Sunday, April 25, 2010
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
The End of Print
Since my days in journalism, I’ve heard about the end of print media and the fall of the daily paper. In a recent East Bay Express article, the question: “Can the dailies survive by charging online?” was asked. This made me think three things. One, no they cannot because most people will get their news free from other sources. Two, newspapers can’t be called “papers” without actual paper. If they go online, they will have to be information centers or something like that. Three, if newspapers and magazines disappear, what next? Novels (in paper form)?
It’s true that technology makes things obsolete or archaic, and forces change. I think about all the letters I used to write by hand to girlfriends before the advent of e-mail. These days, handwritten letters are a big to do. There is no <---backspace button (erasable ink does not count) and it takes at least two days for the person to get it—and in that time, multiple e-mails or phone calls may have already taken place. So, why send anything handwritten at all?
Some would argue that technology has revolutionized the way we listen and purchase music, that people no longer buy CDs (which impacted vinyl, cassettes and the gnarly eight-track), but rather, download whole albums or single songs. The difference is that recorded music is still being played electronically. The containers or storage devices may be different, but energy is still needed to play them. Print, on the other hand, is battery free, portable, and, if it’s too dark to read, candles can be lit.
Robert Coover writes in his essay “The End of Books” that:
“…in the world of video transmissions, cellular phones, fax machines, computer networks, and in particular out in the humming digitalized precincts of avant-garde computer hackers, cyberpunks and hyperspace freaks, you will often hear it said that the print medium is a doomed and outdated technology, a mere curiosity of bygone days destined soon to be consigned forever to those dusty unattended museums we now call libraries.”
If there were no print, if there were no books readily available (only at the library), what would happen if the electricity stopped or the gadgets failed? Y2K-type pandemonium? What would become of the information? Backup storage units are not useful if the power to operate the computer is not available. What about viruses? Also, there is something to be said about holding a book. It’s hard to imagine getting comfortable on a rainy afternoon and reading a novel from an iPad or Kindle or a similar device. The eye strain is not fun. Reading from a book feels more natural and connected…even if it’s typed, even if it’s mass-produced, something about the paper and the binding and the cover is magical and still very practical. A dictionary, for example, you just pick it up and find a definition. True, it cannot be updated without buying another version of the dictionary, which some may argue is wasting paper, but having to boot up a device or rely the internet seems like just as much of an energy waste.
Coover goes on to talk about how “hypertext provides multiple paths between text segments, now often called ‘lexias’.” This is convenient. And, to be clear, technology and the internet are crazy useful. Downloading and linking and submitting files and data help to get things done fast. But going from print to digital only seems like an unnecessary extreme.
Coover also writes that:
“‘Hypertext’" is not a system but a generic term, coined a quarter of a century ago by a computer populist named Ted Nelson to describe the writing done in the nonlinear or nonsequential space made possible by the computer...With its webs of linked lexias, its networks of alternate routes (as opposed to print's fixed unidirectional page-turning) hypertext presents a radically divergent technology, interactive and polyvocal, favoring a plurality of discourses over definitive utterance and freeing the reader from domination by the author. Hypertext reader and writer are said to become co-learners or co-writers, as it were, fellow-travelers in the mapping and remapping of textual (and visual, kinetic and aural) components, not all of which are provided by what used to be called the author.’”
This is insane. When my novel is published, I don’t want a hypertext version to be created for the simple fact that it would break the atmosphere I will have worked so hard to create. If the reader can click click away to other places, I might as well write a news article. Not to knock the news or say that journalism isn’t creative, but novels carry more weight than just delivering information via words on a page. There are emotions and thoughts and craft that go into their creation and to have a point and click adventure while reading them is undermining unless the author is creating a point and click adventure. Who wants to read a hypertextualized Faulkner? Save that shit for notes at the end of the book. Footnotes could be seen as sort of hypertext, but the reader can glance down and stay inside the story (depending on how the footnotes are done—not everyone digs footnotes) as opposed to clicking and having another window pop up.
Coover makes a good point that something is happening in “the subversion of the traditional bourgeois novel and in fictions that challenge linearity,” and I agree. It’s good to challenge the norm and find new modes and avenues. But to make obsolete a system that works and is more organic seems unnecessarily extreme. Why not have both and end the talk about the end of books? Otherwise, there will be war. There will be fire.
Here is a quote about the end of print books that I found on the internet (kind of ironic):
“The loss of print in books magazines and newspapers means the loss of historical perspective.These things have stood immutable in the face of those wishing to change history for centuries.
Their loss is tragic.
The past can now be changed with a keystroke.
None of those embarrassing witnesses in print,or those tedious book burnings.
How tidy!
A book shelf is cold storage, the Internet is a huge garbage can!
Each has enormous capacity to store information, but the loss of print simply makes the revisionist's job that much easier.
