Blotter Paper

Wherein I free-associate after reading books.

The Application Process

Posted by R. H. Kanakia on April 9, 2012

Umm, this is going to be a short post. The only thing that matters is the stories. Each school has a page limit (and in literary fiction the standard font is Times New Roman, not Courier). Most people submit two short stories or a novel fragment. I thought it was a good idea to apply with one mainstream story and one genre-influenced story (to show that I have range), but people have definitely gotten accepted with two genre-influenced stories. If you submit a part of a novel, it just makes good sense to submit the beginning. Can anyone really enjoy reading a middle excerpt from a novel?

The first time I applied, I jealously guarded my application stories. I revised them in secret and let no one see them. The second time, I ran both all my potential application stories through a workshop. I think that was definitely a good idea. I came close to submitting some fairly unsuitable stories (ones with guns and murder!) instead of the much more suitable ones that I ended up with. I think that before you spend however many thousand dollars on applications (and it is a really expensive process), you should probably get someone (preferably some kind of creative writing professional) to look over your stories. The way that your stories are read by a creative writing instructor will probably be much the same as the way they’ll be read by an admissions committee (which is, after all, composed entirely of creative writing professors).

Okay, so, let me dispose of the other elements of the application process as well as I can.

Formatting Your Writing Sample  - Most schools provide no formatting guidelines, other than that it should be double-spaced. But it seemed like the consensus amongst applicants was that they wanted 1 inch margins and twelve point Times New Roman. Since genre writers usually submit in Courier, it’s worth noting that TNR fits more words on a page. Since the length restriction on writing samples is usually in terms of pages, rather than words, you should remember that a story is going to take up fewer pages once you format it in TNR.

Number Of Schools - Each school has an application fee of $40-$100. And then there is an additional fee of $23 to send them your GRE scores. This means that this is not a cheap process. Nonetheless, you should apply to as many schools as you can. I applied to a lot of schools, and I only got two funded admissions. There is a lot of subjectivity in the admissions process. It is possible to get in somewhere that is really selective and be rejected by a bunch of places that are less selective. However, for the genre-influenced writer, I will add that I applied to a bunch of schools that did not have a reputation for accepting genre-influenced writers, and I was rejected by all of them. In the end, perhaps it would have been a better decision for me to have not applied to the schools that weren’t on the list in my preceding post. However, it’s hard to tell. I was also rejected by a bunch of schools that have taken genre-influenced writers in the past. In the end, it probably wouldn’t be a bad idea for a genre-influenced writer to take the list from my preceding post as a starting point, and subtract from it any schools that really don’t appeal to you and then add any schools that, for whatever reason (location, faculty, etc.) are really appealing. It is not uncommon for MFA applicants to apply to 15-20 schools, and, honestly, that’s what I would recommend (if you can afford it). However, if money is tight, I would recommend that a genre-influenced applicant should absolutely apply to at least Kansas and NCSU, since these seem like the most genre-friendly schools (that are also well-funded).

GREs – You have to take the GRE general test (but not any subject tests). Not all programs require them, but most do. In general, your GRE programs don’t matter to even the slightest degree. Some schools have a minimum GRE requirement, but most don’t. If you get a GRE score of below 600 (Verbal) or 1200 (combined), you might want to recheck the schools you’re applying to and see whether they have minimum requirements (these requirements are usually imposed by the graduate school administrators of schools that have an inferiority complex and want to bump up their average GRE score so they’ll look good in the rankings).

GPA – Also doesn’t matter at all. Similar to the GRE, the graduate school administrators at some school have imposed a minimum undergrad GPA requirement of 3.0. But if you didn’t have an undergrad GPA of 3.0 then what can you do? Just apply anyway. If they want you enough, they can probably find a way to admit you. Furthermore, most schools don’t have this requirement.

Undergraduate Major – I wouldn’t think this would matter, but, actually, a bunch of schools (Arizona State and Houston, amongst others) seemed to prefer that you have an undergraduate English major, and most MFAs that I’ve met seemed to have been English or Creative Writing majors as undergrads. However, most programs don’t seem to care at all. Furthermore, Houston–despite their stated preference for English majors–waitlisted me, so I assume that there’s similar flexibility at other schools.

Personal Statement - For most graduate school apps, your personal statement is really important, since it’s your only chance to demonstrate some kind of individuality. For MFA applications, I think it is less important, since your writing sample presumably ought to be enough to separate you from the other candidates. I think the main imperative for the personal statement is to avoid coming off as crazy or arrogant. For some people (especially me!), this is really hard. There’s something about personal statements that just unlocks all my craziness. I recommend that you get someone to reread your personal statement and cross out all the weirdness. When the admissions committees read your writing sample, all they want to know is that you’re not going to be a pain: after all, they have to live with you for 2-3 years.

Oh, at some point in your writing sample you’re probably going to want to namedrop a bunch of writers who you’d call your influences. You should probably remember your audience, and choose people that the admissions folk are likely to have heard of. You know, literary types. For instance, I chose two series of writers. The social realist types: Tolstoy, Zola, Steinbeck, Willa Cather, Sinclair Lewis, F. Scott Fitzgerald, and V.S. Naipaul. And the speculative fiction writers: Borges, Margaret Atwood, Jonathan Lethem, Aimee Bender, Stacey Richter, and Kelly Link. These are all pretty safe literary picks (well, except for Sinclair Lewis; despite his Nobel Prize, he’s fallen into bad odor). I doubt you’d get much traction if you cited David Weber, Lois McMaster Bujold, Connie Willis, and Ted Chiang. One of the professors at Hopkins mentioned that he does pay attention to what authors people cite, so take that as you will…

Recommendation Letters – I don’t think these matter very much, but they are by far the most annoying part of this process. If you can, you should get them from creative writing teachers or editors who can talk about your writing. Otherwise, get them from other professors or from employers (ask them to write about your general agreeability, good disposition, willingness to learn, etc.) You should definitely get the letters filed in Interfolio, which is an online credential file service that will collect your letters and mail them to schools for you (since they never let you see the letter, it remains confidential). A membership costs about $20-$30, and it costs an addition $6-8 per school, but it is absolutely worth it. If you force your professor to mail individual letters to 15-20 schools, then you are a sadist. Furthermore, professors can often be quite tardy. It’s hard enough getting one letter on time. If they have to submit 15 or 20 letters, then you’re guaranteed to miss deadlines.

