TIPS ON FACTY FICTION FROM 6 NOVELISTS

The
MFA
GUIDE!
=
IMAGINE
WRITE
PUBLISH

LEARN ABOUT
SHORT STORY
FROM MIA ALVAR
How to make
each page sing
like poetry
Get crafty with
Dinty W. Moore

Are you acting

like a pro?

Nick Flynn
Sam Kean
tos
Marisa de los San
Vu Tran
 The Oldest Low-Residency
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Fiction | Nonfiction | Poetry

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Heather Sellers, Wesley Stace, Deborah Treisman

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Kevin Moffett, Donald Morrill, Josip Novakovich, Jason Ockert, Alan Michael Parker, Jeff Parker,
Corinna Vallianatos, Jennifer Vanderbes
 ➙ rHeave YOUR story
ad by nove
Colum McC list

TWO R
ann!

OADDS
WWrite a 2,000-word
short story responding
to one or both quotes by
novelist and short story
writer Colum McCann
(and perhaps keep in
mind Robert Frost’s poem
“A Road Not Taken”).
IVE
RGE
What elements of duality
and divergence can you
include: duplicitous
DEADLINE FOR
acts, binary oppositions,
communication with SUBMISSION.
the “other side,” double December 6th
indemnity, twins? Let your
imagination riff on taking “There
i
a plot, character, setting or for at l s always roo
east tw m
theme in two directions. o truth
—Tran
sAtlant s."
ic
Novelist and short story
writer Column McCann “With
a
will read the finalists and heave ll respects t
choose the winners. n, I lik o
— Let e it he
writermag.com/contests the G re."
reat W
orld Sp
in
IMAGINE
WRITE
PUBLISH
December 2015 T Volume 128 T Number 12

FEATURES

12
Within an inch
of truth
Short story writer Mia Alvar looks slant
at real life to create compelling fiction.
BY MEGAN KAPLON

16 Writer guy
Dinty W. Moore talks about his unconventional,
superstitious, comic, mindful and messy approach
to teaching and practicing craft.
BY MELISSA HART

20 Le mot juste
Novelist Christine Sneed shares advice for making
every page a work of poetry.
BY JACK SMITH

25 Facty with fiction

Six novelists share thoughts and tips on
fictionalizing personal experiences.
BY ROGER MORRIS

16 20
2 | The Writer D December 2015
DEPARTMENTS IN EVERY ISSUE
YOUR
9 WRITER AT WORK
On the hour MFA GUIDE 4 From the Editor

Want to finish the novel?

Skip TV. BEGINS ON 5 Take Note
Best-selling grammar tips,
BY LIBBY CUDMORE PAG
E 30 parallel structure, Nick Flynn
and more.
10 OFF THE CUFF
Going south 40 Markets
A self-imposed writing retreat
resets a goal. 47 Classified advertising
BY ELIANA OSBORN
48 How I Write
28 FREELANCE SUCCESS
Act like a pro
Sam Kean: “Once you have a
good story, the science
Five tips for presenting your- will take care of itself.”
self expertly.
BY RYAN VAN CLEAVE

30 CLASS ACTION
What the F?
Learn the difference between
an MA and an MFA.
BY MEREDITH QUINN

ON THE WEB:
www.writermag.com

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FROM THE EDITOR IMAGINE

WRITE
PUBLISH

Editor-in-Chief Alicia Anstead

Managing Editor Meredith Quinn

W
Contributing Editors Megan Kaplon, Nicki Porter
elcome to the Copy Editor Suzanne G. Fox
MFA edition of Art Director Mike O’Leary
Group Publisher Robert Dortch
the magazine. We
hope you enjoy EDITORIAL BOARD
James Applewhite, Andre Becker, T. Alan Broughton,
the discussions about what author Eve Bunting, Mary Higgins Clark, Roy Peter Clark, Lewis
Mia Alvar (interviewed in these Burke Frumkes, James Cross Giblin, Gail Godwin, Eileen
Goudge, Rachel Hadas, Shelby Hearon, John Jakes,
pages) calls the “mental and cre- John Koethe, Lois Lowry, Peter Meinke, Katherine
ative independence” supported by Paterson, Elizabeth Peters, Arthur Plotnik

MFA programs – and other writ- MADAVOR MEDIA, LLC

Chairman & Chief Executive Officer Jeffrey Wolk
ing programs in the higher educa- Chief Operating Officer Susan Fitzgerald
tion realm. You won’t want to Vice President, Operations Courtney Carter
Director, Integrated Production Justin Vuono
miss Dinty W. Moore’s comic and Operations Manager Laura Finamore
insightful take on creative writing and the ways in which breaking the rules can Controller Peggy Maguire
Staff Accountant Tina McDermott
also reset your imagination. He and Alvar are both on to that. Staff Accountant Heidie Hogan
If your goal is to drill down into the work of successful fiction writers, be Circulation Operations Specialist Nora Frew
Marketing Analyst Cathy Pearson
sure to check out our interview with novelist Christine Sneed and a slew of Vice President, Digital Operations Heidi Strong
Technical Product Manager Michael Ma
other writers in the “Facty with Fiction” feature about turning real-life events
Sales Assistant Cassandra Pettit
into fictional stories. “Writers are always selling somebody out,” Joan Didion Production Associate Steve Sangapore
Newsstand National Publisher Services
famously wrote in Slouching Toward Bethlehem, but she also added that any-
ADVERTISING
thing worth having comes at a price. What price are you willing to pay for your Media Sales Manager Claudia Warren
work? “Facty” will help you think through that process. Phone (617) 279-0213
Email cwarren@madavor.com
If you’re still on the fence about MFA programs, consider the MA route.
SELLING THE WRITER MAGAZINE
We’ve got you covered: Read our Class Action story about what each approach OR PRODUCTS IN YOUR STORE
furnishes. (And you may want to return to the Class Action in the November Phone (617) 706-9078
Fax (617) 536-0102
issue that dissects low-residency writing programs – which are sometimes the Email Catherine Pearson cpearson@madavor.com
most convenient for full-time workers and family caregivers. You can find that EDITORIAL EMAIL tweditorial@madavor.com
CUSTOMER SERVICE/SUBSCRIPTIONS 877-252-8139
story – and many others – online at writermag.com.)
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4 | The Writer D December 2015


COMPILED BY MEREDITH QUINN
The play’s the thing
Listen to your inner monologue to find the story.
by Alicia Anstead
I
t happened in summer. Some neighbors
were getting together to plan a party, and I
was the odd person out because I am not a
big partygoer. But this one was in celebra-
tion of a relative, so I wanted to be there. And
the party had distantly been my idea, an idea
that passed through my thoughts and out of
my mouth before I realized anyone was lis-
tening. At least two people were, and it grew
from there.
When I arrived at the home of the host
for the obligatory planning session, coffee
and tea were served, chocolates were on the
table and everyone took a seat. I was dis-
tracted, my mind was elsewhere, but because
I was out of my comfort zone, my attentive-
ness to detail kicked in. We sat around a
large square coffee table covered by a scenic
jigsaw puzzle well on its way to completion.
The host had a notebook in hand, and the
work started.
Everyone in the room was a professional,
so the meeting was a comprehensive and
meticulous discussion about the guest list,
refreshments, location, format. By the end of
an hour, the party had taken shape.
I walked home alone, thinking about the
way plots get organized: as if there’s a com-
mittee in a writer’s imagination. That day, I
spent more than an hour writing a story that
had been flapping around in my head
throughout the meeting. Oddly, the meet-
ing’s theme – a party – was not what helped
organize my story. It was the meeting’s pro-
cedural format that tutored me in organizing
plot. I heard the story, but I hadn’t been dis-
ciplined enough to catalogue the guest list,
refreshments, location, format – so to speak.
For many writers, an MFA program
provides the tools and techniques for
developing the discipline required to craft
a meaningful story. It’s the safest, most
¾ Composer Pauline Oliveros describes deep listening
as “listening in every possible way to everything
possible to hear no matter what one is doing.”
dangerous, most luxurious breeding
ground for writers who are serious about
development. While I do have degrees in
literature, for me, learning about storytell-
ing has been more circuitous – through
reading, through analysis and through
deep listening to the world around me.
Often when I am at events – dinner par-
ties, art openings, business meetings – I slip
into a game I developed to get me through
dramatic and difficult family situations
many years ago. I pretend I am in a play and
that everyone in the room is part of a live
reality show taking place onstage just for me.
With my family, I would capture the material
and record it in my journal. The effect was
cathartic and revelatory. After all, I knew the
characters, had a keen sense of their voices
and a memory about their dossiers that
spanned decades. I had no idea how per-
fectly I was practicing my craft.
Developing deliberateness with that tech-
nique was a less natural process. Because I
had not been encouraged or trained to do so,
I had to learn to hear my own voice, recog-
nize what was taking place in real time and
honor it enough to follow through with
attentiveness – and eventually with a pen
moving across a piece of paper. I had to apply
a figurative flick to my head, a mental snap
to pop me into focus. Listening to someone
else is challenging, but as a reporter, I have
the training and experience to do this. Lis-
tening to myself required a new skill set of
awareness and belief.
Now when I’m listening deeply, the play
still goes on, but I’m no longer seeking
only catharsis. I’m recording the story. It’s
called work.
Shutterstock
Alicia Anstead is the editor-in-chief of The
Writer and the Harvard Arts Blog.
 Find out
more about
The Writer's
newest
short story
contest on
PAGE 1

Writing
WRITERS ON WRITING HOW HAS THIS HELPED YOU AS A
WRITER?
Prompt
Nick Flynn The idea of a daily practice helps not
just the writing but maybe everything; it NOTES OF SUCCESS
Nick Flynn is a memoirist, poet, essayist and keeps expanding, as an idea. I have “Short stories are tiny
playwright. His first memoir, Another Bullshit trouble now thinking of anything that windows into other worlds
Night in Suck City – which won the PEN/Mar- isn’t improved by making it a daily and other minds and other
tha Albrand Award – meditates on his relation- practice. That said, I also like to walk dreams,” says novelist Neil
ship with his mother and with his father, from away from writing from time to time, to Gaiman. Reread your favorite
make not-writing a daily practice. I end
whom Flynn was estranged until they reunited short story. Choose a substan-
up writing in the middle of my not-
by chance when his father checked into a Bos- tial paragraph – one that cap-
writing periods, which feels subversive.
ton homeless shelter where Flynn happened tures your imagination – and
to be working. Suck City was adapted into a —Gabriel Packard is the associate director of write it in longhand with a
movie starring Robert DeNiro and Julianne the creative writing MFA program at Hunter
pen or pencil on a piece of pa-
Moore, with Flynn as executive producer – an College in New York City.
per. Diagram how the action
experience he describes in his third and most occurs, how transitions take
recent memoir The Reenactments. In addition place, how verbs, adverbs and
to three memoirs and essays in publications adjectives function. Find the
including The New Yorker, Flynn is also the “other worlds” and “dreams.”
author of several volumes of poetry, which,
Then rewrite the paragraph
like his memoirs, are deeply personal and
in your own words, paying
which have garnered awards including the
homage to your own worlds
Discovery/The Nation Award and the PEN/
and dreams. Or use your ob-
Joyce Osterweil Award.
servations to pump up a story
WHAT’S THE MOST IMPORTANT THING you’re crafting.
YOU’VE LEARNED ABOUT WRITING?
One thing? I’d say that writing, for me,
works best as a daily practice, at least
when I’m on a project. When I’m on a
Dion Ogust

project, it’s good to be immersed in it,

to return to it, daily.

Maree Lees packed Gordon Wetmore took a break

WHERE
DO YOU her bags and took flight in the harbor of Quebec’s
WHERE IN THE WR
READ
in a hot air balloon over Rivière-du-Loup, where at low
ITER?
THE WORLD IS Send a p
hoto of yo the raw landscape of tide boats sat on glistening mud
and a sh urself
THE WRITER? ort descr
of the lo iption
cation to
Cappadocia, Turkey.  flats, an image that rarely makes
tweditori tourist brochures.
al@mad
avor.com
.
 ¾ “Writing is an act of faith, not a
trick of grammar.” —E. B. White

ASK THE WRITER

I often get tripped up
GRAMMAR ON THE GO when I list things.
WRITING IS NOT ONLY ABOUT PUTTING WORDS ON THE What’s wrong with this
PAGE. THE PUNCTUATION YOU USE HELPS DEFINE THE sentence: “She would
PACE AND EMOTION THAT WORDS CAN’T ALWAYS CONVEY. stammer over the tea
WE ASKED SEVERAL WRITERS FOR THE GRAMMAR TIP cakes, keep the butter in
THAT HELPS THEM DO THEIR BEST WRITING. the refrigerator too long
and there were no
Learn every grammar rule there Many of my characters are
napkins in the holder.
is so that you can make an obsessed with grammar, often
informed decision about when in ways that confine them, but When you have a series of
to defy those rules. (I never for me, grammar has always ideas, actions or items like
once heard it said of a good been liberating. Thinking this, you want to use the
writer, “Oh, so-and-so is such a about it slows me down. I find same pattern of words.
great grammarian.”) inspiration in crafting each Let’s look at a simple exam-
—Christopher J. Yates, Black Chalk sentence well, from syntax ple of this:
and word choice to comma
usage, while I consider the Fred likes sailing, fishing and
Powerful verbs scrub my work next sentence. sleeping.
clean. They manipulate a —Lori Ostlund, After the Parade
psychological thriller – the grim Notice how I used the same
unease, the emotion, the page- form of the verb for each
flipping pace. I especially love action. This is called parallel
“pulse” and “thrum.” Strong structure. Here’s how I might
verbs allow me to write sparely Get to the subject as quickly as ruin that parallel structure:
and abandon the rest to the possible. But don’t forget to put
imagination. That way, the reader markers of time and place first. Fred likes sailing, fishing and
and I are in the game together. —Matthew Salesses, to swim.
—Julia Heaberlin, Black-Eyed Susans The Hundred-Year Flood
See how it reads awk-
wardly? Instead of three
gerunds (as in the first
Use the semicolon to join two ideas. I like to write long sentences, so a example), the list features
full range of punctuation is important to my writing. Semicolons are key two gerunds and a verb.
to extending the length of a sentence, and developing the rhythm of a
In your example, you use
sentence. As a “slur” in music joins two notes that are different but
parallel structure in the first
meant to be played seamlessly, the semicolon allows two distinct
two actions: “stammer
thoughts to be both separate and part of a continuous flow of prose.
over the tea cakes” and
—Greg Hrbek, Not on Fire, but Burning
“keep the butter in the
refrigerator too long.” The
third, though, goes off
course by not starting with
a verb. You can make it par-
Writing Prompt allel by bringing that third
in line with the other two:
Jingle bell twist
She would stammer over the
This holiday season, pay extra atten-
teacakes, keep the butter in
tion to the stories being told in classic the refrigerator too long and
seasonal songs. Choose one and build forget to put napkins in the
a story around it. Include dialogue, holder.
elaborate on the setting, throw a
Shutterstock

random twist into what are typically —Brandi Reissenweber teaches fiction
picture-perfect scenes. writing and reading fiction at Gotham
Writers Workshop.

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Grad school XCOMMIT TO MEMORY
If reading the dictionary

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Before a long day of class,
Starting a new the sections you’d like to return to. Model
pack a lunch and store it
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for up to four hours in an
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WRITERS AT WORK
BY LIBBY CUDMORE
Writing a novel may be as simple as skipping a TV show.
W
e all fantasize about
the writing life –
the seemingly limit-
less hours to spend
in carefully curated creative space,
punctuated only by a trip to the
coffee shop to languidly write for
another few hours amid the roiling
hubbub of modern life.
But ask most writers, and you
may hear a resounding: “I don’t
have enough time to write my
novel or poem.” Most writers
have other jobs, families, homes.
How can they find the hours to
devote to craft?
What if I told you that all you need
is one hour a day?
I work as a newspaper reporter at a
small weekly where, on average, I cover
six stories a week, sometimes putting
in 15-hour days at my office, with an
hour commute each way if I’m not
crisscrossing the county chasing down
my next story. While I was working on
my novel, I wasn’t left with much time
to write. Every morning, I got up,
made a cup of coffee and sat down to
work. If I really got on a tear, I took my
notebook on the bus and sketched out
the next scene. Within eight months, I
had a polished draft of my novel, sent
it to agents and signed with one, who
helped me get a five-figure deal with
William Morrow.
Not bad for an hour a day.
An hour is an easy amount of time
to reclaim. According to a Nielsen
report, the average person spends an
average of five hours a day watching
TV. Five hours. And look, I like TV as
much as anyone, but surely you can
On the hour
turn off one of those shows and focus
that time on your craft.
A single hour may also be an easier
amount of time to negotiate from
spouses and children. The idea of los-
ing a member of the household for a
seemingly endless amount of time is
stressful, but short of a medical emer-
gency, even dinner can wait an hour.
From that perspective, an hour
doesn’t seem like much. And when
that hour is set, the pressure is on to
make that time as productive as possi-
ble. At first, you’ll probably feel itchy,
anxious to check Facebook or fall into
the Wikipedia wormhole under the
guise of “research.” (We all do it.) But if
you sit there long enough, you’ll write
something, even if just to alleviate the
boredom.
Here are a handful of tips to help
make that hour even stronger.
1 Guard your writing time like a
dragon’s gold. My husband and I
live in a one-bedroom apartment, and
my studio doubles as our kitchen table.
I made a tag that reads “Stay away from
me, and stay away from my desk” (a
quote from my favorite show, The
Shield) to hang over the back of the
chair so that my husband knows not
to start a conversation. When that
hour is done, I take off my head-
phones and give him a hug so he
knows I’m back in the “real world.”
2 Develop a ritual to help trigger
your writing self. A prayer, a
fresh cup of coffee, a certain song
that invokes the muse. My brain
knew it was time to get serious with
my writing when I put on Steely Dan’s
“Brooklyn (Owes the Charmer Under
Me).” No matter what happened dur-
ing the day, no matter how much stress
I was under, hearing that song
reminded me that this time, this cre-
ative space, was my own.
3 Seriously: no Internet. Turn off
your cell phone, too.
4 Figure out your best time to write.
Some writers work better after
everyone has gone to bed, others
before anyone else is awake.
Some days you’ll write six pages
before the timer goes off. Other days,
you’ll feel lucky if you get a paragraph
done. But stick with it, at the same
time of day if possible, and soon,
whenever your friends ask “Where do
you find the time?” you’ll be able to
smile and say, “I make the time.”
Libby Cudmore is a reporter for the Hometown
Shutterstock
Oneonta and The Freeman’s Journal in
Cooperstown, New York.
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 OFF THE CUFF
BY ELIANA OSBORN
A self-imposed writing retreat resets a goal.
I
am living in a rental property for a
month, far from home, to try to
write the book I’ve been mulling
over for the past four years. The
loveseat is blue and floral. It is the only
comfortable surface in the entire house.
The beds (three), couch (singular) and
chairs (seven) are unimaginably spine-
crushing. This is not a deal breaker but it
is discouraging nonetheless.
I am paying more than double the
going rate for this house, although it is
the rainy season here on the shores of
Lake Chapala, Jalisco, Mexico. I was
happy with the price until last week,
when I discovered the value. Now I feel
like a chump.
I was accepted to a residency a year
ago, space to write in America’s heart-
land. Two weeks before I was scheduled
to fly to Nebraska, I cancelled. To leave
Shutterstock
my family, miss my youngest child’s first
day of school, to be brave and do some-
Going south
thing rather than just think about it? I
couldn’t follow through.
The school year, during which I would
be working part-time, was going to be my
opportunity. My turn. It was less dra-
matic than attending the residency, but
still allowed my goals to be the priority.
Until, of course, real life intervened,
as it does. After the first quarter, it was
clear that I’d need to homeschool my
kindergartener. It was like when I unex-
pectedly became pregnant in 2008 and
threw up at least once a day for 37
weeks until my baby was born. Or the
year of numbing depression that fol-
lowed. Or when I finally got myself
back together, just in time for that baby
to begin having seizures.
For two years, he shook and froze, and
we took endless pictures of his brain that
showed many fascinating things, just
never anything useful, like where the sei-
zures started. Treatment after treatment,
AN ESSAY ON THE WRITING LIFE
nothing controlled his epilepsy. And so
my brain compartmentalized: The writ-
ing self takes a sliver; survival takes up
the rest of my grey matter.
When I say I’ve been mulling over
this book and the main character,
Alberta, age 11, for many years, I’m
not exaggerating. She kept me com-
pany when I thought I was losing
myself, including when I was sure my
son was sick to teach me a lesson since
I hadn’t wanted another baby. Inch by
inch, Alberta’s story has been built in
waiting rooms and in the car, driving
hundreds of miles to the nearest spe-
cialist, in overly long showers and on
rowing machines.
Now I have no excuse. My husband
and children came with me on this
adventure so I couldn’t cop out and
blame them. My husband is in charge of
everything required to keep people alive.
I have made ramen twice, peanut butter
and jelly twice and not one other bite of
food. I haven’t cleaned a thing or put kids
to bed. They leave the house for a few
hours each day to give me silence.
I sit at a desk, in one of the horrible
chairs, facing a yellow wall with scuff
marks at random heights. There are
six blue-framed windows to my left.
And I write.
Months ago, when I first started
planning this excursion, I realized I
would need clear goals. “Write a book”
is better than “write” but still fairly
abstract. “Write a first draft of your
novel” got closer, acknowledging the
limits of a month. “It doesn’t have to be
good” also helped, again limiting the
field for freaking out. I settled on “I
will write 2,000 words every day, only
moving forward and not revising.”
Revisions, of course, are the drug of
choice for writers. If you are moving
parts around, cutting and pasting and
changing your spacing endlessly, you
technically aren’t procrastinating. But it
isn’t doing the writing. I know myself.
With no TV or normal routine, there
are a lot of hours in the day. I read – we
all read – a lot. The day before leaving
town, a librarian friend stopped by with
a gift: an advance copy of Elizabeth Gil-
bert’s book Big Magic, about creativity.
And bravery. And basically everything I
need right now in my life.
I’m a bit shy of my word count – a
stomach bug, a beach day – but in a
good spot. I had to go back and read
part of a chapter that was interrupted by
a screaming person (spiders, endlessly
spiders). I was pleasantly surprised. I
liked what I had written and picked up,
continued and wasn’t tempted to fiddle
with it.
I won’t have a book done when I
leave. I won’t have half a book done. I
will have one-third of a first draft down,
backed up, ready to be added to. When
I return to my Arizona house, it will be
115 degrees. The kids start school two
days later. I will begin teaching a few
weeks after that and there won’t be a
tiny bodega five doors down where I
can buy icy cold glass bottles of Coca-
Cola Light from a teenage girl who has
smiling eyes and is patient with my
verb-free Spanish.
I’m less scared than I expected. I’ve
done what I wasn’t sure I could do. I
will sit in my much better chair, looking
at the plastic climbing mountain in the
side yard, at my overcrowded desk and
write. Two thousand words every day.
I’ve proved something to myself that
might be even more valuable than
accomplishing a goal that has followed
me since elementary school. I can do
the thing I set out to do.
Eliana Osborn is a writer and part-time English
professor living on the U.S.-Mexico border with
her family. Her work has been published online at
Woman’s Day, Women’s Health and Brevity.

