.

The intense instruction for me was invaluable. After years of literary writers in university workshops speaking in vague terms about story and structure as if they were lofty and undefinable concepts, having pro writers who got down to brass tacks about structure, story, and all the actual tools of the craft of writing, was like having the scales lifted from my eyes. The first week we had Howard Waldrop. That first day, when he got right to the heart of what many of the stories were trying to be about and pinpointed where they were going wrong, I knew I'd done the right thing in coming. And, frankly, he put all the hand-waving writers who "taught" my university workshops to shame.

And, honestly, all these years later, things I learned in Clarion workshops are still lessons I'm learning and incorporating as I go on. All that time with those amazing writers was awesome. Voice and a way with language and imagery were things I've had almost from the beginning; it's taken me years to really start to learn effective short story writing.

Something Michael Swanwick said to us, "You have to get in the hot tub with the Luddites," still echoes in my head at times, when I know I need to get deeper and dirtier with something in a story.

But, back to the networking... a couple of my closest friendships, plus an occasional writing partnership, are with people I know from my Clarion West class. In fact — the reason I'm a BU member is probably due to one of those relationships.

So I guess I feel like they're pretty much integral, one to the other, the intense instruction and the connections made.

Q: Mary, not having been to Clarion, how do you make networking contacts with the important people in sf, the type of people that are on the level of the Clarion instructors?

Mary: The answer depends on what you want the network to do for you. Do you want it to help you make sales, or do you want it to help you improve your craft?

If you want a network to help you make sales — that is, you've reached a level where you're reasonably confident in your skills and are sending stories around — then I agree with Jessica. Clarion helps only slightly, in that it gets your stories out of a few slush piles, but this isn't the "magic bullet" I once perceived it to be. As Jessica points out, the work simply has to stand on its own, and if it's good enough to get published, it's good enough to get out of the slush pile. So, bottom line: you make contacts by writing good work and selling it. However, being professional about how you do those things is important, and I think Clarion definitely helps in that area. Participating writers learn the gentle art of not being a complete asshole when submitting work to editors, and I think that's hugely valuable. I cringe when I remember the mistakes I made early on in the marketing of my work.

On the other hand, if you're looking to improve your craft directly from professionals you admire and respect, then I can't think of any better way. This is an important value of Clarion, and I think it raises an interesting point, because this style of learning doesn't suit everyone. You have to be able to work with a group, yet be able to retain your individuality and voice. Personally, I have always had a hard time doing this. In group critique settings, I have a hard time sorting out which comments and ideas are really right for my story and which ones aren't. As a result, I end up feeling muddled, spoiled for choice, paralyzed — and I don't feel like the development of my craft is significantly furthered.

I have to agree with Jessica on the subject of college writing courses. I didn't find a whole lot of use — at least not in terms of writing saleable genre product — in the writing classes I took in college. Most of what they taught me was a lingering self-consciousness that still grips me every time I sit down to write: "What does this mean?" "What is my message?" "What does this green carnation in my protagonist's buttonhole symbolize?"

The bottom line, though, is that nothing guarantees you'll be able to turn your good instincts into saleable product. Not Clarion, not reading books, not watching movies, not anything. I mean, you can make an exhaustive statistical study of what kinds of stories Gordon likes vs. what kinds of stories Sheila likes vs. what kinds of stories Ellen likes, but knowing that Gordon likes "X" type of story is NOT going to help you if you don't naturally write that type of story.

Writing is like being a fashion model. If you're lucky, you have the particular bone structure or skin pigment or eye color that the designers desire that season. If you don't, it doesn't mean you're ugly or bad. It just means that you're not what the market is looking for at that exact moment. It's not fair, it's not right... but it is what it is.

The genre fiction market is incredibly small, and there are a few titan tastemakers. If what you're doing happens to fit their taste, congratulations. You'll probably make sales. If what you're doing doesn't happen to fit their taste, then you might not make as many sales. NONE of this maps to the value of your work in any way, shape, or form. I know a writer whose work absolutely rocks me. I think it's the most brilliant stuff I've ever read. And it's not getting published anywhere. If I were a tastemaker, he'd be widely published and well known. That's because I have a high opinion of his work, and it hits me the right way, not because his work is better or worse by any real standard.

Should you change your style to fit the tastemakers in order to make sales? Of course not. That doesn't work for anyone. You'd end up trying to be something you're not, and you probably still won't make sales. Write what you love. The sales will follow or they won't, depending on whether or not you happen to have the right cheekbones that season.

Jessica: Definitely I agree with Mary about this; the Clarion process is more useful to some than others. Aside from the fact that workshopping in general is more useful to some than others, the grueling nature of Clarion (producing a story a week while reading and critiquing 18 or 19 others, workshopping all day, five days a week) actually leaves some people unable to write for a long time afterwards, or so I've heard. For others, myself included, the bootcamp approach, while at times emotionally draining, was great. You take in a lot that you digest and fully internalize only after the six weeks — years after.

It's interesting what Mary says about group critique and having difficulty separating out what's useful to you, who gets what you're doing and who doesn't. In some ways Clarion is a crash course in learning to do precisely that. Because you hear from the same group of voices every day, not just on your stories but on others, you start to get a feel for what's on target and what's not, and that has stood me in good stead over the years.

And for the record I agree with what Mary said about writing for the tastemakers.

The conclusion of this discussion will appear in the next issue of the Broadsheet. Don't miss it!