Using Interfolio does create its own complications. It has a difficult time interfacing with the electronic application systems at most schools. Some online recommendation systems require the professor to input all this additional data (like whether you were in the top fifth percentile out of all the students they’ve had, or stuff like that). Since Interfolio doesn’t have this data (it just has the prof’s letter), they’ll often refuse to submit letters to systems that have something like that.  If a school offers you an address to which to mail individual letters then it is worth doing that, rather than asking Interfolio to upload the letters into their system. However, if you can’t figure out a good alternative like that, then you should email the administrator at the department to which you’re employing. She (it is invariably a woman) will usually be super helpful and will help you figure everything out. The only places where I had real problems submitting my letters were with NYU (which absolutely does not accept Interfolio letters, apparently), and Florida State (which is completely inflexible about not accepting paper letters). I solved these problems by not applying to NYU and by calling and begging Interfolio to force the recommendations into Florida State’s system (which they eventually did).

Transcripts – Stanford is really good about mailing transcripts out for you. However some schools are not, so you should take that into account. Also, the schools will require transcripts from every post-secondary institution you’ve attended, so if you ever took community college classes or have other graduate degrees or something, then that can be a real pain.

Next: I have nothing more to say about MFA applications. Good luck with your applications, whoever you are. Please let me know if you have any further questions, or if any of this proved to be helpful.

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Which Schools Should You Apply To?

Posted by R. H. Kanakia on April 4, 2012

For most applicants, the biggest factors when considering schools are: availability of funding, location, faculty, teaching load, and selectivity. For the first four factors, the best place to research a school is at mfaresearchproject.blogspot.com. For genre-influenced writers, there’s also the issue of a school’s purported friendliness to genre-influenced work. The best place to research that factor is right here in this blog post.

Genre-Friendliness – For me, this (and funding) were the major criteria. There is not much data on this. That’s because almost no program is willing to describe itself as ‘genre-friendly’. Even at North Carolina State (where a real SF writer, John Kessel, is one of the creative writing profs), they emphasized that they were training students to write stories of high literary quality, not formulaic genre pap. I’m pretty sure that schools are just deathly afraid of getting an influx of stories about: teens in high school who are choosing between vampire boyfriends and werewolf boyfriends; space ships that shoot lasers at each other in space; men that ride horses and hit each other with swords; zombies; etc., etc., etc. No full-residency program really wants to see core genre material. If you aspire to write standard science fiction or fantasy or horror novels, I think you’re unlikely to get into any MFA program.

However, even sophisticated genre-influenced work is a pretty hard sell at most schools. There’s nothing wrong with that. Professors have a right to accept only the students that they want to work with, but it is something that genre-influenced writers need to realize and to think about when they’re applying to schools. Luckily, you guys are not going to have to think about it nearly as hard as I had to. I scoured the internet, chasing down discussion forum posts and blog posts and author bios and faculty bios and a hundred and a half little hints and wisps of genre-friendliness. And now, I am going to present to you my grand list of schools that might possibly be willing to accept a student who writes stories that are influenced by science fiction or fantasy. An asterisk means that the school is fairly well funded. Where possible, I’ve provided the reason why I think the school is ‘genre-friendly’ (and in some cases that reason is pretty thin indeed). But in other cases you’ll have to accept that I don’t have any explanation, the school has merely, somehow, acquired the reputation of being open to different things. I’ve ranked these schools in alphabetical order. Also, I’d like to issue a disclaimer right here. Even though these schools may be open minded, they will probably still reject you. Many of them rejected me. Furthermore, it is entirely possible that other schools–ones that are not on this list–would be open to a genre-influenced writer. In creating this list, I am relied on rumor, anecdote, and other incredibly scanty data (like a school that’s only graduated one genre writer, ever. Who knows what the story behind that one writer was. Maybe he/she was a genius. Maybe he/she applied with realist stories [like Joe Haldeman did in order to get into the Iowa Writer's Workshop])

