Summer is often a time for trips and vacations and not, as my fellow Kernelists and I have found, always a productive period for our writing practices. But I recently returned from a summer trip that did more for my writing than just about anything else I’ve done all year: I attended a summer writing workshop. If you are an emerging writer, this could be just what you need to level up your career, so I’ve pulled together my breakdown of all I know and all you need to know.
The Who, What, When, and Where
Bread Loaf, Sewanee, Tin House—these are just a few of the most prestigious names in the game. I spent a week at the Lighthouse Writers Workshop in Denver, and my schedule was pretty typical of these programs. It included a five-day group workshop with novelist Jenny Offill, as well as craft seminars, business panels, author readings, and a meeting with a literary agent. Most workshops run for about a week (although some, like Bread Loaf, are a whopping 10 days), and they are peppered throughout the summer, with Longleaf being among the first in early May and Bread Loaf closing out the season in late August.
Like everything in the literary world, these workshops are highly selective. Acceptance rates are often below 15 percent, and the application process can feel as burdensome as applying for an MFA. (In fact, if you’re applying to MFA programs this winter, you might as well repackage your writing samples and also apply to summer workshops, which begin their admissions season in early January.) Although I’d been waitlisted in previous years, this was my first outright acceptance and my third application cycle. I’ve heard from some people that it is not uncommon to apply as many as five times before getting a spot, so persistence is key.
The makeup of every program is no doubt different, with all of them appearing to strive for diversity and inclusion. One friend who’s been to Tin House says it skews younger, while another who attended Longleaf says it was a mix of all ages from undergrads to folks in their fifties. In my experience, Lighthouse included a pretty even mix of age groups for the panels and seminars, with the participants in my 10-person workshop hovering between 30 and 45. Most summer workshops are geared toward emerging—but by no means beginning—writers (with Sewanee perhaps being the exception, as most of its attendees seem to already have a book under contract). Whether you already have an agent, a published book, and an MFA—or none of the above—you would still be at home here.
The Money Thing
One of the biggest considerations is the money, and all of my friends who’ve attended summer workshops are quick to bring up the high costs, which range from $1,500 to more than $4,000 per program. I’ve met attendees with deep pockets who go to multiple workshops in a single summer, but I also know folks who saved up for more than a year to be able to attend, or received financial help from a family member or, like me, held out for one of a handful of scholarships.
I was lucky in that this year I received a partial scholarship to Lighthouse and my academic department came through with additional funds that covered my travel, so I was really only on the hook for my room and board, which still amounted to $1,500—a considerable expense for me. Had I been more clever, as some other attendees were, about finding a shared Airbnb and preparing more of my own meals, I might have been able to keep my costs even lower. My point is: don’t rule out applying if money is a big consideration. There are a few scholarships available, and if you’re already in an MFA program, it is worth asking your department chair if you can receive conference funds for summer travel—something many departments have but don’t necessarily advertise. Also some summer workshops, such as Lighthouse and Kenyon, offer tiered packages, all for a fraction of the cost.
Working with the Pros
The highlight of my week was getting to be in a five-day workshop with one of my literary heroes. My workshop leader, Jenny Offill, was as witty and insightful in real life as she is on the page, and I heard only good things about the other instructors in my program, all of whom appeared to have been chosen not only for their writing chops and publishing accolades but because they are known to be excellent teachers.
Other highpoints were the two-hour “craft seminars” run by visiting instructors, including Claire Messud, T Kira Madden, and Maurice Carlos Ruffin. Each one was a sort of masterclass in fiction, with well-prepared powerpoints and handouts and in-class writing exercises. I chose seminars on writing historical fiction, conducting research, experimenting with different literary styles, and enlivening my language and imagery, and I left with pages of notes on books I want to read, techniques I want to try, and full paragraphs drafted during the in-class exercises.
My program also included daily business panels on topics such as writing fellowships and residencies, publishing in literary magazines, the writer-agent relationship—as well as a private, 30-minute meeting with a literary agent who’d read the first 15 pages of my manuscript. Because my current novel project did not feel ready, I chose instead to share a story with the editor of a top-tier literary magazine, and I’m so glad I did. I received excellent line-level feedback as well as an assessment that my story was “of excellent literary quality” and “highly publishable,” along with suggestions for where to submit it.
Until I heard these words, I hadn’t realized how much I needed the external validation and confirmation that the effort I have been bringing to my craft has made a difference. I remember telling my husband after a particularly positive day: I think I might actually be kinda good at this writing thing. As someone who has always been insecure about her writing, I found my week at Lighthouse was a huge confidence booster. Although I’ve long had encouragement from my workshop partners, my MFA classmates, and faculty, I’m still struggling to crossover into publishing, but once you hear “this is really good” enough times, you might have to start believing it.
Return on Investment
For me, my biggest return on investment will no doubt be the relationships I made with the other writers in my workshop. Just as in my MFA program and my long-time writing group, I received really thoughtful, actionable feedback from the other workshop participants, each of whom is writing at an incredibly high level, whatever their genre. By the end of the week, we were eating all of our meals together, going out for drinks, and making plans to stay in touch. More significantly, I met several writers there whose work really resonated with mine, and we left with plans to beta read each other’s works-in-progress. I returned home exhausted but full of newfound motivation and writer-friends—and a writing notebook brimful of ideas.
