Today’s keynote speaker is Benjamin Andrew Moore, a fellow classmate of mine from the New School and the non-fiction and comics editor at Verbal Pyrotechnics.  Ben’s writing caught my eye and captured my sense of humor with its satirical wit.  This guy is FUNNY!  But what’s great about Ben’s work is that it’s also honest and real, and while he might have an ironic way of wording things, when you cut through to what he’s really saying, you realize he’s talking about something more serious than just good-humored fun.

Ben has a “satirical blog” Come Look At My Chest Hair and is a writer for Screenrant.com.  As Ben says: “If you need to warn people about the content of the Chest Hair blog, be my guest.”  It involves chest hair; you have been warned.  🙂  Without further ado, here’s Ben’s take on DIY MFA.

Ninety percent of everything is terrible, give or take.

Ninety percent of movies are terrible, ninety percent of television shows, ninety percent of plays, of videogames, of board games, of human beings, of restaurants, of clothing lines, of orange and grape-flavored beverages, and of books. Fiction, ninety percent of the time, is laughable, bland, stupid, trite, purposeless, and—say it with me—terrible, terrible, terrible. I wish it weren’t true, dear readers, but so it goes!

The problem is, nobody takes risks and nobody’s original. Formula is king and clichés are its freaking court jesters. Humor is hard to come by, drama is over-serious—not to mention pretentious—mysteries are ham-fisted, vampire love books aren’t even romantic, and while Holden Caulfield was unrepentantly awesome, his millions upon millions of knock-offs were most definitely not. The Chocolate War? I mean, are you kidding me, Robert Cormier?

But it doesn’t have to be this way. It really doesn’t. That ten percent of quality is proof.

As writers, all you have to do is not rip off the books and stories and ideas that came before yours. It’s okay to be influenced by the things that you love, but it’s not okay to just re-do them with your prose in place of—say—F. Scott Fitzgerald’s. The Great Gatsby was great, sure, hence the title. But that doesn’t mean you should rewrite it. That doesn’t mean you should rip it off.

Be bold. Take risks. It’s lame, and it’s clichéd, and it probably even sounds stupid, but go big or go on home. Please, I beg of you, just try to create something that’s never been done before. A high fantasy book shouldn’t be the Lord of the Rings Part Fourteen. Historical thrillers shouldn’t be reminiscent of The Da Vinci Code, which in and of itself was a just rip-off of Angels and Demons, which in and of itself was just another in that ninety percent, give or take, of terrible books.

The DIY MFA is the perfect opportunity to grow as a writer on your own terms, away from the occasionally cannibalistic world of Creative Writing. Hell, if people despise your writing, that doesn’t even mean it’s bad! Once upon a time, people hated Edgar Allan Poe, Henry David Thoreau, William Faulkner, William S. Burroughs, Stanley Kubrick, Vincent Van Gogh, and so on, and so on, and on, and on. In fact, people hating your writing might actually mean you’re doing something right. Bravo.

Being creative isn’t easy. Truth be told, it’s can be really, really hard at times. But then if it’s so damn difficult for you, why’d you start writing in the first place?

Today’s keynote speaker is the lovely Shannon Whitney Messenger.  I first came across Shannon’s blog over the summer and right away I was hooked by her charming and honest style.  She writes Middle Grade Fantasy and is repped by Laura Rennert with Andrea Brown Literary Agency. And–as if she didn’t have enough on her plate–she’s also one of the founders and organizers of WriteOnCon, a free online writer’s conference for kidlit writers.  I don’t know about you, but I can’t wait to see her book on the shelf and read it for myself!  Here are Shannon’s thoughts and advice about DIY MFA.

I’ll admit it–when Gabriela first asked me to write one of her commencement speeches for DIY MFA, my reaction was…uh…why me? I don’t have an MFA. I’m not published yet. I’m not even cool. So what could I possibly say to inspire you guys?

But then I thought about how I got to be where I am right now.

I’d had an idea I’d been researching—but I kept putting off writing it. I’d tell my husband, next week. Next month.
I stalled for almost two years.

Then I went to an author event called Project Book Babe, where I met published writers for the first time. I wanted to be them. It was time to write the darn book.

Two months later I had an eight-figure-book-deal and I’d taken over the literary world.

Um…yeah—I wish!

Here’s what really happened:

I started Draft 1 in April 2009. By July, I was on Draft 7—and realizing that where I’d ended the book should really be the 2/3 point. I needed help. So I started reading author blogs and figured out what I was missing: critique partners.

By August I started my own blog, hoping to connect with other writers and swap pages. By October I’d found one. And I’d begun to learn about publishing. Agents. Queries. I realized if I was going to do this for real, I needed to educate myself—and fast.

So I followed agents’ blogs. Editors’ blogs.  I registered for a writer’s conference. I took a query workshop. I added another awesome critique partner. All the while I was writing, writing, writing.

