How a Professor’s One Piece of Advice Influenced My Entire Writing Career

As a new writer and student in mid-life, unexpected lessons about creativity emboldened me to finish a novel first draft.

The first day of Intro To Fiction took a bit of courage. I was the only non-matriculating student and more than twice the age of my classmates — the only one with two kids and a minivan. If I hadn’t been ambushed by a half dozen chapters of a completely unintended WIP, I’d never have been there. However, I was mystified by these chapters. What were they? Part of a novel? A short story? A bunch of nonsense? I’d never written anything of my own volition. But this story got stuck in my fingertips, and I needed guidance and a compass. A friend recommended a class at The New School.

I drove the minivan through the Holland Tunnel and headed to West 12th Street. I gave myself a stern talk on the way. I’d sit in the back of the room. Stay under the radar. Remain quiet. Learn everything there was to learn.

The professor arrived straight from Central Casting in a tweed blazer with suede elbow patches and glasses that took up most of his face and introduced himself as Sidney Offit. I was no longer the oldest; he was more than twice my age. He started the lecture by saying he’d recently had dinner with his best friend, Kurt Vonnegut.

“Oh, Kurt Vonnegut?” I said. “I slept with him.”

A classmate smacked her desk. “That beats dinner, baby.”

All twenty students turned in their seats. I was forced to elaborate. That story can be found here. So much for staying under the radar. I was now on my teacher’s.

Prof. Offit continued and announced that halfway through the semester he’d dedicate an hour of every class to workshop student work. If anyone had a WIP they sought feedback on, they could submit a chapter at a time. If he thought it bore merit, it would be workshopped in the next class.

And so the torment began.

At the semester’s midway mark, with my kids as a cheer squad, I emailed the first chapter of my WIP to Prof. Offit. My palms stayed sweaty for seven days. Mysteriously, the next lecture went uninterrupted by a single submission. The teacher didn’t even mention he’d received any. Perhaps to not embarrass the writer/s.

This was discouraging indeed (the kids did not take it well) but not as discouraging as the next four weeks would be. None of my five chapters were ever mentioned. I obviously felt dejected, but worse — embarrassed for my persistence. Naive for thinking what I was doing held promise. Then something surprising turned me around.

It was the day before Thanksgiving and during that class we finally workshopped two stories. Neither one was mine. However, disappointment was quickly usurped by another feeling altogether. As I listened to both writers read their work, I was in awe of their talent. The writing was beautiful and raw and clever and evocative. They were mere children! Very talented ones.

I drove home that day with an unexpected feeling of joy. An excitement about a new mission. I would scrap what I’d written and start over. I was convinced I could learn to write like my classmates. I could learn to be a better writer. That’s what this class was for! Now I knew what to do. How to do it would be another thing entirely, but I was up for the challenge.

At home, I unpacked Thanksgiving groceries while listening to my voicemails. The voice of the first message confused me. It was familiar, but I couldn’t pinpoint it. I remember feeling startled to hear it in my kitchen.

“Is this Ms. Natiello’s phone number? This is Sidney Offit. Your teacher at The New School. I just finished reading your five chapters. I apologize for not seeing them earlier. They are riveting. I’m looking forward to workshopping them until the end of the semester. Have a nice Thanksgiving.”

Riveting?! It would be a happy Thanksgiving, indeed!

Having one’s writing workshopped, is a true test of one’s fortitude and self-possession. It will take a writer through a salad spinner of emotions. I received all kinds of feedback. From critical to complimentary to constructive. The end of the semester came fast. It was the week before Christmas. My last chapter would be discussed, after which Prof. Offit graciously offered to meet to discuss next steps for my book.

The night before class, a NYC Mass Transit strike was announced. By the next morning, a snow storm had gripped the city.

I wrestled with what to do. I could take a train to NY, then walk to West 12th Street, but what would Prof. Offit do? The class wasn’t canceled. How would my teacher get to class? Would he even try? If you’ve ever attempted to hail a taxi in NY in any kind of inclement weather, you’d understand how difficult it was, pre-Uber, once you throw in a snow storm and a transit strike. Then consider that Mr. Offit was pushing 80.

When the elevator doors opened on the fourth floor, I stepped into the hall at the precise time Mr. Offit stepped out of the stairwell. I’d later find out he trudged through the snow from his Upper East Side home. And still bypassed the elevator for the stairs once he got there!

“Thank goodness you’re here!” We said in unison. “I didn’t want to disappoint you,” he said.

I asked him for a recommendation for the next semester. He fixed his eyes on mine. “Do not take another class. You have something more important to do. Finish the book.” But, I had gained so much from this class, I was afraid of going it alone for the duration of my book, I argued. That’s when he said something remarkable. “You can’t risk getting a teacher next time who won’t understand what you’re trying to accomplish — or worse — disagrees with it. Abandoning this project is not an option.”

He told me a story of a talented and accomplished family member of his who studied with someone who didn’t “get” her work, and she never wrote again.

It would take many years for me to understand that advice to be true. I’ve known gifted writers who gave up after critical feedback. We are fragile souls we creators. There’s parallel reasoning that can be drawn to reading bad reviews of one’s book. Not everyone will like what you write. Don’t let that stop you from writing. Expect it. Then instead of reading the negative reviews which can potentially sabotage your creativity, let the positive reviews fuel your creativity.

Professor Offit taught me something else. That a teacher’s most important role is to encourage. It doesn’t matter the skill level of the student. If they receive encouragement something quite magical happens. They believe they can achieve something. They take themselves seriously. Then it’s up to them to keep raising the bar to do better.

On this Thanksgiving, I’m thinking about Sidney Offit and how grateful I am for his encouragement, the blurb he wrote for my debut book, and his prescient advice.

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How a Professor’s One Piece of Advice Influenced My Entire Writing Career was originally published in The Writing Cooperative on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.