My friend who attended Longleaf this summer said something similar. “[It was] 100 percent worth it,” she wrote to me. “There were great workshops and faculty, a nice blend of students, and a super laid back vibe (without detracting from the seriousness of the workshops).” She also liked that at Longleaf participants had the opportunity to give back by spending a day teaching writing in a local school. Another friend who attended Tin House upped the ante, saying their experience was “10,000,000 percent worth it.” And everyone I’ve talked to has said they want to return—most saying they would even reapply to the same workshop in the future. I’ll definitely be applying to summer workshops again next year.
This got me thinking of what it would mean to attend a series of summer workshops year after year, and the answer surprised me: it would be a little like getting an MFA. My instructors, my fellow workshoppers, the level of critique I received—it was truly on par with what happens in my MFA program. So if going for an MFA isn’t possible for you, or if you're on the fence about whether an MFA would be a good move, then a wise alternative might be attending a summer workshop, or a series of them.
And the Ugly
Of course, these programs are not all sunshine and roses. As positive as my experience was, the schedule ran for almost 12 hours each day, and I returned home exhausted and quite ill. I’ve also heard of scandals at more than one program involving racist public readings, contentious workshop atmospheres, and insensitivity toward minority and disabled community members. One friend who attended Bread Loaf had a rollercoaster of an experience in his writing workshop that left him unable to write for many months afterward. But to my surprise, when I asked him to reflect on it today—almost two years later—his feelings had changed dramatically. Because his insights (like his fiction) are particularly eloquent, I’ll let him take it away:
“Bread Loaf was a beautiful experience that brought me together with writers from all different walks of life, from the most established and professional to those of the meekest writerly ambitions. My 10 days in Middlebury, Vermont, were … vibrant with a love of craft and the power of narrative discovery. Honestly, a lot of what you’re going to get from [a summer workshop] is what you show up for, how much you’re paying attention, and how willing you are to put yourself out there. Not only to meet new people, but to challenge yourself to listen, make new connections, read your work out loud in front of a crowd, and be part of the workshop’s hallowed history.
If there are any negatives it is that you will have to share your work, as all writers must, but your submission will be analyzed by readers who are like you: who care and want to see your story succeed. It is true too that in workshop culture scrutiny of your work can come from places on and off the page, but it’s important to sustain your creative integrity and believe the truth: everything you bring to this workshop could be better, and it can be if you try.
It’s so important to love yourself outside of writing, to establish a foundation of self-worth and constant forgiveness for the things that we put ourselves through in the pursuit of bringing words to a page. Because it’s in that pursuit that you may be fortunate enough to meet the other weary travelers who walk the same path, who want to hear your ideas and jokes in a voice that only you can speak in, and for you to reciprocate and listen to them in all their glory of expression, and to walk the road of a creative life side by side, telling each other stories that matter to you and the friends you make along the way.”
My kernel of Advice: Summer workshops are a lot like MFA programs; you get out of it what you bring to it, and it’s important to choose your program (and your instructor) with care.
A list of a few of the summer writing workshops that we have attended or aspire to attend:
What are some other summer writing workshops you’re interested in? Let us know in the comments!
Inspiration, Information, & Insight
This week Sarah listened to both Pride and Prejudice (read by Carolyn Seymour) and To the Lighthouse (Phyllida Law’s reading was superb). She read Claire-Louise Bennett’s weirdly wonderful debut Pond, which seems to be turning over new ground in fiction in terms of stream of consciousness. She also spent a lot of time reading and thinking about and looking at paintings this month, having finally finished Francis Spalding’s eponymous biography of the artist Vanessa Bell (so moving!) and read cover-to-cover the catalogue for the incredible Paula Modersohn-Becker show that she saw at the Neue Gallerie in New York.
Neidy has been inundated with work projects but has managed to write a few words of her novel manuscript. She is gearing up for a productive late summer and fall.
Natalia left NYC on Friday and is emotional but finding so much inspiration from her final weeks there. Despite the cannibalization of packing on her time she managed final strolls with friends through Central Park, driving out to Long Island’s lavender fields, listening to jazz at Carnegie Hall, attending her first and final Yankee’s baseball game, breakfasting and admiring the Neue Gallerie art and food, driving and bussing around Brooklyn, Manhattan, and Queens, and eating so much pizza, bagels, and treats that she lost track of her favorite spots and must-try list and just started freestyling. In between she listened to The New Yorker Fiction Podcast episode wherein they read and discuss Alice Munro’s story “Before the Change,” and she picked up Septology again, which has already caused a couple spurts of new novel words.
After her novel workshop, Shelby is excited to dive into edits! She is very thankful for the feedback from her brilliant workshop members (which include her fellow Kernelists), and she has devised an editing schedule so that she can hopefully start querying her novel this September.