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 MIA ALVAR’S debut short story collec-
tion In the Country is plump. The nine
stories clock in at a robust 347 pages,
and Alvar admits her short stories have
always been a bit big-boned. They chron-
icle the fragmented Filipino immigrant
community and bring to life complex
characters with a skill that matches
some of the best in the business, includ-
ing two of Alvar’s favorite short story
wizards Junot Diaz and Jhumpa Lahiri.
Alvar’s characters are inspired by her
family and others she met growing up in
the Philippines, Bahrain and New York
City, but her imagination makes the sto-
ries work, weaving tales of crushing
misery, loss and alienation. In this middle
ground between truth and invention,
Alvar has found her niche. Her stories
contemplate the very real issues of race,
class, migration, death and love, but she
is a writer of fiction, so she does her best
to keep some distance from historical
events and real people.
In our exchange, Alvar explored the
pros and cons of writing workshops,
explained how taking a step away from
reality helped set her prose free and cel-
ebrated humor’s ability to buoy even the
most tragic of tales.

Within an inch of truth

SHORT
STORY
WRITER
MIA
ALVAR
LOOKS
SLANT
AT REAL
LIFE TO
CREATE
COMPELLING
FICTION.
By
Megan
Kaplon

12 | The Writer D December 2015

Deborah Lopez
Did you always think that you
would be a fiction writer?
I always really enjoyed writing. When I was a kid, I was
always trying to imitate books. It was a form of entertain-
ment pre-Internet. It was just a way to extend the life of a
book. But I only started seriously writing fiction in college. I
thought I would be a poet in high school.
What was the most important thing about writing you
learned in college and graduate school?
My MFA taught me a lot about mental and creative inde-
pendence. You’re in workshop after workshop with 12-15
people weighing in on your stuff, and then when I fin-
ished my degree and was out on my own, it was hard to
turn off those voices every time I sat down to write. It
took a year or two to get back to separating the feedback and
the editorial pressure from the actual sitting alone at my desk
and making things up. But because I had been in those work-
shops, I could, when I had to, turn it on again and be objec-
tive and critical about my own work.
You mentioned that after graduating from college, you
taught middle school in Dorchester, Massachusetts. What
else did you do to make a living before you landed this
book contract?
I did every cliché of what a writer does to support herself.
Immediately after teaching, I went to grad school and was
working an office job at a university, and I then got a teaching
fellowship at Columbia so I was teaching the undergrad com-
position class. Between then and now, everything – worked
in publishing for a while, worked at a restaurant for like six
months, though it felt like six years. I was under this whole
illusion that I’d work at night and write during the day, and
that’s generally not how it works.
My long-term day job was at a nonprofit as their commu-
nications person. I was writing and editing public relations
and marketing stuff for the First Presbyterian Church in New
York. Then a couple years ago, I felt like I was very close to
finishing the book but I wasn’t going to finish it by continu-
ing to get up at 5 in the morning – or saying that I would get
up at 5 in the morning but really getting up at 7 and then
having an hour before work – so I cobbled together a fellow-
ship here, residency here, andmade writing my thing. A year
after leaving my job, I was able to sell the book, and I’ve been
freelancing and writing since then.
What were some of the first things that you felt inspired to
write about?
Some of the same stuff that’s in the book. During my junior
year of college, I went back to the Philippines for the first
time in 10 years because my grandmother was passing away,
and I was keeping a notebook while I was there because
everything was so new and arresting to me because I had
14 | The Writer D December 2015
been away for so long.
Around that same
time – this was the late
’90s – there were these
really great collections
coming out about differ-
ent immigrant communi-
ties, including Junot Diaz’s
Drown and Jhumpa Lahi-
ri’s Interpreter of Maladies,
and it was that conver-
gence of what I was read-
ing and being back in my
birth country for the first
time that made me think
about writing stories and in
particular using – we’re such
users, writers, we really are – my family’s experiences and sto-
ries as “material” for the first time. The first story “The Kont-
rabida” actually came out of that trip and was revised within
an inch of its life since then and not at all recognizable from
what it was. I’ve been writing about this stuff for as long as
I’ve been writing fiction.
What do you like about the short story form?
I love the form, which is strange coming from me, because I
was always the person in workshop that everybody hated
because I was turning in 30-page stories. I would always get
the feedback, “Are you sure this isn’t a novel?” “This feels like
it wants to be a novel; it’s straining at the buttons of the short
story form.” I like being able to not commit to one idea. I had
these ideas, and there was never one that rose to prominence
and made me feel like: I don’t feel like writing about these
other things anymore. I wanted to explore each of them fully
but then to be able to jump from one place to another. I
wanted to explore this really disparate, scattered community,
and the most interesting way that I found to do that was
through individual characters, rather than having one Forrest
Gump figure travel through time and space.
Did you have to cut the stories in the collection down a lot?
It’s not even so much cutting the stories down to be shorter,
but there were some stories that I wrote 60 pages of a certain
version of that turned out to be the wrong direction. So that
all went down the drain, like nine months of work.
Is it hard for you to throw away so much of your writing?
I’ve sort of made peace with it. I was always envious of people
in the performing arts and athletes because I felt like they go
to practice or they go to class for a certain number of hours,
they do these drills or exercises or arpeggios – I’m really
showing my amazing knowledge of these fields – it’s this very
regimented training process and at the end of that they know,
or there’s a teacher or a coach to tell them, they’re ready to
advance to the next level or they’re ready to perform. Writing
fiction feels very nebulous and not structured in that way. If
only there was a writing version of doing pliés. But then I
noticed that my process was to write these pages and pages of
drafts that ended up being thrown out, so I make myself feel
better about that by thinking that that’s my version of doing
scales or drills. It’s not meant to be seen but is hopefully some
kind of preparation and way to improve.
Which was the most challenging story in the collection
to write?
Definitely the novella “In the Country,” and I say that not
knowing if it’s the best story in the collection, but it was the
most satisfying to finish because it kicked my ass so much. It
was extremely hard to write about that place and time [the
declaration of martial law in the Philippines in 1972 through
the People Power Revolution in 1986] and handle this very
heavy political and historical material and still make it feel
like a story of a family, which was really important to me.
Until the very end, I was still making really significant
changes. I don’t think my publisher was very happy with me.
Do you feel satisfied with it now?
I do. I feel like this about the collection – I feel like I couldn’t
have worked harder on it, so in that way, I’m done with it and
that feels satisfying, but I haven’t gone back and read it.
Your upcoming novel will be inspired by the novella. After
you struggled so much with the short story, is tackling the
same character in the novel intimidating?
I’m just intimidated by the idea of the novel and the commit-
ment to one idea and one character. I don’t know how to
write a novel; I guess I must learn by the deadline that is
printed in my contract. Part of me is really intimidated, and
part of me is still in that honeymoon phase with a new idea
where this is so exciting, I can’t wait to start writing about it.
The disillusion hasn’t set in yet.
The third story in the collection “Legends of the White Lady”
is the only one where the main character is an American in
the Philippines instead of a Filipino immigrant in another
country. How was writing that story different for you?
That story was inspired by this thing that happened in
Manila. Claire Danes had just filmed the movie Brokedown
Palace there. It’s not a very good movie, and I don’t think
most people have seen it, but it’s actually set in Bangkok.
They filmed it in Manila and changed the street signs and
the side that people were driving on. This happens to
Manila a lot. I don’t know if because of the American influ-
ence there’s some Hollywood connection that makes it
cheaper to film in Manila, but it becomes this stand-in for
other Asian capitals a lot.
So Claire Danes filmed there and in an interview after-
wards, she was asked about her experience. She really hated
it in Manila, and she said something like: It’s ghastly there. It
smells like cockroaches, and there are people walking around
without arms and legs. She had this intense description of
Manila, and people were very offended and there was a ban
on showing her movies in Manila. If you read the quote you
can understand why people were mad, but there was some-
thing really interesting to me about the language that she
used. It was very surreal and dream-like, and these were
qualities that I had also associated with Manila, so I was
interested in what she was actually seeing and perceiving
during that time. So that story actually started out as a
thinly veiled Claire Danes filming a movie in Manila, but it
sort of evolved and she became this struggling model there
for a slightly different purpose. 
Why did you feel that choice was better for the story?
I just found that it wasn’t very interesting for me. I felt too
tied to making up [Claire Danes’] experience, whereas if I
remove the character, not that far from her industry but just
slightly, then my imagination felt freer. And that was true for
me throughout the book with real cities or real places. The
second I was obsessing over how long it would take to drive
from this place to this place, I knew I had to change a name
or something because I was just not writing fiction anymore.
What did you hope to accomplish by writing about the Fili-
pino experience?
It’s not that different from what I think a lot of fiction writ-
ers hope to accomplish, no matter where their stories are set
or who their characters are, which is to inspire curiosity and
then maybe as a result of that, empathy or a connection.
There is a moment in “The Miracle Worker” where the nar-
rator Sally hears a story about cashiers going on strike and
then she goes about her life and pays closer attention to the
people serving her food and catering to her needs. That’s a
parallel to what I hope the stories will do and what I’ve felt
the best stories have done for me: make you look more
closely at people you thought of as minor characters in the
story of your life.
Your stories can be pretty dark at times. Did you ever try to
pull yourself out of that and find the light in a story?
I did not know that I was a particularly dark person but I
realized – spoiler alert – that there’s not really a happy ending
in this collection. I did think about balance a little, and I felt
like humor gave me opportunities to lighten the mood a little
bit, whether it was cases of mistaken identity, which tell their
own story about race and class relations but are also just kind
of funny sometimes, or moments when characters find some-
thing to laugh about with each other. I felt like those naturally
presented themselves to me, as they do in life, even in the
most tragic circumstances. 
Megan Kaplon is a contributing editor to The Writer.

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BY MELISSA HART

Dinty W. Moore
talks about his
unconventional,
superstitious,
comic, mindful
and messy
approach to
teaching and
practicing craft.

16 | The Writer D December 2015


INTY W. MOORE stands in one corner of
the Moto-I Sake and Noodle House in Min-
neapolis, surrounded by writing students who
are eating and drinking. He’s reading from a
manuscript in his hands, an essay called “Of
Old Girlfriends.”
“First of all, I am grateful,” he begins.
“And I wish there had been more of you. But
I fully understand.”
At the bar, colleagues from across the
country slurp ramen and sip sake cocktails
under large photographs of cats. Sumo wres-
tlers gyrate across two TV screens. The scene
is loud, crowded, exploding with pent-up
energy from participants unleashed for the
day from the AWP annual conference. Still,
Moore’s voice – deep and melodious as a
radio announcer’s – carries across the room.
People turn and pay attention.
Moore, who turned 60 in August, works
as an English professor and director of cre-
ative writing at Ohio University in Athens,
Ohio. He’s fond of growing heirloom toma-
toes, reading the writings of Michel de Mon-
taigne, rendering the traditional essay
format catawampus.
Within his numerous books and essays
and stories, there’s “History,” a seven-min-
ute video essay inspired by a guest teaching
gig in Scotland, and “Mr. Plimpton’s
Renita M. Romasco
Revenge,” subtitled “A Google Map Essay in
Which George Plimpton Delivers My
Belated and Well-Deserved Comeuppance,”
which looks online just like a Google map,
and an essay comprised of Facebook posts,
and “The Napkin is the Message,” an illus-
trated piece written entirely on cocktail
napkins in his newest book, Dear Mister
Essay Writer Guy: Advice and Confessions
on Writing, Love, and Cannibals.
“What I like about each writing project,”
he says, “is that it’s another puzzle. The puz-
zle is how you make it coherent for readers,
and complete. I like throwing difficult puz-
zles at myself.”
Community-building through humor
Growing up, Moore found himself puzzling
out what he describes as a “typically lousy
childhood,” learning to navigate an alcoholic
father and depressed mother with humor.
“I’ve always been someone who jokes about
whatever’s going on in the world,” he says,
“Richard Nixon and Watergate, or the
Republican debates with Donald Trump.”
He dedicates his new book to polar bears.
On a page across from a line drawing of a
frowning furry creature up on its hind legs
under a searing sun, he pleads, “Be gentle
with me.”
“Part of the humor that runs through
Dear Mister Essay Writer Guy,” Moore
explains, “is the idea that the polar bears are
going to get so mad at us that they’re going
to march down to the lower 48 and teach us
a lesson. I know that what we’re doing with
the climate is threatening the polar bears in
horrible ways. But I can’t stop myself from
making a joke.”
Anne Sand, who studied with Moore as
an undergraduate, recalls his use of humor
to ease tension during classroom manuscript
critiques. “With rather fragile 18-to-22-year
olds, a nonfiction workshop can become an
emotionally charged place,” she says. “One of
Dinty’s strongest aspects as a teacher is to
dispel some of that charge using humor.
That can be dangerous,” she adds, “but
somehow, he always did it so that it felt com-
munity-building instead of threatening.”
Athens, where Moore lives, has a popu-
lation just over 24,000. Students learn in his
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classroom to absorb the details of a
person or place or event and “do a lot
with a little,” as Sand says. “There aren’t
a lot of big events that write the piece
for you,” she explains. “In a small, kind
of isolated town, it was really good prac-
tice to write about smaller situations in a
detail-oriented way.”
For his course on nonfiction form and
theory, Moore asks students to spend weeks immersed in
one subject, then distill their experience in a journalistic
essay. In any given year, his syllabus may offer the follow-
ing subject matter:
T Five Friday nights at a tattoo parlor
T Volunteer for six weeks at an organic farm
T Buckeye quarter midget car racing
T Shadow an aquarium/parrot/wiener dog/potbelly or
porcelain pig enthusiast
Sand chose to focus on Athens comic artist Sandy Plunkett.
“He had a show at the university art museum,” she says, “and
gave drawing and inking classes. I went to all of his classes and
lectures and wrote about him.”
Previously, she’d relied on family history and personal expe-
rience to give what she calls “emotional thrust” to her writing.
“This assignment,” she says, “forced me to think differently.”
Moore also encouraged her to play with form. These days,
as a graduate student at the University of Iowa, she still refers
to his essay, “Son of Mr. Green Jeans,” whenever she gets stuck.
It’s a poignant pop culture meditation on fatherhood, written
as an alphabetized acrostic that runs the gamut from how TV
provided an escape from his father’s alcoholism to the pater-
nal habits of male penguins and wolves. Even in the midst of
grim details about people’s child custody battles and heroin
addictions, he can’t help making a joke.
He does, however, wait until he reaches
the letter X.
“What I like about
He writes: “XENOGENESIS (zen’u- each writing project
jen’v-sis), n. Biol. 1. heterogenesis 2. the
supposed generation of offspring com- is that it’s another
pletely and permanently different from
the parent. Believing in xenogenesis, I
puzzle. The puzzle is
changed my mind about having children how you make it
about four years after rejecting my wife’s
first suggestion of the idea.”
coherent for read-
ers, and complete.
Experiments in form and theory
Writers who want to play with form I like throwing
should learn traditional narrative first,
Moore says. “Learn to tell a conventional
difficult puzzles at
story,” he suggests, “from beginning to myself.”
end using nothing but complete sentences
and paragraphs. Then shift chronology
with flashbacks and flash-forwards, and
18 | The Writer D December 2015
apply that to whatever new experi-
ment you want.”
His new book turns the tradi-
tional craft tome on its head. Never
pedantic, Dear Mister Writer Guy is
part how-to and part creative nonfic-
tion, written as a series of responses in
essay form to tongue-in-cheek ques-
tions he solicited from writers including
Diane Ackerman, Phillip Lopate and Cheryl Strayed. Author
and editor Brian Doyle sent him this query:
Dear Mister Essay Writer Guy,
When you are clogged and stupid and weary, and you feel
like every sentence you eke out is fatuous and literary and
homiletic and sermonish and stentorian, and it feels like
your stuff is stiff and officious, and you cannot ever imag-
ine finding the verve and zest and fury and pop and silly of
your work at its best, what do you do?
Dinty’s reply:
Dear Brian,
Clogged and stupid and weary pretty much sums up my
artistic process, except for the occasional bouts of being
fatuous, homiletic, stiff and officious. Thank you for the
reminder. What do I do? Besides self-loathing? Sometimes
I just sit and draw pictures.
Art serves as a cross-pollinator of sorts for Moore’s literary
work. He’s a doodler and an avid photographer. “I take it very
seriously,” he says of his photography. “I don’t sell it, and I
don’t think of it as a career. It’s a release for me. I can use my
creative energy, but it doesn’t get all
tied up with the life of a writer and
where will I be published, and what
will I do next. It’s just pure entertain-
ment for me.”
Still, his photographs of elderly
men in Scotland make up much of
the video “History,” published by the
literary magazine TriQuarterly. And
Dear Mister Essay Writer Guy
includes several of his doodles. “I
don’t know if you’re allowed to be
amused by your own work,” he says
of them, “but I’m particularly fond of
the polar bear meditating.”
Hard work and humility
Moore’s no stranger to meditation.
That’s him sitting in lotus position on
the cover of The Accidental Buddhist,
his 1999 creative nonfiction book
exploring Buddhist practices in the U.S.
“I don’t believe in
A former Catholic, he immersed himself inspiration. I
in the practices of meditation and mind-
fulness in pursuit of lost faith. What he believe that you sit
found was a deep regard for simplicity.
His desk is a table he picked up at a
at your desk, and
yard sale two decades ago. His writing you push your pen-
office is the worst-situated, smallest bed-
room in the house. “It was a girl’s bed-
cil around, and you
room for the former family,” he says. “It’s feel lousy about
painted circus-wagon blue.” Superstition
compels him to hold onto the desk and yourself for a while,
tolerate the riotous walls. and eventually, you
“I had a friend who made a lot of
money on his second book and poured it just start writing.”
into the most amazing writing studio,” he
says. “It was the size of the first floor of a
house, with picture windows overlook-
ing a valley and a wood-burning stove.
He never wrote another word.”
Moore, on the other hand, has numer-
ous books to his name. His secret? “I don’t
believe in inspiration,” he says. “I believe that you sit at your
desk, and you push your pencil around, and you feel lousy
about yourself for a while, and eventually, you just start writing.
Everyone I know who’s lucky in this business is lucky because
they’re working really hard, and then good stuff happens.”
Embodying literary citizenship
The final chapter title of Accidental Buddhist sums up the
wit and humility that inform both his memoirs and craft
books. “What Kind of Buddhist Am I?” he asks in that
chapter. “A Lousy One.” “I still feel like a goofy 16-year-old
kid,” he confesses, “trying to do something that isn’t stupid
for once in his life.”
That sentiment may surprise the devoted students and col-
leagues who crowd around him, hungry for his kind words
and ready smile, as he enters a lecture hall to prepare for a
conference panel. “I’ve met him a handful of times,” says
author Ana Maria Spagna, assistant director of Whidbey
Island’s MFA program, “as a junior colleague at a writing con-
ference, as an audience member at a reading he headlined in a
very loud bar and as a somewhat lost young writer at a
crowded book festival reception. In each case, he was exactly
as he is on the page: gracious, funny, down-to-earth, a super-
smart and genuinely grounded man who makes everyone
around him feel grounded, too.”
Spagna’s equally grateful for Brevity, the magazine Moore
founded for short creative nonfiction. “It gives writers – stu-
dents, especially – a goal that, perhaps deceptively, seems
achievable,” she says. “Maybe they aren’t ready to write an
85,000-word memoir, but sure, they can tackle 750 words.
Moreover, the work on Brevity is so
stellar and so diverse, the audience so
large and lively, it has become a kind of
home base for lovers of the essay. And I
can’t help but believe Dinty’s own per-
sonality lies behind it all. He created
the community and keeps it thriving.”
Click to Brevity on Facebook and
Twitter, and you’ll become aware of
Moore as a generous editor who daily
shares inspiring quotes from other
authors and thanks them for their con-
tributions to the literary world in a
public forum.
“Literary citizenship is important
to me,” he says. “People who edited
small magazines 25 years ago gave me
my first places to publish my work
before anyone had read anything I’d
written. As a magazine editor, it’s
important to create opportunities for
other writers. The more you can help
other writers, the higher the boat will
rise on the waves.”
Dear Mister Essay Writer Guy is all about helping writers.
He hopes that it will inspire potential memoirists and essayists
to think about how interesting their lives can be if examined.
“That’s the difference, for me, between poorly executed mem-
oir and excellent memoir,” he says. “Poorly executed memoir
tells us what happened, and successful memoir examines it.
Your job is to think about it and make connections and find
surprises that you didn’t know you’d find.”
Insights such as these are Moore’s singular and signature
contribution to the field. By example on the page and in the
classroom, he offers a way to survive with grace and wit in the
often-fraught world of professional writing.
He’s now working on a humorous nonfiction book about
hell. “I believe hell is a metaphor,” he says, “not an actual place
deep under the crust of the earth. That image of hell being a
real place – this idea that we go there and stand in a river of
fire for the rest of our lives – has had a profound impact on
our religion, our government, our laws, our morality.”
Inspired by Dante’s Inferno, he is examining the circles of
hell as they exist in the world today. “For the chapter that
examines gluttony,” he says, “I participated in a chicken-eating
contest. Competitive eating is a very frightening thing once
you understand how the professionals do it. I was not partic-
ularly good at it.”
Melissa Hart is the author of the memoir Wild Within: How Rescuing
Owls Inspired a Family and the middle-grade novel Avenging the Owl.
She’s an instructor for the Whidbey Writers Workshop MFA in Cre-
ative Writing Program.
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 NOVELIST
CHRISTINE SNEED
SHARES ADVICE
FOR MAKING
EVERY PAGE A
WORK OF POETRY.