  • Arizona State*
  • Brown* – Brian Evenson and Robert Coover are professors here. Stacey Richter is a graduate.
  • Columbia – Karen Russell went there.
  • Cornell* – Junot Diaz and Tea Obreht are graduates.
  • Iowa* – Nebula winner Rachel Swirsky is a graduate. Last year, they accepted SF writer E.J. Fisher. Has also graduated Kevin Brockmeier and a few other writers who’ve written non-realist works.
  • Johns Hopkins* – Prof. Brad Leithauser has written a few SFnal novels. Cat Rambo is a graduate of this program.
  • Kansas* – Wasn’t previously a genre-friendly program, but since Kij Johnson has just become a professor here, I’m gonna guess that it’s gonna start becoming a destination for aspiring genre writers.
  • Louisiana State* – Hey, they waitlisted me. That’s gotta indicate a certain receptivity, right?
  • Mills – Naamen Tilahun–an up and coming SF writer–is finishing an MFA here. Rachel Swirsky was an undergraduate who took creative-writing courses here.
  • North Carolina State* – Nebula-winner John Kessel is a professor there.
  • Notre Dame – One of their professors has written some SFnal novels. Also, they waitlisted me two years ago when I applied with two SF stories.
  • Oregon State* – Their application FAQ contains the question “Do you accept students who write fantasy, science fiction, etc” and in response they write, “The MFA program welcomes experimentation with literary forms new and old. While we do not wish to restrict our students from pursuing the writing that most excites them, the workshop emphasizes literary fiction, and encourages students to complicate generic conventions and subvert clichés, rather than recreating and reinforcing them.” To me, anything that isn’t a ‘no’ is a ‘yes’.**
  • San Diego State University
  • Southern Illinois University at Carbondale* – The buzz on the MFA applicant Facebook forum was that they didn’t mind non-realist stories.
  • Syracuse* – George Saunders is a professor here. Also, they waitlisted me two years ago when I applied with two SF stories.
  • Temple – Nebula-winner Samuel Delany is a professor here.
  • Texas State at San Marcos – Megan McCarron–an up and coming SF writer–currently attends this school.
  • UC Irvine* – Michael Chabon, Aimee Bender, and Alice Sebold are graduates. Also, I think Prof. Ron Carlson writes some non-realist stories.
  • UC San Diego* – I figured that since Clarion was headquartered there, they had to be at least a little bit friendly to genre work.
  • UMass Amherst – Jedediah Berry attended. Prof. Sabina Murray has a novel that seems based on detective novels. Samuel Delany used to be a professor here.
  • UNC-Greensboro – Kelly Link went there.
  • University of Alabama* – Prof. Michael Martone has written formally experimental and non-realist stories.
  • University of Houston* – One of their professors, Chitra Devakuruni Banerjee, writes magical realist stories. Also, I applied with a fantasy story and they waitlisted me.
  • University of Michigan in Ann Arbor* – Elizabeth Kostova is a graduate.
  • Washington University in St. Louis* – Alice Sola Kim–an up and coming SF writer–attended this school.

The following schools were identified from the comments section of this blog post by Jeff Vandermeer.

  • NEOMFA – Chris Barzak is a professor here
  • Denver – Laird Hunt and Selah Saterstrom are open to non-realist work.
  • Cincinnatti – Christian Moody teaches here. He’s written non-realist stories.
  • Boulder – Stephen Graham Jones is a professor here.
  • Cal-Arts – Steve Erickson (no, not the one Malazon one) teaches here. He’s written non-realist novels.
  • UC Riverside


Now that I’ve gotten that out of the way, here’s what I have to say about the other considerations.

Availability of Funding – Some schools (Columbia, NYU, Sarah Lawrence, etc., etc.) offer very few funded slots. Whether you think it’s worthwhile to pay out of pocket for an MFA degree is up to you. Personally, while I might see the reasoning behind taking out loans to cover living expenses that are not met by a stipend, I think that it doesn’t make financial sense to take out loans to cover tuition. Ideally, what you want is a funded slot: some kind of teaching assistantship that comes with a tuition waiver, a stipend,  and health insurance. Most schools will offer at least one assistantship and many schools offer assistantships to all of their students. If you like a school (due to its location or faculty or whatever), it’s definitely worthwhile to apply there even if they don’t fund very many of their students. There’s always a chance that you will be one of the folks who gets funded.

Location ­- This is kind of self-evident. If you want to study in San Francisco or New York (or, really, any of America’s tier one cities) and get a teaching assistantship, then you’re kind of out of luck. Most of the best-funded schools are in the middle of nowhere. For months, I tortured myself with thoughts of what my life would be like as a gay men in West Lafayette, Indiana (Purdue University) or Tuscaloosa, Alabama (the University of Alabama). I have no objections to the South or the Midwest…it’s just the smallness that gets me. In a town of 50,000 people, there probably aren’t more than 1000 gay men, which seems like a scary, incestuously small number. Also, I didn’t want to go somewhere which had snow. Man, snow sucks. However, I applied to tons of places that were in small and/or snowy towns. In the end, one of the criteria has to be less important the others, and, for me, it was location.***

Faculty ­- If you really love a writer, you should definitely apply to the school where he or she is teaching. This is why I applied to North Carolina State (John Kessel), Temple (Samuel Delany), and Syracuse (George Saunders). Be warned, though. Since alot of poorly-funded schools are in major cities, a lot of well-known writers teach at poorly-funded schools. For instance, the faculty lists of CUNY-Hunter and Columbia are totally unreal. I kind of understand why people are willing to go into tens (or hundreds!) of thousands of dollars into debt in order to study at those places.

Teaching Load – I’m just going to come out and say what I’ve been thinking for awhile. If you’re teaching two classes a semester and only getting a $12,000 stipend, then that’s not a job…that’s indentured servitude. Two classes a semester is not a half-time appointment; it’s full-time. Each class is going to take at least five hours a week to teach and an additional 10-15 per week of preparation and grading. I applied to a few schools with 2/2 teaching loads, but I mostly applied to schools with 1/1 (or, even more deliciously, 0/1) teaching loads.

Selectivity – Before applying, I scoured, the MFA selectivity data, cross-referencing it with the funding data, to find the mythical school that was well-funded and had an acceptance rate of above 5%. I found two: University of Miami and University of South Carolina. This year, I think the acceptance rate at both places dropped down to near 5% (other people were doing their own scouring!) It is insanely difficult to get into a decent MFA program. The hardest programs (Brown, Cornell, UT-Austin, Syracuse) have acceptance rates that are around 1.5%. The thirty-eight top schools all have acceptance rates of less than 5%. (Johns Hopkins’ acceptance rate is around 2.5%). Basically, apply to as many schools as you can. Don’t discount the difference between a 1% acceptance rate and a 5% acceptance rate, though. The latter is five times easier to get into than the former. Finally, as the economy improves (turning the job market into an attractive alternative to grad school) and we head into the downslope of the Echo Boom****, it is getting easier to get into grad school with each passing year. Selectivity at MFA programs seems to have peaked during the ’09-’10 application cycle (the first time I applied).

