What’s Coming Up?. Tour of the Disciplines (9 days; 3 disciplines ) Special Topics (4 days, 4 topics) Magazine Prep and Major Project Research (3 days ) Intensive Writing (work on Major Projects and other pieces) (7 days) Completion of Magazines, Major Projects, Portfolios (6 days)
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We’ll reflect broadly on some ideas about writing.
We’ll do what writers do: WE’LL FIND MATERIAL—even risking discomfort, if we have to!
We’ll do what writer’s do: draft a story.
Where is its place in the history of writing/writing studies?
How do you teach it?
How is it different from any other kind of writing?
small “c” & small “w”
Take a look at a verrrrryyyyy long list of quotations about art, creative writing, and the creative process online:
Try to EXTRACT as many distinct ideas or views as you can.
That is, how many specific ways of completing this sentence do you find in the journals?
Creative writing (art) is ________________.
Jot down each idea on a piece of scratch paper or in Word.
When done, each person should copy-paste their list into their journal, with the header, “_____’s and ____’s List of Views.”
Something produced solely for others; a means of pleasing an audience
A mysterious inborn talent
Expression that is shaped and crafted
The honoring of tradition
A pile of crap; a hoax; excuse for not having a REAL job
A learnable skill
Emotional or psychological therapy
The subversion of tradition
Expression that is wide-open and free
Self-expression; solely for self ; exploration of one’s unique vision
Note that some types, such as satire, mock or interrogate reality
The invention of reality
of reality (art as a hammer
An escape from reality; a
sedative or distraction
Defiance of reality; reality as it ought to
So nobody knows how to define it.
Or there’s no final definition.
Then how do we learn it?
How does it get taught? Should I, as a teacher, emphasize process or product? Craft or free exploration?
How is it distinguished from any other kind of writing and so what’s it’s place in the schools at any level? In other words…
= the branch of English Studies that involves teaching and learning how to write creatively, right?
Can it really be taught? Isn’t it about talent and a mysterious ability to summon the muse?
What’s it doing in a university? How do you evaluate it?
How does it relate to Rhetoric and Composition, Literary Studies, Linguistics, Technical Writing? Isn’t writing in these fields creative also?
What’s more important: the writing of literature or the study of it?
In some of its earliest appearances in higher ed, Creative Writing was offered to help students understand literature better. I.e., it was in the service of literature studies.
The idea was that by writing some fiction, poetry, or drama themselves, students would better understand the masterpieces of literature.
a bunch of teachers who were also writers wanted to get together with other writers and blab about their work—
in a college setting. (Couldn’t hang out in the bistros of Paris or Gertrude Stein’s salon anymore, so had to get together somewhere…)
Not scholarly like other disciplines. The MFA is a studio degree. Very different criteria.
Not really “academic.” Considered to be even a “spiritual” discipline.
A “soft” subject. Workshop approach is considered by some to be whimpy: writers who want to talk with other writers sit in a circle and read/discuss their stuff, while a teacher/published writer chimes in.
It has been influenced by postmodern theory, composition studies, and English education.
The way it is taught is changing here and there…
You can now study “the teaching of Creative Writing” as a subject itself. Or “Creative Writing Studies” which examines:
Creative writing pedagogy
The culture of creative writing/creative writing in the culture
The history of creative writing in the university.
You can get an MA and PhD in “Creative Writing Studies.”
Yeah. I’m serious.
Give a dollar to a random stranger.
Do NOT explain that your were assigned to do it.
Do NOT give specific reasons for doing it.
Be attentive. Be awake to the whole experience. See it.
Don’t comment on the experience. Just describe the whole thing in specific detail from start to finish. Re-see it. Details!
Where’s the “story” in what happened?
In your journal, under “Story Idea,” briefly sketch out a tale (a paragraph summary).
How to you make a story out of what happens in your life? How do you “find” stories?
Let’s just take the issue of plot, for instance, in the events you just experienced…
Point of entry
What exactly will be the setting: how do things LOOK when one is stepping directly into the unknown?
What will be the crisis point
What are the risks and drawbacks of this particular story idea?
You can draft your work in Word.
Be sure to save frequently to your jump drive!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Let’s put your story aside for a bit, and look at some stories others have written.
Let’s start with
Are we so brain-dead these days that we can’t concentrate on a long work?
What are its virtues?
What are its challenges?
This is a really short story, and only one sentence long! Does it work? Are the characters fully developed? Is the plot engaging?
How do you say that someone is drunk?
How many animal metaphors do we use everyday?