By November I was on Draft 11, and one of my CPs emailed me. You’re getting better, she said.

By mid January I typed the two words I hadn’t let myself type until that point (at least not together). The End. It was Draft 12.

I brought the first chapter of Draft 12 with me to the writer’s conference a few weeks later. I pitched my book to agents—and they asked for partials. My pages won a Conference Choice Award.

When I came home it took me three weeks of obsessing to send my query. (Okay, fine, maybe some of my CPs had to bully me into it—whatever!)

Two weeks later I had an offer of rep from my dream agent.

It had been just slightly less than eleven months since the day I decided it was time to start writing. And hopefully someday soon—once I finish yet another revision—I’ll sell my book and finally reach my dream of being published.

So why am I telling you this?

Because I’ve learned two things along that journey.

1. You have to educate yourself as much as possible. Read blogs. Get to know other writers. Learn all you can about writing and publishing—and then learn more. There is always more to learn.

2. In order to be a writer, you have to write.

So you’ve made HUGE progress with the first one by following this program. The wealth of information Gabriela has taken the time to provide is invaluable.

Now it’s time to write.

Whether you’re starting your first draft or revising for the thousandth time, the most important thing is to write.

Lose yourself in your story.

Don’t worry about making it perfect—that will come with revision. For now, just write—because each word you type brings you a little bit closer to your dream. So get started!

Happy writing everyone!

There’s a reason I called this week “Commencement Week” and not “Graduation Week.”  The latter implies an ending, a big accomplishment, reaching of a goal.  But that’s not what DIY MFA is all about.  This past month here at iggi U, we’ve been working on the pre-DIY MFA, the preparation of it all.  Now it’s time to implement it.  Commencement is about the start of something new, and that’s exactly what DIY MFA is all about.

Here are some things I’ve learned on my journey and I hope by sharing them with you, it will help you as you embark on yours.

Embrace the open road.  We’ve got an empty road ahead of us, which can be both terrifying and exciting.  Sometimes all those endless possibilities might seem scary, but remember this: they’re just possibilities, not absolutes.  You can always change your mind.

Get good at juggling.  Sometimes it will seem like you’re juggling a lot, between all the reading, writing, critiquing and community.  But each piece of the DIY MFA program is key to developing a well-rounded writing life.  Just remember, it’s not about quantity in any one area, it’s about the overall balance.

Learn to recognize when you’re in the Fun House.  Not everyone will understand DIY MFA.  They might treat you like you’re crazy for following your writing dreams.  “Well, if it’s not real school, can’t you just skip a day?”  Learn to see when people are distorting your vision and stand up for your writing life.

Develop a thick skin.  Writing is tough.  Having people read your writing is even tougher, but you can’t spend your life protecting your work from critics.  After all, what’s the point of writing it if no one will ever read it?  Whenever your work is picked to shreds, remember: “It’s not me, it’s the work.”

Recognize when the work is “excellent enough.”  Just as in golf you cannot get a perfect score because you can always do better, so it is with writing.  I had a teacher once who’s catch phrase was “make it better.”  Whatever we brought in, she’d say “let’s see how we can make it better” and so the critique would begin.  Sure, you could play the “make it better” game forever and never submit any of your work, but sooner or later you have to decide if the work is “excellent enough” and accept it as it is.

As you embark on your DIY MFA, I can promise you two things:

1. It might be a lot of things, but DIY MFA will never be boring.
2. iggi and I will still be here, posting away to help inspire–or at the very least, amuse you–through the days that aren’t so much fun.

Thank you all for making the DIY MFA project so great and I’m looking forward to hearing how your DIY MFAs develop.

 Today we have a guest post by the lovely Elizabeth Dunn-Ruiz.  Elizabeth was a classmate of mine during the MFA and writes beautiful poetry as well as heartbreaking teen literature.  She is also poetry editor of Verbal Pyrotechnics, a literary magazine dedicated exclusively to teen literature.  So if you have poetry that appeals to a teen audience, feel free to check out the submissions page and send it her way.  For more about Elizabeth, visit her blog at: A Lil’ Sumpin’ Sumpin’.  And now here’s Elizabeth’s take on why people hate on poetry.

Some people are scared of sharks, others of heights, an intruder in the night. Sure, a fearfulness of all of these things make sense; each could kill you after all. But why, then, are so many writers of fiction afraid of poetry? What has a poem ever done to you? Huh?

