Revision or Spontaneity?
by Brian R. Young
Anis Shivani’s modestly titled essay “The MFA/Creative Writing System is a Closed, Undemocratic, Medieval Guild System that Represses Good Writing” describes the “outcome” in terms of product from these places as “choked with metaphors… and overwritten in that peculiarly self-conscious writerly style.” He attributes this to the “fetish of constant revision” where “apprentices, journeymen, and masters these days exaggerate the number of drafts they wrote before daring to publish a book (Twenty! Fifty! A hundred!). This is cause for bragging rights; the more drafts, the more committed the writer declares himself to the execution of craft.” He complains that “the journeyman… must not deviate from these standards” because “there is an infinitely intricate system of withholding rewards and recognition from deviants” and “the master always retains the right of correction… to guarantee quality.”
Shivani’s distaste for extensive revision reminds me of a blog that I enjoy reading by Keith Montesano titled “First Book Interviews” wherein the first and second questions that the interviewer asks the newly published authors are “How often had you sent out [Manuscript Title] before it was chosen as the winner of [First Book Poetry Contest Prize]” and “Tell me about the title. Had it always been [Such-And-Such]? Did it go through any other changes?” and the fourth question is “What was the process like assembling the book? How many different versions did it go through as you were sending it out?” Presumably the authors are free to answer “Only once,” “Yes; No,” and “One,” but, as most likely would not surprise either Shivani or those he criticizes, the authors recount a litany of revisions and alterations, with the obvious pride-in-workmanship that one familiar with the MFA System’s emphasis on craft would expect.
And why shouldn’t the newly published be proud of the hard work and dedication that has led to their often long-awaited success in rising to the top of the cutthroat contest system? Shivani looks to the larger context of a profitable system that is concerned with its own perpetuation and growth, suggesting that “[t]he guild can keep forever expanding, as long as revision keeps the upper hand,” while maintaining that “genius is inspirational, it strikes when we don’t expect it, it is limited to the rare elect.” If genius serves as the standard by which the work of aspiring writers is measured, it could discourage the large pool of paying applicants that sustain both the presses and the writing programs that have come to depend on them, amongst what seems to be an ever-increasing indifference from the larger public.
I find it difficult to understand how Shivani can criticize the MFA system as “undemocratic” when he seems to be suggesting that the antidote is the genius of the “rare elect” rather than craft, which he implies anyone who is sufficiently dedicated can master. (Although I really can’t agree that a deep and non-formulaic attention to craft when it comes to a creative form is something that can exist without artistic talent.) I’d like to consider for a moment what exactly it is that he’s advocating: if aspiring writers were to give up on what Shivani claims is an exploitative and disingenuous system, then what sort of poetry would they produce? Where would their art lead them without this system hanging over their heads, trying to tell them what is right or wrong, acceptable or not? Is the answer to refuse any coercion towards revising a piece of writing, whether internal or external? At the risk of self-condemnation, I have had poems published that I probably spent less than five hours revising, as well as poems that were published more than five years after their first draft and underwent many revisions, combinations with other poems, and even a few un-revisions of large failed sections. Is the less revised poem more ingenious? Looking back at my work, I find the complexity, layering of emotions, and associations to be richer in the more nurtured poems, although the less revised poems do have an intensity and openness that the others can’t quite reach.
I can remember several different writing Professors explaining to the class examples of a great writer who had toiled for countless hours to make a single line sound spontaneous, but I do wonder if a labored spontaneity doesn’t have minute cracks in its façade where genuine spontaneity does not. Can the raw energy of improvised genius really be captured and contained fully on the pencil-marked or cut-and-pasted page? Perhaps something valuable is sacrificed if the MFA system does in fact squelch genuine spontaneity with the high-thread-count pillow of revision. I think Shivani may have a point when he mentions the “peculiarly self-conscious writerly style” of a heavily revised piece, not because this is an inherently flawed approach to writing a poem, what Tony Hoagland has referred to as the “skittish” product of many young contemporary writers, but rather because an uninhibited and freewheeling extroverted style, that embraces its connection to audience and the creative force behind a shared moment without nitpicking itself, should also have a place in poetic discourse that allows it to be what it is.
A system of programs, workshops, readings, and literary magazines and presses with their pay-to-submit contests that use close reading as a way to dismiss writing that isn’t as technically well-wrought as a heavily revised piece for the sake of what Shivani refers to as a “conservativeness in organization” may be losing an animating force that could propel poetry in new and exciting directions, to a place more dynamic than the mere institution of craft. Shivani claims that “literary writers not attached to the academy are so rare as to be almost nonexistent.” If this is true, it may be the result of the “publish or perish” mantra, which leads many writers to seek the acceptance of institutions by learning the system. Their membership card makes them more likely to be published, which reinforces the need for revision and squeezes out any different approaches.
The problem seems to lie in the attachment; that is, the need for program graduates to seek approval from existing institutions rather than forging their own path. I believe that writing programs do foster and develop both talent and the application of craft, such that a writer who concludes that he has nothing to learn from those in the academy is almost certainly limiting the potential of what he can achieve with his art. It probably takes both raw talent and a deep understanding of craft to be able to write a compelling poem without much revision, and most artists who never have contact with the MFA system, literary journals and presses, conferences, or writer’s retreats probably won’t be able to do it. Community matters to writers, both for testing and developing their aesthetic and for finding and interacting with an audience. But if a writer doesn’t learn that sometimes it is necessary to throw everything that she thinks she knows about how to write a poem out the window in order to stay true to how a piece in progress is developing, then her unique expression of genius may suffer death from a thousand little cuts.
