Last week, Amtrak awarded 24 residencies to writers as part of its new #Amtrakresidency program and confirmed : Amtrak doesn’t care about helping writers who could actually benefit from a residency on one of their trains. It cares about helping Amtrak.
When news of the announcement broke, a friend of mine posted the following to Facebook:
“At least 75% of the writers Amtrak selected for this list seem to be people who could probably afford to pay for a cross-country Amtrak trip.”
His frustration stems from how the writing community — i.e. amateurs, professionals, MFAs, undergrads, the self-published, bestsellers, poets, essayists, anyone who writes, etc… — views residencies. “residencies — a term apparently adapted, like ‘internship,’ from the field of medicine — are typically seen as stepping-stones, and given to young and promising but still unproven writers.”
I did not apply for a residency, despite how unproven I am, but I did follow the program’s development and see my friend’s point. Just glancing at casts them in a stunningly successful light. They have most certainly stepped their stones.
Three illuminating trends stand out:
The residents are widely published: 66 books, plays, and films in total (not including television shows).
The residents have an incredible amount of influence: 303,403 combined followers on Twitter (That’s almost 4X the reach of Amtrak’s corporate account, which has 81.6k followers).
The residents’ connections run deep: All together, the winners have links, as either contributors or employees, to The New York Times, Jezebel, Gothamist, Cosmopolitan, New York Magazine, Salon, Esquire, Outside Magazine, The New Yorker, The Atlantic, Fast Company, Mashable, NPR, PBS, and a whole recycling bins worth other publications with tremendous reach.
This isn’t a group of “young and promising but still unproven writers.” It’s a public relations machine. 75% is generous. It’s more likely that nearly all of the winners could afford the trip on their own () and otherwise have the means — time, plus money, plus support — to pursue their work as writers without an Amtrak Residency.
A survey of tweets with the #amtrakresidency tag reveals more criticism of the selections:
The question, then, is: how did something with such mass appeal ultimately fail to satisfy those masses and devolve into a fairly obvious marketing campaign?
It’s helpful to begin by probing the particularly incompetent way that Amtrak handled the residencies. The company was given a gift, and examining the short history of the program is like watching a child maliciously break a new toy.
First, Alexander Chee, a published novelist, mentions that he wishes Amtrak had a residency in . The idea of an Amtrak Residency begins to gain traction on Twitter, and, after adding her support with a tweet, writer Jessica Gross is contacted by Amtrak and given a trial residency. . So far, so good. But here’s where things go off the — fuck — the rails. Writers love this idea. They tweet. They share on Facebook. They want an Amtrak Residency. The groundswell of support is so huge that Amtrak officially announces the program in late February. Apply soon.
Quickly, dissenting voices emerged.
In The New Yorker, Vauhini Vara Julia Quinn to defend potential criticisms of the program in the context of David Foster Wallace’s essay, A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again, in which Wallace derides author Frank Conroy for writing glowingly about a Caribbean Cruise he was given for free. Quinn, of course, deflects Vara’s concern:
“I told Quinn about Wallace’s essay and asked whether some of his criticisms might apply to this situation. “You raise very valuable points,” she said. “Is this is a [sic] disingenuous program? I would say no, in that this wasn’t something that was thought up in our last marketing brainstorm, like, How can we bring buzz for Amtrak? This was something that was thought up by the writing community, and we happened to be in the position to offer them a vehicle. It’s their writing powered by Amtrak.”
This is the equivalent of saying: we didn’t think of the idea, so we have carte blanche in its implementation.
This was also when Quinn mentioned that Amtrak wanted the program to be “mutually beneficial” and for that to happen they would like some writers with built-in audiences.
Already, she was failing.
If you haven’t realized it by now, the residency program quickly became all about Amtrak — corporate opportunism and self-interest at its finest. They latched onto a grass roots idea and molded it into something they felt could increase their influence and profits. , Amtrak is not shy about explaining to applicants that they will be evaluated based on “the extensiveness of their social community and ability to reach online audiences with content.”
Content is something of a dirty word for writers. Content is what you write for a paycheck, and it’s typically produced to indirectly compel customers of the brand you work for to spend more money. For example, if you can publish a blog that brings a lot of visitors to your website, you put yourself in a position to convert them to customers. If that article is good, too, you establish yourself as a trusted source of information. Even better. People like to buy things from sources they trust.
