I spent an entire academic year this past school term in an advanced fiction-writing course. It gave me all sorts of ideas for blog posts, some of which I will likely even get around to posting at some point.
But for now, I'm going to leave those be. I don't want to derail what could otherwise be a useful evening by railing about the use or lack thereof of advanced writing workshops, nor the quality of "criticism" found within them.
I simply want to meditate briefly on the value of, say, Michael Bolton, as an antidote to trying to incorporate revisions that are increasingly inane.