 

**In contrast, Vanderbilt’s FAQ contains the question ” Do you consider applications in genre-fiction (speculative, science fiction, fantasy, mystery writing, children’s literature, and the like)?”. and their response is “No, we do not.” Ouch. I definitely did not apply to Vanderbilt

***On a side note, I am really happy to be heading to Baltimore–a fairly large city where it rarely snows.

****The Baby Boom was a period of greatly increased fertility during the fifties. When Boomers grew up and had children, they created a shallower, but still pronounced, Echo Boom: a clustering of births during the late 80s and early 90s that is the result of all the Boomers deciding to have kids around the same time. The Echo Boom resulted in a disproportionately large number of applications to undergrad institutions around 2008, and, presumably, a disproportionately large number of grad school apps right around now.

Next: The Application Process

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Why You Should (And Shouldn’t) Apply To MFA Programs

Posted by R. H. Kanakia on April 3, 2012

Alot of the recent debate on MFA programs has centered on whether or not they actually help you become a better writer. And that’s all well and good. But it kind of ignores the fact that on a purely financial level, a well-funded MFA program offers a pretty great place to lay up and write for two or three years. For a literary writer, seeking an MFA almost seems like a no-brainer: universities are willing to pay you to learn how to write better. But for a genre writer, the calculation is slightly more complicated.

I first realized that I wanted to get an MFA after reading an excerpt of the Writer’s Daily Planner, put out by Small Beer Press*. The planner contained the deadlines for numerous contests, fellowships, and grants. Thousands and thousands of dollars, just lying around for writers to take. Now, I realized that all this stuff was really, really hard to get, but so what? Becoming a successful writer is also really, really hard. If I was somehow able to put myself in the running for this alternate income stream, then I’d be able to buy two tickets to the making-a-living-as-a-writer lottery instead of just one.

And I realized that the unofficial baseline requirement for most of these grants and fellowships and awards was a Master of the Fine Arts degree. Now, of course no one would ever say that an MFA is required to get all that other stuff. But an MFA definitely acts a sifter to separate you, as an applicant, from random people who can’t string words together.

In addition, the MFA can be a lucrative opportunity in itself. Many MFA programs are able to provide all or most of their student with teaching opportunities that come with tuition waivers, stipends, and health insurance.  These teaching opportunities vary in terms of workload, but they are usually considered half-time appointments (20 hours a week). In America, the half-time job that comes with health insurance is an extremely rare animal, and definitely qualifies as something of a find for any writer.

So from a purely financial standpoint (especially in an era when unemployment and underemployment amongst recent college grads is so bad), I totally understand the financial calculus that makes MFAs extremely attractive to aspiring writers (including the 2009 version of myself).

The instruction that you’ll receive in an MFA program is also very important. I fear that I am making myself out to seem quite mercenary in this blog post by waiting until now to mention it. However, I think that the instruction is largely a mysterious animal. All MFA programs basically offer the same method of instruction: each semester you take a workshop in which you submit work that is critiqued by your classmates and the workshops’ instructor (who is usually an advanced writer whose successes have led to a professorship at your school).

It’s a little difficult to tell whether the instruction at a school is going to suit you. Good writers are not necessarily good teachers. You might like a writer’s work, but they might have nothing interesting to say about your work. You might dislike a writer’s work, but they might have alot to teach you. Until you’re sitting in the workshop, how can you know? Anyway, this is mostly something that the aspiring writer doesn’t need to think about. When professors are reading applications, they only accept students whose work they like and think they can improve. But the instruction only sweetens the pot on what is already a really good offer.

However, I think that for genre-influenced writer, there are some fairly major considerations that can outweigh all of these options. In almost every MFA program, most of the students and professors are writing literary fiction. And even in the most open-minded programs, the majority of the students will be writing realist stories. To the extent that they are familiar with non-realist literature, it will probably be with its literary exemplars–Wells, Verne, Borges, Calvino, Kafka, Pynchon, DeLillo, David Foster Wallace, Aimee Bender, etc, etc, etc–rather than with the writers that the genre-influenced writer is likely to think of as being the true lions of non-realist writing. Your professors’ critiques of your genre-influenced stories will be based on the standards of what makes a good literary story (which is sometimes different from what makes a good science fiction or fantasy story) and you’ll be expected to critique your classmates’ work on the basis of those same standards.

I don’t mean to say that you can’t submit genre-influenced stories in your MFA workshops. In fact, you should definitely never attend an MFA program where you can’t do that. If you’re a genre-influenced writer, it seems pretty imperative that you apply using stories which are more or less similar to the ones you plan on turning into the program’s workshop. I don’t think I can give you any advice that is more important than that. If you write some realist stories just to get into a program and then you get in and you find that they don’t like your SF work….then you kind of deserve what you get. One reason that I’m fairly comfortable with attending Johns Hopkins is because I applied with a science fiction story. I wrote about my speculative tendencies in my cover letter and, before accepting my offer, I asked professors, students, and alumni whether my science-fictional work would be accepted there.

But it’s entirely possible that they might accept you, but you will find yourself unable to accept them. I know some very good SF writers who don’t seem to enjoy mainstream literature. If you’re a writer who’s not familiar with literary fiction and has no interest in literary fiction (and, more specifically, in realist stories), then (I imagine) most MFA programs would be pretty hard places for you to live. Despite the financial rewards, I doubt it would be pleasant to be at war with your environment, and I think (for most of you) it would not be very good for your writing.

