Shoot for the stars, but don't be afraid to refuse them.

Photo taken by the excellent, Zac Biel.

In March 2023, I attended the 44th International Conference for the Fantastic in the Arts (ICFA) in Orlando, Florida. It was the first time that I traveled somewhere just to immerse myself in writing and surround myself with experienced, successful people. Truly, it was a life altering experience.

This is where I first heard about the Clarion Workshop (and by extension, the Clarion West Workshop), a rigorous 6-week residency that takes place in San Diego, California or Seattle, Washington every Summer. It is one of the most well regarded writing workshops in the Science Fiction/Fantasy community. Steven Erikson, one of two authors behind the stellar Malazan series, endorses the workshop. He told me, "It's a program that produces writers, and that itself is the highest praise possible."

A few folks I met at ICFA claimed that graduating from the program could be the beginning of a prominent writing career. There are several notable authors among Clarion/Clarion West alumni: Octavia E. Butler, Ted Chiang, Cadwell Turnbull, Mary Turzillo, and Monte Cook, to name a few. Now, it isn't as simple as forking over tuition and magically becoming a distinguished writer. Clarion is a merit based program and is highly competitive. Only about 18 students are accepted at each workshop and all candidates must fill out extensive applications and provide samples of their best writing.

When I went to ICFA, I had no idea where my writing was going. I had no idea what to do after I graduated with my BA. I had no idea about anything and my only goal at the conference was simply to learn all that I can. But, when I left I had a road map, a solid plan and milestones to pursue. This is thanks to extremely friendly people that took the time to answer my probing questions and introduce me to other people that knew what they were talking about (I really wish I stuck my neck out a little further and collected more contact info, but social anxiety and feeling like a fly in a forest will do what it does).

One set of milestones was this:

• 1.) Sharpen my short fiction skills

• 2.) Finish two strong stories to submit to Clarion

• 3.) Apply to Clarion

• 4.) ???

• 5.) Attend the workshop and graduate with flying colors

• 6.) Become a New York Times Bestseller.

Yes, this is a lofty, unlikely goal. Especially when I'm in my mid-twenties and have been writing fiction for less than five years and still haven't graduated (can May 2025 just get here already?) But I stand by the old, overplayed mantra: shoot for the stars, albeit with amendment: manage your expectations and be kind to yourself.

So, throughout 2023 I focused heavily on my short fiction and through several classes, peer reviews, and a wonderful professor that challenged me to rewrite a story in the supporting character's perspective—one week before the manuscript was due—I had two of the best short stories I've written (one is now in the latest issue of Floyd County Moonshine!) When Clarion opened their applications in December, I was confident. Both stories in my sample had already been accepted for publication at well renowned journals (be careful with this, as Clarion requires that the stories not be published until after the time of the workshop) and I knew that I was putting my best foot forward. Whatever happens, happens, I said to myself, leaning back in my office chair relieved it was all out of my hands.

I applied in December, 2023. Clarion does not issue a decision until the following March or April. I had a lot of time to overthink, freak out, and worry. This is because there is a lot to consider when planning to leave for a six-week residency on the other side of the country. Something like Clarion is not for the faint of heart or the non-committal. Don't get me wrong, I'm all in on my writing, but I'm also a realist and have accepted that writing is not going to be paying my bills. I'm not sure I want to put that pressure on my artistic passion. Also, my circumstances have changed drastically since I was the young buck at ICFA itching to prove himself.

Here are some of the worries that spawned during this wait, in no particular order:

• Finances: Tuition is about $5,500, which includes student housing as well as lunch and dinners during the week. Now add in airfare, ride sharing, weekend meals and breakfast and we're likely looking closer to $7,000 USD. For me personally, I would have to take my entire 40-hour accrual of vacation time, then five more weeks of unpaid leave at work. This is now costing me in the ballpark of $10,000 when factoring in the money lost and bills that would still need to be paid while I'm away.

• Work and Career: I enjoy my full-time job. It has nothing to do with writing, publishing, fiction, or psychology, but I am working for a company that values me and allows me to play to my strengths. I felt my advancement in the company was put on the back burner until after I would be coming back from Clarion (or heard back that I wasn't accepted). I am a college student in my mid-twenties, I can't afford to stunt my career growth, especially when such growth will be the difference in eventually solving my financial struggles and growing debt.

• Family and Relationship: I live with my partner and our relationship is still growing. We're developing those early, formative stages of building a family. My biggest goal in my life, above career, writing, or prestige, is to create a healthy, happy family. Leaving my partner alone in the house to deal with everything on her own for six weeks is a tall order and doesn't make me feel good as a human being. Is our relationship strong enough to survive this distance? Of course it is, but that doesn't make me morally okay with leaving her behind. I know that sometimes these separations will be necessary in life, but this crazy idea was beginning to feel frivolous and excessive rather than a necessity.

The bottom line is this--by going across the country for six weeks to study writing on the same ground as the greats of my genre would put my family into financial hardship and emotional strife, and could harm my standing at a fantastic job.

