Blogger Sheila O’Malley is taking Martha Cooley’s fiction-writing class here at the Y and is ecstatic about the homework involved. She seems to be getting a lot out of it:

We sit in one of the nursery-school rooms on the 6th floor of the Y. So there are finger paintings on the walls, and mobiles hanging everywhere. There is an enormous skylight, and last night we could hear the rain beating down on it. It’s a cool atmosphere, in general - the 92nd Street Y - you walk in and you can feel the buzz - but I think it’s hysterical that we sit around and talk about John Cheever with finger painted blobs all around us, the ghosts and echoes of the little kids who spend most of their days in that room.

But I leave class feeling all pepped up and energized. We also read our work to the class. Which, naturally, is nervewracking - because it’s not a place where you get 100% praise. What needs to be worked on is discussed and parsed apart exhaustively. But it’s all with the intent to help the writer grow, and push himself or herself, which makes a huge difference. It feels honest. It’s not a pampering atmosphere, which has its own brand of dishonesty, and it’s not an abusive critical atmosphere, which is also dishonest.

New Unterberg Poetry Center writing classes for the fall just went on sale a few weeks ago, and more will be on sale in August.