Detour

So, you may have been wondering when you checked this site: Why hasn't she been writing anything? I told you, dear reader, at the beginning of 2006 that this blog would feature my thoughts about the "everyday" two or three times a week and that it was a part of a larger goal of mine, to be published in a secular publication. So, you had reason to wonder if I was becoming a slacker.

Here's the story along with a little background.

Part of my plan for this year was to: 1) confirm what I thought I already knew about the structure of writing fiction; and 2) practice, practice, practice writing. So, I scanned the catalogues of Columbia and NYU, both of whom have excellent writing programs. I didn't want a writing 101 with a group of undergrads, I wanted an course with adults who had had time to live enough so that their work had the texture that comes from life hitting you with a two-by-four from time to time. And I also didn't want the pressure of a grade. ( I'm already competitive enough, and I didn't want to be distracted by working for the specific outcome of a letter grade. I wanted to grease my writing genes wheels, so to speak. ) While I would frankly have preferred Columbia, since I'd done some grad school work there a few years back, their course schedule wouldn't work. So, I enrolled in Fiction Writing 1 at NYU.

The first night of class, I arrived at the high school in Chelsea indicated on my class card, found the room, and walked in. It was a 12th grade English classroom with DO NOT ERASE notes about upcoming holidays and deadlines for assignments on the green chalkboard, student desks and chairs that were in a seminar-style circle, and five young women already assembled. In time, there were 12 or so of us, all of the women were probably 30 or under, except me. There were two men, a 20-something with wild, curly brown hair who slouched in his chair most of the time, and the other man, Joe, was ( thankfully ) over 40.

Eventually, a pale, gaunt, medium build, forty-ish man with black hair that stuck straight up walked in with a jittery stride. His black glasses, which sat a little too far down on his long nose, seemed to match the pitch black of his hair. He asked if this was Fiction Writing, banged the chair against the student desk as he sat down, opened his computer onto the desk, punched randomly at the keys, and began talking in a staccato fashion about his notion of writing.

Twenty minutes later, he dismissed us, told us he would email the syllabus and curriculum to us the following day. "For next week, I want you to write a story, two pages double spaced--I won't read anything longer. I want the story to be about the most humiliating thing that's happened in your life. And no memoirs. Make the event a starting off point for a real story of fiction." We were instructed to snail mail the story to him by Thursday.He declared that would not accept emails. ( He said he didn't have a printer. Have you ever heard of a writer without a printer? ) He warned that would not read anything that did not arrive at his apartment by Saturday. We were directed to send one another the week's assignment early so we could pre-read the stories and be prepared to critique them in class. Lots of rules, it seemed to me for a bunch of working adults. But, so far, so good. Let's see the magic he unearths in our work.

Fast forward four weeks. Here's the good news. I have written five stories which is very exciting. I have met and bonded with six really wonderful people who are serious about writing--and keeping their day jobs while they perfect their art. I have learned an incredible amount about the process of writing on a regular basis, and the positive impact it has on skill
( practice, practice, practice ).


Now for the negative learning. To my dismay, I have concluded after four weeks, that this young teacher seems to be one of those unfortunate adjunct faculty who use the classroom and their students as a tiny power base to, I guess, be right. By last week, it was obvious to me that this man disliked challenge or dialogue of any kind that did not agree with his view or agenda. At one point, he actually stopped me when I offered a counter opinion to his about another student's subjective character development: "Don't resist authority," he remarked pointing his finger at me. I replied calmly that I was sorry if he saw it that way. My intention was to voice my viewpoint on a subjective element of the story. Another student agreed with my view on the character. We moved on.

By the end of class, he was randomly standing up in the middle of someone's story, then pacing the room. At one point he left the room for a bit. My last memory of him near the end of class, was him laying his forehead on the desk. A couple of us remarked on the way out that he seemed agitated., so to speak. We continued to do our work as he seemed to be having a very bad night. He had become the elephant in the room

After reading his comments on my last paper after class, I realized that they were almost all about his personal dislike for me and he made wild allegations about my disruptiveness, my constant interruption. At first, I laughed at the absurdity. Was he in another classroom? But then I decided to email him, not to be silenced by such inappropriate statements that were not true. I told him that I would continue to voice my opinion, and that if his comments were not about my work, they were inappropriate. I ended by saying that I would be happy to discuss this with him and the dean, since I was unaccustomed to having a teacher make wild allegations. And, for heaven's sake, this was a non credit course.