The people can now be "re-VISIONed" at will,leaving everyone with an Orwellian view....except pigs’”
It’s true that technology makes things obsolete or archaic, and forces change. I think about all the letters I used to write by hand to girlfriends before the advent of e-mail. These days, handwritten letters are a big to do. There is no <---backspace button (erasable ink does not count) and it takes at least two days for the person to get it—and in that time, multiple e-mails or phone calls may have already taken place. So, why send anything handwritten at all?
Some would argue that technology has revolutionized the way we listen and purchase music, that people no longer buy CDs (which impacted vinyl, cassettes and the gnarly eight-track), but rather, download whole albums or single songs. The difference is that recorded music is still being played electronically. The containers or storage devices may be different, but energy is still needed to play them. Print, on the other hand, is battery free, portable, and, if it’s too dark to read, candles can be lit.
Robert Coover writes in his essay “The End of Books” that:
“…in the world of video transmissions, cellular phones, fax machines, computer networks, and in particular out in the humming digitalized precincts of avant-garde computer hackers, cyberpunks and hyperspace freaks, you will often hear it said that the print medium is a doomed and outdated technology, a mere curiosity of bygone days destined soon to be consigned forever to those dusty unattended museums we now call libraries.”
If there were no print, if there were no books readily available (only at the library), what would happen if the electricity stopped or the gadgets failed? Y2K-type pandemonium? What would become of the information? Backup storage units are not useful if the power to operate the computer is not available. What about viruses? Also, there is something to be said about holding a book. It’s hard to imagine getting comfortable on a rainy afternoon and reading a novel from an iPad or Kindle or a similar device. The eye strain is not fun. Reading from a book feels more natural and connected…even if it’s typed, even if it’s mass-produced, something about the paper and the binding and the cover is magical and still very practical. A dictionary, for example, you just pick it up and find a definition. True, it cannot be updated without buying another version of the dictionary, which some may argue is wasting paper, but having to boot up a device or rely the internet seems like just as much of an energy waste.
Coover goes on to talk about how “hypertext provides multiple paths between text segments, now often called ‘lexias’.” This is convenient. And, to be clear, technology and the internet are crazy useful. Downloading and linking and submitting files and data help to get things done fast. But going from print to digital only seems like an unnecessary extreme.
Coover also writes that:
“‘Hypertext’" is not a system but a generic term, coined a quarter of a century ago by a computer populist named Ted Nelson to describe the writing done in the nonlinear or nonsequential space made possible by the computer...With its webs of linked lexias, its networks of alternate routes (as opposed to print's fixed unidirectional page-turning) hypertext presents a radically divergent technology, interactive and polyvocal, favoring a plurality of discourses over definitive utterance and freeing the reader from domination by the author. Hypertext reader and writer are said to become co-learners or co-writers, as it were, fellow-travelers in the mapping and remapping of textual (and visual, kinetic and aural) components, not all of which are provided by what used to be called the author.’”
This is insane. When my novel is published, I don’t want a hypertext version to be created for the simple fact that it would break the atmosphere I will have worked so hard to create. If the reader can click click away to other places, I might as well write a news article. Not to knock the news or say that journalism isn’t creative, but novels carry more weight than just delivering information via words on a page. There are emotions and thoughts and craft that go into their creation and to have a point and click adventure while reading them is undermining unless the author is creating a point and click adventure. Who wants to read a hypertextualized Faulkner? Save that shit for notes at the end of the book. Footnotes could be seen as sort of hypertext, but the reader can glance down and stay inside the story (depending on how the footnotes are done—not everyone digs footnotes) as opposed to clicking and having another window pop up.
Coover makes a good point that something is happening in “the subversion of the traditional bourgeois novel and in fictions that challenge linearity,” and I agree. It’s good to challenge the norm and find new modes and avenues. But to make obsolete a system that works and is more organic seems unnecessarily extreme. Why not have both and end the talk about the end of books? Otherwise, there will be war. There will be fire.
Here is a quote about the end of print books that I found on the internet (kind of ironic):
“The loss of print in books magazines and newspapers means the loss of historical perspective.These things have stood immutable in the face of those wishing to change history for centuries.
Their loss is tragic.
The past can now be changed with a keystroke.
None of those embarrassing witnesses in print,or those tedious book burnings.
How tidy!
A book shelf is cold storage, the Internet is a huge garbage can!
Each has enormous capacity to store information, but the loss of print simply makes the revisionist's job that much easier.
