The Rigors of the Wised-Up Writing Prof

Why good writing teachers are really private investigators

The game is afoot! — I’m going to start my series of writing classes this month.

For those of you who don’t give a fig, I thought you’d find it amusing to see how I prepare for the rigors of my seminars.

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With writing and editing classes, there’s no teacher substitute for being a good private eye. You need to know your pupils’ inner life— i.e., their writing life.

Before my students show up, I ask them to answer the following questionnaire.

This series of classes is for writing on Substack in particular, so I have a “virgin” class, and a “grizzled veterans” class.

Pencils sharpened?

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Name, First and Last:

Preferred Email:

Cell Number:

Otherwise serious grade-grubbers forget these essentials. I can’t call on someone and say, “Oh hello is this stonerblue@aol.com?”

Trust is a big thing with private classes. The kind of people who hire me, who take these classes, know that I’m a mensch. But if they didn’t: caveat emptor. References for teachers are as important as references for renting an apartment.

I’ve been teased— criticized, more like it— for believing people are WYSIWYG. (What You See Is What You Get). There’s been some spectacular fakers, J.T. Leroy most prominently. But would that stop me from editing other young, teenager writers? God no, and I hope I never do. The greatest part of an editor’s life is discovering great talent and giving someone a leg up.

I’ve had a few people enroll in my writing class, because they thought we would have a scintillating sex hookup. Boggle me, baby! That pisses me off. I’m so serious about editing their work, I don’t understand why they don’t call a phone sex line if all they want is a mildly literary jack-off. Celebrity editor sex? Yuck. It’s not sexy, it’s a bully.

You might think I’m on the receiving end of this because of my “reputation.” But no, I hear the dirt from other authors who don’t have a sexpert reputation, and they go through parallel shenanigans. Dorothy Allison once told me she had a “student” who paid thousands to follow her to Rome for a writer’s retreat, only to make her life a living hell because she wouldn’t sleep with her. Yikes!

Did this make us stop teaching? No! Writers often love to teach; I sure do. I’ve grown wiser at weeding out the controlling narcissists early on. If you get a twinge . . . You’re not imagining things.

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WHERE YOU'RE ONLINE

Substack @name or URL:

Bluesky URL or name:

Facebook URL or name:

Twitter URL or name:

Instagram URL or name:

Your own separate web page, URL:

Some of my students will tell me they’ve withdrawn from social media, or barely partake. That’s fine— having that S.M. audience is NOT any guarantee of a readership on Substack. I ask for their “habitats,” so I can see how they talk to their friends and readers, what their vibe is. It’s their public face.

I’m fascinated with the difference between writers who have the “same” vibe on each platform, and those who have wildly different personas. Twitter is the bitchiest of course. You don’t feel shy on Facebook to talk about medical problems to your friends. I’ve never had the nerve to talk about a urinary infection on LinkedIn. It WOULD be funny though.

But knowing where they hang their digital hat is just the beginning...

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YOUR CURRENT SUBSTACK

How many subscribers?

How many paid subscribers, if you're doing that?

Number of followers, if you're on Notes?

Do you subscribe and regularly read others' newsletters? Any paid ones? Let me know the gist of it.

Do you use an editorial assistant, or AI assistant, for your newsletter work?

The above list is not a list of things any writer "should" do— not at all. I just want to know what their current Stacky life is like.

One of the staggering things about Substack culture is that some people are making a living— at least a sizeable stream— and they are speaking to a niche. Relatively small time writers are influencing colleagues in their field, who somehow read THEM before they get around to the New York Times. Credibility is a big deal here.

And the inverse is true: there are “big names” on Substack who you’d assume have large followings, and massive paid subscriptions — yet they’re frustrated, bailing. Why doesn’t their reputation give them a soft landing here? I think there’s answers, if you look at the deeeeetails.

The other issue with big-name authors: their main business support tends to come through book publishing, traditional literary agencies— who sad to say, bring up the rear on internet publishing. Or back in the day, audio publishing. Or ebooks. I could go on and on. In a way, such authors have a cushion— or they did have one— to learn slowly. But that 20th century pillow is gone now.

Finally, I ask them to run around in circles and a few things for me . . .

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3 THINGS TO DO ASAP

Send me your CV or Resume or Publication List -- or LinkedIn URL

Give me a "complimentary paid subscription" for a month. Or, if it's free, then I'm in! Notify me when it's done.

Give me *administrator privileges* on your Substack for the next couple weeks. OR, take screenshots of your 'Settings" and email the JPGs to me. Notify me.

The resume question evokes raw fear. People treat it like I asked them to place a Tinder ad in the next five minutes: “Give me your best elevator pitch and nude photo!”

I think if most people had audition every day, they’d get over it, out of sheer repetition. It’s just a way to see what you’ve been up to, whatever that is. Where you live in the world.

I ask Stack-students for their admin settings because it’s a 2-hour ZOOM class — we don’t have time for me to share screens with each student. There’s some basic marketing bells and whistles that every Stacker should know, and you (or I) can fix them in a few minutes.

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Finally, I ask my students to reply to me today or tomorrow— the nerve! The more they delay, the harder it is for teacher. The procrastinators drive me nuts. I fantasize about ripping, “You’ll never make it. Tardyface, throw in the towel.” !!!!

This is my internal voice, mind you. In reality, I put on my nice parental/therapist voice. Ugh.

But there’s the thing: Some writers who miss deadlines and treat everyone like shit are “good” at their craft. Very good, sometimes. And their talent and obsession makes them successful, in spite of the fact that everyone who collaborates with them wants to wring their neck. I must believe in karma, I must believe in karma . . .

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I’ve had formal mentoring experiences as an adult. My sewing class in my late 40s was lifechanging. —The famous Lesbian Gay History study group. —My beloved French conversation teacher! Consulting with editors and marketing profs on Stack here. And maybe the best of all . . .

When I was young, 21, and broke, I worked for minimum wage at Good Vibrations. I had never “inherited” money before. My grandma Bright left me $5,000 and I was just stunned. What should I do? What was the right thing?

I had an artisan supplier at Good Vibes, a Hawaiian artist who made beautiful abstract-shape dildos out of koa wood. Works of art indeed. In his “day job” he was a prestigious financial advisor. Like, friends with Warren Buffet. I called Ron and threw myself at the mercy of his advice. I told him I couldn’t read the market news, and was bad at math. I was the girl who didn’t understand why there was no money leftover when my car broke down.

Ronny asked me my age. He sighed. He told me to forget about math and the Wall Street Journal. He said, “You have your youth, your health, more rare than you’ll know for years. Don’t bother investing; just do something with your 5k that absolutely thrills you and gives you wonderful adventures.’

Reader, I bought a bright red Toyota MR2, a sports car. That ran like a top.

Thank you, Ronny . . . The adventure, always, first.

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In Case You Missed It

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