t
By Jack Smith

e m o
L juste
 “A STRONG PROTAGONIST,” says
Christine Sneed, “does much of the
heavy-lifting in a work of fiction. The
plot itself might not be very compel-
ling or original, but if you have char-
acters that seem to live and breathe
on the page, they will more likely
than not keep a reader invested.”
Sneed’s protagonists keep readers
invested because they are layered
with such depth that we come to
know them as real people. We know
what dominates their thoughts:
what they want out of life, what they
might have to settle for. Her two
novels are rife with complicated
conflicts, sometimes of her charac-
ters’ own making, and yet they don’t
willingly borrow trouble. They
make choices, like all of us, and
some choices are like stepping into a
river. There are undertows. The
pleasure in reading a Christine
Sneed novel is seeing how her pro-
tagonists struggle to stay afloat as
well as they can – and to do more
than that, if they can.
Sneed also fuels reader interest
with intriguing story settings. For
her first novel Little Known Facts,
it’s Hollywood, though it would be
more accurate to say the Hollywood
movie industry itself. The novel cen-
ters on Renn Ivins, a rich world-
class actor, but an abject failure in
the family department: a womanizer
with two unsuccessful marriages
and two mostly estranged children.
His behavior borders on the bizarre,
especially when he clashes with his
son Will over eligible women. To get
beyond his father’s gravitational
force, Will moves to Paris and gets
busy writing a film script titled Lit-
tle Known Facts about his dysfunc-
tional family. On the whole, Sneed’s
characters struggle to situate them-
selves outside of, or within, this Hol-
lywood mogul’s solar system.
Her current novel Paris, He Said
Shutterstock
is set mostly in the City of Light.
Jayne Marks, a fledgling artist, isn’t
succeeding in the New York art
world. She meets gallery owner
Laurent Moller, a wealthy Parisian
who invites her to live with him in
Paris, where he promises to sup-
hands, this novel could end up a
tawdry romance, but Sneed’s prem-
ise becomes an opportunity for
novelistic probing. Capturing the
deep interiority of her characters,
Sneed portrays the ordinary push
and pull of human relationships,
Q
port her career. For Jayne, Laurent’s
offer is a ticket out of a life going
nowhere fast, and she might be fall-
ing in love with him. In lesser
the uneasy dynamic of expectation
and result, and the unwieldy pros-
pect of human happiness.
Sneed’s command is particularly
evident in the trajectory of her char-
acters, her careful delineation of
their self-knowledge. Character
development is a gradual accretion
of felt experience, the sensitive distil-
lation of experiences and the realiza-
tion of a new, possible equilibrium,
however tenuous. But nothing is
wrapped up in a tidy package.
Literary fiction, Sneed says, “ide-
ally mirrors, with precision and
insight, the world and our experi-
ences as thinking and feeling social
creatures. This mirroring is also,
however, one of the aspects that can
frustrate readers who are looking
for answers, for closure. The world,
at least in my experience of it,
doesn’t consistently offer the
answers we are hoping to have when
something ends – a relationship, a
job or, in this case, a story.”
In the end, Sneed’s gripping nar-
rative voice is the hallmark of her fic-
tion. As a stylist, she crafts detailed,
lucid prose that holds her protago-
nists up to the light, exposing the
myriad interstices of their complex
beings. In addition, her acute sense
of the right word – le mot juste –
helps draw readers into the charac-
ters she so meticulously creates.
How does setting generally come to
you in the process of writing a story
or novel? Why did you choose Paris
as a setting for your new novel?
What did it help you accomplish?
I generally have a pretty good idea of
where a story or a novel will be set
before I start writing a new work of
fiction. In the case of Paris, He Said, I
knew before I’d written the first word
that I wanted Paris to be the setting
where most of the novel’s events took
place. I was a French major in college
and spent the obligatory junior year
abroad; writing Paris, He Said
allowed me to examine my some-
times complex feelings for the French
and their culture. Many Americans
have such a strong attachment to
France, and Paris in particular, and
again, I hoped to understand my
own feelings for this country and
city a little better, as well as explore
Paris’s hold over the American
imagination. It is the celebrated
aspects of Paris’ beauty – its art,
architecture, fashion, food, parks,
grand boulevards – that seduced me
into setting my novel there.
The setting in this novel is vividly
portrayed. Can you walk us through
your process of creating it? Did you
study maps, take pictures, do much
research?
I have visited Paris probably a dozen
times since the year I studied in
Strasbourg. When I was writing
Paris, He Said, I traveled twice to the
city from my home in Evanston, Illi-
nois, for several days to make sure
that I correctly portrayed the details I
chose for the novel, and I did study
maps and travel guides such as
Lonely Planet’s Paris guide. I also
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 took pictures and scribbled many pages of notes as I walked
through the city, especially the 18th Arrondissement, which is
where Laurent Moller’s apartment is; I located it on rue du
Général Foy, a few blocks southwest of the Gare Saint-Lazare
train station, near a beautiful little park called the Square Mar-
cel Pagnol. I looked at photos of Paris as I was writing some of
the more descriptive passages, too. This helped me recall the
feelings of awe that I felt when seeing these streets and land- Spirited dialogue is crucial to page-turning work. How do
marks in person.
How were you able to gather
enough information about Holly-
wood to write Little Known Facts?
What made you want to write
about the movie industry?
Like many other people, I’ve
always been curious about Holly-
wood and the film industry. When
writing Little Known Facts, I drew
on my impressions from the visits
I’d made to L.A. over the last 12
years or so, and I have family mem-
bers who work in the industry.
Hearing some of their stories about
the difficulties of making a living as
an actor or producer or screen-
writer – and about what might
happen if you do make it – inspired
me to write about the effects, as I
imagined them, that fame has on
the famous and their intimates.  you?” Pauses also are sometimes a
it takes time, for sure, along with a sometimes ruthless edito-
rial eye. There really is a lot of revision involved. One thing
that I try to do in my work is show how much I love the
world, and to write with precision about it. I name the type of
tree, for example, and describe its leaves. I want to be able to
see it clearly, and I hope my readers will too.
you write dialogue? What are some tips you can give begin-
ning writers?
Dialogue in good films has helped me learn to
write better dialogue in fiction. And pay-
ing close attention to people who are
talking who don’t know you’re listen-
ing – occasional eavesdropping on the
bus or the subway, or in line at the
library or at the movie theater – is very
instructive. I like to listen to other
people in an unguarded moment.
You notice how some people
change the subject without ceremony;
non sequiturs are an excellent tool in
dialogue writing because people’s
thoughts are often discursive, and
reflecting this in dialogue can create
an authentic ring to an exchange
between two characters. It’s also a
good idea to dispense with the routine
parts of conversation, such as: “Hi,
how are you?” and “I’m fine, and

You often make use of expository
prose and narrative summary. This
is a risk in fiction writing, and yet
you achieve dramatic power. How
do you manage to do this?
I do sweat these parts of the story
quite a bit; I do a lot of editing. A
couple of years ago I saw George
Saunders speak in Chicago around
the time of the release of Tenth of
December, and he said something
that I continue to think about often,
that is, how he tries for a line-by-line
energy in each of his stories. I real-
ized that this is also something I
aspire to. If you’re using interesting
enough language, and you’re doing
your best to immerse your charac-
ters fully in a fictional world – one
Adam Tinkham
The Christine Sneed File
▶BA in French, Georgetown University
▶MFA in Creative Writing, Indiana
University
▶Published two novels and one short
story collection
▶Short story “Quality of Life”
appeared in The Best American Short
Stories 2008
▶Short story “The First Wife”
appeared in PEN/O. Henry Prize
Stories 2012
▶The collection The
Virginity of Famous Men is due
to be published by Bloomsbury
in 2016
▶Teaches for the MFA programs
good choice. The playwright Harold
Pinter made effective use of them.
Silence can be very expressive.
How do you get started on a
novel? How much do you manage the
process, and what are your writing
goals as you proceed?
 I usually begin with a character, and I
often have a title, though in the case of
Paris, He Said and Little Known
Facts, ironically, I didn’t. The
titles came later, but with the
short stories I’ve written, the
titles have almost always come
first. While I’m writing, I often jot
down ideas in a little notebook I
keep on my desk – plot points,
bits of dialogue, notes on struc-
ture. I also do try to write a cer-

that seems immediate and sincere at Northwestern University and tain number of words every day.
and authentic – these expository University of Illinois-Urbana- One writer friend goes by line
passages will ideally snap to life, but Champaign count. Whatever it is that helps
22 | The Writer D December 2015
you get words down on the page, that’s what
you should do. But I think it’s good to have a
goal in mind when you sit down at your desk.
Is there a moment in the writing process
when you know: I’ve got it?
I don’t think I ever feel confident that I do.
But with luck, I reach a point where I realize
the characters seem to be people who could
exist, and that if I met them on the street, I’d
recognize them.
When did this happen with Jayne and
Laurent?
I didn’t really have a confident sense of who
Laurent and Jayne were until I started the sec-
ond draft of Paris, He Said. Once I started
rewriting, however, I realized that I did know
who they were. The process of getting to
know a character is similar to how it is in real
life: You spend time with someone and grad-
ually you begin to understand who this per-
son is, and possibly, some of what resides in
his or her private heart.
Laurent’s story isn’t as central as Jayne’s,
but he’s clearly an important character.
What did he need to accomplish for your
novel to work?
With Laurent, I knew from the beginning that
he was cosmopolitan and a devoted, but not
an amoral, pleasure-seeker. I wanted to try to
understand how someone like him operated
and saw the world, and I was thinking about
powerful, wealthy men such as entrepreneurs
like Steve Jobs, perhaps, and film stars or
other celebrated artists who have access to the
most beautiful women and men in the world.
What kind of person do you become when
you have so many opportunities to experience
pleasure? Does it make you a happier person
than someone who doesn’t have access to
glamorous people and experiences? This was
at the core of my attempts to understand and
create a character like Laurent Moller. He had to be someone
who could make a reasonable argument for his behavior
because this is a novel, at heart, in which I have to make sense
of how people like Laurent, a man of many privileges, choose
to live their lives.
In both of your novels, you shift from third to first person.
Why did you make these shifts, and what were you trying
to achieve?
First-person point of view allows a kind of intimacy that is
The education of harder to access with third-person, but there’s
Christine Sneed also the danger that a first-person narrator
(by way of five books) will alienate the reader, and so the distance or
detachment almost instantly at hand with
Endless Love
by Scott Spencer third-person is valuable if you’re striving for
“The main character, David more objectivity in the story. I found switch-
Axelrod, is the most compel- ing point of view invaluable while writing
ling unreliable narrator I’ve Paris, He Said in that it permitted me to
ever encountered. A truly
virtuosic and inordinately approach Jayne’s and Laurent’s interior lives
affecting novel.” from different angles. I could have them
speak in their own voices and also have a
Runaway third-person narrator portray them with
by Alice Munro
“This is probably my favorite more of a sense of detachment, if not com-
book by the brilliant Munro. plete objectivity.
The depth and beauty of the In my first novel Little Known Facts, I used
characterization in these sto-
first-person with a few of the characters that I
ries is a touchstone for me.” 
wanted to lend a particular poignancy to –
Disgrace Renn himself and his two ex-wives, for exam-
by J.M. Coetzee ple. There’s something more plaintive in their
“This devastating novel
sections, perhaps, than in the others. They are
reads like a Shakespearean
tragedy. The spare language making appeals to readers – to like them, to
and brevity of the book trust them – that I didn’t think would have as
– 199 pages – remind me much power in third-person.
that every word should be
necessary.”
In Paris, He Said, why did you choose sec-
The Blue Flower tions for your two point-of-view characters
by Penelope Fitzgerald instead of alternating perspectives?
“A friend of mine used the
I originally wrote this novel solely from
words ‘purposeful play’ re-
cently to describe something Jayne Marks’ point of view, in close third-
he’d read, a phrase which person, but as I was working on the second
also perfectly describes this draft, I kept thinking about Laurent having
charming and erudite book.”  
his say, and I knew that I very much wanted
The Corrections to dedicate at least one section to him, but I
by Jonathan Franzen didn’t want to switch from one character’s
“The lushness of Franzen’s point of view to the other within the same
sensual prose and the affec-
section. It would have compromised my
tion he shows for his charac-
ters continue to instruct me. attempts to create a fully realized emotional
Franzen is a Coetzee foil, you and intellectual life for each of them, inde-
could probably say; in any pendent of the other. Having my main male
case, both writers do what
character explain some of his behavior, to
they do so well.” 
defend himself, in a sense, in his own
extended section, was one way I tried to
transform him into a more complex and
possibly more sympathetic character.
What can beginning writers learn about point of view? What’s
your advice, based on your own writing?
Frequently when a story isn’t coming together, point of view is
one of the first elements a writer should examine: Should this
be in first-person instead of third? It can be instructive, for
sure, to change from one to the other. Narrative voice is also
very much connected to point of view. For me, overall, I’d say
that point of view is instinctive. I hear the voice in a certain way
and know that it has to be first or third. I write more in third-
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person than in first; I like the detachment of
third. It seems, perhaps ironically, more freeing
than first, which is very much governed by the
personality you’re creating with the “I” that
guides the story.
How much revision do you do?
I do a lot of revision. It’s especially crucial with a
novel manuscript. I rewrote about 90-95 percent
of Paris, He Said from the first draft to the sec-
ond. I basically started over; I opened a new
Word document, copied in a few pages from the
first draft and more or less trudged forward as if
I were writing a new novel. Then I wrote five
more drafts. My editor and I worked on seven
drafts all told before she signed off on it and it
went to the copy editor. She and I both scruti-
nized each sentence closely. I suppose that I am
usually trying for a kind of prose that reads like
poetry, a quality John Updike once said that he
aspired to too. He wanted a reader to be able to
choose any one page out of his novels and be
able to read it as if it were a poem. Overall, the
revision of this novel was absolutely exhausting.
My first novel Little Known Facts, however, came
out almost intact; this was a rare experience,
though, for me. It might be my first published
novel, but it’s not the first one I’ve written.
Do you have a regular writing schedule? A reg-
ular writing place?
I don’t have a regular schedule, but when I’m
working on a novel manuscript, I generally try
to write every day, and get about a thousand
words down if possible. I do have a preferred
place for writing though. It’s the desk in my
kitchen/study area. It’s near some west-facing
windows, and it gets a lot of bright afternoon
light. It’s the one place in the world where I feel
relatively focused and sane.
 
