Blind Spots
When I first considered going for an MFA, I faced this question: should I bother? My assumption was that I should, but in my online research I kept finding echoes of that question, often expressed by people who had completed MFA programs themselves. A segment of the population advised that I would be better served to save my money and dedicate the same amount of time I would invest in the program to developing my writing on my own. Some graduates from nameless programs supported this idea with passionate anger derived from their own experiences.
I confess, this scared me. My view has always been that formal, guided study is more productive than self-study, if only because a teacher is more likely to put together a strong syllabus with smooth progression than any student could know to assemble. But what if the naysayers were right? What does a writer need to do to develop? Write, of course, then write some more, and read. Reading and writing on their own seem like solitary practices.
Obviously I continued my research and took the chance. If you’ve been following my posts, you know I’m happy with the results to date. There are two solid reasons for this. The first is community. I have met more skilled and experienced writers, editors, publishers and agents through the NILA program than I could ever hope to run across on my own. I’ve also gotten to explore topics in depth that would have been difficult to study alone, and learned from questions asked by others.
The second reason, though, is more complex, and I’m only beginning to really appreciate it while going through the second revision of my thesis. I’m talking about blind spots.
A first draft is rough by nature, but in revision a writer is expected to clean and polish the manuscript until the voice is clear, the point of view consistent, the imagery solid and fresh, and, most important, the story unfolds smoothly for the reader.
What a developing writer might not recognize, though, is that he or she has innate blind spots due to the limitations inherent in writing. It comes down to a basic idea: when you write a scene, you know what is happening, which may lead to small gaps in your depiction that can confuse the reader. Those gaps derive from the human limitations of the writer’s perspective. The only way to overcome those blind spots is to have them pointed out over and over as needed until the writer learns to look at them.
The writer cannot do this alone, by definition. How could anyone see their own blind spots? A friendly reader’s attempt to help might be occluded by feelings about the writer. The best person to find and point out these blind spots is another writer, particularly one who has the experience and professional distance to see only the words and the story they tell.
As part of my thesis project I am learning to confront and overcome my blind spots, and I cannot say that it is easy. Of all the skills I’ve gained at Whidbey, this may be the most important.
Of course, I hope I can stay vigilant enough not to develop other blind spots once I’ve graduated.
—–
Submissions Update: Since I last posted I have submitted to Witches and Pagans and had the piece accepted!