( Are you tired of this yet? Or are you, like me, amazed that this could be happening in a major university with a group of adult learners paying $600 for the course.)

Here are excerpts from his reply: " You are continually disruptive to the goals of the class. You have been disruptive and pushy from the beginning." I sat there looking at the email in amazement, and then became enraged. What is this guy thinking? Or is he thinking at all? Is this arrogance and lack of experience? Or is he simply not able to tolerate any challenge however small in a seminar of all places? This isn't chemistry class where there's only one right answer. Or is he really out of control and just shouldn't be teaching?

I call the dean/director of the continuing studies division at NYU which was another hour to even find out her name. ( It's a big school and an entire story of its own to try to get her name. The guy actually told me he wasn't supposed to divulge her name!) Why did I bother? Because I have taught undergrads and grad students at 3 universities, med students, adults going back for a B.A. at night --and I can't imagine even beginning to address them with so little respect or insight. In addition, I had grown fond of the others, appreciated their insights into my work, and, after all, my goal was to write five more stories and have their critique--a wonderful thing because writing is an essentially isolating task. And good feedback is like nutrition.

She returns my call ( to her credit )and I try to outline this very bizarre situation. She indicates that she could not refund my money. I assure her that I didn't want my money back. I had every intention of staying in the class, meeting my personal goals. We talked for some time and she said she would look into it, asked me to send his emails. The next morning, she called back and agreed with my proposal of a meeting. "I think you are both entrenched," she said. Suddenly, I realized that I was done. That this was not my problem. That I had devoted enough time and energy to this situation, and it was becoming distracting. This woman didn't know me from Adam, and having heard student complaints during my stint as course director at U of Pennsylvania, I knew she had a lot to weigh. Basically, I was suggesting that her faculty member might not be the right person for the job. And probably not the poster boy for NYU's continuing education division. ( Oh, when will I learn? )

I told her thanks, but no thanks--that I'd thought a lot about it, and believed that a meeting would be counterproductive based on my experience the past weeks. She said she understood, that she was sorry that this had been such a negative experience. And then, she offered to register me for another section of the course for the next term at no charge. " I think you'll like the other faculty member very much. I get good feedback from her students." Now, I consider that a real coup, since she had made it clear earlier that there could be no refunds. So, she was, I think, genuinely considering my concerns. Finally, I suggested to her that students who had not wanted such an oppressive experience might have just dropped out and not bothered to complain--we had lost 1/3 by that time. I thanked her for her follow through.

I emailed my classmates. Every one wrote back to my absolute astonishment. Here are some of their replies.
" I just wanted to write you a personal note to say how much I enjoyed your writing, your comments and your general presence in class. I have been struggling a lot lately on many fronts with finding my voice. You have been a wonderful role model for me in the past few months. Your strength and your comfort with who you are radiates from you and I find it very inspiring. I hope to be able to find this for myself eventually."

"He hasn't gotten to me as much, but he is definitely a freak show. And I feel like he picks out certain people who he decides he just doesn't like (based on what? I have no idea) and mistreats them. Which is--I could not agree more--totally
bizarre behavior for a teacher, or really for anyone."

"I agree those comments are way out of line. I enjoyed your stories. They rang true. The bells and whistles will come with practice. IÂ’m sure youÂ’ll achieve your objectives."


I passed their comments on to the dean/director at NYU with a short note. I asked: " Could all 7 of us be wrong about this? Or could it be that this teacher and his behavior have somehow fallen through the cracks? I know you will continue to monitor this situation."

Now, it's time to move on, find alternate ways to write fiction and practice, practice, practice. I wish I could give a tidy moral to this story, but it's still too disappointing, still too close. I am not enough of aoptimistst, and too much of a realist to believe anything much will change at NYU. I know this, though, it is just a detour for me.

Oh, and by the way, speaking of moving on, I told my classmates that I intended to start a writing group in May. All 6 emailed that they want to join. Maybe the moral, for now, is simply to make lemonade out of lemons.
M.C.