The American Scholar offers an article by William Deresiewicz on the Disadvantages of an Elite Education. I particularly liked this excerpt, which describes the patience one must have with poetry:
This is not to say that students from elite colleges never pursue a riskier or less lucrative course after graduation, but even when they do, they tend to give up more quickly than others. [. . .] I wasn’t aware of the phenomenon myself until I heard about it from a couple of graduate students in my department, one from Yale, one from Harvard. They were talking about trying to write poetry, how friends of theirs from college called it quits within a year or two while people they know from less prestigious schools are still at it. Why should this be? Because students from elite schools expect success, and expect it now. They have, by definition, never experienced anything else, and their sense of self has been built around their ability to succeed. The idea of not being successful terrifies them, disorients them, defeats them. They’ve been driven their whole lives by a fear of failure—often, in the first instance, by their parents’ fear of failure. The first time I blew a test, I walked out of the room feeling like I no longer knew who I was. The second time, it was easier; I had started to learn that failure isn’t the end of the world.
It’s as true for poetry as for fiction – it takes a staggering amount of failure to find success. And, to a small degree, I sympathize with the Ivy Leaguers, because in a similar manner, I’ve been hardwired by my entire educational system (two MAs later) for success, and success at this moment, not later. I’ve read a few wise authors recently who have counseled against writing quickly, against writing at a machine speed to appease the publishing machinery, but to write deliberately and thoughtfully and slowly. The trouble is that writing slowly means existing in a type of limbo, and for a sense of self based upon nabbing publications, this pressure is psychologically unbearable.
For nonfiction, though, I think it’s easier to find success quickly. Freelancing nonfiction articles of any stripe is a great deal easier than publishing fiction in a decent journal. Which is why the artist has to resist getting sidetracked into freelancing to the neglect of writing poetry or fiction. The immediate byline, the feedback, the line in the CV – all these are balms for the ego of the frequently rejected, but can be traps. Of course, as the article mentions later on, the trap for the Elite Student is to shuffle into one of the pragmatic disciplines, becoming a lawyer or joining Wall Street, which provides immediate dividends. At least I don’t have that temptation available.
4 comments
Churchill: “Success is the ability to go from one failure to another with no loss of enthusiasm.”
This post came at the perfect time, thank you. I’ve freelanced for seven years and am about to enter an MFA program for fiction. I’m thrilled to be immersing myself in study for two years, and understand that writing fiction will be a slow, likely under-rewarded process overall. I thought I was fine with that. But all of a sudden I have a good idea for a nonfiction book that has completely pulled me away from fiction – I’ve even had the thought I could probably “sell it” much more easily than any work of fiction I’ll end up with. It’s been a struggle to backburner it in anticipation of grad school.
It’s hard to say what will happen when I graduate. I too don’t do well with limbo – waiting to hear from grad schools just about killed me – and I wonder if I’ll cave and go back to nonfiction after I graduate. But then I think worst case scenario – I do go back to nonfiction, but grad school will have made me a better writer regardless of what genre I focus on, so I’ll be ahead anyway.
So true, what you say “and for a sense of self based upon nabbing publications, this pressure is psychologically unbearable”. Although I find that the more I am lucky enough to find places that want to publish my stories, the less of a boost to the self esteem each acceptance is. I find myself being initially delighted, then the feeling wears off so rapidly – perhaps like drug addiction, I need more and more to get high!
Absolutely. It reminds me of an article I read recently about the benefits of letting ideas marinade, so the eventual work will be stronger. And it’s absolutely true what you say about elite institutions programming you for success – I keep feeling that, at 25, I should somehow be further on with my writing than just have garnered a few publication credits for short pieces. It’s a good reminder just to stick at it and remember that nothing worth having is won lightly.