The only way to see if this is true for you is to just be honest with yourself. Do you read realist stories and novels? Do you enjoy them? Do you sometimes write them? For me, the answer to all of these questions was ‘yes’. This meant that, for me, the decision to apply was as much of a no-brainer as it is for most aspiring writers of literary fiction.

NEXT: Which schools should you apply to?

*Operated by Kelly Link, MFA UNC-Greensboro.

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I’ve just accepted an offer of admission to the Writing Seminars at Johns Hopkins University (in other words, I’m getting an MFA!)

Posted by R. H. Kanakia on April 2, 2012

I am totally shocked that this is actually going to happen. I am actually going to get paid to spend two years of my life in Baltimore, taking workshop classes with acclaimed writers and earning my keep by teaching one creative writing class a semester (Introduction to Fiction and Poetry!) to undergraduates. So many things about this scenario are so utterly insane that it’s hard to know where to begin.

I actually got into the program almost a month ago, and I have known for two months that I was definitely going to be spent the next two years doing the above somewhere. Given that, my enthusiasm and surprise might come off as being a little false. But it’s still only very slowly sinking in that this is actually going to happen.

There is a reason, my loyal blog readers, that this is the first you’re hearing about any sort of MFA applications. Two years ago, I applied to eleven programs, told everyone about my applications, and was rejected everywhere. It was really embarrassing. Even though I knew how insanely difficult it was to get into programs–I hadn’t applied to any place with an acceptance rate that was higher than 3%–I was still absolutely sure that I was going to get in somewhere.

This year, my state of mind was the opposite. Since I knew that I only wanted to go to a program that would giving me teaching assistantship that included a stipend and a tuition waiver, I continued to apply to many of the most selective schools (which also tend to be the best funded schools). This time, I was well aware of the odds, and they drove me to despair. I vowed that I would tell very few people about my applications, and that I would definitely not post about them online.

I began my application process way back in June, when I started Nick Mamatas’ class. On day one, he asked me why I was there, and I told him that I wanted to write a bunch of MFA application stories (actually, until he asked, I hadn’t known that I was going to reapply this year…I’d thought that I was going to wait until next year). During his class, I wrote a new story every week, trying to find exactly the right story. I knew that I needed to apply with stories that reflected the work I was going to do once I got to the workshop. It would be complete madness to apply with realist stories and then start submitting science fiction stories to my professors. I wanted a program that was going to be okay with the genre-influenced work that I want to do. But I still needed to find precisely the right kind of sci-fi story–a story of high literary quality that would be readily comprehensible to an audience that was not very familiar with written sci-fi.

During this time, I wrote many stories that were good, but which did not quite measure up. For instance, I never even considered submitting my recent Clarkesworld story to MFA programs: it seemed too violent, too dependent on a science-fictional conceit, and too cute (it’s a talking animal story, after all). Finally, during the last week of the class, I wrote a story (which is still unpublished) that I thought was perfect.

During the class, I also wrote a realist story that I like quite alot; a story about the various strata within the Indian-American community (I call it my sad-immigrant story) and the conflicts that arise between them. I partially wrote it in order to address many of my issues with Diasporic fiction (particularly the way that it seems to privilege upper-middle-class alienation and ignore working-class Indian immigrants). But I also wrote the story because I wanted to prove to admissions committees that I was both: a) interested in realist narratives; and b) pretty good at writing them. It’s kind of like how everyone feels way better about appreciating Picasso’s childish-looking paintings once they realize that he was actually capable of drawing a pretty damn good representational painting if he felt like it.

So anyway, I sent these two stories to about half my schools (the ones that had a length limit of longer than 35 pages). And I sent the sad-immigrant story and my recent IGMS sale “The Snake King Sells Out” (which is an allegorical tale that pretty much any kind of reader is capable of appreciating) to the schools with lower maximum pagecounts.

I stayed sane by not thinking about my applications and by making contingency plans. I knew I was going to get rejected, so I started plotting how I’d spend another year in Oakland. By the time I got a call from Prof. Wilton Barnhardt from North Carolina State, I was already kind of glad that I wasn’t going to get an MFA. Anyways, then I had a month to mentally move myself to Raleigh, NC, before I got a call from Prof. Brad Leithauser at Johns Hopkins, and my world exploded once again.

I ended up being accepted to writing programs at Johns Hopkins, North Carolina State University, Temple, and Columbia. I was also waitlisted at the University of Houston (whose director implied that there was a pretty good chance I’d eventually be admitted) and at Louisiana State University.

JHU and NC State were the only schools that offered me teaching assistantships, so I visited both schools about two or three weeks ago. And I really loved them both! One of the saddest parts about this process is that I had to turn down North Carolina State, where I had really intense and energizing conversations with John Kessel, Wilton Barnhardt, Kij Johnson, and a bunch of their current students. It seems like an amazing program and I highly recommend it. When I ended my visit, I was dead certain that if I attended NC State, I’d have a great time there. In the end, however, I decided that Johns Hopkins was a better fit for me.

It was a pretty emotionally intense journey. I think I’ve alluded to my anxiety and sleeplessness a few times over the past few months, right? Well, this is what I was alluding to. I got rejected by alot of schools. So many that I would embarrassed to give you a number. Suffice it to say that I am fully aware of exactly how difficult it is to get into an MFA program.

I do feel oddly deprived, though. I began preparing my application during mid-June, so I’ve been thinking about this for about nine months. Now that the process is over, I feel like I’ve acquired tons of knowledge that I will never get to use again. As part of the coming-down process, I’m planning a series of posts that will discuss the MFA application process and give advice to other genre-influenced* writers who are planning to apply to programs. I don’t expect these posts to be useful to too many of you, but if they prove worthwhile to even one other writer who’s randomly googling “science fiction mfa” or “genre-friendly mfa”, then I’ll be satisfied.

