Ripping Off Writers Since 1852: The Literary Industrial Complex

Speaking of cons...

Having just taken on the happiness industry, I thought I would follow up by taking on the writing industry. Or, more precisely, the writer factory.

Even graduates of bartending schools have some sort of employment on the horizon. But that just goes to show you the sheer genius of the literary-industrial complex. The available jobs after graduation are nothing more than a mirage, and even though everyone knows it, people still fork over millions of dollars.

I should point out that there are at least two kinds of writer cons. First, there's the writing equivalent to the ads we saw in the back pages of magazines when we were kids: Are you an artist? Draw this pirate and maybe win a prize!

And everybody wins, doncha know.

The sad saga of those who feel victimized by Publish America (and similar businesses) is well-documented on the web. Publish America maintains they are a traditional press that pays their writers. True! They pay one dollar, suitable for framing. Since Publish America accepts virtually every manuscript submitted, you can't call them legitimate.

Still, it's getting harder to tell vanity and legitimate presses apart. Not only are reputable publishers switching over to the same print-on-demand technology, they're also using some of same techniques to drum up sales, like postcards announcing a new book to friends and family.

That kind of promotion may escalate in these hard times. Most presses are subsidized by universities, and both state and private colleges are looking for ways to cut costs and increase revenue.

Last month Northwestern University's esteemed literary journal TriQuarterly announced that after nearly five decades of publication, the magazine would cease to exist [Disclousure: TriQuarterly once published a short story of mine]. Although the journal will continue operations online, it will do so without its longtime editor.

Which brings me to the other type of writing con. In the last 30 years, Master of Fine Arts writing programs have proliferated like strip malls. So have their close cousin, the summer writers conference, usually lasting two weeks and taking place at universities all over the map.

Twenty years ago I won a scholarship to the venerable Bread Loaf Writers Conference (affectionately known as Bed Loaf) in Middelbury, Vermont. Since then I've been to several weekend conferences, but I'd mostly kept to myself until the late spring of 2008 when I got the bright idea of attending the Sewanee Writers' Conference at the University of the South.

Let me be the first to say it: You amateur! You sour grape! What gives you the right to discuss what happens on these hallowed grounds? You are NOBODY!

Guilty as charged. Now, to continue...

I was too late to apply for a scholarship to Sewanee, but I thought that surely since I'd been published often since 1989, I would not be treated like the proverbial housewife who once wrote a poem.

How wrong I was. I suspect even the army has a looser fraternization policy than Sewanee Writers' Conference.

At the bottom is the "meat" -- the writers who were good enough to get in, but still have to pay full freight. Then there are the scholars, who pay no tuition. And then fellows, who pay neither tuition nor room and board.

At the top of the heap is the faculty. Although faculty often mixed with fellows and scholars, "meat" students were relegated to dorm readings and poorly-attended parties. The real action was happening elsewhere.

For the first time in my 25 years as a writer, I was meat.

During my one-on-one session, my teacher explained to me that I was at least "ten years away" from the ability to "compete" with other poets.

Compete? Compete for what? My teacher could not have been referring to the $25,000 Famous Poets Society prize that Harper's writer Jake Silverstein sought a few years ago.

No, I think he was referring to coveted teaching gigs at writers conferences, like the one he himself was enjoying.

"Enjoy" may not be the right word. Teachers get tired. They have to read the work of students they don't like and then somehow keep a straight face while meeting with said students after a night of networking, drinking and carousing with friends.

Still, it's better than selling lawn mowers, as long as you can combine the income with a year-round gig.

And there's the rub. Simple arithmetic will tell you there aren't enough teaching jobs for all the graduates being pumped out of MFA programs every year.

Writers' Workshop at the University of Iowa is the most famous writing school in the country because they were the first to allow a book of fiction or poetry to be a master's thesis. But soon other universities took notice of this little moneymaker and followed suit.

A google search of mfa + scam yields over half a million hits, including a column by Garrison Keillor. But for now, I'll refer just to the first hit. A blogger describes the development of writing programs this way: "Construct a gate, hire gatekeepers, and once people have control they can charge anything they like. The sky's the limit."

A painter left this comment: "My concern is with the false hopes Art School feeds incoming students. 'All of our instructors are working artists,' they say. Sure they are. They're working as teachers. By junior year most students catch on and just stick around for their degree."

While at Sewanee I did hear one sensible defense of the literary-industrial complex. The public is not reading much poetry these days, said one poet, and MFA programs create a whole new community that cares deeply about literature.

Hey, that I can buy.

But even he, a Sewanee fellow, had a few second thoughts. Between buying airfare and purchasing books by every faculty member, fellow and scholar, he was down some $500.

A year ago $500 would not have seemed so bad. But $50,000 for a degree that would more likely disqualify you for jobs than qualify you?

Not only are we living through a brutal recession, we're witnessing a media revolution the likes of which the world has not seen for hundreds of years, according to analyst Clay Shirky. You have to go back to the invention of the Gutenberg press to find the same level of disruption.

No longer do newspapers, radio stations, TV stations, universities, record labels and publishing houses control distribution of content. Naturally, they're not happy about it, and they're doing their best to reinforce the ramparts.

But it's too late. People are writing, singing, debating, networking, selling, buying, dating, commiserating, videotaping. broadcasting and learning on the Internet. It may be scary to the powers that be, but for everyone else, there's never been a more exciting time to be alive.