The people can now be "re-VISIONed" at will,leaving everyone with an Orwellian view....except pigs’”
On Chpt. 10 ('The Domain Of The Word') of 'Creativity...' by Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi- Reading Response #3
While I resonate quite a bit with the critiques of this chapter Gina offered in her reading response to it about a month back (excess “psychobabble,” tiny sample pool, all of the writers interviewed being white, etc), and agree that drawing conclusions about creativity in general from so small a group of individuals whose experiences may not parallel those of the vast majority of writers or artists across the globe is a questionable move at best, I want to share some thoughts on what I find worthwhile/useful about the comments the interviewed writers, and the author himself, put forth in this section of the book, in part because I’m trying to push past my well-trained readiness to fiercely critique texts with which I take issue, and instead cull something useful from even those I probably wouldn’t pick up were it not for assigned readings in academic contexts.
To begin, I appreciated the validation of writing Csikszentmihalyi offered early on, framing the act as a means by which people with access to stories in book form can push past the limits of “knowing only what happened to us or to those whom we have met.” It’s an obvious truth he’s naming, but in some ways, one that often gets overlooked. Were people dependent only on mass media in the form of televised news program, Hollywood films, and the oftentimes skewed reporting of corporate newspapers for information on the world beyond their fingertips, it’s frightening to think about how much less informed our planet would actually be. Beyond mere pleasure, literature serves a profound social role, namely by making tangible and noteworthy that which readers in one geographical area of a country, a continent, or the world, would have limited access to without the presence of books. I found this assertion a powerful jumping-off point for the discussion that followed on how writers actually go about crafting their work.
While I’m not especially familiar with the writings of most of the authors Csikszentmihalyi cited, I thought each had something to say about how they write that I could apply to my own creative process. Madeleine L’Engle’s remarks on “intuition and intellect working together… making love,” as prerequisite to effective writing, read like a gem of a quote, and had me thinking back on both some rewarding and some frustrating creative writing experiments I’ve engaged with this semester. Not surprisingly, it seemed, in reflection, that the more gratifying of the bunch were created with that balance L’Engle hints to, whereas the more stalled of the projects were (and remain) stuck on using either intuition or intellect alone.
Though I’m not a big fan of his work, Mark Strand’s comments on poetry being “about feeling one syllable rubbing against another, one word giving way to another, and sensing the justice of that relationship between one word, the next, the next…” rang very true for me. I enjoy and prioritize the music of poetry, both written and verbal, and sometimes feel as though the primacy I afford the sound and musicality of writing endeavors is regarded as elementary or immature, especially so by authority figures in academic settings. So, though Strand wasn’t necessarily speaking about the sonic qualities of poetry in this quote, I read into his words an appreciation for the musicality born of close attention to the rapport between words and syllables in any text, and appreciated garnering some sense of this consideration as important to a widely canonized writer whose poetics and politics I’d previously all but dismissed. (Here reappears the idea of garnering something useful from even artists whose creative output doesn’t do much for me.) Strand’s cited “constant alternation between a highly concentrated critical assessment and a relaxed, receptive, nonjudgmental openness to experience,” as required balance for cultivating “good new work,” along with his comments on “something always going on [in the back of his mind]… always working, even if it’s sort of unconsciously, even though I’m carrying on conversations with people and doing other things,” sounded very familiar to me, as I read my own creative processes mirrored in those words. Finding that connection, I was able to open myself up to some of Strand’s sentiments that didn’t seem as recognizable, namely that of sitting down to write “without anything specific in mind.” I found myself wondering why my impetus to write is and has so often been because I feel like I have something very specific to explore, and what I might gain from pushing myself to write, even if there’s no concrete “point” or “purpose” to the project.
Hilde Domin’s emphasis on needing to write when she felt most “alone and helpless,” following her mother’s death, and “[flying] into language,” when such tragedy struck, spoke volumes about the utility of writing as a form of personal (and, potentially, collective) healing or therapy. I imagine this is one of the key reasons our psychoanalyst Csikszentmihalyi included her comments here. Additionally, I found Domin’s take on tuning out the world of critics, and the priority placed in writing circles on big names or recognizable personalities—instead learning how to be her own critic, by cultivating a blend of closeness to and distance from her craft—hugely relevant to my, and probably many other emerging writers’, struggles for validation, and attempts to maintain integrity in the course of cultivating creativity and promoting one’s work. “While you are doing it, you are in it,” she states. “But you must always keep also a distance. And evidently the more you have the skill, the craft, the more you are able to at the same time be in it and also keep the distance and know what you are doing.” I would imagine this quote could apply to artists working across multiple disciplines, and I think it connects well to Csikszentmihalyi’s earlier stated notions about “inhabiting the field” you aim to make art in; that is, if your aim is to excel as a poet, you need be immersed in reading, listening to, and engaging in constant dialogue with other poets. To the extent that one is engrossed in her/his field of interest, clarifying what schools of thought s/he most aligns with, most runs counter to, etc, one can likely nurture an inner critic capable of honestly determining what’s working, and what’s not, in any given project. I appreciate this perspective, in large part because I find the idea of relying on the feedback of peers who may not know one’s creative work over the course of an extended period of time, or may not grasp the aims and purposes of a creative project to the same extent as the creator her/himself does, to be a fault-riddled paradigm for generating useful criticism or evaluation. This is not to say external feedback doesn’t have an important role to play in developing or editing any creative work, just that Domin’s emphasis on being able to nurture your own inner critic, and not growing entirely reliant on assessment from without, feels to me an important endeavor for any self-proclaimed artist.
