In the summer of 2010, I taught Writing Dark Fantasy at the University of Toronto. It was an intensive one-week course, all day, every day. When I’d mentioned it to a fellow novelist, she declared she never teaches writing because she believes it sets up the false expectation that getting published is an easily attainable goal. Later, someone else asked me why I’d do it, when I didn’t “need the work.”
Whenever I teach anything longer than a brief workshop, I do pull out my stats to ensure students realize just how tough getting published is. If you’re writing to make money, you’re in the wrong business. If you’re writing because you love story-telling, then stick around, because it’s an amazing ride.
As for pay, it’s a distant consideration. When I’m asked to teach, I think of myself as a young writer, living in southwestern Ontario, where the only authors I saw were literary ones at readings. I would have loved the opportunity to learn from a published genre novelist. Even to be able to ask questions of someone who’d achieved my goal would have been an amazing experience.
I hope my students learned something in my course—ways to improve pacing, characterization, plot, etc. But what I consider even more important is that they found other writers like themselves. Others who are writing in the same genre, and not only know what a witch or vampire is, but can discuss the folklore of benandanti and wendigo.
What I loved seeing was the birth of a fledgling community of dark fantasy writers. They’d found their place, where no one was going to say “Werewolves? Oh, you’re trying to cash in on those Twilight movies, right?” When they shared their work, the excitement and enthusiasm was palpable. No one pouted or sulked over constructive criticism. They were happy to get feedback from people who understood the genre, and they were determined to eventually beat the odds and get published. And if they don’t? That’s okay too, because they realized what a blast they have telling these stories and exploring their own creativity.
By the time the course ended, my class had created their own Facebook group for socializing as writers, a Google Group for critiquing online and made plans for monthly in-person critiquing. Not everyone will stick with it. For some, the enthusiasm won’t outlast the first slew of rejections. But for others, they’ll have found their writing tribe and, maybe, a long-term critique partner who will help them achieve their goals (and never question why they’re writing about werewolves).
This article was originally published in July 2010.
Kelley Armstrong is the author of the New York Times bestselling Otherworld series, the young adult trilogy Darkest Powers, and many other titles. Rituals, the fifth and final book in the Cainsville series, publishes August 15th with Random House. She lives in rural Ontario with her husband and three children. With her first book, Bitten, Kelley introduced readers to her singular brand of sophisticated, fast-paced storytelling.
Translation: Didn’t want the competition.
It is like some of the guys in the UK who are the only last practitioners of lost craft skills but they refuse to take on apprentices even when they are told that they’ll be paid to take them on and the apprentice is fully waged independently from them. They don’t want to train someone who will also set up in business and might make them lower their prices.
Cool post! I took a class called “Writing Popular Fiction” when I was in college, and the instructor was awesome and helpful, but I think the connections with other writers have been even more valuable in the long term.
I started my first novel in 1981 which meant no internet or personal computer, no genre writing teachers, no way to find critique partners, and just a few books on writing in the public library. It took years to figure out craft on my own. I’ve never forgotten that and love to pass on my knowledge.
The Internet and online writing courses have been a great boon to this generation of writers.