I know you're not the only one to create the Long Long List and I'm sure you folks get this every year. "How could you leave ____________ off of the Long Long List!?" I chuckle at these, but have to join in this year with curiosity - where's The Love Stories of W.E.B. DuBois? I recall you mentioning it at some point this year and it's gotten such acclaim, I was shocked the TOB brain trust didn't include it. Could it have been an oversight with everyone thinking that someone else must have made sure it was on the list?
In 2005 I moved from Portland to Iowa City so my ex-wife could attend the Iowa Writers' Workshop. A couple of months after we got there she received a form rejection letter. Three years later she was waitlisted, and then finally was accepted.
Despite being an outsider, I was involved in her experience. I helped her read submissions to the Iowa Review, read the stories from her class, served as a sounding board for her work, and was socially engaged with her peers. One of the best things was getting to know Jim McPherson, a writer I greatly admire, and also Peter Orner.
Many of the workshop stories were the self-absorbed overly-described stuff that Elmore Leonard would have omitted. I was less than impressed by most of it.
Two or three times a year a cloud of agents would descend and take the young writers out to lunch. The class at the time included Justin Torres, Ayana Mathis, and Ellie Catton, among others. Many of the students had private means, but those who didn't counted on a book deal to lift them above the fray. The reality for most of them was another sixty grand in debt and a terminal degree that qualified them for an adjunct job teaching undergraduate English.
From where I sat it looked like a summer camp experience, clubby and smug. Iowa was and is considered the premier MFA experience, so the mere fact of acceptance was seen as a victory (though in reality, the reading of submissions was a sloppy, subjective affair). To me it seemed more like a drinking society than anything else. Tuesday nights at the Fox Head talking about Flannery O'Connor until two in the morning.
Jeremy
just now
I know you're not the only one to create the Long Long List and I'm sure you folks get this every year. "How could you leave ____________ off of the Long Long List!?" I chuckle at these, but have to join in this year with curiosity - where's The Love Stories of W.E.B. DuBois? I recall you mentioning it at some point this year and it's gotten such acclaim, I was shocked the TOB brain trust didn't include it. Could it have been an oversight with everyone thinking that someone else must have made sure it was on the list?
In 2005 I moved from Portland to Iowa City so my ex-wife could attend the Iowa Writers' Workshop. A couple of months after we got there she received a form rejection letter. Three years later she was waitlisted, and then finally was accepted.
Despite being an outsider, I was involved in her experience. I helped her read submissions to the Iowa Review, read the stories from her class, served as a sounding board for her work, and was socially engaged with her peers. One of the best things was getting to know Jim McPherson, a writer I greatly admire, and also Peter Orner.
Many of the workshop stories were the self-absorbed overly-described stuff that Elmore Leonard would have omitted. I was less than impressed by most of it.
Two or three times a year a cloud of agents would descend and take the young writers out to lunch. The class at the time included Justin Torres, Ayana Mathis, and Ellie Catton, among others. Many of the students had private means, but those who didn't counted on a book deal to lift them above the fray. The reality for most of them was another sixty grand in debt and a terminal degree that qualified them for an adjunct job teaching undergraduate English.
From where I sat it looked like a summer camp experience, clubby and smug. Iowa was and is considered the premier MFA experience, so the mere fact of acceptance was seen as a victory (though in reality, the reading of submissions was a sloppy, subjective affair). To me it seemed more like a drinking society than anything else. Tuesday nights at the Fox Head talking about Flannery O'Connor until two in the morning.