Richard Baumgart (eMail • Web site) has been an artist for 30 years. He has studied art in New York City, Pont-Aven, France and London. Baumgart now lives and works in New London, New Hampshire.

His work is representational (though not 'realistic') and combines many of the qualities and techniques of Picasso, Braque and Matisse.

Although, as writers and readers, we often throw around the term 'good writing', I’ve yet to see a concrete definition of what that is, with respect to fiction. Is there a criterion somewhere, an absolute rubric, that's eluding me? How do I recognize my aspiration? How will I know when I get there?

Of course, there's Harold Bloom’s The Western Canon, a list of examples of 'good writing'. My two favorite authors, Toni Morrison and Gloria Naylor, are on the list, but not for my two favorite novels—Sula and Linden Hills. How do I compare Bloom’s canon with Modern Library’s list of the 100 Best Novels or Radcliffe Publishing’s rival list? It seems hard to balance popularity with craft. Then, there's the time issue. How long does it take to become a classic? Over the past five years alone there have been several well-written novels published that just haven’t made it to any of those lists, yet—books like, Zadie Smith’s brilliant On Beauty. I won’t even get into the multicultural and feminist issues which problematize the creation of these lists. List-making, you see, isn't an exact science.

I’m sure that every Creative Writing teacher could tell you what constitutes 'good writing'—at least, what they consider to be good. But what if I happen to disagree? What if I hate Melville? Think Hemingway is overrated? Only feel so-so about Alice Munroe? Does that mean I'm a bad reader and, therefore, will be a bad writer? Does it matter that I'm a Creative Writing teacher, myself?

Sure, I have an overall sense of Good vs. Bad: James Joyce vs. Stephen King. I know which authors aren’t being taught in our literature classes: Danielle Steele, James Patterson, and Dan Brown. I know what I'm ashamed to admit to my MFA—that, in my spare time, I'm reading Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Wicked, and books that would be considered 'Chick Lit'. I have an inkling of what would be considered pedestrian, artless writing. So, it makes sense that as long as I don’t write what might be thought of as a genre piece, I have a fair shot of writing something good. Alas, it isn't that easy.

Frankly, I've stopped thinking of my own writing in the broad terms of 'good' or 'bad' and have begun separating them into categories of 'good enough'.

My worst writing falls into the lowest category, 'Good Enough for My Mother', which doesn’t necessarily have to be any good, whatsoever. A mother’s love is unconditional and, therefore, her child’s prose is never short of amazing. If I'm my own harshest critic, my adoring mother is my most generous. I show her my work when I need a pat on the back or a word of encouragement.

There's also 'Good Enough for Workshop', which doesn’t actually have to be that good, either, because the purpose of a workshop is to take 'pretty good' writing and make it better. I always tell myself, when I'm pouring over a submission, that it's supposed to be an imperfect first or second draft. After all, if it were polished, there would be no reason to bring it to my class. Indeed, a workshop piece only has to be good enough as to not be embarrassing.

A notch above that category is 'Good Enough for an Intimate Reading'. These pieces should be more complete and polished than workshop pieces. There should be, at the very least, some stellar description and a strong voice. Yet, depending on the format of the reading and who's in the audience, the writing doesn't have to be my best. Frequently, at readings, I'm only given the floor for five to eight minutes. Since I couldn’t possibly read an entire story in that time, I can just pick the best four or five pages. Also, since I'm usually hosting the readings in which I perform, the audience tends to be full of my friends. Although they're not as blindly devoted to me and my writing as my mother is, they will be so kind as to give me my criticism with thin a layer of sugar-coating. Lately, I’ve even taken up the practice of reading near the end of the evening, which means that any strangers that may have wondered into the bookstore where the reading is being held would have left , by then, and any fair-weather friends would have slipped out during the wine and cheese break, leaving only my closest friends to help support any delusions I harbor about my talent.

You'd think that 'Good Enough for Publication' would mean that the writing has to be the best. A publication's readership is likely to be much larger than a local bookstore audience. And, of course, there's that whole editing process, which promises to weed out any 'bad'ness; however, that would depend on the publication. There's a difference between Crate, the MFA journal at UMass, Amherst which accepts all submissions and, let’s say…The New York Times. The audiences are also drastically different. Besides, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen my work published and wished that I could change a line, replace a word, and insert that missing comma. Even when it's published, I can feel as though my work is just not good enough for me.

Speaking of which…

'Good Enough for Me' is the last and most selective category. In my entire three years here in the MFA program, I only have three projects that reach this highest level of writing. Although inclusion in this category doesn’t necessarily assume admittance into the 'Good Enough for Publication' category (and vice versa, for that matter) it's the most important. It's only when a story or chapter of my novel fits into this category that I can forget about all the other ones. When I truly believe that my fiction is good, that I'm a good writer. I can stop caring about all the lists and canons and textbooks of which I may or may not ever be a part. When I feel a piece of prose is good enough to pass my own self-deprecating critique, when I'm not ashamed to share it, when I'm proud to publish it, when I actually enjoy reading it, that’s when I remember why I'm writing in the first place. I write because it feels good, and when a poem, story, or novel of mine makes its reader think or feel; inspires, infuriates or makes him or her wonder...that, for me, is good writing.