Now that I've been living life post-Clarion for over a week, and theoretically have caught up on sleep and revived some braincells presumed lost due to the strange admixture of sleep deprivation, deadline stress, and more caffeine in six weeks than I've had in the past two years, with weekly doses of pear cider and bits of wine splashed in, I figured I should put down whatever thoughts I had on the experience while my memories are still somewhat recoverable. For posterity and so I can figure out a satisfactory answer for when people ask, "So, how was it?" Ugh. It seems an unanswerable question--I feel I can either say, "It was really great," which sounds dismissive and inadequate, or launch into a minute-by-minute rehash of all six weeks and thereby bury in detail what it all meant to me.
It's easier if I separate out the two strands of the question. The first is, "Did being at Clarion help improve my writing?" Yes. I think so. I don't think that there were noticeable improvements while I was there. I only wrote four stories, and I tried to experiment with something different each time, mostly experiments in style. But from all the critiquing that went on of everyone's stories, I learned more about spotting when things were not working and ideas on how to make them work. Most of my new knowledge and insight I can't put into words; they're working on a subterranean level, shifting the groundwork of my thoughts about story and writing in subtle ways. Perhaps one day, I'll have a Krakatoan outburst of creativity from all the seismic rearranging--more probably, improvements will emerge in slow time. I did see a consistent problem emerge in all of my stories, one that I am working to correct.
I heard some complaints that people's writing doesn't improve much over the course of the workshop. This isn't entirely true: some people did turn in markedly better stories at the end. But on another level, it is completely true. By the time most people get to Clarion, they've been writing for enough time and developed enough of a proficiency at it, that the issues that they struggle with are long-ingrained and not easily remedied, issues that arise as much from what storytelling means for them and from their own creative processes as it does from questions of craft. Every writer, even those with long, distinguished careers, has his flaws, the things he doesn't do so well--this writer has problems tying up endings, this one's characters are unconvincing, this one gets bogged down in world-building exposition--and a lot of that comes from what the writer cares about when he writes and what doesn't interest him as much. But if he is good enough at the things he cares about, a certain kind of reader, the kind that cares about the same things as the writer, will read and enjoy his work. Which isn't to say that these weaknesses shouldn't be shored up--only that it's a long, slow process for most writers, with seemingly endless plateaus and sudden leaps of understanding as their conception of stories and their own creative process evolves. Part of the value of Clarion is in learning not just one's strengths and weaknesses in storytelling, but in discovering one's own creative process--how do I go about creating stories, what is necessary for me to do that, what makes one story idea compelling to me and another idea fizzle. All valuable things to learn and hard to summarize. Harder still to manifest in better storytelling in just six weeks.
So, writing-wise, Clarion did help, but not in ways that I can put into concrete suggestions for improving one's writing, not things any writer hasn't heard a thousand times. Mostly I learned to
see stuff I knew on an abstract level and begin to understand how to apply it to my own work. And to find out how other discerning readers perceive stories, mine as well as others.
The other part of the "How was it?" question is, "Did you enjoy being at Clarion? Was it a good experience personally?" Yes. Definitely so. Even on days when I couldn't string two words together for lack of sleep and yet couldn't sleep because I was too stressed about meeting my Kinko's deadline, when I felt like crying because my story was turning to shit in front of my eyes and everyone else was relaxing downstairs, glasses of sangria in hand--even then, yes. All the writing stuff, valuable as it was, I could have learned by myself eventually, but being where I could spend time in the company of wise and witty and generous-hearted writers and reaffirm in myself that, yes, this is what I want to be--all that is irreplaceable. Someone else has said that being at Clarion was like meeting a family he didn't know he had. I would agree. The community of SF writers and supporters surrounding Clarion West is phenomenal in its generosity and warmth--for me, especially, since I am so often an outsider whether by my own choosing or not, it was a revelation. And I cannot speak highly enough of my classmates; they were all talented, funny, fun-loving, good-hearted people, as well as being fine writers. (Yes, I know that stringing together so many adjectives kills the effect, but which ones could I possibly take out?)
I got four salvageable first drafts, a couple of half-finished attempts, and some new writing wisdom percolating in my subconscious--that's all one level of my experience at Clarion West. More important to me, though, are the remembered moments: watching Paul Park get misty-eyed while talking about
No Traveller Returns at dinner, waving to Maura across the hall as we both typed away at four in the morning while the rest of the house slept, explaining the difference between National and American League baseball to Ian at the Red Sox-Mariners game (who knew I was a baseball geek as well?), talking to Ben late at night about the joys of stories that start on page one, getting two of the best crits--a hug of gratitude from Ben for writing one story and "Anti-ditto all objections!" from Ian and Nicole for another--and also one of the harshest--"...unless you change that [central, defining element of the story], I don't see how this is going to work at all"--but not
the harshest crit. Maureen McHugh's remonstrations to put our health and sanity first always, deadlines be damned: "Ted Chiang only wrote
two stories at his Clarion." Meghan tempting me with cards and crossword puzzles when I had writing to start, but also motivating me with promises of lemon ice cream and chocolate if I met my deadline. David's menagerie of workaholic stuffed animals. Venturing out of the group's circled wagons at Friday night parties to talk to new people (thanks to Nisi and Ted for helping with this, and thanks to Nicole, my wingperson). Being a Tina--one of three(!). Dozens of other conversations and moments that made me smile or laugh or wonder at my luck in finding this group of people.
So, how was it? Yeah. It was great. I wish I could explain.