Lastly, I though the discussion of internalizing rules and limitations in one’s creative pursuits, as related to Anthony Hecht’s work as a lyric poet, offered some essential insights on the role of discipline and clarity of intentions, specifically in achieving success (not commercial success, but personal fulfillment). Hecht’s emphasis on putting order, or crafting a “formal structure,” to “the stuff I get out of the unconscious,” as distinguished from Allen Ginsberg’s project of “annotating the activity of his mind,” seemed to highlight the role revision, editing, “fussing and fiddling,” play in his own creative process. Since I’m also often invested in communicating some idea, or perspective on a social issue, clearly and effectively to a readership or listening audience (though, like Hecht, also find great value and pleasure in that “Ginsberg-ian” ethos of documenting the mind’s moment-to-moment workings, even if it’s not a pursuit with which I align myself), I found in Hecht’s perspectives validation for what, at my most self-critical moments, I can deem an excessively scrupulous attention to detail, structure, and lucidity of conveyed ideas in my own written work. Though my and Hecht’s poetry are probably galaxies away from each other in terms of content or even physical appearance on a page, his inclination towards discipline, as a precondition for liberation “from the jumbled onslaught of raw experience,” left me affirmed in and with my own such propensities.
Friday, April 9, 2010
Reading Response 3: Reconsidering The Workshop (and classroom)
I had wanted to use the idea I am about to explain as my final paper topic, but gleefully, will explain it here instead. In _Colors of a Different Horse_, The first few pages of the chapter titled "Reconsidering the Workshop" expresses a tension that is often felt between creative and critical writers. The author writes that these groups
"coexist uncomfortably in the same departments, pretending that what we both do can be subsumed under the larger rubric of education, but nobody's fooled. They interrogate texts; we try to make stories and poems that will remain stubbornly silent under the most rigorous of questioning And what we do inside the schoolhouse, in the company of students, does not, finally, much resemble what they do" (Bishop, 4).
I am not sure about you, but I sensed some definitive animosity blaring out of the page. The use of "we" and "they" as separating out groups within the same department read as the two being in some sort of academic battle. I found this to be particularly interesting given the fact that I am both a MA student and a creative writer. I have heard and seen all of the stereotypes for both groups and find them to be rather self-defeating and pointless. Being a literary critic has helped my creative writing and my creative writing has certainly affected my critical writing for the positive.
Thus, my proposal is to bring these two groups together into one class that is half spent in creative writing and half spent in critical writing. Ideally, this would be a class of half creative writers and half critical writers and would likely be an upper division class. As I picture it, the first half of the semester would be devoted to creative writing. The students will learn about various tools and techniques to make their stories or poems more interesting. In the second half, the class will then use the creative works just written by their classmates to analyze in critical papers. The fact that the works being analyzed are written by classmates will hopefully allow the process of literary analysis and creative writing to be slightly demystified by each of the groups.
What led me to this idea specifically was the notion that when I learned and practiced creative writing, I became much more attuned to the techniques and styles of authors that I was analyzing for class papers. Similarly, breaking down texts for literary classes lead me to think of my own work in new and exciting ways. Creative writing and expository writing can go hand in hand, and I think the learning experiences that both would gain from being in a class where both areas are highlighted would be immense.
Now, I think that this would be a fun and interesting class, but do any of you agree that it would be helpful? I really like the idea that instead of there being an animosity between writers in the same department that the two groups can teach each-other and learn together simply as lovers of the written word. It would be a great opportunity to try new things and to play with notions of creativity and analysis in new and exciting ways.
The class would also have weekly readings assigned to discuss in both a creative and literary capacity. Thus, this class could possibly be used as an opportunity for MFA students to fill a literature requirement while getting to write creative at the same time. I know that this is a chief complain the literature classes lead little time for writing, so let's make some classes to fix the problem!
Now, I have thought of a few problems that may arise in a class like this. Can you really teach both creative writing and expository writing successfully in a semester? This question is what lead me to believe that a class of this nature would be better suited to upper division students. This way, the absolute bare-bones basics of writing will not need to be taught and more exciting notions can be introduced. Secondly, how receptive will students be to writing critically about another students work? This one I am not so sure of, but based on workshop experience where people have such diverse opinions about pieces I think it would be truly fascinating. As a critical writer, I can tell you that we are pretty much going balls to the wall crazy trying to look at unique perspectives at works that have been around for decades. To get to analyze something fresh and new would be a lot of fun, and I imagine it would be exciting to think of someone spending the time to analyze my creative work as well.