Any tips for beginning writers on getting novels completed
and published?
You have to be very persistent about putting your backside in
the chair every day and facing rejection and continuing to work What’s your final advice to beginning writers?
despite the disappointments and frustrations. You also have to
be able to differentiate between criticism you can use and the
kind that you can’t. In workshops I usually find that one or two
people will read work in the way the author hopes to be read,
and they will give feedback that speaks to one’s own preoccupa- ciplined about saying no.
tions as a writer. The other feedback, the writer has to be able to
filter out. I also think it’s important to finish a full first draft
before you show it to someone because it’s very easy to get
24 | The Writer D December 2015
From Paris, He Said
CHAPTER 1 Flight
As Jayne made final preparations to leave New York for
Paris during the first few days of June, a heat wave
turned the sky ashen with trapped pollution and unshed
rain. The people she passed on the street seemed more
short-tempered than usual, and no one met her gaze
other than schoolchildren who glanced up at her with
innocent apathy. For a long time she had assumed that
poverty or loneliness, or both, would force her to flee the
city, but instead she had met an older man who invited
her to trade Manhattan for his home in Paris. She said
yes with little hesitation.
The air was dry and the sky free of glowering clouds
as her plane landed in the gray northern sprawl of Paris’s exurbs at seven thirty in the
morning, the highways already pulsing with cars and brightly painted tradesmen’s vans.
She had not slept on the flight from JFK because she was thinking of the man who
waited for her on the threshold of tomorrow morning, someone who sold other people’s
art after finding it impossible, years ago, to sell much of his own. She was leaving her
friends, her native language, her family, her doctor and dentist, her library card, the pur-
poseful little dogs, some dressed in sweaters and plaid coats on winter days, that she
saw walking with their doting owners on the streets near her apartment.
For six independent but mostly hand-to-mouth years she had lived in Manhattan
and had not been to Paris since college, nine years earlier, but she had thought of it
every day, as if it were someone important she hoped without reason to become indis-
pensable to. Each quarter had its own manicured parks and public squares, and thou-
sands of Parisians walked or rode bicycles or took the train to work and to the
narrow-aisled stores where they often shopped at the end of the day, filling net bags
and small wheeled carts. When she first saw them as a student, the stately, weathered
buildings with their stone facades seemed to encourage romance. She found Paris more
serenely beautiful than the other cities she was familiar with, many with fuming smoke-
stacks and superhighways driven like a stake through their thundering hearts.
Reprinted by permission of Christine Sneed © 2015, Bloomsbury.
derailed when you’re in the middle of a long project if you show
someone new pages and he or she says, “I don’t think this char-
acter/this plot thread/this structure works.”
Saying no when you’d much rather say yes to an invitation to
see a movie, or to go shopping, or to go away for the weekend –
this is one the biggest challenges of being a writer. You have to
find a balance; do say yes, for sure, sometimes, but also get dis-
Jack Smith is the author of Write and Revise for Publication and two
satirical novels: Hog to Hog and Icon. 
 “I FIGURE that if I’m going to write fic-
tion and not memoir,” says novelist Eliza
Kennedy, “I should take full advantage of
the freedom that fiction offers to change
and improve the ‘real.’” Vu Tran says when
he writes fiction, he is less concerned
about using any “factual experience” he
has had, but instead seeks to relate the
“emotional experience” he has lived.
In her short stories and novels, Nancy
Riesman likes to search for the “optimal
distance” in turning facts of her life into
fiction. “If I’m too close to the material,
while I may be able to take useful notes or

with
draft bits, the piece will be out of balance,”
she says. “In a different way, I feel this
when I’m too far.”
For some authors, fiction should be fic-
tion. “I much prefer to create characters

fiction
and situations of whole cloth,” says J. Ryan
Stradal. “The less reality, the better.”
Writers often struggle with how best to
use life experiences as part of their fic-
tional expressions – whether as the basis
for a plot, a critical event within a story,
characters or as stolen bits of dialogue. As
Six novelists share Truman Capote famously found out in his
La Cote Basque 1965 (in which he skew-
thoughts and tips on ered his high society friends), there can be
fictionalizing personal seriously negative consequences when real
people too easily recognize themselves in
experiences. someone else’s writing.
I asked six novelists, whose books
By Roger Morris explore relationships, to share techniques
and thoughts for turning the facts of their
lives into fiction, including writing
insights, negative consequences and tips
for the craft. Their answers follow.
 VU TRAN
Vietnamese
American
writer Vu Tran
revisited a trau-
matic point in
his early life not
as a central plot
line, but to bet-
Chris Kirzeder
ter explain a
pivotal charac-
ter. In his debut
novel Dragonfish, Tran fictionalized his
own escape from Vietnam as a child as
background for a key character, Suzie.
“The basic premise of Suzie and her
daughter fleeing Vietnam by boat is
something that I experienced at the age
of 5,” Tran says. “Everything else in the
book is fictional. So the actual personal
experience that I used in the book was
the one I remember the least about. I was
on the phone a lot to my mother!”
Tran makes a key point that fiction
writers can often have more impact if
they draw on their emotional experi-
ences rather than just relating what actu-
Lauren Volo
ally happened. “I never really want to use
much of my experience factually,” he
says. “The emotional experience was
more on my mind, especially how it feels
to leave one’s country.”
Tran carried that philosophy over
into his descriptions of one of the major
settings for Dragonfly, Las Vegas, where
he lived for a few years. “I wrote the bulk
of the book in Chicago,” he says, “and the
distance from Las Vegas worried me at
first. But I decided the emotional mem-
ory of Las Vegas and its openness and
luridness allowed me to recreate the city
in a more realistic way than if I was tak-
ing notes in front of the casino doors.”
Tran offers a sensible piece of advice
to beginning writers worried about spec-
ulative autobiographical comparisons:
“People will see what they want to see,
but a writer will generally draw a charac-
ter by picking parts of various people,
not just one figure.”
LIZA KENNEDY
Liza Kennedy created a character in I
Take You that could have been exactly
26 | The Writer D December 2015
like her – but then she set her fictional
self free. “I was an associate at a big
Manhattan law firm, and I gave my
main character, Lily, the same job,” Ken-
nedy says. “I knew that my memories
from that time – good and bad – would
make excellent fodder for a comic
novel. I also knew that I had the back-
ground and the vocabulary to make her
a credible lawyer, which would make
her a more authentic character. Simi-
larly, I got married in Key West, as Lily
is planning to do at the beginning of the
book, and I was able to borrow certain
events and situations from that experi-
ence in order to bring hers to life.”
“I’d say that the novel as a whole,
which raises questions about marriage
and monogamy
and infidelity,”
Kennedy contin-
ues, “is informed
by my thinking
on these topics as
a person who’s
been married
over ten years.
That is, if I
hadn’t lived the
life I’d lived, the novel probably
wouldn’t exist – even though none of
the events in the novel actually hap-
pened to me.”
After Kennedy finished her novel,
she returned to Key West to make sure
she accurately depicted details and
places. “I ended up rediscovering a
number of things about the place that I
was able to work into the book, which
made the setting more lived-in and
believable,” she says. “In the book I’m
currently writing, I have a character get
arrested and spend an uncomfortable
night in the Manhattan Detention Cen-
ter. I’ve toyed with the idea of doing that
myself, although mostly because I like
Rick Hilles
to daydream about all the ways I could
get myself thrown in jail.”
The closer she shapes facts, the closer
she gets to recreating a moment or scene
from real life, the farther she gets from
finding the real truth of her story. “Pure
recitation of actual experience rings false
for me every time,” she says. “I have to
shape it a little – and let it germinate – to
make it believable.”
Kennedy fully expects readers to
assume her main character is based on
her. But she shakes off the comparison:
“She’s a New York-based lawyer. I used to
be a New York-based lawyer. She’s plan-
ning a wedding in Key West. I got mar-
ried in Key West. She has doubts about
getting married and loves to sleep with
strange men. And that’s where we
diverge. I didn’t let possible comparisons
bother me too much.”
NANCY REISMAN
Sometimes a person’s experiences may
not warrant a plot for a novel, but
they can be very helpful as a nexus for
short fiction.
“In certain short stories, I have used
my own life experience as basic plot or
part of plot structure, though in fiction
– as in dreams – many elements are fil-
tered or changed,” says author Nancy
Reisman, whose most recent novel is
Trompe L’Oeil. “The most straightfor-
ward use was from a time my then-
upstairs neighbors went out to dinner
and left their bathtub running. I came
home from an evening meeting to find
my studio apartment flooded out.
Another story dealt with the family
experience of my father being drafted
into the Army during the Vietnam era.
Certainly I draw on experience –
including what I’ve witnessed and
observed – as the basis for characters.”
Riesman offers a very simple
approach: Look at
personal experi-
ence only as a
starting point. “I
use what I do
know to clue me
in, open the door
to invention,” she
says. “It’s always
helpful to look to
the peripheries of experience, to follow
the images, to ask questions about what’s
beyond the visible/known.”
But basing a character or a plot on
real life can be embarrassing. “Years
ago, I wrote a short story called ‘House
 Fires,’” Reisman says. “It was loosely name of literary research, of course.”
based on the family experience of a col- Park thinks the most valuable
lege friend of mine. The friend was experience is to do what great writers
someone I’d cherished, and we’d fallen have done for centuries, yet a practice
out of touch over the years. I’d felt that demands discipline. “Keep a
haunted by her story – the sudden loss journal,” she advises. “The observa-
of her gifted older sister – and wrote the tions you sketch of the people from
story. Years later, in another city, she ‘real life’ will form a repertoire for the
saw my book and bought it and read it. tics and other character idiosyncrasies THE NATION’S FIRST AND ONLY
After a time, she got in touch with me in your fiction.” LOW-RESIDENCY
by email. Finding and reading the story
had been a shock for her. But when she MARISA DE LOS SANTOS BFA
wrote to me, and later when we had the “I think to try to force pieces of my per- IN
chance to meet, she seemed to recog- sonal history into the story or to studi-
nize the care in the work, and the way ously avoid using CREATIVE
the story attempted to acknowledge the
harshness, complication and sorrow of
them would be
[equally] disastrous,” WRITING
her experience.” says poet and author
The lesson? Be sure the risks you’re Marisa de los San- ),&7,21‡32(75<‡3/$<:5,7,1*
taking with real life stories are ones you tos, whose most CREATIVE NONFICTION
Tisa Della-Volpe

can live with in real life. recent novel is The

Precious One. “If ele-
PATRICIA PARK ments of my own life DIRECTOR
“You have to choose whatever will best sift themselves into the plot, it’s because JANET SYLVESTER
serve the story – fact or fiction,” says they feel organic to the story I am telling
FACULTY
novelist Patricia Park. “My characters – a story that distinctly belongs to the
WENDY CALL
have lives independent from mine, so the characters and not to me. I try to listen
choices they make need to feel authentic to the demands of the story and stay true LAURIE FOOS
to them – even if I personally wouldn’t to them.” ARISA WHITE
choose to make them. For example, in MICHAEL VIZSOLYI
early drafts of Re Jane, I struggled with J. RYAN STRADAL
Jane’s diction. She sounded like a mini- J. Ryan Stradal, author of the novel
me. She was an accounting/finance dou- Kitchens of the Great Midwest, con- )$//$1'635,1* RESIDENCIES IN
ble-major from a city university, but her sciously uses little of his own life in PLAINFIELD, VT
vocabulary and syntax mimicked an his fiction but recognizes an undeni-
English major able tenet of fiction writing. “I am not
from a small liberal worried if goddard.edu/BFAwriter
arts college, i.e., someone
800.906.8312
me. In fiction, decides that a
sometimes you negative char-
need to sacrifice acter is based
Allana Taranto

12:$&&(37,1*68%0,66,216
Anna Pasquarella

your own personal on me,” he says,

stamp on things in adding that it’s DUENDE
order to create authentic characters.” not a stretch to 3526(‡32(75<‡,0$*(6
“I’m from Queens and lived in Brook- say that every character in the book $0$/*$0
lyn, just like Jane,” Park says. “The Korea is, in some part, based on him. “I
setting, where Jane flies to Seoul, is a bit made them all up, after all,” he says, '8(1'(38%/,6+(63526(
of fiction becoming fact: I traveled to “and I suppose even their worst quali- 32(75<75$16/$7,216
South Korea on a Fulbright grant in ties mirror what I fear or dislike about 9,68$/$57+<%5,')2506
order to write those scenes more author- my own actions.” $1'&2//$%25$7,216
itatively, not just plucked from my imagi- DUENDELITERARY.ORG
nation. Which basically entailed the State Roger Morris is a freelance writer who has
Department paying for me to eat and been published in Town & Country, Details, Wine
drink my way through the city. In the Enthusiast, Modern Farmer and The Daily Meal.

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FREELANCE SUCCESS
BY RYAN VAN CLEAVE
Check your zeal for success at the door.
“I
’ve got the perfect
book for you,”
said a tattooed
young woman
who had just cornered me
after a talk at a writer’s con-
ference on writing book
reviews. She pressed a fancy
business card into my hand
and said, “Call me, and I’ll
send you a copy.” Then she
disappeared into the crowd,
most likely in search of a lit-
erary editor or agent.
Here’s where she went
wrong.
1. No one likes to be cor-
nered.
2. She didn’t introduce
herself.
3. She didn’t tell me the
title of her book, or
anything else about it.
4. She wanted me to do
the work of chasing her
down to ask (beg?) for
a chance to review a book I knew
nothing about.
5. While her nom de plume was clear
on the business card, the text for
her contact and book information
was in a weird Gothic font that
was profoundly unreadable.
6. I Googled her nom de plume the
next day just for kicks and found
no website, no social media and
no online presence at all.
Sure, this woman’s actions were a
laughable fail, yet this level of self-
destruction isn’t as rare as you might
28 | The Writer D December 2015
Like a pro
think. Many well-intentioned writers
do everything right, until the very last
moment, when overeagerness, foolish-
ness and/or ignorance exposes self-
defeating amateur tactics.
So how can you ensure that you
look like a pro all the time? Here are
some easy-to-follow tips that’ll keep
you on track.
Have a quality business card.
Pay to get these done right. Don’t make
them on your inkjet printer, or they’ll
be flimsy and have a homemade look.
Make sure your name and contact
information – snail mail,
phone, email and website
URL – are clear and accu-
rate. Skip the clip-art quill,
pen or image of Shakespeare.
If you feel the need to clarify
that you’re a writer, put that
as your title: “Writer.” Or
maybe “Science Fiction
Author” or “Freelance
Writer.” But don’t go over-
board with “Author, Editor,
Writing Coach, Freelance
Writer, Copy Editor, Script
Doctor and Memoirist.”
The two words to remem-
ber when designing your busi-
ness card? Simple and clean.
▶BONUS PRO TIP: Carry
a couple business cards with
you all the time. There’s no
point in having these if you
forget them in your glove
compartment or sock
drawer. Murphy’s Law
assures us that the day you
forget your cards is the day you’ll
catch an editor from Cosmopolitan in
an elevator bemoaning how her favor-
ite freelance writer is joining the
Peace Corps.
Create a user-friendly website.
Whether you pay someone to make
this or use a program, keep the focus
on content over design. Yes, it needs to
look nice, but it’s the content that mat-
ters most. Remember to provide more
than one way for visitors to reach out
Shutterstock
to you as well, such as your phone
number and email address, plus a con-
tact form. I can’t tell you how many
times I’ve tried to connect with a
writer via his or her website only to
find no possible way to make contact.
Need a model for a simple but
effective author website? Try these.
Young Adult author Maggie Stief-
vater: maggiestiefvater.com
Crime Novelist Elizabeth Sims:
elizabethsims.com
▶BONUS PRO TIP: Answer “What’s
in it for me?” for your visitors. Give
them a reason to come back. A give-
away. A weekly tip. An integrated
blog. A newsletter. A contest.
Avoid typos.
Don’t you cringe when you see typos?
Ensure that anything offered for pub-
lic consumption – query letters,
manuscripts, business cards, websites
and blog posts – are ruthlessly proof-
read and then proofread again. “And
make sure you get the editor’s name
right,” adds Claire Gerus of the
Claire Gerus Literary Agency. “You’d
be shocked at how many people write
to deceased, transferred or retired
editors. It’s a surefire way to show
you’re not being careful.”
▶BONUS PRO TIP: Foster a rela-
tionship with another writer who has
a keen editorial eye. Ask that writer
for a second opinion on your work
while you do the same in return. Four
eyes are often better than two.
Don’t burn your bridges.
“If you get rejected,” warns Gerus, “be
a good sport. Never badmouth an
agent, editor or author. It’ll come back
to bite you.” My first pitch to The
Writer didn’t make the cut. What
would’ve happened if I did a Twitter
rant about how the editors at The
Writer wouldn’t know Dan Brown
from Charlie Brown? Sure, it might’ve
gotten me some laughs on social
media, but I’d (quite rightly) have one
less possible market to submit to on
my list.
LOW-RESIDENCY
▶BONUS PRO TIP: Even when
things don’t go your way, try to pave MFA
the path for a future success. I often IN
send a note like this in response to an
article pitch rejection. “Thanks again CREATIVE
for the quick response. I really appre-
ciate it. Maybe we’ll connect on some- WRITING
thing down the road!” ),&7,21‡32(75<‡6&5((1:5,7,1*
3/$<:5,7,1*‡*5$3+,&129(/
Stop treating writing like a hobby. &5($7,9(121),&7,21‡/,%5(772
If you really want to be a writer, call
yourself a writer and act like it. Write
every day. Create a work area in your FACULTY
home that’s exclusively for writing. .</(%$66 AIMEE LIU
Don’t prioritize household chores. '(%25$+ MICHELINE
Don’t wear PJs when you work. Don’t %5(92257 MARCOM
play hooky on your scheduled writing 5(%(&&$ '28*/$6$
sessions. A hobby is something you %52:1 MARTIN
enjoy doing but you only do when you JAN CLAUSEN 52*(/,2
have some free time. If writing is your MARTINEZ
DARRAH CLOUD
dream, your life and your soul, then JOHN MCMANUS
KENNY FRIES
treat it accordingly. NICOLA MORRIS
%($75,;*$7(6
VICTORIA NELSON
▶BONUS PRO TIP: I had a high ELENA
school football coach who always *(25*,28 5,&+$5'3$1(.
yelled, “If you’re on time, you’re %+$18.$3,/ RAHNA REIKO
RIZZUTO
LATE!” Treat writing assignments the SUSAN KIM
same way. Don’t just turn in your work DARCEY STEINKE
MICHAEL KLEIN
moments before the deadline. Get JANE WOHL
those pieces in a day or even a week
early. Time-crunched editors will soon
be singing your praises. NEW POSTGRADUATE
Again and again, I hear the good STUDY OPTION
news: There are plenty of opportunities -2,1$&20081,7<2)<2853((56
for writers. What’s not being said is 725(9,6(&203/(7($1'32/,6+
$:5,7,1*352-(&723(172
that these opportunities are for profes- $33/,&$176:+2$/5($'<+$9($
sional, courteous and deadline-hitting *5$'8$7('(*5((,1:5,7,1*
writers. In short, these opportunities
aren’t for amateurs. So write well, write
often and act like a pro, and you’ll start RESIDENCIES IN
selling more than ever before. VERMONT AND
WASHINGTON
Ryan G. Van Cleave is a Florida-based writ-
ing teacher and author of 20 books, including goddard.edu/MFAwriter
most recently Memoir Writing for Dummies 800.906.8312
and The Weekend Book Proposal.
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CLASS ACTION
BY MEREDITH QUINN
Learn the difference between an MA and an MFA.
I
f you’re planning to further your
writing education with a graduate
degree, you have options. A pop-
ular trend is to get a Master of
Fine Arts degree through a full-time or
part-time program. But whatever hap-
pened to the traditional Master of Arts
degree? Is there a difference between
the two?
The simple answer is yes, there is.
An MA is often focused on English
literature and academics with the
possibility, depending on the pro-
gram, of a concentration in creative
writing. The MFA, on the other
hand, may require heavy reading, but
it is dedicated to writing, workshops
and achieving a manuscript-length
project at the end of the program.
Consider the following when decid-
ing which path to higher education
suits your needs.
Your future
Deciding which degree is right
for you depends on your
goals. Both an MA and an
MFA can open the doors to
teaching in high schools and
smaller colleges. (Think of
your senior year English
class.) The MFA targets teach-
ing the craft of writing or
teaching at the university level
– often as a means to pay the
bills while working on per-
sonal writing endeavors.
Also, the MFA is a termi-
nal degree, with no possibil-
ity for a PhD in fine art. As
such, receiving an MFA
means that you are an expert
 | The Writer D December 2015
What the F?
in the field and can apply for grants,
as well as certain scholarships,
including the Fulbright.
The course structure
In general, MFA programs require less
time than MA program. The flexible
residences of many MFA programs
make earning a degree convenient,
most of the time from the comfort of
your own home.
When it comes to in-person classes,
most MFA programs offer small stu-
dent-faculty ratios in workshops,
which means more time critiquing
your work with your peers. Smaller
class sizes also make for a more inti-
mate relationship with classmates and
mentors, providing a built-in network
of colleagues and confidantes for mov-
ing forward in your career.
While there is some creative writing
in an MA program, the syllabus weighs
heavier in the direction of reading and
analyzing the work of other writers.
Think more academic and research-ori-
ented rather than a creative writing stu-
dio atmosphere.
Getting in
For starters, most MFA programs do not
require you to take the GRE exam, so
that’s one burden off your shoulders. On
the other hand, the majority of these
programs do require that you choose a
genre to study. Most schools will let in a
certain number of students to study fic-
tion, nonfiction or poetry, so you have to
declare your intentions right away. Going
for an MA will buy a little more time
before you have to declare a path.
Although there are hundreds of MFA
programs, the competition to get in
has also been slowly rising. Land-
ing your top choice might prove
difficult. Earning an MA or start-
ing an MA and transferring into an
MFA program could give you an
edge when the admissions officers
are weighing your application.
The long and short story
Keep two factors in mind when
considering MA and MFA pro-
grams: The former is mainly
about academia and other writ-
ers; the latter is about your writ-
ing and your creative growth.
The choice is yours.
Meredith Quinn is a graduate of New
Shutterstock
York University and managing editor at
The Writer.
 LOW-RESIDENCY
INDIVIDUALIZED MASTER OF ART
&21&(175$7,1*,1