Okay, maybe it’s bored you, confused you, made you feel something you weren’t prepared to feel, but it certainly has not killed you! In fact, I’d argue that some poems are more scared of you than you are of them. Like this one, called “Poem that Begs for Reassurance”, by Peter Davis*:

My experience with the world around me is that I either feel it’s awful, or I feel that it is great. Right now I feel like this poem is awful. I feel like I am awful. I feel like an outcast in the literary world. Nobody reviews my work. As far as I can tell, nobody really talks about me. They do, but it’s never enough. I’m not besieged with e-mails soliciting my poetry. I keep waiting for something to happen. I mean, this is a good poem. Other people seem to have so much going on. I read their bio notes and think, “Well, jeez, how do they all do it?” I say to my wife, “Honey, I always feel a few steps behind. How can I do all of that in this poem?” Some of them maintain blogs with numerous links and a lot of daily hits. Others don’t even have blogs! All around me poets are winning prizes and being included in anthologies like The Best American Poetry. Some at very young ages. Some of these people, if they don’t already have tenure-line teaching positions, are very strong candidates for tenure-line teaching positions.

    Now, before that familiar fear bubbles to the surface, turns itself into rage and makes you shout What? That’s not even a poem! Stop, and breathe. And try and keep in mind that a poem is simply compressed language used to express emotion or ideas.

Perhaps in high school some archaic, convoluted, and important poem was paraded in front of you so that you–in a role of simple spectator–could analyze it, elucidate its virtues and confirm its place in the canon. The teacher didn’t ask you to get in there and walk around with the poem, hold its hand, listen to its secrets and share yours in return. No, you were just supposed to coolly observe it, as if it were the other, then write a five paragraph essay, sans  the word “I”.  Maybe it was then that you decided that poetry, like AP Calculus or showering in the locker room, was just not for you.

Billy Collins, America’s Poet Laureate from 2001-2003, in conjunction with the Library of Congress, created Poetry 180, a collection of poems to be read aloud, one a day for all 180 days of the school year, in an attempt to demystify, de-stress-ify, de-analyze-ify poetry and help us all simply experience and, perhaps even, appreciate poems. The first poem in this series is his, and, fittingly, it is called “Introduction to Poetry” and I think it is awesome.  He writes:

I ask them to take a poem

and hold it up to the light

like a color slide

or press an ear against its hive.

I say drop a mouse into a poem

and watch him probe his way out,

or walk inside the poem’s room

and feel the walls for a light switch.

I want them to waterski

across the surface of a poem

waving at the author’s name on the shore.

But all they want to do

is tie the poem to a chair with rope

and torture a confession out of it.

They begin beating it with a hose

to find out what it really means.

We have been conditioned to think there is a right and a wrong response to a poem, that it can only mean one thing, when in fact that is not true at all.  When the pressure of analysis is removed, I think many of us who claim to dislike Poetry-with-a-capital-P are actually surprised to find that many poems are you know, quite likeable. 

I find that reading a few poems in a variety of styles before I sit down to write can help me generate ideas and approach my language differently. Poetry compresses ideas, emotions, and images into very few words and this is a skill that all writers can benefit from.  Look at this poem by Jane Kenyon:

Otherwise

I got out of bed

on two strong legs.

It might have been

otherwise. I ate

cereal, sweet

milk, ripe, flawless

peach. It might

have been otherwise.

I took the dog uphill

to the birch wood.

All morning I did
the work I love.

At noon I lay down

with my mate. It might

have been otherwise.

We ate dinner together

at a table with silver

candlesticks. It might

have been otherwise.

I slept in a bed

in a room with paintings

on the walls, and

planned another day

just like this day.

But one day, I know,

it will be otherwise.

In it she compresses a life into a few short images. The first introduces us to a character, a domestic setting, and, through the use of one key word, “strong”, indicates that she is grateful for her current health. Her use of repetition emphasizes the idea that we all make choices about how to live life. The slight modification to the repeated sentence powerfully implies that the speaker appreciates the choices she has made and the life that she leads as a result of those choices.

The content of this poem could have been the subject of a short story or novel, but Kenyon seems to want the reader to focus on the simple moments of a life and so she uses simple diction and sentence structure. The moments she describes, just like the poem itself, are quick and could be easily overlooked, but she is asking the reader to be attentive to the simple moments that make up a life. This poem illustrates that the structure is the message too.

As you approach your own work it is important to ask your self if your container is the right size for your content and if it’s not, adjust accordingly. You would never pack your son’s sandwich in a suitcase and send him off to school, now would you?

Another reason to read poetry is the playfulness with which many poets approach language.  Not to say that a poem is any less literary when it employs whimsy, simply that it is important to remember that language is not just about ideas, but is just as much about sound.  Take this line from Thomas Sayers Ellis’ “Presidential Blackness”, a serious poem about race and language, “…a new infinite alphabet pours from the pores of the poor…”. The cleverness of the wordplay is going to make this line jump out. It will stick with the reader because, well, it sounds good and it is fun to say. I encourage you to read your work aloud or ask a friend to read it aloud to you; consider revising anytime you need to take a breath or your friend stumbles. Listen for interesting juxtapositions and pay attention to your sentence structure. Just like my mother always said, “It’s not what you say, but how you say it, that matters.”

*I’d imagine that Peter Davis and this poem are presently feeling reassured, as he was just in town to launch the Best American Poetry 2010, in which he has four (wonderful) poems.