Another question would be if the class should be devoted to one type of creative work or be open to multiple genres. Do you think it would be more successful for this class to switch off between fiction and poetry or to just give the students the right to choose? I am more inclined to think that breaking it up into poetry one semester and fiction the next might be more successful in that it can be hard to teach multiple genres and expository writing in such a short time-frame. Another Question, who should teach the class? Ideally, I think it would be great to have both a creative writing teacher and a literature teacher, but I am thinking that is not too likely. So, I supposed a teacher versed in both areas would be the second choice (I'm available for hire! haha). Despite these minor issues and questions, I would still be super excited to have a class like this offered.
"coexist uncomfortably in the same departments, pretending that what we both do can be subsumed under the larger rubric of education, but nobody's fooled. They interrogate texts; we try to make stories and poems that will remain stubbornly silent under the most rigorous of questioning And what we do inside the schoolhouse, in the company of students, does not, finally, much resemble what they do" (Bishop, 4).
I am not sure about you, but I sensed some definitive animosity blaring out of the page. The use of "we" and "they" as separating out groups within the same department read as the two being in some sort of academic battle. I found this to be particularly interesting given the fact that I am both a MA student and a creative writer. I have heard and seen all of the stereotypes for both groups and find them to be rather self-defeating and pointless. Being a literary critic has helped my creative writing and my creative writing has certainly affected my critical writing for the positive.
Thus, my proposal is to bring these two groups together into one class that is half spent in creative writing and half spent in critical writing. Ideally, this would be a class of half creative writers and half critical writers and would likely be an upper division class. As I picture it, the first half of the semester would be devoted to creative writing. The students will learn about various tools and techniques to make their stories or poems more interesting. In the second half, the class will then use the creative works just written by their classmates to analyze in critical papers. The fact that the works being analyzed are written by classmates will hopefully allow the process of literary analysis and creative writing to be slightly demystified by each of the groups.
What led me to this idea specifically was the notion that when I learned and practiced creative writing, I became much more attuned to the techniques and styles of authors that I was analyzing for class papers. Similarly, breaking down texts for literary classes lead me to think of my own work in new and exciting ways. Creative writing and expository writing can go hand in hand, and I think the learning experiences that both would gain from being in a class where both areas are highlighted would be immense.
Now, I think that this would be a fun and interesting class, but do any of you agree that it would be helpful? I really like the idea that instead of there being an animosity between writers in the same department that the two groups can teach each-other and learn together simply as lovers of the written word. It would be a great opportunity to try new things and to play with notions of creativity and analysis in new and exciting ways.
The class would also have weekly readings assigned to discuss in both a creative and literary capacity. Thus, this class could possibly be used as an opportunity for MFA students to fill a literature requirement while getting to write creative at the same time. I know that this is a chief complain the literature classes lead little time for writing, so let's make some classes to fix the problem!
Now, I have thought of a few problems that may arise in a class like this. Can you really teach both creative writing and expository writing successfully in a semester? This question is what lead me to believe that a class of this nature would be better suited to upper division students. This way, the absolute bare-bones basics of writing will not need to be taught and more exciting notions can be introduced. Secondly, how receptive will students be to writing critically about another students work? This one I am not so sure of, but based on workshop experience where people have such diverse opinions about pieces I think it would be truly fascinating. As a critical writer, I can tell you that we are pretty much going balls to the wall crazy trying to look at unique perspectives at works that have been around for decades. To get to analyze something fresh and new would be a lot of fun, and I imagine it would be exciting to think of someone spending the time to analyze my creative work as well.
Another question would be if the class should be devoted to one type of creative work or be open to multiple genres. Do you think it would be more successful for this class to switch off between fiction and poetry or to just give the students the right to choose? I am more inclined to think that breaking it up into poetry one semester and fiction the next might be more successful in that it can be hard to teach multiple genres and expository writing in such a short time-frame. Another Question, who should teach the class? Ideally, I think it would be great to have both a creative writing teacher and a literature teacher, but I am thinking that is not too likely. So, I supposed a teacher versed in both areas would be the second choice (I'm available for hire! haha). Despite these minor issues and questions, I would still be super excited to have a class like this offered.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Saturday, April 3, 2010
The next big thing?
The following was excerpted from a New York Times article posted on a friend's FB page, and titled "Next Big Thing in English: Knowing You Know That They Know", by Patricia Cohen. In my last response, I wondered about the current state of affairs regarding critical theory. I found the article interesting from that perspective, and also because I'm truly fascinated by science. I've pasted the link at the end of the excerpt if your interest is also piqued.