TRANSFORMATIVE
LANGUAGE ARTS
:5,7,1*$675$16)250$7,9(35$&7,&(
:5,7,1*)2562&,$/&+$1*(
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— CARYN MIRRIAM-GOLDBERG
*RGGDUG&ROOHJH)DFXOW\
Founder of the TLA Concentration
)RUPHU3RHW/DXUHDWHRI.DQVDV

)$//$1'635,1* RESIDENCIES IN
PLAINFIELD, VT

ALSO IN THE GRADUATE INSTITUTE:

‡ INDIVIDUALIZED MA
‡ MA IN HEALTH ARTS &
SCIENCES
‡ MA IN SOCIAL INNOVATION
& SUSTAINABILITY
‡ CONSCIOUSNESS STUDIES
CONCENTRATION

goddard.edu/TLAwriter
800.906.8312

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Special Advertising Section
Finding voices, telling stories
Western New England University's MFA program offers passion for the craft.
T
he Western New England Uni-
versity low-residency MFA pro-
vides students with
award-winning faculty, a convenient
low-residency format, a student/teacher
ratio of just 5:1 and a close-knit writing
community that stokes a passion for the
craft of creating fiction.
The two-year, 48-credit program
combines biannual, short-term resi-
dencies followed by individualized
online mentorships. Established
authors teach students how to read and
think about fiction from a craft per-
spective. The MFA covers all aspects of
fiction writing – including sentence
craft, voice development, honing dia-
logue and shaping beginnings, middles
and endings.
Each term begins with an intensive
short-term residency held either on-
campus, in the beautiful Berkshire
Mountains, or in Dublin, Ireland (Janu-
ary 11-16, 2016). Residencies consist of
lectures on literature, craft and lan-
| The Writer D December 2015
guage; readings by notable visiting writ-
ers; and panels with literary agents and
editors advising on the business of the
writing life.
“From the moment I pulled in to the
Berkshires residency, all I could picture
was F. Scott Fitzgerald and Ernest
Hemingway scribbling furiously by the
fireplace or trekking up to the nearby
waterfall in the snow to clear their
heads, to alleviate writer’s block and to
think,” says student Sable Johnson.
In past years, the Berkshires resi-
dency has included a collaborative
effort with The Moth Project, a national
organization that works with writers to
achieve an understanding of the struc-
ture of a story and prepares them for an
oral storytelling performance.
“The Moth Project’s Storyslam was a
great experience for our students,” says
MFA director and award-winning nov-
elist Pearl Abraham. “It required a cer-
tain vulnerability – getting up and
telling a story without notes – then in
the next days, working on the delivery,
reshaping the story and delivering it on
performance night to an audience.”
For student Andrew Mondry, the
winter residency was one of the most
inspirational activities he has ever taken
part in. “Not only did I get to know my
fellow MFA candidates better,” he says,
“but I also got to spend full days with
my mentors and visiting writers, who
shared their work and experiences to
help me grow.”
The one-on-one experiences with
mentors that follow each residency
make up the soul of the MFA experi-
ence. With email exchanges and the
occasional Skype call with their men-
tors, students enjoy the guidance of
accomplished authors who thoroughly
analyze their drafts.
Several students in the program have
already had their work published. “The
only surefire way to improve as a writer
is to surround yourself with writers,”
says student Ryan Crowell, “and this
MFA has some really, really
strong writers. If you care
about honing your craft, that’s
all you need to know.”
The program’s first resi-
dency in Dublin will be held in
January 2016. The craft class
will be taught by poet and fic-
tion writer Michael
O’Loughlin, while novelist and
short story writer Mia Galla-
gher will lead the fiction work-
shop. Writer Sean O’Reilly will
teach a master class. Daily
classes will take place at the
Irish Writers Centre, adjacent to
the Dublin Writers Museum.
▶For more information, visit
www.wne.edu/mfa.
Special Advertising Section
Antioch University's MFA in LA offers: "community, not competition.”
B
oth this phrase and its meaning
spring directly from the unique
mission of Antioch University
Los Angeles’ (AULA) MFA program:
the education of literary artists, com-
munity engagement and the pursuit of
social justice.
At AULA, you will not only
improve your craft through one-on-
one mentoring with successful writers
who are also excellent teachers, but
you will also enjoy critical reading and
reflection in small and larger groups.
Lively discussions in faculty and guest
seminars and graduating student pre-
sentations will help you begin a life-
long reflection on the rights and
responsibilities of the writer in society.
At each residency, you will study
both craft and the writer’s relationship
to the world. During one or more of
the online project periods, you will
design and conduct an MFA field
study that will put your knowledge and
skills as a writer to work in the service
of something that you personally
value. Unlike in many MFA programs,
Antioch University Los Angeles
teaches you to look beyond creative
writing as an act of self-expression and
to reflect on the impact of carefully
chosen words – yours, your classmates’
and writers whose work has endured
or is breaking new ground.
You’ll have the opportunity to work
on the world-class, student-edited
online literary journal Lunch Ticket.
And discover how literary language
works on the most fundamental level
by studying the art of literary transla-
tion – without learning a foreign lan-
guage. Do all these things in a
Aim for more
Steve Heller, chair and professor
community that is remarkably diverse
in terms of age, race, gender, ethnicity,
socio-economic background, beliefs
and viewpoints on the art of writing.
Antioch University residency work-
shops, online mentee group discus-
sions, one-on-one mentoring and all
other learning activities are construc-
tive in tone and substance. And at
AULA, your work will be read and cri-
tiqued by professionals and your peers.
Strengths will be recognized, your
intentions discussed and, together,
we’ll explore means of improving your
writing. Community, not competition.
AULA aims to help you finish your
current book and increase its chances
of being published. And with our
social justice emphasis, we aim to do
something more. This approach has
produced numerous graduates who
have achieved great success as writers,
teachers, editors, arts administrators
and other writing-related professions.
Google the names of MFA alumni such
as Naomi Benaron, Jillian Lauren,
Peter Nichols, Wendy C. Ortiz, Khadi-
jah Queen, Antonia Crane, Gayle
Brandeis, Daniel José Older, Aaron Raz
Link, Joe Jiménez, Andromeda
Romano-Lax, Melissa Chadburn and
Raymond Wong. Visit http://antiochla.
edu/writer to take a look at our curric-
ulum and accomplished faculty. And,
if you’re interested, contact us at:
admissions.aula@antioch.edu or
1-800-726-8462.
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Special Advertising Section

The plot thickens

Creative writing programs flourish at Northwestern.

I
n the 10 or so years it might have
taken you to write the Great
American Novel, creative writing
programs at Northwestern University
have taken root, branched out, blos-
somed. What began in fall 2003 as the
Master of Arts in Creative Writing
(MCW) program now encompasses a
Master of Fine Arts (MFA) degree,
opportunities to work on a renowned
literary journal and classes on topics
such as the video essay. Created to
serve a local need, Northwestern’s cre-
ative writing programs now draw
poets to Chicago, along with writers
of fiction and creative nonfiction.
What has not changed is the
emphasis. “It’s about becoming a bet-
ter writer, about personal growth as a
writer, even about growth as a per- ative writing program from 2004 to it comes to accruing teaching experi-
son,” says Reginald Gibbons, founding 2014, and is a current teacher in the ence. There are now multiple opportu-
director of the programs, director of program. “The creative writing pro- nities for students to teach, including
Northwestern’s Center for the Writing gram developed from that interest and in the apprentices program, in which
Arts and professor of English, classics brought a wider range of writers to they create one-hour classes to teach to
and Spanish and Portuguese in the campus, like Nigerian author Chris the public; in a free, public eight-week
Weinberg College of Arts and Sci- Abani and Colombian fiction writer session taught for credit; or as teaching
ences. “It’s an arts degree, not a skill Juan Martinez.” assistants for the school’s business
set. Success as a writer depends on The creative writing program also writing course. There are also super-
talent, luck and stamina.” publishes TriQuarterly, a literary vised internships – one creative writing
The success of the MA and MFA magazine founded at Northwestern in student taught for a year at the Cook
programs can be seen in the ever- 1958 and now available online to County Juvenile Detention Center.
expanding pool of writers to emerge readers around the world. Students in Students have also led an eight-week
from them. Twelve years may seem the creative writing program get class at the Osher Lifelong Learning
like a relatively short time for such hands-on publishing experience by Institute and tutor Northwestern stu-
programs to take root, but in fact they working on the journal. “We have dents at the Writing Place.
are built on a long history of teaching student managing editors and stu- Given the reputation of the fac-
creative writing at Northwestern. dents who read the submissions,” says ulty, the success of the graduates and
“Great writers, including W. H. Wisenberg. “They make the deci- the ever-growing opportunities for
Auden and Frank O’Connor, have lec- sions. It makes them realize that first professional development, North-
tured and taught here over the years,” paragraph has to be really good.” western’s MFA program is poised to
says S. L. Wisenberg, who served as co- Each year, the programs offer more be a major player in the literary field
director and then director of the cre- ways to learn by doing, especially when for years to come.

 | The Writer D December 2015

 NORTHWESTERN UNIVERSITY
CREATIVE WRITING
MA/MFA PROGRAM
Work closely with faculty through workshops and
individual mentoring in this part-time degree program.
With committed, established faculty, both the MA and
MFA tracks offer the best features of residential and
low-residency programs while allowing students to
focus on fiction, creative nonfiction or poetry.

Recent and continuing faculty include:

Chris Abani Cristina Henríquez
Eula Biss Simone Muench
Stuart Dybek Naeem Murr
Reginald Gibbons Ed Roberson
Goldie Goodbloom Megan Stielstra
Miles Harvey S. L. Wisenberg

Apply Today
The spring quarter application deadline is January 15.
sps.northwestern.edu/writing  877-664-3347

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PART-TIME EVENING PROGRAM | STUDY IN CHICAGO AND EVANSTON
Special Advertising Section
One of a kind
At Seton Hill, write the novels you love to read.
S
eton Hill University’s
one-of-a-kind Master of
Fine Arts in Writing
Popular Fiction teaches writ-
ers to create – and market –
the fiction that sells. It is
designed for those authors
who wish to write within the
popular fiction genres such as
romance, science fiction, fan-
tasy, horror and mystery in
the adult, children’s or young
adult markets.
Students in the Seton Hill
program graduate having
written a complete novel (and
sometimes more than one).
Recent successes include John
Fortunato, whose thesis novel
Dark Reservations won the
Hillerman Prize, $10,000 and
a contract with St. Martin’s
Press (Macmillan). John Dix-
on’s novel Phoenix Island won
a Stoker award and served as
the inspiration for the CBS
show Intelligence. Other
multi-published alums
include Shelley Bates (writing as Adina
Senft and Shelley Adina), Nalo Hopkin-
son, Maria Snyder, Victoria Thompson,
Kathleen O’Brien and Anna Zabo.  ing experience, bringing the commu-
Seton Hill’s flexible, online/low-resi-
dency format allows students to earn a
degree while working full-time or car-
ing for a family. Each student is part of a
community that includes published fac-
ulty, professional writers who mentor
each student and peers from around the
world. Students complete reading and
| The Writer D December 2015
writing assignments and stay in touch
with each other, professors and men-
tors online. Weeklong residencies twice
per year inform and enliven the writ-
nity together to learn the basics and
complexities of popular fiction on
Seton Hill’s historic Greensburg, Penn-
sylvania, campus.
Each on-campus residency also
includes special events designed to
help students learn from working
authors and other industry profession-
als. Every January, Seton Hill
hosts a visiting professor who
works with both undergradu-
ate and graduate students dur-
ing the course of the week.
Eloisa James will be the guest
professor for the January 2016
residency. In June, Seton Hill
hosts guest speakers, which
may include bestselling
authors, agents or editors.
Seton Hill’s Writing Popu-
lar Fiction Program also pro-
vides training in the teaching
of writing as a potential career
option, in addition to foster-
ing careers in publishing, edit-
ing, bookselling and
marketing. As a student in this
program, you will also learn
the business of freelance writ-
ing, from establishing your
brand name as genre author to
finding agents and submitting
to book publishers.
Best of all, graduates of this
program continue to benefit
from the network of support
they developed as they earned their
degree. “This community exists even
after graduation, with our students
using social media and conferences to
stay in touch,” says program director
and author Nicole Peeler, Ph.D. “For a
taste of these interactions, check out
#shuwpf on Twitter, where you’ll find
both current students and alumni
engaging in writing sprints, hanging
out at conventions or sharing both suc-
cess stories and inside jokes.”
WRITE
NOW!
MASTER OF FINE ARTS IN
WRITING POPULAR FICTION
AT SETON HILL UNIVERSITY
GENRE SPECIALIZATIONS
Mystery
Romance
Fantasy
Horror
Science Fiction
Young Adult
FOR MORE INFORMATION ON OUR
LOW-RESIDENCY, ONLINE PROGRAM:
setonhill.edu/fiction
800.826.6234
gadmit@setonhill.edu
#shuwpf
Special Advertising Section
Get away to write
Find real-world tools at the Low Residency MFA at the
University of California, Riverside.
Our Philosophy
When the Low Residency MFA in
Creative Writing & Writing for
the Performing Arts at the Uni-
versity of California, Riverside
was founded, it was with the sim-
ple guiding philosophy that we
would provide a real-world
emphasis on publication and pro-
duction. What that means in a
tangible sense is easy: Each of our
graduating students has his or her
manuscript or screenplay read by
top agents and managers, New York and
independent publishers, major motion
picture studio producers and develop-
ment executives and industry profession-
als. When our students graduate, they
are professional writers, not merely writ-
ers with an advanced degree. Your pages
go out into the world at the same time
you do.
Our curriculum
We offer degrees in fiction, nonfiction,
poetry, and screenwriting and all forms
within those genres. What you write is
up to you. Our job is to help you trans-
form your idea into a book or screenplay
that launches your career. Students
spend seven quarters working online in
the program, plus five intensive 10-day
residencies at the Rancho Las Palmas
Resort in Rancho Mirage, CA – just a
few miles outside of Palm Springs –
studying craft and honing skills. Each
student also has the opportunity to work
in a secondary discipline throughout the
 | The Writer D December 2015
course of his or her study, effectively as a
minor. We believe in the idea of well-
rounded writers – skilled in more than
one way of storytelling, so that you
always have an avenue into your art.
Our faculty
Our faculty includes Guggenheim Fel-
low (and Los Angeles Times Book Critic)
David L. Ulin, New York Times best-sell-
ing novelist (Hausfrau) and poet Jill
Alexander Essbaum, award-winning
horror writer (Demon Theory) Stephen
Graham Jones, best-selling memoirist
(The Still Point of the Turning World)
Emily Rapp, former Furthur Films presi-
dent and Warner Bros. producer John
Schimmel, acclaimed crime writer
(Gangsterland) Tod Goldberg, and short
story writer (The Laws of Evening) Mary
Yukari Waters, whose work has appeared
in The Best American Short Stories a
remarkable three times. For a full listing
of our core faculty members, please visit:
palmdesertmfa.ucr.edu/faculty
Our alumni
There is no better advertise-
ment for the success of our
program than our alumni.
Their achievements have
been profound: U.S. Con-
gressman (Mark Takano),
Emmy Award-winning
screenwriter (Guy Nicolucci),
acclaimed novelists (includ-
ing Stephen Jay Schwartz,
Cate Dicharry, James Jenne-
wein, Gallagher Lawson, and
Tiffany Hawk), award-winning poets
(including Rick Marlatt and Lizi
Gilad-Silver), genre-twisting writers
(including journalist/fiction writer
Colby Buzzell, screenwriter/play-
wright Mickey Birnbaum, and novel-
ist/journalist/playwright Lee
Cataluna), cultural critics (Heather
Scott Partington and Maggie Downs),
best-selling nonfiction writers (Bill
Ratner and George Morgan) and doz-
ens of working screenwriters, fiction
writers, essayists, poets and more. In
2016, keep your eye out for JoAnn
Chaney, Natashia Deon and Suzy Fin-
cham-Gray. It won’t be hard to find
them. They’ll be everywhere.
To apply
We accept applications for Fall through
August 1, and for Spring through Feb-
ruary 1. For more information, visit
palmdesertmfa.ucr.edu or contact the
program at 760-834-0926 or
palmdesertmfa@ucr.edu.
 FACULTY
Michael Birnbaum
Elizabeth Crane
Jill Alexander Essbaum
THE Creative Writing and Writing
for the Performing Arts

