"That, for me, is a very important test of a young writer's commitment because most of them are going to have to continue doing that when they've finished the program"
About this Quote
Wolff is sneaking a scalpel into what sounds like a benign pedagogical comment: the “test” isn’t talent, originality, or even discipline in the abstract, but whether a young writer can keep writing when the scaffolding disappears. The phrase “for me” matters. It’s an admission of subjectivity that doubles as a warning: in Wolff’s view, commitment is measurable less by workshop brilliance than by the unglamorous habit of returning to the desk without grades, deadlines, or institutional validation.
The subtext is a critique of the MFA-industrial comfort zone. “Most of them” carries a gentle bleakness; he’s not mythologizing the exceptional prodigy but talking about the statistical reality of writing careers. The real work begins when the program ends, because the program is a kind of temporary audience. It supplies time, community, and permission. Outside of it, a writer has to manufacture all three while paying rent and absorbing rejection. Wolff’s line quietly reframes writing programs as rehearsal space, not a guarantee of arrival.
Contextually, this comes from a writer who’s spent decades teaching and watching the same cycle: intense productivity under supervision, then the post-graduation drop-off when external structure evaporates. “Continue doing that” is deliberately vague, which is part of its power. It’s not just “keep drafting stories.” It’s keep reading with hunger, revising past the point of ego, tolerating boredom, and sustaining a private conviction without public reward. Wolff’s test is less romantic than mercilessly practical: can you do it when nobody is watching?
The subtext is a critique of the MFA-industrial comfort zone. “Most of them” carries a gentle bleakness; he’s not mythologizing the exceptional prodigy but talking about the statistical reality of writing careers. The real work begins when the program ends, because the program is a kind of temporary audience. It supplies time, community, and permission. Outside of it, a writer has to manufacture all three while paying rent and absorbing rejection. Wolff’s line quietly reframes writing programs as rehearsal space, not a guarantee of arrival.
Contextually, this comes from a writer who’s spent decades teaching and watching the same cycle: intense productivity under supervision, then the post-graduation drop-off when external structure evaporates. “Continue doing that” is deliberately vague, which is part of its power. It’s not just “keep drafting stories.” It’s keep reading with hunger, revising past the point of ego, tolerating boredom, and sustaining a private conviction without public reward. Wolff’s test is less romantic than mercilessly practical: can you do it when nobody is watching?
Quote Details
| Topic | Writing |
|---|
More Quotes by Tobias
Add to List
