What I Wish I’d Known About: Studying Creative Writing

What I Wish I’d Known is a regular series where we ask some of our favourite people in the book industry to reflect on their careers. In this instalment, writers reflect on what creative writing courses do and don’t teach you.

Kavita Bedford, Friends & Dark Shapes

There is much contention around whether to MFA or not. And there is no right answer; partly it depends on personality and partly on economics. I did not formally study creative writing through a university writing course. However, I have found short courses invaluable for finding both community and providing prompts and fresh ways to look at fiction. I preferred this model as when I began I knew I was impressionable, and I was concerned I would become too comparative with other writers and that I would not develop my own distinct voice. Short courses allow for a range of diversity and perspectives and can be great ways to immerse for chosen periods.  I have done numerous short courses, and in different countries, which have been helpful in my own teaching of workshops as it has also  provided lessons in what works—and what doesn’t—in critiquing others’ work. This is an artform in itself and if done in the wrong hands it can be damaging.

Fiona Wright, The World Was Whole

I wish I had known that creative writing courses were even a thing. I wish this even though I know, realistically, that even if I had known, there’s no way that I would have had the guts or the gall or the balls to actually choose one as my university degree over something sensible and practical, secure. That’s partly down to character; but I also wish I’d known that this is also partly down to class, and all the ways it shapes what we believe about work and money and responsibility and safety, and so much else besides. (Maybe what I wish I known was that the joke would be on me: the sensible, practical, secure something that I chose was a journalism degree, because that industry we knew would always, always be a reliable bet). I teach creative writing now, on a casual, sessional basis, and the biggest realisation I have had on that front is that so much of what I’m teaching is a confidence, or trust—that what so many of my student writers do not have, yet, is a confidence in their own stories and their worth, any kind of trust in their own words. It took me years to learn those for myself, and even now they fail me sometimes, but I sometimes think these are the basis without which nothing else can happen.

Julie Koh, Portable Curiosities

When it comes to studying creative writing, I’m now of the view that it’s the teacher rather than the coursework that is the most important consideration. I cobbled together an education by attending writing workshops, and sitting in the audience of the Sydney Writers’ Festival each year. It was a bit of a hit-and-miss approach. The longest course I did was a nine-month online Continuing Education program with the University of East Anglia. My teacher, Dr Stephen Carver, suggested that my style might lend itself to magic realism. This took my writing in a whole new direction. At the end of the course he told me that I might meet resistance owing to experimental style but I shouldn’t be discouraged. ‘You may not sell,’ he said, ‘but you will be read.’ His words kept me going during those early years. Ultimately, I think you learn to write by writing, and by getting feedback from the right people, who might just give you advice that opens up new and exciting possibilities for your work.

Luke Horton, The Fogging

I owe a lot to having studied creative writing. After completing the course (RMIT’s Associate Degree in Professional Writing and Editing), I left academia, became an editor, and, a few years later, published my first novel. And now I teach in the PWE program. I am not sure I would have done any of these things if I hadn’t studied creative writing.

The main thing I wish I’d known was how quickly my work would improve. If I’d known that, I might have tried harder at it when I was younger and enrolled sooner. It was taking it seriously and allocating time to it. It was workshopping. And it was the great teachers I had. But it was feeling ready for it too. Maybe this is the kinder way to view the circuitous route I took to get there.

Jackie Bailey, The Eulogy

I avoided formal study of creative writing because I was always scared it would knock my voice out of me. I live with anxiety and perfectionism and I was worried that ‘learning’ creative writing would turn what was my secret space of comfort and authenticity into something I strived to get right.

I have done a number of day-long courses through writers centres, and they have invariably been useful and made me wish I was not such an extreme person and could actually enrol in a longer course. The absolute 100 per cent best workshop I did was at Writing NSW led by Lee Kofman on creative non-fiction. She had so much practical wisdom to share. I have some of her advice blu-tacked to my wall above my desk, specifically: Remember to balance action/reflection, action/reflection. Best. Advice. Ever.

Alice Robinson, The Glad Shout

I know that some big fancy writers like Elizabeth Gilbert and Cheryl Strayed advocate against undertaking formal writing courses, but studying writing at undergrad and postgrad levels opened almost every door I’ve busted through in my writing life. There are two main reasons for this: firstly, studying writing introduced me to other writers, and knowing other writers leads to opportunity. Secondly, it forced me to do the work, and doing the work because I had to helped build the confidence I needed to do it for myself.

Ashley Kalagian Blunt, How to Be Australian

The creative writing courses I took as part of my undergraduate degree were mostly useless, except as an excuse to do creative writing instead of essays. This was partly because I wasn’t ready to learn craft—I was young. I thought writing skills were innate. Years later, after writing three unpublishable books, I took short workshops and also completed a Masters of Research in creative writing. The latter was useful because I had a specific project that benefitted from the academic rigour of being part of a thesis (and from the scholarship funds). But it was an assortment of short workshops that showed me how to improve my craft to the point where publishers started reading my work and saying yes.

Fiona Murphy, The Shape of Sound

I used to tell writing students the same thing that I’d been told—trust the process. This advice seemed pragmatic but open to possibility. Truthfully, I was too embarrassed to talk about my own writing process, which felt chaotic and neurotically charged.

Now, I tell students the truth: a personality quiz taught me how to write.

According to The Four Tendencies Quiz, I’m an Upholder. The quiz’s creator, Gretchen Rubin, says ‘upholders want to know what should be done.’ I thrive when given clear briefs, structure and strict deadlines. This would be a disaster for a Rebel or Questioner. Knowing how you work can be an enormous relief.

Rhett Davis, Hovering

I wish I’d known not to rate my professor’s novel three stars on Goodreads. To be suspicious of anyone claiming there are rules for writing. That reading to an audience quickly tells you what works and what doesn’t. To listen more than I talked and read as much as I wrote. That my degrees would give me time and that this is more important than it sounds. That it doesn’t matter what anyone else is doing. That I should write what I wanted to read, not what I thought others wanted to read. And that regardless of what I think I’ve learned, all blank pages are the same.

Mirandi Riwoe, The Burnished Sun

I really enjoyed studying literature and creative writing at university. In those years I learnt about the craft of writing, the importance of perseverance and how research—both academic and historical—can enhance my work. What I found most valuable, though, was meeting other writers in the post-graduate cohort. Several of us still have a writers’ group together and I am constantly inspired by their work, suggestions and process.

I remember in an intro course on creative writing at university we were warned off head-hopping. While I personally try to stick to this rule, I also keep in mind works by successful authors such as Rowling and Galgut (the latest Booker Prize winner) and think—once a writer knows their craft well—there might be room for experimentation or a tinkering with the rules.

I admire that, even after publication and success, writers continue to learn more about their craft. I will always remember a Varuna judge’s suggestion that writers should take the time to learn their craft just as any other artist—musician, dancer, painter—needs to. I always find that I can take away at least one new, exciting thing from attending a workshop or listening to a panel of writers or reading a book on the writing process.

Check out the previous entries in the series, on what writers wish they’d known about being edited, book covers, reviews, publicity and second books.

Want to learn more about the ins and outs of the publishing process? Check out Getting Published with Rebecca Starford and Hannah Kent, or any other of our Online Writing Courses, available to complete in your own time, at your own pace.