At a time when university literature departments are confronting painful budget cuts, a moribund job market and pointed scrutiny about the purpose and value of an education in the humanities, the cross-pollination of English and psychology is a providing a revitalizing lift.
Jonathan Gottschall, who has written extensively about using evolutionary theory to explain fiction, said “it’s a new moment of hope” in an era when everyone is talking about “the death of the humanities.” To Mr. Gottschall a scientific approach can rescue literature departments from the malaise that has embraced them over the last decade and a half. Zealous enthusiasm for the politically charged and frequently arcane theories that energized departments in the 1970s, ’80s and early ’90s — Marxism, structuralism, psychoanalysis — has faded. Since then a new generation of scholars have been casting about for The Next Big Thing.
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/04/01/books/01lit.html?pagewanted=1
At a time when university literature departments are confronting painful budget cuts, a moribund job market and pointed scrutiny about the purpose and value of an education in the humanities, the cross-pollination of English and psychology is a providing a revitalizing lift.
Jonathan Gottschall, who has written extensively about using evolutionary theory to explain fiction, said “it’s a new moment of hope” in an era when everyone is talking about “the death of the humanities.” To Mr. Gottschall a scientific approach can rescue literature departments from the malaise that has embraced them over the last decade and a half. Zealous enthusiasm for the politically charged and frequently arcane theories that energized departments in the 1970s, ’80s and early ’90s — Marxism, structuralism, psychoanalysis — has faded. Since then a new generation of scholars have been casting about for The Next Big Thing.
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/04/01/books/01lit.html?pagewanted=1
Friday, April 2, 2010
Response #3
A Precocious Trending of Literary Theory?
I wanted to know what is considered to be the literary critical theory du jour.
Throughout our readings, one thing that was becoming annoyingly glaring, or haunting was, in addition to the dated editions we are reading – Elmaz even mentioned concern regarding this ‘dilemma’ in last Tuesday’s class – is the dated theoretical body of knowledge/works that was being referenced or drawn upon therein, at least, those that were being cited. Just a fraction of the litany: the New Criticism; Structuralism; Deconstruction; Post Modernism; Traditional Literary Criticism; Formalism. Interesting and informative? Yes… from a historical point of view. Satisfying? Well…. In my previous academic life which ended over thirty years ago, we were at that time examining literary texts per the exigencies of Structuralism - which itself was still being refracted through the lenses of the New Criticism – “la Nouvelle Critique”. Argh! It’s all coming back.
My patience was tested when I undertook to read “Reading the Creative Writing Course: The Teacher’s Many Selves”, by Patrick Bizzaro (think he should have changed his name? - I only pose the question) of East Carolina University, and published in Colors Of A Different Horse. Let me just say here that I think our 3 texts are invaluable reading for anyone wanting to understand creativity and its fulcrum in all its iterations. They contain, in fact, wisdom for the ages. It is this particular essay by Bizzaro which stirred in me an appreciation of collaborative writing, offering a perspective I had not previously considered, especially the idea that when collaborating, there has to be a third or other voice for the collaboration to take root. Collaborative writer is one of the “selves” a teacher has to be: “One of the goals of the creative writing teacher should be…showing students not how to change individual texts, but introducing students to the many selves writers might become. To do so, however, teachers must relinquish power in the classroom.” (p. 235). It led me to think more deeply about the delicate and potentially shifting balance of instructor/student, master/apprentice, and teacher/learner dynamic in a creative writing workshop. Just before class last Tuesday when my group met, I had mentioned the idea of a collaborative free write as part of our teaching assignment, so impressed had I been.
Shifting gears - on the third page, p. 236 in Colors of a Different Horse, there it was: the first mention of the old workhorse “ the New Criticism”. And I was impressed by the number of instances it appeared again and again either as an authoritative point of reference or departure. Bizzaro compares the New Criticism to “current thinking about evaluating student writing” (“current” being sometime before the copyright of Colors in 1994) and concludes that “they hold a great many things in common”. All fine and good. But that got me to thinking about what is the current thinking in 2010 with regards to evaluating student writing, and from there I wondered if there exists now a ‘school of thought’ or a new critical theory. Colors of a Different Horse, which I have found to be engaging and informative reading, was copyrighted in 1994. Not so long ago? Mr. Bizzaro’s essay is replete with citations from William Cain, “The Crisis in Criticism”, 1984 (p.237), with works by Richard Lloyd-Jones, “Primary Trait Scoring”, 1977 (p.238), Alberta Turner, “Poets Teaching: The Creative Process”, 1980 (p.237), Wendy Bishop, “Released into Language: Options for Teaching Creative Writing”, 1990 (p.238). With the exception of Wendy Bishop, these critical assays are older than my daughter! An entire generation aged even further, particularly in light of the fast-paced cyberspace era. Things have to have changed, I said to myself. After all, we had an ass as an illegal president in the White House for eight crippling years, and the first, ever, black U.S. president - with an African name, to boot – go Obama! - whose legitimacy continues to plague certain less than fully informed Tea Party goers whose shortsightedness has failed to underscore the subversive character of the previous administration. My apologies – politics are as much a part of the literary terrain as they are the corporate or governmental (Bizzaro: “…the New Criticism, by virtue of its elevation of the text as the authority for meaning, made the study of literature apolitical…”). I do understand that literary criticism, like all things written, has a history - a past - and can/should be regarded under the gels of honorary distinction, at the very least. But I couldn’t help but ask myself over and over what is new. What are the new trends in critical thought and theory? Is there not a new face of the field, to be bow-tied and tuxedoed for the literary prom, to walk the catwalk and strut its stuff on the red carpet to receive its accolades, no matter how transitory or ephemeral?