Many writers, myself included, have day jobs as “content” marketers. It’s a sometimes fruitful alternative to work as an adjunct, a way to escape the dismal job prospects in academia. The word’s use here, however, betrays Amtrak’s hopes for the program: these 24 writers will write positively — even if indirectly — about Amtrak on the internet, which will have an impact on general interest in train travel and, ultimately, ticket sales.
To be fair, Quinn is upfront about this with Vara:
“Obviously my hope would be that as we work with some of these people, they’re so moved by the experience, that they’re compelled to tell their audiences about Amtrak long-distance train travel.”
I don’t have a problem with these intentions. Really. I understand why the program needs to benefit Amtrak in some tangible way. What I disagree with is how they’ve chosen achieve these goals — by exclusively choosing tremendously successful writers with extensive built-in audiences and reach.
There are three things frustrating about this:
1. As it promotes a vision of America’s rails that “bolsters the notion that train travel is a ponderous luxury, not a useful public good.”
Much of the grass roots support that helped create the Amtrak Residency came from young, idealistic voices on social media that romanticized train travel. Of course, they weren’t romanticizing actual train travel in the United States, which is expensive and lacks utility, but rather imagining an evolution of our rail system that would allow the often disadvantaged artist to buy an inexpensive ticket and explore the country.
Ease of movement appeals to the artist because art is movement. By train, you can see the land, feel the scene change — as in a novel or story — and be stimulated by the journey. By train, you can’t get from the beginning to the end without passing through every point along the way.
I’m not optimistic that we’ll ever have an efficient and useful rail system in America, but I don’t think I was alone in feeling that the idea of an Amtrak Residency, for a time, seemed like an appealing alternative — if done well. In short, we might not ever live in a country with an efficient system of travel that provides those of lesser means with a way to experience movement, but, hey, at least this program might offer a passable simulation for a lucky group of talented up-and-comers.
Unfortunately, this was never Amtrak’s vision, and by selecting such established, successful and popular residents they establish a new guiding principle for the program: a train is a place for professionals to get work done. We wanted an artist’s residency. They gave us a cross-country version of the New York to DC corridor.
2. For the “community of writers” Quinn credits with “thinking up the idea,” cross-country train travel is deeply connected with dreams and hope. The program is not.
Writers are, on the whole, smart people. We know the historical impact of railroads in America. We know that this country was built on timbers and ties, that tracks carried our westward expansion. We know that there was once a time when poor immigrants could hop on a New York train destined for the open Pacific coast in search of a new life, their own American Dream (and find it, too). It’s a romantic notion, one long gone and never to return, but it’s still a notion.
When buzz about the residencies began to circulate, it was exciting to think that one might be able to experience these antique feelings if one’s work showed promise. Trains, we thought, could once again be synonymous with hope. Surely, the residencies — since residencies typically exist to foster young talent — would follow through with this in some way.
Wrong.
Amtrak, to a startling degree, ultimately cared more about what applicants had already done, not what they hoped to achieve. They should’ve just called it the “Amtrak Prize” or produced a reality show (This is the true story of seven writers picked to live on a train and have their lives taped. Find out what happens when writers stop writing and start getting real) and saved us all the grief.
3) This is the work of a bad, uncreative marketing team.
Amtrak could’ve remained loyal to the grass roots vision and still achieved their marketing goals. They could’ve selected 24 unknowns based solely on the quality of work, not considered their credentials as “influencers,” and still benefited from the program in all the ways they hoped. They were just lazy and risk-averse. A resident with a built-in audience provides Amtrak with a known, quantifiable boon for their brand. But a resident with less reach offers something far more valuable: narrative and intrigue. Who are they? What is their work like? What will they do on the train? These stories would’ve been far more appealing to the larger community that encouraged Amtrak to develop the program in the first place than, say, Award-Winning Novelist Darin Strauss Rides a Train – Strauss’ talent not withstanding.
As the great ad-man David Ogilvy once said: “a good advertisement is one which sells the product without drawing attention to itself.” In other words, the “content” Amtrak seeks from its residents can only be successful as a marketing tool if it doesn’t appear to be so obviously self-interested. Smart companies know this, but Amtrak — which hasn’t turned a profit in 44 years of existence — just isn’t that smart.
That’s unfortunate for those of us who hold dear a vision of rail travel that serves the common person, that makes it possible for anyone — regardless of income, profession, and status — to transport themselves to a new part of the country, and, maybe, if their muse appears, get some writing done along the way.
Adam Lefton is the Editor of Litragger. His work has appeared in , , Washington Square, and Water~Stone Review. You can find him on Twitter