Gina Frangello
Tod Goldberg
HOTTEST

MFA
Stephen Graham Jones
Joshua Malkin
Anthony McCann
Mary Otis
William Rabkin
Emily Rapp
Rob Roberge
John Schimmel
Mark Haskell Smith
Deanne Stillman
David L. Ulin
Mary Yukari Waters
GUEST FACULTY
LOW RESIDENCY PROGRAM FICTION
Molly Bendall
Francesca Lia Block NONFICTION
Julie Buxbaum POETRY
Bernard Cooper SCREENWRITING
Dave Cullen
Ron Currie Jr.
Geoff Dyer
Janet Fitch
Sara Gran
Javier Grillo-Marxuach
Dorothea Lasky
Jillian Lauren
Sara Levine
Attica Locke
Megan Mayhew Bergman
Joshua Mohr
Wendy C. Ortiz
T. Jefferson Parker
Allison Seay
Don Share
Matthew Specktor
Hector Tobar APPLICATION DEADLINES
WRITER IN RESIDENCE
Fall: August 1 Spring: February 1
Matthew Zapruder 5NIVERSITYOF#ALIFORNIA2IVERSIDEsPALMDESERTMFA UCREDUsPALMDESERTMFAUCREDUs


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 2015 EDUCATION GUIDE
TAKE YOUR WRITING TO THE NEXT LEVEL. FIND THE PERFECT MFA, MA OR PHD PROGRAM WITH OUR ANNUAL LISTING.
NEW ENGLAND
BENNINGTON COLLEGE
Degree type: Low-residency MFA in writing.
Concentrations: Fiction, nonfiction and poetry.
Contact: Bennington College, One College Drive,
Bennington, VT 05201. 802-440-4452. writing@
bennington.edu bennington.edu/MFAWriting
BOSTON UNIVERSITY
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. MFA in
playwriting also available. Concentrations: Fic-
tion and poetry. Contact: Creative Writing Pro-
gram, 236 Bay State Road, Boston, MA 02215.
617-353-2510. crwr@bu.edu bu.edu/
creativewriting
BROWN UNIVERSITY
Degree type: MFA in literary arts. Concentra-
tions: Fiction, poetry, electronic writing (hyper-
text) and mixed media. Contact: Literary Arts,
Brown University, Box 1923, 68.5 Brown St., Provi-
dence, RI 02912. 401-863-3260. writing@brown.
edu brown.edu/academics/literary-arts
EMERSON COLLEGE
Degree type: MFA in creative writing; MA in
publishing and writing. Concentrations: Fiction,
nonfiction and poetry. Contact: Department of
Writing, Literature & Publishing, 120 Boylston St.,
Boston, MA 02116. Pablo Medina, 617-824-8750.
pablo_medina@emerson.edu emerson.edu
GODDARD COLLEGE
Degree type: Low-residency MFA in creative
writing. Concentrations: Fiction, poetry, creative
nonfiction/memoir, dramatic writing (plays or
screenplays) or graphic novel. Contact: MFA in
Creative Writing Program, 123 Pitkin Road, Plain-
field, VT 05667. Paul Selig, Program Director, 800-
468-4888. paul.selig@goddard.edu
goddard.edu/mfa-creative-writing
LESLEY UNIVERSITY
Degree type: Low-residency MFA in creative
writing. Concentrations: Fiction, nonfiction,
poetry, writing for young people and writing for
stage and screen. Contact: MFA in Creative Writ-
ing, Lesley University, 29 Everett St., Cambridge,
MA 02138. Steven Cramer, 617-349-8300.
Jana Van Der Veer, jvanderv@lesley.edu lesley.edu
40 | The Writer D December 2015
SIMMONS COLLEGE
Degree type: MFA in writing for children. Con-
centrations: Writing for children. Contact: Sim-
mons College, School of Library and Information
Science, 300 The Fenway, Boston, MA 02115. 617-
521-2800. gslis@simmons.edu simmons.edu
SOLSTICE MFA PROGRAM AT PINE
MANOR COLLEGE
Degree type: Low-residency MFA in creative
writing. Concentrations: Fiction, poetry, creative
nonfiction and writing for children and young
adults. Contact: Solstice MFA Program, Pine
Manor College, 400 Heath St., Chestnut Hill, MA
02467. Meg Kearney, 617-731-7684. kearneym@
pmc.edu pmc.edu/mfa
SOUTHERN NEW HAMPSHIRE UNI-
VERSITY
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. Concen-
trations: Fiction and nonfiction. Contact: South-
ern New Hampshire University, 2500 North River
Road, Manchester, NH 03106. 603-626-9100, ext.
2540. mfa@snhu.edu snhu.edu
STONECOAST
Degree type: Low-residency MFA in creative writ-
ing. Concentrations: Fiction, creative nonfiction,
poetry and popular fiction. Contact: University of
Southern Maine, Stonecoast MFA in Creative Writ-
ing, 98 Bedford St., Portland, ME 04104. 207-780-
5262. stonecoastmfa@usm.maine.edu usm.maine.
edu/stonecoastmfa
UNIVERSITY OF MASSACHUSETTS
AMHERST
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. Concen-
trations: Fiction and poetry. Contact: MFA Pro-
gram for Poets and Writers, Department of
English, 465 Bartlett Hall, University of Massachu-
setts, 130 Hicks Way, Amherst, MA 01003. 413-
545-0643. mfapoetsandwriters@hfa.umass.edu
umass.edu/english/MFA_home.htm
UNIVERSITY OF NEW HAMPSHIRE
Degree type: MFA in writing. Concentrations:
Fiction, nonfiction and poetry. Contact: Depart-
ment of English, University of New Hampshire, 52
Hamilton Smith Hall, 95 Main St., Durham, NH
03824. Janine Wilks, 603-862-3963.
janine.wilks@unh.edu unh.edu
VERMONT COLLEGE OF FINE ARTS
Degree type: Low-residency MFA in writing.
Concentrations: Fiction, poetry and creative
nonfiction. Contact: Vermont College of Fine
Arts, 36 College St., Montpelier, VT 05602. Louise
Crowley, 802-828-8840. louise.crowley@vcfa.edu
vcfa.edu/writing
WESTERN CONNECTICUT STATE
UNIVERSITY
Degree type: Low-residency MFA in creative and
professional writing. Concentrations: Creative
writing and professional writing (all genres).
Contact: Higgins Hall #205F, 181 White St., Dan-
bury, CT 06810. 203-837-8876. Brian Clements,
clementsb@wcsu.edu wcsu.edu/writing/mfa
WESTERN NEW ENGLAND
UNIVERSITY
Degree type: Low-residency MFA in creative writ-
ing. Concentrations: Fiction. Contact: Western
New England University, 1215 Wilbraham Rd.,
Springfield, MA 01119. Pearl Abraham, 413-782-
1338. pearl.abraham@wne.edu wne.edu/mfa
MID-ATLANTIC
ADELPHI UNIVERSITY
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. Concen-
trations: Fiction, poetry, creative nonfiction and
dramatic writing. Contact: Office of University
Admissions, 1 South Ave, P.O. Box 701, Garden
City, NY 11530. 800- 233-5744.
english.adelphi.edu/mfa-in-creative-writing
AMERICAN UNIVERSITY
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. Concen-
trations: Fiction, nonfiction and poetry. Contact:
MFA Program, Department of Literature, Ameri-
can University, 4400 Massachusetts Ave. NW,
Washington, DC 20016. 202-885-2971.
lit@american.edu american.edu
ARCADIA UNIVERSITY
Degree type: Low-residency MFA in creative
writing. Concentrations: Fiction and poetry.
Contact: Arcadia University, 450 S. Easton Rd.,
Glenside, PA 19038. 215-572-2900.
admiss@arcadia.edu arcadia.edu
BROOKLYN COLLEGE
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. Concen-
trations: Fiction, poetry and playwriting. Con-
tact: Brooklyn College, 2900 Bedford Ave.,
Brooklyn, NY 11210. James Davis, JCDavis@
brooklyn.cuny.edu brooklyn.cuny.edu
CARLOW UNIVERSITY
Degree type: Low-residency MFA in creative
writing. Concentrations: Fiction, creative non-
fiction and poetry. Contact: Graduate Admis-
sions, 3333 Fifth Ave., Pittsburgh, PA 15213.
412-578-6363. Dr. Ellie Wymard, ewymard@car-
low.edu carlow.edu
CEDAR CREST COLLEGE
Degree type: Pan-European low-residency MFA
in creative writing. Concentrations: Fiction, cre-
ative nonfiction and poetry. Contact: School of
Adult and Graduate Education, Cedar Crest Col-
lege, 100 College Drive, Allentown, PA 18104. 610-
740-3770. sage@cedarcrest.edu
sage.cedarcrest.edu/graduate/mfa
CHATHAM UNIVERSITY
Degree type: MFA in creative writing; full-resi-
dency and low-residency options. Concentra-
tions: Fiction, creative nonfiction, poetry and
children’s writing, with an emphasis on nature,
travel writing and social outreach. Contact: Cha-
tham University, Lindsay House, Woodland Road,
Pittsburgh, PA 15232. 412-661-1809.
admission@chatham.edu chatham.edu/mfa
CITY COLLEGE OF NEW YORK
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. Concen-
tration: Prose, poetry and creative nonfiction.
Contact: City College of New York, 160 Convent
Avenue, New York, NY 10031. Salar Abdoh, 212-
650-6694. gradenglish@ccny.cuny.edu
COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY
Degree type: MFA in writing. Concentrations:
Fiction, creative nonfiction and poetry. Contact:
Writing Program, 415 Dodge Hall, Mail Code 1804,
2960 Broadway, New York, NY 10027. 212-854-
4391. writing@columbia.edu arts.columbia.edu/
writing
CORNELL UNIVERSITY
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. Joint MFA/
PhD program also available. Concentrations:
Fiction and poetry. Contact: Cornell University,
250 Goldwin Smith Hall, Ithaca, NY 14853. 607-
255-6800. english_grad@cornell.edu
english.arts.cornell.edu/graduate/mfa
DREW UNIVERSITY
Degree type: Low-residency MFA in poetry.
Concentrations: Poetry, poetry in translation or
both. Contact: Office of Graduate Admissions,
Caspersen School of Graduate Studies, Drew Uni-
versity, 36 Madison Ave., Madison, NJ 07940. 973-
408-3110. gradm@drew.edu drew.edu/grad
FAIRLEIGH DICKINSON UNIVERSITY
Degree type: Low-residency MFA in creative
writing. Concentrations: Fiction, creative non-
fiction, poetry, writing for young adults and liter-
ary translation. Contact: MFA in Creative
Writing, Fairleigh Dickinson University, 285 Madi-
son Ave. M-MS3-01, Madison, NJ 07940. 973-443-
8632. writingmfa@fdu.edu mfa.fdu.edu
HUNTER COLLEGE
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. Concen-
trations: Fiction, memoir and poetry. MFA in
playwriting also available. Contact: Hunter Col-
lege, Dept. of English, 695 Park Ave., New York, NY
10065. 212-772-5164. mfa@hunter.cuny.edu
hunter.cuny.edu/creativewriting
JOHNS HOPKINS UNIVERSITY
Degree type: MFA in fiction or poetry. Concen-
trations: Fiction and poetry. Contact: The Writ-
ing Seminars, Johns Hopkins University, 3400 N.
Charles Street, Gilman Hall 81, Baltimore, MD
21218. 410-516-6286. writingseminars@jhu.edu
writingseminars.jhu.edu
NEW YORK UNIVERSITY
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. Also offers
a low-residency MFA writers workshop in Paris.
Concentrations: Fiction and poetry. Contact:
NYU Creative Writing Program, Lillian Vernon
Creative Writers House, 58 West 10th St., New
York, NY 10011. 212-998-8816. creative.
writing@nyu.edu cwp.fas.nyu.edu
QUEENS COLLEGE, CITY UNIVER-
SITY OF NEW YORK
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. Concen-
tration: Poetry, fiction, playwriting and literary
translation. Contact: Creative Writing and Liter-
ary Translation, Department of English , Klapper
Hall 607, 65-30 Kissena Blvd., Flushing, NY 11367.
718-997-4671. Nicole Cooley,
mfadirector@qc.cuny.edu qc.cuny.edu
ROSEMONT COLLEGE
Degree type: MFA in writing. Concentrations:
Poetry and prose (creative nonfiction, short fiction,
writing for children and adults, novel writing and
dramatic writing). Contact: Rosemont College,
Graduate Admissions, 1400 Montgomery Ave.,
Rosemont, PA 19010. 610-526-2966. rosemont.
edu/gp/creative-writing-poetry-or-fiction
RUTGERS UNIVERSITY-CAMDEN
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. Concen-
trations: Fiction, nonfiction and poetry. Not
required to declare a genre. Contact: Dee Jonczak,
English Department, Rutgers University, Armitage
Hall, 311 N. 5th St., Camden, NJ 08102.
mfa@camden.rutgers.edu mfa.camden.rutgers.edu
SARAH LAWRENCE COLLEGE
Degree type: MFA in writing. Concentrations:
Fiction, creative nonfiction and poetry. Contact:
Sarah Lawrence College, 1 Mead Way, Bronxville/
Yonkers, NY 10708. Emanuel Lomax, Director of
Graduate Admissions. 914-395-2371.
elomax@sarahlawrence.edu slc.edu/writing-mfa
SETON HILL UNIVERSITY
Degree type: Low-residency MFA in writing pop-
ular fiction. Concentrations: Popular fiction
genres including romance, science fiction, fantasy,
mystery, children’s and young adult. Contact:
Seton Hill University, Office of Graduate and Adult
Studies, Seton Hill Drive, Box 510F, Greensburg,
PA 15601. 724-838-4208. gadmit@setonhill.edu
fiction.setonhill.edu
SYRACUSE UNIVERSITY
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. Concen-
trations: Fiction and poetry. Contact: English
Graduate Office, 401 Hall of Languages, Syracuse
University, Syracuse, NY 13244. 315-443-2173.
dstowe@syr.edu english.syr.edu/creative_writing
UNIVERSITY OF BALTIMORE
Degree type: MFA in creative writing and pub-
lishing arts. Concentrations: Fiction, poetry and
creative nonfiction. Contact: University of Balti-
more, 1415 Maryland Ave., Baltimore, MD 21201.
410-837-6565. kkopelke@ubalt.edu ubalt.edu
UNIVERSITY OF PITTSBURGH
Degree type: MFA in writing. Concentrations:
Fiction, poetry and nonfiction. Contact: The
Writing Program, University of Pittsburgh, English
Department, 526 Cathedral of Learning, 4200 Fifth
Ave., Pittsburgh, PA 15260. Nancy Glazener, 412-
648-2289. glazener@pitt.edu
writing.pitt.edu/graduate
WILKES UNIVERSITY
Degree type: Low-residency MFA in creative
writing. MA in creative writing is also available.
Concentrations: Fiction, poetry, screenwriting,
playwriting and creative nonfiction. Contact:
MA/MFA Creative Writing Program, Wilkes Uni-
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versity, 245 S. River St., Wilkes-Barre, PA 18766.
570-408-4547. cwriting@wilkes.edu wilkes.edu
SOUTHEAST
CONVERSE COLLEGE
Degree type: Low-residency MFA in creative
writing. Concentrations: Fiction, nonfiction,
poetry, young adult fiction and environmental
writing. Contact: MFA Director, Converse Col-
lege, 580 East Main St., Spartanburg, SC 29302.
Rick Mulkey, 864-596-9111.
rick.mulkey@converse.edu. converse.edu/mfa
GEORGIA COLLEGE
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. Concen-
trations: Fiction, poetry, creative nonfiction.
Scriptwriting offered for an elective. Contact:
Georgia College, Campus Box 44, Milledgeville, GA
31061. Dr. Martin Lammon, 478-445-4581.
mfa@gcsu.edu mfa.gcsu.edu
GEORGIA STATE UNIVERSITY
Degree type: MA, MFA and PhD in creative writ-
ing. Concentrations: Fiction and poetry. Con-
tact: Georgia State University, Department of
English, P.O. Box 3970, Atlanta, GA 30302. 404-
413-5800. Heather Russell, heather@gsu.edu
english.gsu.edu
FLORIDA INTERNATIONAL
UNIVERSITY
Degree type: MFA Program in creative writing.
Concentrations: Fiction, creative nonfiction,
poetry and screenwriting. Contact: Florida Inter-
national University-BBC, Creative Writing Pro-
gram, 3000 NE 151 St., AC1-335, North Miami, FL
33181. 305-919-5857. crwritng@fiu.edu
english.fiu.edu/creative-writing/mfa
FLORIDA STATE UNIVERSITY
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. Concen-
trations: Fiction, creative nonfiction and poetry.
Contact: Creative Writing, Florida State Univer-
sity, 405 Williams Building, Tallahassee, FL 32306.
850-644-4231. kk11g@my.fsu.edu
english.fsu.edu/crw
GEORGE MASON UNIVERSITY
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. Concen-
trations: Fiction, nonfiction and poetry. Contact:
George Mason University, 4400 University Drive -
3E4, Fairfax, VA 22030. William Miller, 703-993-
1180. writing@gmu.edu
creativewriting.gmu.edu/programs/la-mfa-cw
42 | The Writer D December 2015
2015 EDUCATION GUIDE
HOLLINS UNIVERSITY
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. Also offers
MFAs in screenwriting, playwriting, children’s
book writing and illustrating and children’s litera-
ture. Concentrations: Fiction, nonfiction and
poetry. Contact: Hollins University Graduate
Center, 7916 Williamson Road Roanoke, VA
24019. 540-362-6575. hugrad@hollins.edu
hollins.edu/grad
LOUISIANA STATE UNIVERSITY
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. Concen-
trations: Fiction, poetry, playwriting and screen-
writing. Contact: Department of English, College
of Humanities & Social Sciences, Louisiana State
University, 260 Allen Hall, Baton Rouge, LA 70803.
225-578-4086. Dr. Michelle Massé,
egs@lsu.edu english.lsu.edu
MURRAY STATE UNIVERSITY
Degree type: Low-residency MFA in creative
writing. Concentrations: Fiction, creative non-
fiction and poetry. Contact: MFA Program in
Creative Writing, Department of English and Phi-
losophy, 7C Faculty Hall, Murray State University,
Murray, KY 42071. 270-809-4713. Ann Neelon,
aneelon@murraystate.edu murraystate.edu/mfa
OLD DOMINION UNIVERSITY
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. Concen-
trations: Fiction, nonfiction and poetry. Contact:
MFA Creative Writing Program, Graduate Program
Director’s Office, Old Dominion University, Nor-
folk, VA 23529. 757-683-3991. cwgpd@odu.edu
al.odu.edu/english/mfacw
QUEENS UNIVERSITY OF
CHARLOTTE
Degree type: Low-residency MFA in creative
writing. Concentrations: Fiction, creative non-
fiction, poetry and writing for stage and screen.
Contact: Queens University of Charlotte, 1900
Selwyn Ave., Charlotte, NC 28274. Melissa Bashor,
704-337-2499. bashorm@queens.edu
queens.edu/mfa
SPALDING UNIVERSITY
Degree type: Low-residency MFA in writing.
Concentrations: Fiction, creative nonfiction,
poetry, writing for children and young adults, play-
writing and screenwriting. Students may minor in
a second area of concentration. Contact: Master
of Fine Arts in Writing Program, Spalding Univer-
sity, 851 S. Third St., Louisville, KY 40203. 502-
873-4400. mfa@spalding.edu
spalding.edu/academics/mfa-in-writing
UNIVERSITY OF ALABAMA
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. Concen-
trations: Fiction, nonfiction and poetry. Contact:
Creative Writing Program, Department of English,
Box 870244, University of Alabama, Tuscaloosa,
AL 35487. Wendy Rawlings, 205-348-4507.
wendy.rawlings@ua.edu english.ua.edu/grad/cw
UNIVERSITY OF ARKANSAS AT
MONTICELLO
Degree type: Non-residency MFA in creative
writing. Concentrations: Fiction, creative non-
fiction and poetry. Contact: University of Arkan-
sas at Monticello, Arts and Humanities, 562
University Drive, Monticello, AR 71656. Diane
Payne, 870-460-1247. payne@uamont.edu
uamont.edu
UNIVERSITY OF CENTRAL FLORIDA
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. Concen-
trations: Fiction, literary nonfiction and poetry.
Contact: Department of English, University of
Central Florida, P.O. Box 161346, Orlando, FL
32816. 407-823-5596. english@ucf.edu
english.cah.ucf.edu/graduate/creative.php
UNIVERSITY OF FLORIDA
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. Concen-
trations: Fiction and poetry. Contact: Creative
Writing, University of Florida, Department of Eng-
lish, 4008 Turlington Hall, P.O. Box 117310,
Gainesville, FL 32611. Carla Blount, 352-392-6650
ext. 225. crw@english.ufl.edu english.ufl.edu/crw
UNIVERSITY OF GEORGIA (ONLINE)
Degree type: MFA in narrative media writing. Con-
centrations: Narrative nonfiction and screenwrit-
ing. Contact: Grady College of Journalism & Mass
Communication, Journalism Building, 120 Hooper
Street, Athens, GA 30602. 706-452-7947.
online@uga.edu online.uga.edu
UNIVERSITY OF MIAMI
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. Concen-
trations: Fiction and poetry. Contact: Depart-
ment of English, University of Miami, 1252
Memorial Drive, Ashe Bldg., Room 321, Coral
Gables, FL 33146. 305-284-2182. as.miami.edu/
english/creativewriting/master-of-fine-arts
