Letters From Kelly

Guys, my friend is getting married!

Probably yours is, too. Gotham instructor Rachel Simon (who got married April 9th—congrats Rachel!) wrote for the New York Times all about how 2022 will be the record-breaking “year of many, many weddings.”

I don’t know how it’s going for you, but lately, when I should be working on my projects-in-progress about secondary trauma, disaster relief, and place attachment, I find myself instead burning an hour looking at pretty dresses. When I should be writing about disenfranchised grief,
I find myself instead calling my friend so we can talk about how we’re gonna dance and eat cake.

It turns out, that’s not only forgivable, it’s healthy, and necessary.

“The mental experience of stress, especially if it’s chronic and moderate to severe, gradually changes the structure of the brain so we become progressively more sensitive to stress,” says psychologist and author
Rick Hanson. “The brain is very good at learning from bad experiences but bad at learning from good ones. Good experiences kind of bounce right off the brain, meanwhile bad experiences sink right in.”

What this means is, your brain needs your help making the good experiences sink in. It needs you to have fun, to experience and savor joy, so that you don’t forget how.

How do you do this? When something good does happen, when you realize you’re enjoying yourself, when you have an opportunity for fun, or joy, seize it. Savor it. Stay in it as long as you can.

A season of weddings can be an opportunity. Watching a dog chase a stick in a park on a sunny day can be an opportunity.

Writing can also be an opportunity.

“I know we talk about writing as work, and it is,” the author Nick Flynn said in a Gotham memoir class a few years ago. “But c’mon. It’s fun, too.”

So let’s have some fun, writers. I’ve complied a few writing exercises here. Try them, and as you do, try to write in a genre that is not your current work in progress. If you’re hammering away at a novel, maybe try these exercises as a script or nonfiction. If you’re writing a memoir, write them as fiction. Try your hand at a bad poem.

Most importantly, if they’re not fun, don’t push it. Move onto the next one, and when you find yourself smiling as you write, keep going. If you feel the urge to stop, don’t. Write three more sentences before you put down the pen.

While you all work on have fun with those, I’ll be over here, dancing and eating cake. 

Kelly Caldwell
Dean of Faculty

Writers, it’s still residency-application season! ICYMI, last month, I assembled some truly inspired must-do suggestions for tackling your packet, from people who have read them by the hundreds. If you missed it, catch up here.

This month, let’s go over a few of the most common residency-application mistakes.

No. 1? No Virginia Woolf.

“Whatever you do, don’t mention Virginia Woolf’s A Room of Her Own,” says poet Susan Rich, who read applications for the Hedgebrook residency a few years back.  

Continue reading “Writing Residency Don’ts”

Last week, one of my students got accepted to a writers’ residency, and man, is she psyched.

She’s already started packing; she’s organizing the research she’ll take; and she’s daydreaming of the bucolic countryside where she will focus on nothing but her story for a month.

Even before she leaves, this residency has been a gift.

My friends, this is a joy I want for you all.

Now is the season when many residencies and labs open to applications, so if you’ve ever dreamed about going away to just write for a week, or two, or four, it’s time to get moving.

Residency applications are a genre of their own, so I’ve pulled together advice for you from writers who have both been accepted to residencies, and read applications to them.

There’s so much great wisdom out there, I’m breaking this into two parts. Next month, we’ll talk about the don’ts. Right now, let’s talk about the must-do’s.

Most importantly, prioritize your writing sample—usually 10 to 20 pages of your best work. You want to submit the most polished, most fluid, most compelling piece in your portfolio.

This is where many writers contract a terminal case of the “shoulds.”

I should include 10 pages from my novel in progress, even if my short story about cheese is finished and fabulous.

I should send in something with more gunfire and explosions, even though I’m writing a pilot about lovelorn booksellers.

I should send in unpublished work, even if I’m proudest of this essay I published last year.

When your brain says “I should,” ask yourself: What is my strongest piece, right now? That one. Use that one.

Another “Do” comes from Gotham teacher Shahnaz Habib, who recently told my memoir class to seize every opportunity to talk about your cultural identity in your personal or artist statement.

“Regardless of whether you think you have a culture, you do have a culture, you do have influences, you do have a certain paradigm within which you’re writing,” Shahnaz said. “So I really appreciated writers who gave really focused answers to those questions.”

Recently, after reading a few hundred residency applications, memoirist Emi Nietfeld published some suggestions, including:

• It’s rewarding to discover an early-stage writer who’s put in the work…so apply before you feel ready.
• Give a concrete goal for the residency that could not get done at home on the sofa.
• Go ahead and send a video trailer for your book or link to a multimedia project. It was a welcome break!

Next month, we’ll dig into the common mistakes, misconceptions, and pitfalls in residency applications. Til then, I’ve got one last “do” for you: Start yours—now!

Kelly Caldwell
Dean of Faculty