A brief jog on the Internet highway led me to an article, “Professing Literature in 2008”, by William Deresiewicz, published in The Nation’s March 11, 2008 issue. A generation younger than myself, Deresiewicz confronts the same issue by addressing the then reissued Professing Literature (after twenty years have fled past) by Gerald Graff, a “history of American English departments”, Deresiewicz goes on to say. To quote: “What’s happened since? Graff’s new preface reaffirms his belief that the answer to the mutual isolation of competing critical schools is to ‘teach the conflicts’, but it doesn’t tell us what’s happened in the past twenty years (which happens to be the twenty years since I decided to go to graduate school)”. One senses Deresiewicz‘ frustration, and perhaps disappointment, when he suggests, after making his case, and not without irony, that floundering English departments are desperately trying to keep up by appealing to the continually changing tempo of popular cultural demands, mutating to keep up with the times, such that, he concludes, the “profession’s” agenda is being set by teenagers. His ultimate conclusion: “It’s the fact that no major theoretical school has emerged in the eighteen years since Judith Butler’s Gender Trouble revolutionized gender studies. As Harvard professor Louis Menand [of the New Yorker article, “Should Creative Writing be taught?”, read first off in the semester] said three years ago, our graduate students are writing the same dissertations, with the same tools, as they were in 1990”. And, I might add, as they were in 1978.
Okay, so it takes me a while to get it…but I think I did.
I wanted to know what is considered to be the literary critical theory du jour.
Throughout our readings, one thing that was becoming annoyingly glaring, or haunting was, in addition to the dated editions we are reading – Elmaz even mentioned concern regarding this ‘dilemma’ in last Tuesday’s class – is the dated theoretical body of knowledge/works that was being referenced or drawn upon therein, at least, those that were being cited. Just a fraction of the litany: the New Criticism; Structuralism; Deconstruction; Post Modernism; Traditional Literary Criticism; Formalism. Interesting and informative? Yes… from a historical point of view. Satisfying? Well…. In my previous academic life which ended over thirty years ago, we were at that time examining literary texts per the exigencies of Structuralism - which itself was still being refracted through the lenses of the New Criticism – “la Nouvelle Critique”. Argh! It’s all coming back.
My patience was tested when I undertook to read “Reading the Creative Writing Course: The Teacher’s Many Selves”, by Patrick Bizzaro (think he should have changed his name? - I only pose the question) of East Carolina University, and published in Colors Of A Different Horse. Let me just say here that I think our 3 texts are invaluable reading for anyone wanting to understand creativity and its fulcrum in all its iterations. They contain, in fact, wisdom for the ages. It is this particular essay by Bizzaro which stirred in me an appreciation of collaborative writing, offering a perspective I had not previously considered, especially the idea that when collaborating, there has to be a third or other voice for the collaboration to take root. Collaborative writer is one of the “selves” a teacher has to be: “One of the goals of the creative writing teacher should be…showing students not how to change individual texts, but introducing students to the many selves writers might become. To do so, however, teachers must relinquish power in the classroom.” (p. 235). It led me to think more deeply about the delicate and potentially shifting balance of instructor/student, master/apprentice, and teacher/learner dynamic in a creative writing workshop. Just before class last Tuesday when my group met, I had mentioned the idea of a collaborative free write as part of our teaching assignment, so impressed had I been.