I'm sorry but I'm not okay being one of those artists that puts his work above literally everything and everyone else for the sake of creation. My work just isn't that important or world shaking. I'm not Hamilton drafting the Federalist Papers and I'm sure as hell not creating any literature that will stand the test of time as an example of the pure human condition. Emily Dickinson probably thought that too, but not even my inflated ego is confident enough to apply that logic to myself.

I love writing, but I love my family more. A lot more. Stephen famously wrote, "Whenever I see a first novel dedicated to a wife (or a husband), I smile and think, There's someone who knows. Writing is a lonely job. Having someone who believes in you makes a lot of difference. They don't have to make speeches. Just believing is usually enough" (King, 2000). In the acknowledgements of my first book I wrote, "Thank you especially to Aunt Maria and to my brilliant partner, Eden. Without the endless support, advice, and your willingness to read my stories, this would not be the tale it is now."

I'm someone who knows.

One of the biggest struggles I've faced as a writer in 2024 isn't writer's block, lack of ideas, or trouble finding publishers. It's figuring out what the damn point of writing even is. I find myself questioning everything: Why am I sacrificing so much time to write novels no one will read? Why have I taken out so many student loans on a useless education? Why is my need to write greater than hunger and thirst?

Eden told me something that completely changed my tune: "There is no point to any of that. Family is the only inherent thing in life that has purpose, and that purpose spreads meaning to everything else." In other words, there is no meaning without family. Sure, this isn't going to be true for everyone, especially in the individualistic western culture of the United States. But this is absolutely true for me, and for us.

It's March 2024 and I've just received and email from Clarion, San Diego. The workshop I preferred due to it's proximity to my grandmother and aunt's family. "We wish we were writing with better news..."

Oh, yeah... That's hard. But also a relief. On the one hand, I was leaning towards dropping from consideration for the reasons above. But I also wanted to know if I made the cut to gauge how I needed to improve going forward. If I didn't make the cut, I now knew I wasn't ready for something so huge. Well, I wasn't ready. At least not for San Diego. When applying for things like this you need to understand that there are hundreds of excellent candidates and only eighteen can be selected. Rejection does not mean you're bad. The problem with this internet age of accessibility and infinite opportunity is this simple truth: If everyone is excellent, no one is.

The reality young writers must come to accept is that good (or even great, stellar, and excellent) simply isn't going to cut it. There are probably millions of great writers in the world. To truly stand out, you need to be unmatched. This isn't just writing chops that we're talking, either. Yes, you need masterful control of the craft, but you need to be able to market yourself, you need to push your work constantly, you need to know or get to know the right people, those right people need to like your work and read on the right day when the weather is nice. You need to come off the right way, seem (or actually embody) modest and humble yet driven. Too little or too much will make people think your lazy or obsessive. This is how a writer sticks out in this day and age. It's not always up to us and really it never has been.

Here is another fear I developed: What if I do get accepted into one of the programs, I spend all this money I don't have, lose my job, put my family at risk, and nothing comes from it? What if there's no point even after all the sacrifices that I made? This probably sounds familiar. I think it's a universal doubt that all writers and creatives carry. Especially those who know. The typical response I get is that at least I would have the experience itself. There is value to that. But I'm not going to spend $10,000 on credit, risking the security of my family for a fun time across the country. I would do those things if I could ensure that I grow as writer and gain access to opportunities that will allow me to support my family further with my writing. The other option is to wait until this endeavor is more affordable and not so financially risky (or in this case, debilitating).

My thinking circles back to what Eden said. There's no point without family. I love to write and the reason I want to make a living writing is so that one day I can spend my work hours pursing artistic passion and spend the rest of the time with my family. I will not be one of those fathers that neglects his children for the sake of art. I am not morally okay with that. I am not emotionally okay with that.

I love writing, but I love my family more.

So when I got an email in April, 2024 from Clarion West explaining that they're still making decisions, I replied that I will not be able to attend—take me off the list for consideration. I don't need to know if I would have made it. I am confident in my writing and I know I will only grow. One day, when my family is more financially comfortable and I'm more available to travel for long periods without risking my day job: then I will apply to Clarion again. Before I go out into the world proving myself as a writer, I need to prove myself to family. I need to prove myself to myself.

I wouldn't take back the experience. I am proud of myself for trying and I'm proud it helped me set and achieve attainable goals that ended up being milestones for my writing. It also helped me confront some tough questions and figure out how to answer them. It helped solidify my convictions. If you are thinking about applying to a crazy hardcore program like this, I recommend you do so. Test the waters, see what works. But I also encourage you to not be afraid to say no and to recognize when it's just not the right time. We're taught that we need to shoot for the stars and waste no time in our endeavors but that just isn't true. We should be better at prioritizing and recognizing where we should put our focus.

"I'm not falling behind or running late,

I'm not standing still,

I am lying in wait" (Miranda, 2015).