Writers vs Academia

WE SHOULDN'T BE AT ODDS

I have a theory: I think we should treat being a writer like it’s a trade. Let me explain.

By now, most of you are familiar with my story. I had my only daughter in my final year of high school. Thanks to a basketball scholarship, I was able to attend a university in New York State called Saint Bonaventure and that’s where my journey as a writer and author started in earnest.

Because I had someone to take care of this early on in life, I approached being a writer with strategic precision. I didn’t give myself space to fail. I figured that if I did specific things, in a specific order, then I would achieve financial success, much like an electrician, plumber, or any other tradesperson would if they went through their process of certification.

Here’s where things get interesting.

University was my first training ground (I’m purposely leaving out high school because I intentionally chose to study English in university). I studied classic literature, learned to break down story form in creative writing classes, and sharpened my critical thinking skills in a series of classes called Comprehension and Critical Thinking (Comp and Crit).

My university, like most others, placed high value on craft and theory. We explored what made stories great, studied the authors who wrote them, and tried to mimic their styles until we developed our own. I decided against an MFA. Though it was a popular choice at the time (late 2000s), I needed to earn money. Some professors were pushing me in that direction but as much as I loved writing, I couldn’t see myself spending another two years studying while my daughter was growing up. I knew an MFA would help me improve as a writer (at least that was my belief), but I instinctively had doubts about how it would bolster the other side of my career, the side that needed to earn an income.

And that’s where my conflict begins.

Immediately after graduating, I realized that I was missing one key skill: how to build a career. Put more plainly, I never learned how to make any money. I had learned the basics of what it took to write a book, but not what it means to be an author.

I valued my academic career. Most of my professors were wonderful, a couple of them were even brilliant. But I think there’s something fundamentally wrong when after four years of full-time study, I learned nothing about what it takes to build the career from what I am attending school for in the first place. Isn’t that supposed to be the point?

Craft is important, for sure, but I learned fundamental craft throughout my undergrad, nothing advanced. And even if I did take an MFA, studies show that there is no discernable difference between the writing of bestselling authors who earned an MFA vs those who didn’t. In fact, one major study of 200 MFA authors against 200 non-MFA authors showed little to no difference at all in style, theme, word choice, or how these two groups of authors used characters. More stats show that only 27% of National Book Award winners, America’s top book prize, hold an MFA. For the Booker Prize, 90% have a Bachelor’s Degree but only 24% of those are for English. When it comes to an MFA, only 4% of winners hold this designation.

In my own journey, my craft took the biggest leap when I took a college level course (long after I graduated) that paired me directly with a published author. This author essentially mentored me and workshopped my novel for eight months. Not surprisingly, this novel would become my first published book.

So if the craft is not the reason to attend university, shouldn’t they be teaching us how to make a living? Again, that is not the case. I called this piece Writing vs Academia and not Authors vs Academia for a reason. Because a writing career encompasses an author career, and if we are to invest tens of thousands of dollars (and hundreds of thousands for U.S. institutions) into scholarly programs, then we should be taught how to recoup that investment.

I had to learn those lessons myself.

My first shock came shortly after graduation when I found myself sitting in my mother’s home asking myself, “Okay, now what?” And like I mentioned earlier, with a then five year old child, I didn’t have the luxury of pondering over that question for too long. So instead of sitting on my behind, I came up with a strategy.

First, I knew that writing a book would take time. I had no idea it would take six years (yeah, that long), but I knew it wasn’t going to happen immediately. With that said, my first major decision was that I would always prioritize my writing—whether that was being an author or otherwise. So despite my degree, I took up odd jobs: cleaning cars for a rental car dealership, working as a porter in a hospital, selling lottery tickets at a bingo hall—this was my first step.

I chose these odd jobs for a reason: I needed time. Time to dedicate to writing my novel and time to figure out how to leverage my writing abilities to make more money. These odd jobs didn’t pay very well, so I had to get to the leveraging part quickly. My first paid writing gig was a bio for a local Toronto musician. He paid me fifty bucks but I was excited because it was the first time ever that someone had paid me to write. It was game on from then.

Without going through all the details, over the next five or six years, I was able to successfully build myself as a freelance writer. By 2014, six years after graduation, I didn’t need any of those odd jobs; I was freelancing full-time. 2014 was also the year my first book came out, a self-published novella I titled, Thoughts Of A Fractured Soul.

Click image to grab your copy.

I want to be clear; I believe that an English degree and the study of creative writing is not just valuable, but essential in so many ways. Too many studies have proven the link between literacy and critical thinking. Besides that, writers contribute greatly to the economy in a tangible way. None of your favourite TV shows, movies, music, video games, plays, and of course novels and books, are even possible without the contributions of writers. Taken a step further, companies rely on writers to market and promote their products, to create compelling narratives to influence customers to make decisions, and to communicate internally to their staff. The ability to communicate with the written word has real value, not just intrinsic ones.

Post-secondary institutions are supposed to be the place where all of the learnings for these things happen, and to an extent they are. Some schools do create funnels for students to be placed higher in the queue for internships and other editorial jobs (even though that usually involves attending a Masters-level course). It’s often at universities that an environment for learning, discussion, and the embracing or creation of new ideas are embraced and nurtured, where you meet others who share your passion or challenge your way of thinking. It’s in this type of stimulating environment that writers grow and push stories to the limits because they are exposed to a community of diverse minds.

University should be synonymous with preparation. It’s the last line of readiness training before you enter into the world of self-sufficiency. These institutions should provide all the knowledge, tools, and as many resources it can spare (I don’t mean monetary) to give its students the best chance at success.

But as much as I love education and valued my university experience, I want to challenge today’s institutions.

How adaptable are university classes today? Do they teach authors how to release serial fiction on the popular platforms of the day? Do they teach potential writers how to find clients, write cold emails, and the nuances around charging clients? Do they teach about how to interview ghostwriting clients or anything about ghostwriting at all? Are they telling you the steps to build up a mailing list or to form your own community so you can be self-reliant? Are they letting you know that technical writing pays well or providing you with the skills you need to be an editor straight out of school? Are they teaching how to create literary content on YouTube and build a following?

If the answers to all of these are not an emphatic yes, then whatever is happening is not sufficient.