*Throughout this series of posts, I’ll use the term ‘genre-influenced’ to refer to writers who’ve read extensively within the speculative genres. Some would prefer to use the term ‘non-realist,’ but I think that this ignores the extent to which it is possible for many writers of ‘non-realist’ fictions to write without knowledge of genre traditions. I think that a fantasy writer who has read extensively within the fantasy genre is in a different position from a writer who writes fantasies that are primarily inspired by Calvino, Borges, Kafka, Marquez, etc. I don’t think that the latter is necessarily worse-off (or better-off) than the former, but I do think that the two writers are in a very different place, both psychologically and culturally.

Next: Why You Should (And Shouldn’t) Apply To MFA Programs

Posted in MFA | Tagged: , | 5 Comments »

Sold “An Early Adoption” to Redstone Science Fiction

Posted by R. H. Kanakia on March 30, 2012

Yep, good news is just blowing in from all over the place. I think this is one of my favorite short stories, so I’m glad that it’s found a home. This would’ve been the first time I’d sold two stories in a row, if it had not been preceded–two hours earlier–by a rejection from Beneath Ceaseless Skies. C’est la vie. This is the second story I’ve sold to Redstone. The first–”Death’s Flag Is Always At Half-Mast” was published in August 2010.

Oh, it’s going to be published on April 2nd, so you’ll get to read it rull soon.

In other news, I’m going to be at FOGCon (right here in the Bay Area) on Friday and Saturday. I don’t know if any blog-readers will be around, but if you see me, feel free to say ‘hi’.

And in my final news, I watched Battle Royale (a Japanese movie from the 1990s in which a bunch of kids are taken to an island and forced to fight each other) today. The only way in which it differs from the Hunger Games is that it lacks the reality-show element (but it does have innocent kids killing each other [something that HG notably lacks]. I particularly liked one scene where a roomful of girls murder each other over a misunderstanding.)

Posted in Writing | Tagged: , | Leave a Comment »

Sold “The Snake King Sells Out” to Orson Scott Card’s Intergalactic Medicine Show

Posted by R. H. Kanakia on March 28, 2012

Years of looking at the bibliographies of up-and-coming authors have taught me that in the science fiction world, there are three main groupings of markets. The first grouping contains the online mags: Lightspeed, Clarkesworld, Apex, and Strange Horizons. In the second group are the digest mags whose stories hew more closely to core 90s-style humanist SF: Asimov’s and The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction. And the third group holds the remnants of the Golden Age, stories that are more idea- or adventure-driven: Writers of the Future, AnalogOrson Scott Card’s Intergalactic Medicine Show, and the now-closed Jim Baen’s Universe. The fantasy groupings are a little different, but to a large extent, these groupings even hold for those stories.

Authors can sell novels, hit best-seller lists, and win awards without ever breaking out of their grouping. A good example is Catherynne Valente. She’s a fairly prolific short story writer whose stories are a massive influence on the world of contemporary fantasy and sci-fi, but I don’t think she’s ever published a story in any of the group two or three magazines.

Which really doesn’t mean anything, of course. The three groups differ primarily because they have different audiences. In order to be a successful author, you don’t need to appeal to multiple audiences…you just need to find your audience; and Cat Valente has clearly managed to do that. Or we can look at Ted Chiang, who’s never really published a story in groups one or three. Or Eric James Stone, who hasn’t really published a story in groups one or two (except for a reprint in Apex in 2009).

All I’m really saying is that with this story sale, I’m now a cross-group author. Woot.

This story was at IGMS for 143 days before I queried (about three weeks ago). My query shook loose a revision request (editor Edmund Schubert wanted to see a different ending). Ten days after I submitted the revision, he accepted the story.

This is probably my most-revised story. I polished it up to what I thought was perfection and sent it out (to Apex) about a year ago, and then submitted it to a workshop class (with Nick Mamatas, in Berkeley), where he told me it was too long (and that the ending was bad). I went through it really exhaustively, cutting about a thousand words and polishing it up to perfection again, only to have to do a third round of revision before I could actually sell it.

I’m really happy about this. I’ve done two revision requests before (for Shimmer and Strange Horizons), and after failing to sell the stories, I’d become somewhat cynical about the whole request-for-revision game. But now I suppose my faith in sunshine and love and puppydogs has been restored. It’s also always good to sell to a new market. And this is my tenth pro sale, so I can cross that off my goals list as well. The story should appear in May.

Posted in Writing | Tagged: , | 12 Comments »

Alot of so-called hypocrisy and irrationality is just due to the problems of making decisions while in possession of incomplete information

Posted by R. H. Kanakia on March 27, 2012

This post at the Alas Blog brings up the following graph from the Washington post

And then the author of the post says:

“Although the partisans on both sides look like dolts here, obviously on this issue Democratic hypocrites outnumber Republican hypocrites. (This may be a case where Republican skepticism of the Federal government’s ability to do anything has served them well.)”

I disagree with this statement. I don’t think that this shows hypocrisy at all. I think that discrepancies like this are natural whenever you ask people to make a decision about something on which they’re not fully informed (and why would an ordinary person ever be fully informed about the policy levers that the government can use to affect gas prices).

In the absence of detailed information, a question like this boils down to trust. Do we think that the government would do something if they could? If we trust the government to do something about this problem, then the fact that they have done nothing must mean that they are unable to do anything.

It makes sense that Democrats would not trust Republicans to do anything about gas prices. Thus, even though they had done nothing, there remained the possibility that there was something that the Republicans might be able to do which they simply chose not to do. On the other hand, Democrats are more likely to trust Obama to do something about gas prices. The fact that he’s done nothing, is, to them, confirmation that there is nothing that can be done.

To me, this does not seem like hypocrisy or irrationality to me. Rather, it seems like perfectly sound thinking.

