Skip to main contentIn the latest issue of The Organ, novelist Matthew Stadler presents an excellent argument against the type of summer writing workshop that Tin House inaugurated last week at Reed College. Stadler's case, inspired by Tin House's joining the swelling ranks of such enterprises, is persuasive: The money spent ($850 for one three-day class at Tin House's retreat) might be better spent hosting open symposia and parties where young hopefuls could informally meet with established writers rather than follow the tired-but-true workshop format.
But Stadler's view (buttressed by observations from the great SF writer Samuel R. Delany) is rather jaded. It's easy to fault the pretensions and sotto voce promises of meaningful contact between the "paying and the paid" at such events. But Stadler speaks from a privileged position where association with fellow writers is a daily occurrence. For good or ill, workshops allow fledgling writers contact with professionals to whom they would have no access otherwise (though the cost is often steep enough to denote other levels of privilege). But the disdain of the "arrived" for those driven to "only connect" (portrayed piteously throughout Stadler's piece) is rather unfortunate. Obviously, groups of the aspiring can quickly resemble the cannibalistic waifs in Suddenly Last Summer when a writer walks into town, but surely it's the job of the individual writer, regardless of workshop tradition, to sate the hunger they're being paid to treat in a meaningful way.
So was Tin House's first stint as a workshop host successful? Attendance for individual events was disappointing, according to the magazine's senior editor, Lee Montgomery, and managing editor Holly MacArthur. But those who attended seemed enthusiastic about the weeklong event. "I'd come next year," workshop participant Jason Myers told me. Myers, a subscriber to Tin House, traveled from Vermont to take part. His feelings seemed to be widely shared. "We're happy with the results," says MacArthur, "and we'll definitely be back for next year." Until then, here is WW''s assessment of Tin House's week:
Saturday, July 12:
ANTHONY SWOFFORD
Swofford's memoir of the first Gulf War came out just before the second. Did Swofford, one audience member asked, know when he was under fire that he would write a book about his experiences? "I wanted, probably, to kill people, and didn't think I'd ever write it," he answered. Dressed in black, Swofford voiced concern over the latest fighting. "We should have given the UN some more time on the ground--which is becoming somewhat obvious recently," he said. "Young guys are getting killed every few days--I think people are going to get tired of hearing about that." In his own work, Swofford is looking to move beyond the war. Originally trained as a fiction writer, Swofford currently is at work on a novel. "If another memoir came out of me, it would be accidental," he said. (Jacob Fenton)
"William Gass says something like, 'Sex is the first reason we read and the only reason we write.' I don't entirely agree with that."
--Anthony Swofford
Sunday, July 13: TODD HAYNES
interviewed by screenwriter OREN MOVERMAN
Still glowing from his triumph with Far From Heaven, Haynes relaxed as he sipped a martini and dragged on a cigarillo. He amused the audience with tales of his first film at age 9, when he played both Romeo and Juliet. Haynes finds Portland a calming yet stimulating home after New York and Los Angeles: "I fell in love with the city. People here are seeking a kind of exemption from our current zeitgeist." Next he'll tackle a film that examines the phenomenon of Bob Dylan, interpreted by seven different characters. In preparing a film, he assembles a scrapbook of visual images. His scripts are meticulously detailed, specifying camera movement, colors and music. The really creative aspect of filmmaking, he says, is recognition of the frame as the formative influence. (Art Chenoweth)
"It's the form of the narrative that determines our relationship to the material, not any brilliant performances of the actors."
--Todd Haynes.
Tuesday, July 15:
USING REAL LIFE IN FICTION, AND VICE VERSA
The panel perhaps labored with an overabundance of talent, but the moderator, Jeanne McCulloch, skillfully guided the discussion. Sallie Tisdale ignited a spark when she cautioned nonfiction writers: "Tell the truth when you can. What's true? Is it fair? What are our real agendas?" Chris Offut offered, "Once you start writing, you're making things up." This fictionalization of fact was conceded as an inevitable outcome of nonfiction. Memories change. Jarhead's Anthony Swofford cautioned that re-creating events in prose inevitably constitutes "a memory of a memory." (AC)
"Every word we write is censorship. Shall I call my father an alcoholic or a drunk?" --Sallie Tisdale.
Wednesday, July 16:
RICK MOODY
Rick Moody says he's a classic modernist, and not, as some have accused him, a post-post-modernist. "I believe the form is inexhaustible," Moody said. One of fiction's newest forms arrived with Moody's digressive memoir The Black Veil, which features the author quoting uncited sources at length in italics instead of quotation marks. If the form itself is inexhaustible, this newest iteration can be exhausting to read. The Black Veil ambles at length between Moody's occasional break-downs and the obscure connections between his forebears and Nathaniel Hawthorne, and has fueled his reputation for pretension. Moody was forthright about his own place in literature Wednesday. "My heart is with the old masters. I hope I'm being worthy of the old tradition," he said, in perhaps the most cringe-worthy moment of the conference. (JF)
"My question, immediately, on seeing a guy in a chicken suit handing out fliers, is: 'What is his inner life like?'" --Rick Moody
Thursday, July 17:
LORRIE MOORE
"Don't buy that crap," Lorrie Moore advised an audience member who inquired about her earlier work. The self-deprecating author of the marvelous Who Will Run the Frog Hospital? answered a few questions after reading from a hilarious new short story. ("It's a first draft," she periodically warned the audience as they laughed riotously.) As in all her writing, there was the great understanding of the human condition, and great lines to rob ("planet of the apings"). (SS)
"The book that you've written is never the book you wanted to write." --Lorrie Moore.
Friday, July 18:
DENIS JOHNSON
Johnson presented a promising new short story, though he warned that he was going to devote more time to playwriting than prose henceforward (seeing characters of his moving and speaking on stage in L.A. sparked the conversion). A shame, as Johnson's prose is taut, whereas his playwriting, evidenced in a reading of his Psychos Never Dream, which he did with Chris Offut, was mostly exposition and lacked theatricality. (SS)
"Write Naked, Write in Exile, Write in Blood." --Denis Johnson.
WWeek 2015