As the home of major writing conventions, publishers like Fantagraphics, organizations like Hugo House, and much more, Seattle has a rich writing scene. Since the 1970s, the writers' workshop Clarion West has made its home here as well — and in the general surge of postpandemic activity, the nonprofit has been weighing its options for expansion and testing more inclusive workshop methods.
At its core, Clarion West has its six-week Summer Workshop. For the rest of the year, it runs less selective events, some for free, and others with admission costs between $35 and $275. In every case, it brings in professional writers from all over the globe, and offers discounts, scholarships, and other financial aid for students who would otherwise struggle to afford the cost.
"To us that is a minimum, as is having a very globally diverse group of instructors who come through," said Development and Outreach Coordinator Evan J. Peterson. "They don't all look alike; they're not all from the same hemisphere."
Peterson, like many other staff members, is both Queer and an alumnus of the Summer Workshop. He attended a few years after earning his MFA, and has since had his work published in video games, escape rooms, poetry anthologies, and short story magazines, among other things.
"We focus on short fiction," Peterson said. "We're trying to slowly build up more book-length-oriented classes and workshops. But the plan ... is to write one story a week. Just crank it out, rough draft, get feedback on it."
Clarion West has a long list of success stories, but the summer program is for learners, or "people who will grow from the workshop, not people who are already just, absolutely, one hundred percent ready to publish," Peterson said. "Emerging as opposed to established, someone who does not have a career in speculative fiction."
That last bit is part of what sets Clarion West apart in Seattle, and the rest of the country.
"We focus on speculative fiction, which most writing programs and schools do not," Peterson said. "In fact, many of them shun speculative fiction, even though [it] is inextricable from the English literature canon."
He cited Mary Shelley's Frankenstein as a good example, and questioned whether there were any hardline differences, really, between fantasy and magical realism. He also argued that speculative fiction isn't just more fun but also more profitable than the genres more popular with academics.
"I've seen both worlds, and I really prefer the commercial speculative fiction world," he said. "This is a world where we actually get paid for what we write," whereas in academia, you write to get a teaching job.
Academic writing programs also tend to be rooted in structures of white supremacy, Peterson said. A particular workshop style called the "Milford method" has remained popular with American writing programs since its creation in 1956. In a Milford-style workshop, students sit in a circle, having all read the same manuscript and prepared written feedback for the work. The author of the manuscript listens in silence to each student's feedback. When everyone has spoken, the author is allowed to say thank you, and then ask clarifying questions.
It's "an extremely common method for writers' workshops," Peterson said. But it's also "easy for the Milford method to become a very Western, white, English-speaking-dominated system, and we want to prevent that."
Proponents argue that the Milford method and its offshoots simulate the way a text is received by a reader who picks it up off the shelf. The text has to stand strong on its own, they might say, without any defense or explanation from the author.
Problems become apparent, though, when a person with a marginalized identity is put on the spot like that. When a text is required to "stand strong on its own," there's little incentive for critics to educate themselves on unfamiliar experiences. And that can lead to marginalized experiences themselves being criticized as unbelievable, which is far from constructive.
If that wasn't enough, "For a long time there has been pressure put on writers to define any terms that are not written in English, or even things that are written in dialect and patois," Peterson said.
"We have had research, and a whole equity team and committee that met for a while to restructure the culture of the workshop. Because the Milford method does leave people out. Not every culture is comfortable with [it]."
Clarion West spent spring of last year testing more equitable workshop methods, so writers interested in attending any of its future events can look forward to the results.
Speaking of which, the nonprofit has an annual Write-a-thon, with affinity groups — one of which is Queer-oriented, and run by Peterson, along with a weekly "kiki" meetup online.
Some writers might still wonder, for good reason, if Clarion West would give them the business and networking knowledge they need to make it in the industry. Business and craft are in fact both important topics at Clarion West.
"When I went through [the Summer Workshop]," Peterson recalled, "I was very, very impressed that we were introduced to various editors who were in town for various reasons." He also said that the program prepared him for game writing, and a few alumni have gone on to work for local game companies, like Wizards of the Coast.
You can find out more about Clarion West's upcoming events, application process, and new workshop methods at https://www.clarionwest.org/. On May 5, the nonprofit will be running "Steamy in Seattle," a tea party discussion about paranormal romance fiction, with authors Gail Carriger and Piper J. Drake.