An(other) Education
Returning to class with the Writers’ Institute
Despite having not been a student in four years, I still think of September in terms of heading back to school.
I’d thought by the end of my Masters programs four years ago that I would be done with this feeling. After all, twenty of my twenty-eight years were spent in classrooms. I figured I’d be ready for the different schedule, to do all the things I’d never managed as a student. Like go on fall vacations and see the leaves change in different places, or avoid important engagements before 8 AM.
Instead, each September since graduation, I have experienced varying cases of FOMO: for new supplies, for new learning opportunities, for the sensation of standing in front of endless possibilities rather than endless spreadsheets. Let me be clear. I miss nothing from school before the age of 18. What I miss are my undergraduate seminars and my graduate workshops; the days when learning and writing were my main responsibilities. But it’s a strong sensation. It’s solely responsible for the PhD??? line on my “what are you doing with your life” Google doc.
Going back to school has mostly felt off the table. Getting an education is often expensive, and four years of Columbia wracked up more debt than I’d like to discuss. The logical part of my brain knows I don’t need anything to add to my overeducated, underemployed profile. So I let myself feel weird, and then I moved on. With my job… with my life.
Then came last winter. I was doing some research on writing programs in New York for my reading series Wine and Pine, trying to get the word out to students in the city. Most of this involved sending notes to program coordinators I knew. A little was cold-emailing schools. But then I got to a course that was different from the others yet also somehow familiar. Like a sweater fished from the back of a closet after getting lost for enough seasons you forgot you owned it.
The program I’m talking about is The Writers’ Institute, founded by Andre Aciman. You might remember him from a little book (turned movie) entitled Call Me By Your Name. But the classes aren’t related to this, of course.
I first heard of the Institute when I interviewed Andre for my radio show, The Write Stuff, in college. If you need a laugh, you can listen to it here. I understood that it was a unique kind of program where the courses were more industry-focused than craft-based. The classes are intended to be shaped with a career spent writing at the heart of the coursework. Not a career writing alongside teaching or working in publishing. Just… writing. Part of this means instead of having fellow writers teach the workshops, they are run by industry editors. The other part is that the classes happen at night so you can balance them alongside your interim day job.
It sounded interesting at the time, but a post-graduate certificate was pretty far off for College Rachel. Last Winter Rachel, however, who was burned out, depressed, and creatively stressed for time? It sounded like a perfect answer to the problem.
Let me reiterate that I don’t want this newsletter to be about writing. Or worse, me writing about my own writing. But I’m fine writing around the topic of my writing. I’m also fine to admit that part of what I miss from my days in school outside of the freedom to explore and learn is also the structure. Nothing brings me less joy than moving meetings around in my day job and the domino effect of things I need to move around and reschedule as a result. I’m most productive when I can set timelines and goals then stick to them. For all of their faults, writing classes do provide this.
After a call with Andre to discuss the program as well as my current book projects, I decided to submit an application. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, I figured. Then life moved on. Until I received another email from Andre in April, when I’d been accepted to the Institute to work on my novel.
It was sort of ironic because I received the email in the airport on Easter Sunday, heading out for a work trip I’d had sprung on me with little enthusiasm. In the middle of doing something that was slowly causing me to lose my mind, I was being handed an opportunity to dedicate time each week to do the thing that makes me feel most alive. It made me feel somewhere in the middle. Not quite hope (the pessimist in me would never), but definitely further away from defeat. I needed to move toward the feeling and fast.
I spent less of the summer than I would’ve liked preparing for the Institute, again thanks to work, but the excitement for feedback gave me enough energy to churn out nearly 25,000 words. The idea of an audience helps me, for better or for worse. And after my first class last week I can definitely tell this is a group eager to read and respond. I’m looking forward to (read: nervous about) seeing what they’ll say in regards to my piece tomorrow evening.
I also let myself indulge in a little back-to-school shopping to celebrate getting another chapter in my book as a student. A writing buddy, if you will. A small white bunny holding a pencil and wearing a smile. She’s so much better than office supplies because she makes me smile, too. And I definitely need more of that.
Rachel’s Weekly Recs:
My lovely colleague and friend Nadine Santoro hosts Patchwork, a feminist literary salon at Sisters in Brooklyn. Stop by this month (September 23) for a night of queer genre writers discussing their craft and answering audience questions. It’ll be a cute, fun time!
The viral Lenox Spice Village has returned. For $300 you can get the entire set of spice jars resembling Victorian homes, or you can choose from smaller set selections. You can only pre-order at the moment, but fingers crossed they arrive before the holidays.
Not to make this newsletter a place to over discuss sleep, but it’s been on my mind a lot since, you know, I’m tired. A pricey but worth it purchase that’s made my routine much more glamorous is a Slip Pillowcase. The silk fabric helps keep hair tame and skin clear. Go ahead and treat yourself.