I think that people who are very interested in something are often very prone to overestimating how much the random person on the street actually thinks about that thing. In the case of politics, I think this is a particularly egregious problem. To political commentators (even amateur ones), politics is everything. But to the ordinary person, it’s pretty much nothing. Any political question is likely to be given less than ten minutes of thought during a given year.

And that’s the way it should be. For an ordinary person, there are only two politically relevant questions that need to be asked. 1) Am I going to vote Democrat or Republican? and 2) Am I going to engage in radical political action?

The answer to question one can be disposed of by most people in less than thirty seconds of thought. The second question is one that most people answer in the negative. Any political thinking that does not affect the answer to either question 1 or question 2 is a waste of time. This ‘gas price’ question is the definition of an irrelevant question and it deserves the lack of research that these respondents displayed when they responded to it.

Posted in Politics | Tagged: , | Leave a Comment »

In which I write about the first book in The Hunger Games trilogy

Posted by R. H. Kanakia on March 26, 2012

            I finally read the Hunger Games. I started reading it and then, three hours later, I was done. I read it because I love Woody Harrelson. When I heard that he was the drunken mentor in the HG movie, I was like, “I really want to see that.” Normally, I don’t particularly care about reading the book before I watch the movie, but in this case, I decided to. It was pretty enjoyable, but I’m not too sure about whether I’m going to read the next few books. (Hey, umm, some HG spoilers are gonna follow, so beware).

The book is about a teenage girl who’s dispatched to fight to the death on television for the entertainment of an audience of jaded sybarites (in a futuristic dystopia, of course). It has hints of Rollerball, Battle Royale, The Running Man and “The Most Dangerous Game”.  The only innovation of the novel is that the protagonist realizes that she needs to have the audience’s good will in order to survive. This is because the audience is able to dispatch gifts to help their chosen kid, and those gifts can (and do) mean the difference between winning and dying.

However, because this contest has a sort of reality show flavor, what really matters is building some kind of credible storyline. A kid needs to feel like flesh and blood; someone the audience can empathize with and root for. In order to this, the protagonist of the Hunger Games (whose name is Katniss) fakes that she is falling in love with one of her fellow contestants Peeta. While she’s running around killing other kids in a series of moderately gripping action sequences, she also learns how to inhabit her role as a starstruck lover (which is made much more poignant by the fact that she might possibly have to kill her ‘lover’ in order to win the game). I thought this was a neat conceit. It sort of came out of nowhere about a third of the way into the book, and it slowly grew to dominate the whole story. This whole reality show / playacting part of the story was by far its best part.

And I don’t really trust any of the other novels to have good parts that are as good. I mean, the author can’t use this reality show conceit again, right? And even if she did, it wouldn’t really be fresh. I don’t know why I am so suspicious of a series whose first entry I enjoyed so much, but I think what it comes down to is that I just don’t trust Suzanne Collins enough. Pretty much every series starts out with a few good ideas and then slowly exhausts them until eventually the later books of the series turn into pitiful self-parodies. When a series starts out with one good idea, it becomes really hard for me to believe that there is a lot more stuff lying underneath.

On a side note, my problems with the book were exactly the same as everyone else’s problems. Collins manipulates the situations in this book to exculpate her heroine of any of the moral guilt from killing a bunch of other kids. The other kids are either psychopaths or they get killed by the psychopaths. Katniss’ hands remain clean. To me, that seems like a waste. If you have a book where innocent kids are forced fight each other to the death…then some innocent kids ought to actually fight each other to the death!

As a writer, I do kind of understand why Collins did that, though. The audience for stories with moral complexity is a lot smaller than the audience for stories without moral complexity. Even a lot of the series that people claim have a lot of moral complexity are actually just standard Good-and-Evil narratives dressed up in gray clothing. A prime example of this is A Song Of Ice And Fire. People claim that this series is very dark and gritty, but actually, from book one, you know who the heroes are and who the villains are. Sure, some of the villains turn out to be likeable and some of the heroes turn out to be stupid, but very little occurs to make you question the original good/bad classifications.

Even in my own stories, I sometimes step back and am like, “Whoah, no one is going to like this main character” and then I change around some stuff to make him/her more likeable. Because that’s what people want.

This reminds me of the section in A Moveable Feast where Hemingway criticizes Fitzgerald for altering his stories to make them more saleable:

I thought of [F. Scott Fitzgerald] as a much older writer. I thought he wrote Saturday Evening Post stories that had been readable three years before, but I never thought of him as a serious writer. He had told me at the Closerie des Lilas how he wrote what he thought were good stories, and which really were good stories for the Post, and then changed them for submission, knowing exactly how he must make the twists that made them into saleable magazine stories. I had been shocked at this and I said I thought it was whoring.

When I read this passage, I was shocked. Since Fitzgerald’s stories are pretty sublime, I wondered what in hell it was that he was changing in them? I had a sneaking suspicion that maybe if I read the unchanged stories, I wouldn’t like them very much.

Posted in Books | Tagged: , , , , , , , | 2 Comments »

Confessions of a Pick-Up Artist Chaser, by Clarisse Thorn

Posted by R. H. Kanakia on March 23, 2012

About ten days ago, I read Mandolin’s* review of Clarisse Thorn’s ebook Confessions of a Pick-up Artist Chaser** and I did something that I almost never do after reading a review: I bought the book. Of course, it helped that the book was only 2.99 for the Kindle. But still, even the idea of a feminist writing about pick-up artists resonated strongly with me.

Some blog readers might remember that at about this time last year, I read Neil Strauss’s The Game, and completely loved it. Pickup artists are just so silly and adorable. Reading about them is like reading about people who turn couches into snowmobiles. There’s just a cuteness factor to the whole endeavor–nerds deconstructing and systematizing flirtation–that is hard to ignore.