UNIVERSITY OF NEW ORLEANS
Degree type: Low-residency or residency MFA in
creative writing. Concentrations: Fiction, non-
fiction, poetry, playwriting and screenwriting.
Contact: Creative Writing Workshop, Department
of English, 201 Liberal Arts Building, 2000 Lake-
shore Drive, University of New Orleans, New
Orleans, LA 70148. 504-280-6276.
cww@uno.edu fbarton@uno.edu uno.edu/writing
UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA
AT WILMINGTON
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. Concen-
trations: Fiction, poetry and creative nonfiction.
Contact: UNCW Department of Creative Writing,
601 S. College Rd., Wilmington, NC 28403. 910-
962-7063. hubbardm@uncw.edu
uncw.edu/writers/mfa
UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA
AT GREENSBORO
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. Concen-
trations: Fiction and poetry. Contact: MFA Writ-
ing Program, 3302 HHRA Building, UNC
Greensboro, Greensboro, NC 27402. 336-334-5459.
mfa@uncg.edu mfagreensboro.org
UNIVERSITY OF SOUTH CAROLINA
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. Concen-
trations: Fiction and poetry. Contact: Graduate
Program, Department of English, University of
South Carolina, Humanities Office Building, Room
100, Columbia, SC 29208. 803-777-5063. Liz Coun-
tryman, MFA Coordinator.
countrym@mailbox.sc.edu
artsandsciences.sc.edu/engl
UNIVERSITY OF TAMPA
Degree type: Low-residency MFA in creative
writing. Concentrations: Fiction, creative non-
fiction and poetry. Contact: University of Tampa,
401 W. Kennedy Blvd., Tampa, FL 33606. 813-258-
7409. utgrad@ut.edu ut.edu/mfacw
UNIVERSITY OF TENNESSEE,
KNOXVILLE
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. Also offers
PhD in English with a creative dissertation. Con-
centrations: Fiction, creative nonfiction and
poetry. Contact: Department of English, 301
McClung Tower, University of Tennessee, Knox-
ville, TN 37996. 865-974-5401. english.utk.edu
UNIVERSITY OF VIRGINIA
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. Concen-
trations: Fiction and poetry. Contact: Creative
Writing, University of Virginia, 219 Bryan Hall,
P.O. Box 400121, Charlottesville, VA 22904. 434-
924-6074. creativewriting@virginia.edu
engl.virginia.edu/creativewriting
VANDERBILT UNIVERSITY
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. Concen-
trations: Fiction and poetry. Contact: Creative
Writing, 331 Benson Hall, PNB 351654, Vanderbilt
University, 2301 Vanderbilt Place, Nashville, TN
37235. 615-322-6527.
creativewriting@vanderbilt.edu
vanderbilt.edu/creativewriting
VIRGINIA COMMONWEALTH UNI-
VERSITY
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. Concen-
trations: Fiction and poetry. Contact: VCU
Department of English, P.O. Box 842005, Rich-
mond, VA 23284. 804-828-1331.
englishweb@vcu.edu english.vcu.edu/mfa
VIRGINIA POLYTECHNIC INSTITUTE
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. Concen-
trations: Fiction and poetry. Contact: Virginia
Polytechnic Institute and State University, Depart-
ment of English MC 0112, Shanks Hall 323, 180
Turner St. NW, Blacksburg, VA 24061.  Graduate admissions, 600 South Michigan Ave.,
Erika Meitner, 540-231-7706. meitner@vt.edu
graduate.english.vt.edu/MFA
WARREN WILSON COLLEGE
Degree type: Low-residency MFA in creative
writing. Concentrations: Fiction and poetry.
Contact: Warren Wilson College, MFA Program
for Writers, P.O. Box 9000, Asheville, NC 28815.
828-771-3715. Email from website. wwcmfa.org
WEST VIRGINIA UNIVERSITY
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. Concen-
trations: Fiction, nonfiction and poetry. Contact:
MFA in Creative Writing, PO Box 6201, West Vir-
ginia University, Morgantown, WV 26506. Mary
Ann Samyn, 304-293-9730.
maryann.samyn@mail.wvu.edu
creativewriting.wvu.edu
MIDWEST
ASHLAND UNIVERSITY
Degree type: Low-residency MFA in creative
writing. Concentrations: Fiction, creative non-
fiction and poetry. Contact: MFA in Creative
Writing Program, Ashland University, 401 College
Ave., Ashland, OH 44805. Stephen Haven,
419-289-5979. shaven@ashland.edu ashland.edu
AUGSBURG COLLEGE
Degree type: Low-residency MFA in creative
writing. Concentrations: Fiction, creative non-
fiction, poetry, playwriting and screenwriting.
Contact: Augsburg College, 2211 Riverside Ave.,
Minneapolis, MN 55454. 612-330-1101.
mfa@augsburg.edu augsburg.edu/mfa
BOWLING GREEN STATE
UNIVERSITY
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. Concen-
trations: Fiction and poetry. Contact: Creative
Writing Program, Dept. of English, Bowling Green
State University, Bowling Green, OH 43403. Jeanne
R. Berry, 419-372-6864. jberry@bgsu.edu bgsu.edu
BUTLER UNIVERSITY
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. Concen-
trations: Fiction, nonfiction and poetry. Contact:
MFA Creative Writing, Efroymson Center for Cre-
ative Writing, 530 W. Hampton Dr., Indianapolis,
IN 46208. Hilene Flanzbaum, 317-940-8733.
hflanzba@butler.edu
legacy.butler.edu/mfa-creative-writing
COLUMBIA COLLEGE CHICAGO
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. Concen-
trations: Fiction, nonfiction and poetry. Contact:
Chicago, IL 60605. 312-369-7260.
gradstudy@colum.edu colum.edu/academics/
liberal-arts-and-sciences/creative-writing
CREIGHTON UNIVERSITY
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. Concen-
trations: Poetry, prose and screenwriting.
Contact: Brent Spencer, MFA Program Director,
Department of English, Creighton University,
Omaha, NE 68178. 402-280-2192.
bspencer@creighton.edu
mockingbird.creighton.edu/english/mfa.htm
HAMLINE UNIVERSITY
Degree type: Full- and part-time MFA in writing
and low-residency MFA in writing for children and
young adults. Concentrations: Residential: fic-
tion, creative nonfiction and poetry. Low-resi-
dency: Children’s and young adult literature.
Contact: The Creative Writing Programs,
MS-A1730, Hamline University, 1536 Hewitt Ave.,
Saint Paul, MN 55104. 651-523-2047.
cwp@hamline.edu hamline.edu/cla/mfa
INDIANA UNIVERSITY-
BLOOMINGTON
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. Concen-
trations: Fiction and poetry. Contact: Creative
Writing Program, English Dept., Indiana Univer-
sity, Ballantine Hall 442, 1020 E. Kirkwood Ave.,
Bloomington, IN 47405. 812-855-9539.
ededad@indiana.edu iub.edu/~mfawrite
MIAMI UNIVERSITY
Degree type: Low-residency MFA and full-resi-
dency MA in creative writing. Concentrations:
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Fiction, creative nonfiction, poetry, screenwriting
and hybrid genre. Contact: Department of Eng-
lish, 356 Bachelor Hall, 301 S. Patterson Ave.,
Oxford, OH 45056. Ashley Staples, 513-529-5222.
stapleat@miamioh.edu miamioh.edu
MINNESOTA STATE UNIVERSITY,
MANKATO
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. Concen-
trations: Fiction, nonfiction and poetry. Contact:
MFA Creative Writing Program, Department of
English, Minnesota State University – Mankato,
230 Armstrong Hall, Mankato, MN 56001. Richard
Robbins, 507-389-1354.
richard.robbins@mnsu.edu english.mnsu.edu/cw
NEOMFA
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. Concen-
trations: Fiction, creative nonfiction, poetry, play-
writing and literary translation. Contact:
NEOMFA/English Department, Cleveland State
University, 2121 Euclid Ave., Cleveland, OH 44115.
216-687-3971. neomfa@kent.edu neomfa.org
NORTHWESTERN UNIVERSITY
Degree type: MA and MFA in creative writing.
Concentrations: Fiction, creative nonfiction and
poetry. Contact: Northwestern University School
of Professional Studies, 339 E. Chicago Ave., Chi-
cago, IL 60611. 312-503-6950.
spsadmissions@northwestern.edu
northwestern.edu
OHIO STATE UNIVERSITY
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. PhD and
MA also offered. Concentrations: Fiction, cre-
ative nonfiction and poetry. Contact: Department
of English, Ohio State University, 421 Denney Hall,
164 West 17th Ave., Columbus, OH 43210. 614-
292-6065. english.admin@osu.edu
english.osu.edu/grad/mfa
OHIO UNIVERSITY
Degree type: PhD in creative writing. Concen-
trations: Fiction, creative nonfiction and poetry.
Contact: Department of English, Ohio University,
360 Ellis Hall, Athens, OH 45701. 740-593-2838.
english.department@ohio.edu
english.ohiou.edu/cw
PURDUE UNIVERSITY
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. Concen-
trations: Fiction and poetry. Contact: Depart-
ment of English, Purdue University, 500 Oval
Drive, West Lafayette, IN 47907. 765-494-3740.
griff@purdue.edu cla.purdue.edu/english/
creativewriting
44 | The Writer D December 2015
REGIS UNIVERSITY
Degree type: Low-residency MFA in creative
writing. Concentrations: Fiction, creative non-
fiction, playwriting and poetry. Contact: Admis-
sions, Mile High MFA, Regis University, 3333 Regis
Boulevard, Denver, CO 80221. 800-603-8324.
RUadmissions@regis.edu regis.edu/RC/Academ-
ics/Departments-and-Faculty/MFA-Creative-
Writing.aspx
SCHOOL OF THE ART INSTITUTE OF
CHICAGO
Degree type: MFA in writing. Concentrations:
Poetry, fiction, playwriting/screenwriting and non-
fiction. Not required to declare a genre. Contact:
School of the Art Institute of Chicago, Writing
Office, Sharp Building, 37 S. Wabash Ave., 7th
floor, 312-899-5094. wprogr@saic.edu saic.edu/
academics/graduatedegrees/mfaw
SOUTHERN ILLINOIS UNIVERSITY
IN CARBONDALE
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. Concen-
trations: Fiction and poetry. Contact: Southern
Illinois University, English Department, Faner,
Mail Code 4503, Carbondale, IL 62901. Allison
Joseph, 618-453-5321. aljoseph@siu.edu
cola.siu.edu/english/graduate/master-of-fine-arts
UNIVERSITY OF CINCINNATI
Degree type: MA or PhD in creative writing.
Concentrations: Fiction, nonfiction and poetry.
Contact: Department of English & Comparative
Literature, University of Cincinnati, P.O. Box
210069, Cincinnati, OH 45221. 513-556-5924. Jen-
nifer Habel, Jennifer.Habel@Uc.Edu artsci.uc.edu
UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. PhD and
MA in English with creative dissertation or manu-
script available at the Chicago campus. Concen-
trations: Fiction and poetry. Contact: University
of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, Department of
English, 608 S. Wright St., Urbana, IL 61801. 217-
333-2391. english@illinois.edu creativewriting.
english.illinois.edu
UNIVERSITY OF IOWA
Degree type: MFA in English. Concentrations:
Fiction and poetry. Contact: Writers’ Workshop,
Graduate Program in Creative Writing, 102 Dey
House, Iowa City, IA 52242. 319-335-0416. deb-
west@uiowa.edu writersworkshop.uiowa.edu
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN,
ANN ARBOR
Degree type: MFA in creative writing.
Concentrations: Fiction and poetry. Contact:
Helen Zell Writers’ Program, 3187 Angell Hall, 435
S. State St., Ann Arbor, MI  48109. 734-764-6330.
graduate.english@umich.edu
lsa.umich.edu/english/grad/mfa
UNIVERSITY OF MINNESOTA
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. Concen-
trations: Fiction, literary nonfiction and poetry.
Contact: Creative Writing Program, Department
of English, College of Liberal Arts, University of
Minnesota, 222 Lind Hall, 207 Church St. SE, Min-
neapolis, MN 55455. 612-625-6366.
creawrit@umn.edu creativewriting.umn.edu
UNIVERSITY OF MISSOURI
Degree type: MA and PhD in English with a con-
centration in creative writing. MFA in creative
writing available at St. Louis campus. Concentra-
tions: Fiction and poetry. Contact: Department
of English, University of Missouri, 114 Tate Hall,
Columbia, MO 65211. Trudy Lewis, 573-882-
1120. lewistr@missouri.edu english.missouri.edu
UNIVERSITY OF NEBRASKA –
OMAHA
Degree type: MFA in writing. MA and PhD in
creative writing available at Lincoln campus. Con-
centrations: Fiction, creative nonfiction, poetry
and playwriting. Contact: University of Nebraska
– Omaha, MFA in Writing Office, 6001 Dodge /
WFAB 301, Omaha, NE 68182. Jenna Lucas Finn,
402-554-3020. jlucas@unomaha.edu
unomaha.edu/unmfaw
UNIVERSITY OF NOTRE DAME
Degree type: MFA and PhD in creative writing.
Concentrations: Fiction and poetry. Contact:
Director of Creative Writing, Department of Eng-
lish, University of Notre Dame 356 O’Shaughnessy
Hall, Notre Dame, IN 46556. 574-631-7526.
creativewriting@nd.edu
english.nd.edu/creative-writing
UNIVERSITY OF WISCONSIN-
MADISON
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. Concen-
trations: Fiction and poetry. Contact: Program
in Creative Writing, Department of English, 600 N.
Park St., H.C. White Rm 6195, University of Wis-
consin, Madison, WI 53706. 206-491-1505.
mfamail@english.wisc.edu
creativewriting.wisc.edu
WASHINGTON UNIVERSITY IN
ST. LOUIS
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. Concen-
trations: Fiction, creative nonfiction and poetry.
Contact: Department of English, Washington
University in St. Louis, Campus Box 1122, One
Brookings Dr., St. Louis, MO 63130. 314-935-5190.
Shannon Rabong, scrabong@wustl.edu
english.artsci.wustl.edu
WESTERN MICHIGAN UNIVERSITY
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. Also offers
PhD in English with a creative writing emphasis.
Concentrations: Fiction, nonfiction, poetry and
playwriting. Contact: Graduate Director, Dept. of
English, Western Michigan University, Kalamazoo,
MI 49008. 269-387-2572.
english-graduate@wmich.edu wmich.edu/English
SOUTHWEST
ARIZONA STATE UNIVERSITY
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. Concen-
trations: Fiction and poetry. Contact: Depart-
ment of English, Language & Literature, 851 S.
Cady Mall Room 542, P.O. Box 870302, Tempe, AZ
85287. 480-965-3168. Email from website.
english.clas.asu.edu/creativewriting
OKLAHOMA STATE UNIVERSITY
Degree type: MFA in creative writing and PhD in
English with a concentration in creative writing.
Concentrations: Fiction, nonfiction and poetry.
Contact: English Department, 205 Morrill Hall,
Oklahoma State University, 109 Morrill Ave., Still-
water, OK 74078. 405-744-9474.
english.information@okstate.edu
english.okstate.edu
THE RED EARTH MFA
Degree type: Low-residency MFA in creative
writing. Concentrations: Fiction, creative non-
fiction, poetry, screenwriting and young adult fic-
tion. Contact: Red Earth MFA at Oklahoma City
University, 2501 N. Blackwelder Ave., WC 248,
English Department, Oklahoma City, OK 73106.
Jeanetta Calhoun Mish, 405-208-5127.
mfadirector@okcu.edu
okcu.edu/english/redearthmfa
UNIVERSITY OF ARIZONA
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. Concen-
trations: Fiction, creative nonfiction and poetry.
Contact: The Writing Program, Department of
English, University of Arizona, 1423 E. University
Blvd. Room 445, Modern Languages Building, P.O.
Box 210067, Tucson, AZ 85721. 520-621-1836.
uawriting@email.arizona.edu
english.arizona.edu/writing-program
UNIVERSITY OF HOUSTON
Degree type: MFA in creative writing and PhD in
literature and creative writing. Concentrations:
Fiction, nonfiction and poetry. Contact: The Cre-
ative Writing Program, Office of Graduate Studies,
Department of English, 205 Roy Cullen Building,
University of Houston, Houston, TX 77204.
713-743-3015. cwp@uh.edu uh.edu
UNIVERSITY OF NEW MEXICO
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. Also offers
MA in rhetoric and writing. Concentrations:
Fiction, creative nonfiction and poetry. Contact:
University of New Mexico, Department of English
Language and Literature, MSC 03 2170, 1 Univer-
sity of New Mexico, Albuquerque, NM 87131. 505-
277-6347. englishgrad@unm.edu
english.unm.edu/graduate/master-of-fine-arts
UNIVERSITY OF TEXAS, EL PASO
Degree type: Online and residential MFAs in cre-
ative writing; bilingual. Concentrations: Fiction,
nonfiction, poetry, playwriting, screenwriting and
literary translation. Contact: Department of Cre-
ative Writing, University of Texas at El Paso, Edu-
cation Building 901 El Paso, TX 79968. Lori De Los
Santos, 915-747–5713. ldeloss@utep.edu utep.edu
UNIVERSITY OF TEXAS, MICHENER
CENTER
Degree type: MFA in writing. Concentrations:
Fiction, poetry, playwriting and screenwriting.
Contact: The James A. Michener Center for Writ-
ers, 702 E. Dean Keeton St., Austin, TX 78705. 512-
471-1601. mcw@www.utexas.edu
utexas.edu/academic/mcw
WEST
ANTIOCH UNIVERSITY
LOS ANGELES
Degree type: Low-residency MFA in creative
writing. Concentrations: Fiction, creative non-
fiction, poetry and writing for young people. Con-
tact: Antioch University Los Angeles, Admissions
Office, 400 Corporate Pointe, Culver City, CA
90230. 310-578-1080.
admissions.aula@antioch.edu antiochla.edu
BOISE STATE UNIVERSITY
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. Concen-
trations: Fiction and poetry. Contact: MFA in
Creative Writing, Department of English, Boise
State University, 1910 University Dr., 228 Liberal
Arts Building, Boise, ID 83725. 208-426-3426. cre-
ativewritinggrad@boisestate.edu
english.boisestate.edu/mfa
CALIFORNIA COLLEGE OF THE ARTS
Degree type: MFA in writing. Concentrations:
Fiction, poetry and creative nonfiction. Not
required to declare a genre. Contact: MFA Pro-
gram in Writing, California College of the Arts,
1111 Eighth St., San Francisco, CA 94107. David
Morini, 415-551-9237. dmorini@cca.edu
cca.edu/academics/graduate/writing
CALIFORNIA STATE UNIVERSITY,
FRESNO
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. Concen-
trations: Fiction, poetry and creative nonfiction.
Contact: MFA Program in Creative Writing,
Fresno State – Department of English, 5245 N.
Backer Ave. M/S PB-98, Fresno, CA 93740. Dr. Tim
Skeen, 559-278- 1569. tskeen@csufresno.edu
fresnostate.edu/english
CHAPMAN UNIVERSITY
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. Concen-
trations: Fiction and poetry. Contact: MFA Pro-
gram, Chapman University, Department of
English, 1 University Drive, Orange, CA 92866.
Shannon McCance, 714-997-6711.
smccance@chapman.edu chapman.edu
EASTERN WASHINGTON
UNIVERSITY
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. Concen-
trations: Fiction, literary nonfiction and poetry.
Contact: Inland Northwest Center for Writers,
C/O Eastern Washington University, 668 North
Riverpoint Blvd., #259, Spokane, WA 99202.
Pamela Russell, 509-828-1434.
mfa@ewu.edu sites.ewu.edu/mfa
MILLS COLLEGE
Degree type: MFA in poetry, MFA in prose, MFA
in book art and creative writing. Concentrations:
Fiction, nonfiction, poetry and book art. Contact:
Graduate English Program, Mills College, 5000
MacArthur Blvd., Oakland, CA 94613.
510-430-3309. grad_eng@mills.edu mills.edu
NAROPA UNIVERSITY
Degree type: MFA in creative writing and poet-
ics. Low-residency MFA in creative writing also
offered. Concentrations: Prose, poetry and
translation. Contact: Naropa University, 2130
Arapahoe Ave., Boulder, CO 80302. 800-772-6951.
admissions@naropa.edu naropa.edu
NATIONAL UNIVERSITY
Degree type: MFA in creative writing, MFA in
professional screenwriting. Available online and
on-campus. Concentrations: Fiction, literary