Where did most worn-out metaphors come from, and how do we keep the language alive? Look at Lorrie Moore…
1. Her face was a perfect oval, like a circle that had its two sides gently compressed by a Thigh Master.
2. His thoughts tumbled in his head, making and breaking alliances like underpants in a dryer without Cling Free.
3. He spoke with the wisdom that can only come from experience, like a guy who went blind because he looked at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it and now goes around the country speaking at high schools about the dangers of looking at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it.
4. She grew on him like she was a colony of E. Coli, and he was room-temperature Canadian beef.
5. She had a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that sound a dog makes just before it throws up.
6. Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever.
8. The revelation that his marriage of 30 years had disintegrated because of his wife’s infidelity came as a rude shock, like a surcharge at a formerly surcharge-free ATM machine.
9. The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a bowling ball wouldn’t.
10. McBride fell 12 stories, hitting the pavement like a Hefty bag filled with vegetable soup.
11. From the attic came an unearthly howl. The whole scene had an eerie, surreal quality, like when you’re on vacation in another city and Jeopardy comes on at 7:00 p.m. Instead of 7:30.
12. Her hair glistened in the rain like a nose hair after a sneeze.
14. Long separated by cruel fate, the star-crossed lovers raced across the grassy field toward each other like two freight trains, one having left Cleveland at 6:36 p.m. Traveling at 55 mph, the other from Topeka at 4:19 p.m. At a speed of 35 mph.
15. They lived in a typical suburban neighborhood with picket fences that resembled Nancy Kerrigan’s teeth.
16. John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who had also never met.
17. He fell for her like his heart was a mob informant, and she was the East River.
18. Even in his last years, Granddad had a mind like a steel trap, only one that had been left out so long, it had rusted shut.
19. Shots rang out, as shots are want to do.
21. The young fighter had a hungry look, the kind you get from not eating for a while.
22. He was as lame as a duck. Not the metaphorical lame duck, either, but a real duck that was actually lame, maybe from stepping on a land mine or something.
23. The ballerina rose gracefully en Pointe and extended one slender leg behind her, like a dog at a fire hydrant.
24. It was an American tradition, like fathers chasing kids around with power tools.
25. He was deeply in love. When she spoke, he thought he heard bells, as if she were a garbage truck backing up.
Once a student wrote a piece from the point of view of a deer. It described a hunter’s gun as “a branch that barks.”
Focusing on particular traditions:
The Oral Tradition (the Bard)
or slam performance?
Listen to Spoken Word selections,
plus Beat poems with jazz accompaniment
Describe what you see on the table. REALLY LOOK. The thing. The thing itself.
Make the object…
Are you being dull?
Are you being predictable?
Are you thinking too much?
Try a thesaurus…
The Surrealist Manifesto
“I believe in the future resolution of these two states, dream and reality, which are seemingly so contradictory, into a kind of absolute reality, a sur-reality.”
the principles, ideals, or practice of producing fantastic or incongruous imagery or effects in art, literature, film, or theater by means of unnatural juxtapositions and combinations. An attempt, through these random, irrational juxtapositions and combinations, to make make a new reality or a new whole.
I saw the rabbit, as soft as cotton, his eyes bright, munching the grass.
I saw the rabbit, ripe as a hammer, his eyes boiled, baptizing the grass.
(random words from carpentry, religion, cooking)
I saw the rabbit, as Monday as Van Gogh’s ear, eyes in search of Harvard, document the grass.
(random words from stuff on my desk)
The names of Aztec gods were on one page,
serotonin uptake inhibitors on the other.
Here, you said: another baby avocado tree.
You threw your shoe. I broke
the refrigerator and the fossil fish.
I broke my shoulder blade.
I tried to make jambalaya.
To relax the organism, the cookbook said,
pound with a mallet on the head or shell.
I love you. This remarkable statementhas appeared on earth to substantiate the clams.
Here's your fire
welcome to the glacier.
Don't think I wasn't shocked when
you were a traffic signal
and I a woodpecker.
I can't make it any clearer than that
and stay drunk.
“intelligence is often the enemy of poetry, because it limits too much, and it elevates the poet to a sharp-edged throne where he forgets that ants could eat him or that a great arsenic lobster could fall suddenly on his head—”
“The duende...Where is the duende? Through the empty arch comes a wind, a mental wind blowing relentlessly over the heads of the dead, in search of new landscapes and unknown accents, a wind that smells of baby’s spittle, crushed grass, and jellyfish veil, announcing the constant baptism of newly created things.”
Duende is “the melancholy demon of Descartes: a demon who was small as a green almond and who sickened of circles and lines and escaped down the canals to listen to the songs of blurry sailors”
you hear it