But I can also sense something very threatening about pickup artistry. After all, picking up women is kind of what all of mainstream culture is about. It’s kind of weird to think: wow, these guys have pretty much won the game. By the standards of pop songs and movies and television shows and middle school playgrounds, there is no one in the world who is more successful than these guys. Even if we’ve rejected those mainstream standards of value (and, actually, in our pursuit of sexual accomplishment, many gay males aren’t actually too different from the the stereotypical straight male), I think that most men still have that mainstream imprinted on us somewhere deep inside. It’s like how I think catching balls really silly, but I still love the glitz and drama of sports movies.

Anyways, the union of those things (the adorableness and the threateningness) makes pickup artistry really fascinating for me.

But Clarisse Thorn’s book is not about me. It’s about a woman–a feminist sex educator–who spends several years interfacing with the culture, interviewing pickup artists and observing them in action. Since The Game has pretty much no female characters (except Courtney Love) to provide perspective on the whole endeavor, Thorn’s book really filled a gap for me. I was definitely fascinated to see what it might be like for the women who end up spending time with these pickup artists, since pickup artistry is both completely dependent on acquiring females but also curiously lacking in any place for them.

Thorn provides an outsider’s description of pickup circles and the requisite feminist critique of their misogyny and sleaziness, but I think that the story really shines in her first-person descriptions of the various guys that she meets and spends time with. In its approach and style, the book reads like a participant-observer study. Thorn carefully selects anecdotes to use in developing her own theories on flirtation and on the appeal of pickup artistry. Personally, I thought some of her pickup artist theory was also kind of interesting–particularly on the role of ambiguity in developing romantic attachments–and at times the book almost veers towards becoming another pickup guidebook (Thorn even flirts with the idea of running her own classes and seminars for pickup artists).

Oh, I also love the style of explication in this book. Thorn explains everything. She explains who everyone is. She explains all the feminist concepts she uses. She really just starts at square one and says, “This is what pickup artistry is. This is why people think it’s problematic. This is why I like it” and so on and so on, building in more and more concepts, until, with the last chapter, she puts the last few bricks into the edifice. I really like this kind of “smart dummy” approach to non-fiction (i.e. you’re smart enough to understand this, but I’m assuming that you’re a dummy who doesn’t already know it). Of course, this might just be because I actually am a dummy about most of what she’s talking about (especially feminism and S&M [oh yeah, there’s a lot of S&M in the book too, which, sometimes come off as seeming a bit random]).

Yennnyways, the book is now $9, but you should consider reading it. Actually, you should probably read The Game first, and then (especially if The Game made you kind of angry), you should read this book.

*For all of you SF writers, this is one of the pen names of Rachel Swirsky.

**Here is a link to the Smashwords page, if you want to buy a non-Kindle version of the book.

Posted in Books | Tagged: , , , , | 2 Comments »

Coming to grips with the worst-case scenario for my writing career

Posted by R. H. Kanakia on March 22, 2012

Recently, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about worst-case scenarios. Any reader of my blog has to have noticed that I’ve had a fair amount of writing success lately (and there’ve been other great things that I haven’t mentioned, like a revision request from an editor; an invitation to submit to a closed anthology; and another super awesome thing that I will hopefully post about in a few days [not, unfortunately, a novel sale]). And all this success has been great!

But it’s also seriously stressed me out. Before, I was pretty sure that every submission I sent out was going to end in a rejection. Now there’s this constant uncertainty! It could sell! It really could! Recently, I had a submission at The Magazine of Fantasy And Science Fiction for 90+ days (I even queried by email at sixty days and was told that Gordon Van Gelder was really considering it for real and everything). Now, that’s awesome. A year ago, I’d never gotten anything but form rejections from F&SF. Now, they’re thinking about buying a story from me? It was really awesome. But also very nervewracking. Since I know that Gordon is pretty much the only editor who accepts stories by snail mail, the hope that I’d sell to F&SF was alive and well until pretty much the moment that I opened the envelope.

Well, I didn’t sell that story to them. It wasn’t so bad, but the whole thing did take a very real emotional toll on me. And this is the same emotional toll that I suffer from every near miss. When I had no success, I felt like I had nothing to lose. Now, I feel like I am putting my reputation on the line with each submission. It’s definitely better than being uniformly rejected, but I had learned to deal with uniform rejection, and I haven’t yet learned to deal with this.

Which is why I recently read Dale Carnegie’s self-help guide How To Stop Worrying And Start Living. This book has a lot of good advice (although I think it might work better for people with a less morbid disposition than myself), but one thing that I took away from it is that when a person is worrying about something, he ought to clearly outline the worst-case scenario. Without a clear worst-case scenario, the dread is very generalized and all-encompassing. But once we have a worst-case scenario, we realize that it’s not that bad.

With my writing hobby / vocation / career, the worst-case scenario is surprisingly bearable. Under the worst case scenario, I suffer a few years of declining success (i.e. I recede from my current high point) and realize that this isn’t really going to happen for me. I slowly downsize my writing commitment and start producing just a few stories a year. I go to graduate school and major in something practical (like Economics). I get a solid public policy or private sector job. I start looking for ways to achieve success in my job (rather than my current strategy of downscaling job commitments to focus on writing). And, as a side benefit, I get way more time to catch up on my video games.

It’s definitely not what I want, but it’s also not something that I need to be terrified of. And that’s good. I think that in some cases terror can be a goad to greater effort and productivity. But I also think that terror really has the potential to kill off my creativity. Right now, I’m still trying to find the right mindset with which to approach my neo-pro status, but I have confidence that I’ll figure it out eventually.

Posted in Writing | Tagged: | 3 Comments »

 
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