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nonfiction, poetry and screenwriting. Contact:
National University, 11255 N. Torrey Pines Rd., La
Jolla, CA 92037. Frank Montesonti, 310-662-2159.
fmontesonti@nu.edu nu.edu
NORTHWEST INSTITUTE OF
LITERARY ARTS
Degree type: Low-residency MFA in creative
writing. Concentrations: Fiction, nonfiction,
poetry and writing for children/young adults.
Contact: Northwest Institute of Literary Arts,
5611 Bayview Rd., Langley, WA 98260. Wayne
Ude, 360-331-0307. ude@nila.edu nila.edu
PACIFIC UNIVERSITY OREGON
Degree type: Low-residency MFA in writing.
Concentrations: Fiction, nonfiction and poetry.
Contact: Master of Fine Arts in Writing, Pacific
University Oregon, 530 NW 12th Ave., Portland,
OR 97209. 503-352-1531. mfa@pacificu.edu
pacificu.edu/as/mfa
PEPPERDINE UNIVERSITY
Degree type: MFA in writing for screen and tele-
vision. Concentrations: Screenwriting and tele-
vision writing. Contact: Seaver College,
Pepperdine University, 24255 Pacific Coast High-
way, Malibu, CA 90263. 310-506-4000. Dr. Leslie
Kreiner Wilson, leslie.kreiner@pepperdine.edu
pepperdine.edu/screenwriting
SIERRA NEVADA COLLEGE
Degree type: Low-residency MFA in creative
writing. Concentrations: Fiction, poetry and lit-
erary nonfiction. Contact: Graduate Admissions,
Sierra Nevada College, 999 Tahoe Blvd., Incline Vil-
lage, NV 89451. 775-832-2437. graduateadmis-
sions@sierranevada.edu sierranevada.edu/
academics/humanities-social-sciences/
mfa-in-creative-writing
ST. MARY’S COLLEGE OF
CALIFORNIA
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. Concen-
trations: Fiction, nonfiction and poetry. Contact:
MFA Program in Creative Writing, St. Mary’s Col-
lege of California, P.O. Box 4686, Moraga, CA
94575. 925-631-4762.
writers@stmarys-ca.edu stmarys-ca.edu
UNIVERSITY OF ALASKA,
ANCHORAGE
Degree type: Low-residency MFA in creative
writing. Concentrations: Fiction, literary nonfic-
tion and poetry. Contact: Creative Writing & Lit-
erary Arts Department, University of Alaska
Anchorage, ADM 270, 3211 Providence Dr.,
Anchorage, AK 99508. Dr. David Stevenson, 907-
46 | The Writer D December 2015
786-6435. afdds1@uaa.alaska.edu
uaa.alaska.edu/cwla
UNIVERSITY OF ALASKA,
FAIRBANKS
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. Concen-
trations: Fiction, creative nonfiction, poetry and
dramatic writing. Contact: University of Alaska
Fairbanks, Dept. of English, P.O. Box 755720,
Fairbanks, AK 99775. 907-474-7193.
uaf-english-dept@alaska.edu uaf.edu
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA IRVINE
Degree type: MFA in English. Concentrations:
Fiction and poetry. Contact: Department of Eng-
lish, 435 Humanities Instructional Building, Uni-
versity of California Irvine, Irvine, CA 92697.
949-824-6712. english@uci.edu
humanities.uci.edu/english
UNIVERSITY OF MONTANA
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. Concen-
trations: Fiction, nonfiction and poetry. Contact:
Creative Writing, Department of English, Univer-
sity of Montana, 32 Campus Dr., Liberal Arts 133,
Missoula, MT 59812. 406-243-5231. Kevin Canty,
kevin.canty@mso.umt.edu
cas.umt.edu/creativewriting
UNIVERSITY OF NEVADA,
LAS VEGAS
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. Also offers
PhD in English with a creative dissertation. Con-
centrations: Fiction and poetry. Contact: Uni-
versity of Nevada Las Vegas, English Department,
4505 Maryland Parkway, Box 455011, Mail Stop:
5011 , Las Vegas, NV 89154. 702-895-3533.
mfaunlv@unlv.nevada.edu english.unlv.edu/mfa
UNIVERSITY OF OREGON
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. Concen-
trations: Fiction and poetry. Contact: Creative
Writing Program, 5243 University of Oregon,
Eugene, OR 97403. 541-346-3944.
crwrweb@uoregon.edu uoregon.edu/~crwrweb
UNIVERSITY OF SAN FRANCISCO
Degree type: MFA in writing. Concentrations:
Fiction, nonfiction and poetry. Contact: Univer-
sity of San Francisco, MFA in Writing Program,
2130 Fulton St., Kalmanovitz Hall 302, San Fran-
cisco, CA 94117. 415-422-6066. mfaw@usfca.edu
usfca.edu/artsci/writ
UNIVERSITY OF SOUTHERN
CALIFORNIA
Degree type: MFA in dramatic writing. See Eng-
lish department website for information about the
separate PhD in creative writing and literature.
Concentrations: Playwriting, screenwriting.
Contact: University of Southern California,
School of Dramatic Arts, 1029 Childs Way, Los
Angeles, CA 90089. 213-821-2744.
info@sda.usc.edu dramaticarts.usc.edu
UNIVERSITY OF UTAH
Degree type: MFA in creative writing and PhD in
literature with creative writing emphasis. Concen-
trations: Fiction and poetry. Contact: University
of Utah, Department of English, 255 S. Central
Campus Dr., Room 3500, Salt Lake City, UT 84112.
801-581-6168. english.utah.edu
UNIVERSITY OF WYOMING
Degree type: MFA in creative writing. Concen-
trations: Fiction, nonfiction and poetry. Contact:
Creative Writing Program, 1000 E. University Ave.,
Laramie, WY 82071. 307-766-6453.
cw@uwyo.edu uwyo.edu/creativewriting
WESTERN STATE COLORADO
UNIVERSITY
Degree type: Low-residency MFA in creative
writing. Also offers MA in creative writing and a
certificate in publishing. Concentrations: Genre
fiction, poetry with emphasis in verse craft and
screenwriting for film and television. Contact:
Western State Colorado University, 600 N. Adams
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guelphcreativewritingmfa.com
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HOW I WRITE
BY ALLISON FUTTERMAN
S
am Kean is a uniquely engag-
ing science writer who has
found broad success with his
three books. In The Tale of the
Dueling Neurosurgeons, The Violinist’s
Thumb and The Disappearing Spoon,
Kean transforms complex scientific
material into captivating narrative.
Understandable. Interesting. Witty –
and quite funny at times. More than
you might think possible in a science
story. Kean’s love of science led him to
a college degree in physics. He went
on to get an English degree and
explore writing, but he found himself
missing the science. Ultimately, he
found science writing to be a compro-
mise, a way to combine a field he
loves without having to spend his life
in a lab. He’s working on a fourth
book, which will be about the hidden
stories of the air we breathe.
Finding topics
First and foremost, I’m looking for
stories. Topics with characters, cli-
maxes, happy or sad endings. That’s
non-negotiable. After that, I’m look-
ing for topics that, while they include
science, reach beyond science into
other areas of our lives. Because I
don’t see science as isolated, some-
thing that only happens within the
walls of a lab – a scientific perspective
can enrich just about everything. Dis-
appearing Spoon, for instance, my
book about the periodic table, has
chapters on war, poison, money, art,
even bubbles. Similarly with my book
on neuroscience, there are chapters
about emotion, memory, language –
important facets of human existence.
So I want topics that, while grounded
in science, reach beyond science.
48 | The Writer D December 2015
Sam Kean
Research
First, I try to read as
widely as possible –
fiction, nonfiction, any-
thing, just so I have some
perspective on the topic.
Then I go to the library
and start hunting through
footnotes, tracking down everything I
can. I like to have paper copies of
research material, so I can scribble
down notes and highlight sections. I
find that makes it easier to find the
information later. But once I’ve done all
the reading, I actually put most of it
aside and start writing without refer-
encing it. The idea is that I’ve internal-
ized it, so I can just start telling the
story then.
Breaking it down
Again, I want to integrate the material
into story first and foremost. Once you
have a good story, the science will take
care of itself. That is, once people get
drawn into the narrative, then you can
sprinkle a little science here and there
as needed, to move the story along. I
think people – even
people who didn’t
think they liked sci-
ence – are far more
willing to read about
science in the midst of a
story because we have a
natural human curiosity to
see how stories end. We want to know
how things turn out. So starting with a
story gives people extra motivation to
read the science bits.
Using humor
Hopefully humor plays the same role
that wit and humor play in other sto-
ries. Those elements liven up things
and can provide a bit of emotional
relief in an otherwise serious story,
and so on. People probably expect
less humor when they sit down with a
science story, but I don’t see why that
should necessarily be so. Lots of
funny things happen in science, and
science users can and should use that
to their advantage.
Making science engaging
Just look for the human elements: trag-
edy, betrayal, love, lust, revenge, adver-
sity, et cetera. Science is a human
activity, and human beings are doing
the science, so you’re going to find all
those things if you take the time to look
and inquire into the motivations of the
people involved. That’s actually what I
find so fascinating about the science:
the results of people’s experiments are
universal truths, facts about nature and
the universe that are true for all time.
Allison Futterman has been published in Char-
lotte magazine and writes frequently for The
Charlotte Observer. 
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Even the
ugly parts
Share stories with out shame.
›BY MELISSA HART

F
our times a year, editor Janna Marlies Maron
hosts a video chat on Google-Plus allowing “Because we high school band practice.
strive for authentic She subverts that shame in
readers from around the world to celebrate
front of her detractors who
the launch of the newest issue of her maga- connections through laugh at the paper tree her
zine, Under the Gum Tree. Participants log on in real vulnerability, we teacher draws to hold her
time to watch contributors read creative nonfiction
exclusively publish used chewing gum.
pieces from their homes and chat with other viewers “Staring at Janna’s Gum
via the hashtag #gumtreelive. “I love to bring our con- creative nonfiction
Tree made me angry,” Maron
tributors together in a video call to interact with each and visual art.” writes. “The longer I stared,
other and with me,” Maron says. Participants can also the angrier I got. Angry
Quarterly, print and digital:
view the archives later at their leisure. $2-7 monthly because other people chewed
In October 2015, Under Tone, editorial content Genres: Personal essay, memoir,
gum all the time and never
the Gum Tree celebrated its On the magazine’s website, creative nonfiction got caught. Angry because I
fourth year as a digital and Maron notes the power of was being mocked. By my
print publication available sharing one’s stories – even Reading Period: Year-round teacher. Angry because I was
Length: 2,000 words or fewer so easily embarrassed.”
as PDF and print-on- the ugly parts – without
demand. Maron started the shame. “Too much of the Submission format: Digital
publication with a desire to human experience gets hid- submission on website Contributors
showcase creative nonfic- den behind constructed Contact: Janna Marlies Maron, New York Times best-selling
tion alongside art and pho- facades based on what we editor author Steve Almond pub-
tography in a full-color perceive the world expects info@underthegumtree.com lished an essay about music
1812 J Street, Suite 21
magazine more akin to from us. Stop hiding. Live a and technology in the maga-
Sacramento, CA 95811
commercial glossies than story,” she writes. underthegumtree.com
zine. Travel writer and pho-
traditional black-and-white In keeping with this goal, tographer Colleen Kinder
literary magazines. “I want it “The Gum Tree,” Maron’s contributed an essay about
to be dynamic,” she says, “a short story that was pub- uncontrollable facial blush-
place of support for writers lished in the premier issue, ing. Issue #16 of Gum Tree
and artists to share their sto- examines the cruelty of excerpts Oregon author Nick
ries. This is my heart and being singled out and Jaina’s memoir Get it While
my passion.” shamed as a quiet girl in You Can. “It’s about a guitar
that he takes with him in this
vagabond lifestyle,” Maron
says. “It becomes a symbol of
who he was as a youth.”
While much of what she
publishes is traditional in
form, Maron is excited to
receive submissions of first-
person stories treated in inno-
vative ways. In the prose
poem “Potato Salad Portraits,”
Alaina Symanovich plays with
form. “We love it when we
can find interesting pieces
that don’t really fit into the
world of narrative, but still fall
into the creative nonfiction
category,” Maron says.
Advice for potential
contributors
Maron and her all-volun-
teer staff look for creative
nonfiction by writers who
risk embarrassment to con-
nect with readers and pro-
voke conversation around a
universal truth. They grav-
itate toward stories about
cooking, music, film, fam-
ily and friends. “We don’t
get a lot of submissions for
our ‘24 Frames’ and
‘Soundtrack’ departments,”
she says. “We’re always
looking for those and
pieces about food.”
Maron is committed to
publicizing contributors’
work in print and social
media. She runs in-depth
Q&A pieces with Gum Tree
authors on her website, and
introduces their work on
Facebook. And the next
online video chat is on the
horizon.
Writing teacher and editor
Melissa Hart is the author of the
memoir Wild Within: How Rescuing
Owls Inspired a Family and the
upcoming novel Avenging the Owl.
FACTY WITH FICTION
Novelists Eliza Kennedy and Marisa de los Santos
share example of adapting real life for fiction.
z Eliza Kennedy on what really happened:
“My mother and I once had an exchange about her forget-
ting certain words, which I thought was funny. I put it in
my book as a bit of dialogue between Lily and her absent-
minded wedding planner. My mother was hurt when she
read it, because she thought I was laughing at her. I was
astonished, because I remember how much she had
laughed when we’d had the exchange in the first place.”
➜ Eliza Kennedy turns this experience into fiction in I Take You:
Maggie glances at me in the rearview as she steers out of the lot. “First thing
tomorrow we need to go to Blue Heaven and review the menu for the
rehearsal dinner.”
“Aye, Aye,” Cap’n.”
“Oh, I’m not the captain of this ship!” Mattie laughs. “I’m just the... the...”
“Bosun?” I say.
“Swabbie?” Will suggests.
“Master gunner?”
“Powder monkey?”
Mom turns around and gives us a look like Children, please.
“First mate,” Mattie says brightly. “You’re the captain, and I’m the first mate!”
z Marisa de Los Santos on what really happened:
“In Love Walked In, Clare’s mother Viviana’s bipolar dis-
order has a similar arc to that of my own mother’s illness,
and there are few moments (when she goes on a shop-
ping spree and buys sets of towels in every color; when
she almost stops for a hitchhiker) that are pretty close to
actual events in my own childhood.”
➜ Marisa de los Santos turns this experience into fiction in
Love Walked In:
Her mother dropped the huge white shopping bags heavy with towels on the
floor of Clare’s room, then ran back to the car for more, until there were 10 bags
lined up like teeth on Clare’s rug. “Wait until you see them all, sweetheart. So
beautiful. The Best. The very best.”
Clare leaned against the doorjamb, let the wood press into her shoulder, half
inside, half outside the room. She listened as her mother chattered and watched
her toss the towels onto the bed, really pitching them so that the bath sheets
unfolded like banners in the air and the washcloths fluttered open like little
birds. Apple green, crimson, hydrangea blue. The bed was heaped with them.
Clare put her thumbnail between her teeth, didn’t chew it, but held it there.
“Have you ever seen such beautiful towels? I feel the colors in my bones.
Don’t you, Clarey?” Clare’s mother was breathing hard, almost panting, as
though looking at the towels were like running or dancing.
Clare said, “We have towels already.”
Excerpts reprinted with the permission of the authors.
 ➙ Have YOUR
read by nov story
Colum McC elist
DEADLINE FOR
SUBMISSION.
December 6th ann!
GRAMMAR SCHOOL

TWO ROADS
We all know Stephen King’s opinion on
adverbs, but other writers have taken to
Twitter to share their language pet peeves

DIVERGE
via MTs and hashtags.

Mededitor @Mededitor
Actually, you can remove “actually” in
most instances to good effect. #amediting
#copyeditingprotip Write a 2,000-word
short story responding to one
Valarie Kinney @kinneychaos
or both quotes by novelist and
Her fingers froze on the keyboard.
Her lips quivered as she listened to the short story writer Colum McCann
booming voice. (and perhaps keep in mind
“BEWARE THE COMMA SPLICE!”
Robert Frost’s poem “A Road
She wept. #amediting
Not Taken”). What elements of
Tiffany Parks @ThePinesOfRome duality and divergence can you
Have to cut 4000 words from my MS. Do I
include: duplicitous acts, binary
have 4000 adjectives and adverbs I can
erase & just leave it at that? #amediting oppositions, communication
#killingmydarlings with the “other side,” double
indemnity, twins? Let your
Terri Nixon @TerriNixon
Sorting out redundant dialogue tags and imagination riff on taking a plot,
run-on sentences today. Oh yeah, I know character, setting or theme in
how to rock the lifestyle. #editing two directions.
#amwriting #ASMSG

M.W. Griffith emberian  Novelist and short story writer

Editors and readers will forgive errors in Column McCann will read the finalists
syntax or formatting a lot faster than and choose the winners.
they’ll forgive you for telling a boring
story. #amwriting writermag.com/contests

Amy Maroney@wilaroney
I hope I’m not going to Hell for this, but
I’ve come to believe that a few well-cho-
“There is always
sen #adverbs are better than none. room for at least
#amediting
two truths."
SK Benton @AuthorSKBenton —TransAtlantic
Yes, I use #adverbs - only sparingly.
They’re kinda like nasty-tasting cough
syrup. Occasionally, and only when “With all respects
needed. #amwritingfantasy to heaven,
I like it here."
— Let the Great World Spin