Comments on: Apprentice, journeyman, master

By: Lilith Saintcrow » Blog Archive » Link Salad

Lilith Saintcrow » Blog Archive » Link Salad — Thu, 18 Sep 2008 18:02:41 +0000

[...] Marie Brennan on Apprentice, Journeyman, Master. I agree with her about the ranks–and about how they are self-awarded, largely. I just adore [...]

By: Chris Coen

Chris Coen — Thu, 18 Sep 2008 01:45:09 +0000

By “coming to life,” I mean a story that absorbs the reader fully. A journeyman can get the elements in the right order, but a master can make stories live and breathe.

By: Marie Brennan

Marie Brennan — Wed, 17 Sep 2008 19:40:33 +0000

Alyc — you’re right about it being (in origin) a social system. I think I approach it here as a personal one because we’ve become so leery of that kind of judgment, of saying “these people have the right to decide when I’ve arrived and when I haven’t.” But I’m at least evaluating myself in relation to that system: I decided I was a journeyman because I was pretty sure I was qualified to publish something, as measured against my community. (And it turned out I wasn’t far off; the community in turn said, “yeah, sure.”) I think it’s an especially good point for the master thing, though — kind of what I was getting at, bringing up awards — the sense of having earned the right to stand among those people as a peer.

Mike — “punctuated equilibrium” is the phrase we’re looking for, I think. Not so much stasis in between as gradual change, and then sometimes you have those watershed moments where you can tell you’ve passed some kind of threshold. The other day I likened it to reaching the top of the mountain you’ve been climbing, versus starting your way up a new one (which is where I am right now).

By: Mike Brotherton

Mike Brotherton — Wed, 17 Sep 2008 17:40:19 +0000

Well, it’s surely a continuum, but there do seem to be quantum leaps in my own experience. I’d written half a dozen or more crappy stories and then I wrote one that everyone in my writing group was suddenly interested in, and I was conscious of some of the reasons why. It was a story that I was really interested in as opposed to one I’d constructed in a more abstract way; the notion had excited me.

I had another quantum leap after attending Clarion West. I realized that the quality of my writing had improved dramatically, and it was suddenly very easy to see what was wrong with bad stories. My own, and other good but not quite publishable stories, was harder to discern but I had a clue.

Finishing a single, coherent novel was another big one, as was slogging through the revisions.

I know a few writers I’d consider masters, and it’s a bit shocking to hear them say that every novel is different and still a struggle, and that they succeed with some books but not others.

Maybe “master” is there for us all to aspire to, no matter the accomplishments in the field.

By: Alyc

Alyc — Wed, 17 Sep 2008 14:06:20 +0000

One of the things I think is useful about this metaphor, but that you don’t really touch upon, is that the apprentice/journeyman/master rankings exist (historically) in a social system whereby the advice, support, and critical commentary of your peers is a vital part of the process. That means that publication, commercial success, critical success, mentoring, and a host of other aspects of being a writer are part of the evaluation process of where you are. Masters are elevated to that rank as much by the regard of their peers as they are by the completion of a masterwork.

Some people may find this intimidating or problematic. It means that in order to be a Master, it’s not enough to write something that for you is the Great American Novel–other writers and critics have to find it to be so as well. It means you can be a huge commercial success, and still not be considered a Master by the community. It’s a conversational and collaborative type of ranking system. Yes, it carries the potential problem of cultural gatekeepers who get to define “quality” according to dominant (or subversive) tastes, but it also opens the possibility of creating communities open to alternate perspectives on taste.

By: Marie Brennan

Marie Brennan — Tue, 16 Sep 2008 22:18:44 +0000

Chris — Hmmm . . . what constitutes “coming to life”? I’m curious to know what you mean by that. It sounds like you’re thinking of something more than just writing a book that engages a reader, or even gets them excited about the story, but I’m not sure how to pin it down more specifically.

By: Chris Coen

Chris Coen — Tue, 16 Sep 2008 21:51:43 +0000

I think that journeyman-level work might equate to getting all of the pieces right, and master-level work is where the work has that little extra spark that makes it come to life. It’s a skill that takes a long time to get right for most folks, one that some people will never master, and one that even someone capable of it might not always get right.

And may we all never stop learning. >:-)

By: Marie Brennan

Marie Brennan — Tue, 16 Sep 2008 20:20:50 +0000

Diana — Yeah, that’s kind of what I mean. Especially since it’s easy to think that “master” = “done improving,” which certainly wouldn’t be a good thing for one’s craft. You’ve always got something more to learn. But is there a point at which you start to feel like those people you admire are your peers? If so, I’m still a long way from it.

By: Diana Pharaoh Francis

Diana Pharaoh Francis — Tue, 16 Sep 2008 20:14:10 +0000

I doubt I’ll ever feel like a master. i see bits of mastery here and there in my work, but I think maybe because it always feels like such a struggle and I always do so much revision, that clearly I *can’t* possibly be anything like a master. But then, I’ve only got six books under my belt. When there’s 20–who knows?

I wonder if the masters of fantasy ever felt like masters? i wonder if Guy Gavriel Kay, who I consider a master, thinks of himself as one?

By: Marie Brennan

Marie Brennan — Tue, 16 Sep 2008 18:59:23 +0000

Catie -- Interesting. I don't think I could personally use that definition for a masterwork (by which I don't quite mean the same thing as a masterpiece, though I'd be hard-pressed to put into words what I do mean), because I can't imagine staying that satisfied with something. I mean, this time last year, I would have been content for Midnight Never Come to remain my best book ever. But that would only be true if I died before writing anything else, in which case it would be me saying, "well, at least I didn't end on a disaster." Less than two months after finishing it, I could already see places for improvement. It's really hard to conceive of writing a book I wouldn't later want to fix, or at least outdo. I think in some vague way in the back of my head, a masterwork is a piece the hypothetical guild could take and put in a gallery with things done by people they've already acknowledged as masters, and you wouldn't be embarrassed to see it there. I can imagine that, for some people, an award might do the trick: win the World Fantasy Award, frex, and you're up there with the masters of the genre. But I'm not sure what it would take to make me feel I'd arrived there. (It's possible I'll never feel that way, and also possible that's a good thing. Stay hungry, keep sharking.)