Shifting gears - on the third page, p. 236 in Colors of a Different Horse, there it was: the first mention of the old workhorse “ the New Criticism”. And I was impressed by the number of instances it appeared again and again either as an authoritative point of reference or departure. Bizzaro compares the New Criticism to “current thinking about evaluating student writing” (“current” being sometime before the copyright of Colors in 1994) and concludes that “they hold a great many things in common”. All fine and good. But that got me to thinking about what is the current thinking in 2010 with regards to evaluating student writing, and from there I wondered if there exists now a ‘school of thought’ or a new critical theory. Colors of a Different Horse, which I have found to be engaging and informative reading, was copyrighted in 1994. Not so long ago? Mr. Bizzaro’s essay is replete with citations from William Cain, “The Crisis in Criticism”, 1984 (p.237), with works by Richard Lloyd-Jones, “Primary Trait Scoring”, 1977 (p.238), Alberta Turner, “Poets Teaching: The Creative Process”, 1980 (p.237), Wendy Bishop, “Released into Language: Options for Teaching Creative Writing”, 1990 (p.238). With the exception of Wendy Bishop, these critical assays are older than my daughter! An entire generation aged even further, particularly in light of the fast-paced cyberspace era. Things have to have changed, I said to myself. After all, we had an ass as an illegal president in the White House for eight crippling years, and the first, ever, black U.S. president - with an African name, to boot – go Obama! - whose legitimacy continues to plague certain less than fully informed Tea Party goers whose shortsightedness has failed to underscore the subversive character of the previous administration. My apologies – politics are as much a part of the literary terrain as they are the corporate or governmental (Bizzaro: “…the New Criticism, by virtue of its elevation of the text as the authority for meaning, made the study of literature apolitical…”). I do understand that literary criticism, like all things written, has a history - a past - and can/should be regarded under the gels of honorary distinction, at the very least. But I couldn’t help but ask myself over and over what is new. What are the new trends in critical thought and theory? Is there not a new face of the field, to be bow-tied and tuxedoed for the literary prom, to walk the catwalk and strut its stuff on the red carpet to receive its accolades, no matter how transitory or ephemeral?
A brief jog on the Internet highway led me to an article, “Professing Literature in 2008”, by William Deresiewicz, published in The Nation’s March 11, 2008 issue. A generation younger than myself, Deresiewicz confronts the same issue by addressing the then reissued Professing Literature (after twenty years have fled past) by Gerald Graff, a “history of American English departments”, Deresiewicz goes on to say. To quote: “What’s happened since? Graff’s new preface reaffirms his belief that the answer to the mutual isolation of competing critical schools is to ‘teach the conflicts’, but it doesn’t tell us what’s happened in the past twenty years (which happens to be the twenty years since I decided to go to graduate school)”. One senses Deresiewicz‘ frustration, and perhaps disappointment, when he suggests, after making his case, and not without irony, that floundering English departments are desperately trying to keep up by appealing to the continually changing tempo of popular cultural demands, mutating to keep up with the times, such that, he concludes, the “profession’s” agenda is being set by teenagers. His ultimate conclusion: “It’s the fact that no major theoretical school has emerged in the eighteen years since Judith Butler’s Gender Trouble revolutionized gender studies. As Harvard professor Louis Menand [of the New Yorker article, “Should Creative Writing be taught?”, read first off in the semester] said three years ago, our graduate students are writing the same dissertations, with the same tools, as they were in 1990”. And, I might add, as they were in 1978.
Okay, so it takes me a while to get it…but I think I did.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
"On The Syllabus"
1. What are the goals of this course and how do I want to communicate this to my students:
In this class you will develop the confidence to analyze the readings that are assigned, the works of your peers, and your own work, as well as gain the comfort to be open to new ideas, genres, and styles.
2. What teaching style do I plan to use and how much are the students involved in the pedagogy of the class:
Participation, discussion, and staying on top of reading are vital so that you can embark on your own journey and writing experience, as well as stay on track in the course.
3. What are the formal expectations of this class:
Your semester's goal is to have one piece of writing that you are confident with, keeping in mind what you did to take your writing where it is.
4. What are the pitfalls of the class:
Workshopping can be a rewarding experience if all students in the class follow the guidelines, are respectful of each other, and are open to new experiences and ideas.
5. What is the role of reading in your class:
A reading is due for each class. The focus of the reading is what the writer does and how. I want students to think of the authors as peers--no matter what the style, time period, genre, etc. They are who students must learn from--make connections with, have conversations with while reading. A reading response is due about whatever sparks your interest or inspires you to write.
Sorry for the delay!
In this class you will develop the confidence to analyze the readings that are assigned, the works of your peers, and your own work, as well as gain the comfort to be open to new ideas, genres, and styles.
2. What teaching style do I plan to use and how much are the students involved in the pedagogy of the class:
Participation, discussion, and staying on top of reading are vital so that you can embark on your own journey and writing experience, as well as stay on track in the course.
3. What are the formal expectations of this class:
Your semester's goal is to have one piece of writing that you are confident with, keeping in mind what you did to take your writing where it is.
4. What are the pitfalls of the class:
Workshopping can be a rewarding experience if all students in the class follow the guidelines, are respectful of each other, and are open to new experiences and ideas.
5. What is the role of reading in your class:
A reading is due for each class. The focus of the reading is what the writer does and how. I want students to think of the authors as peers--no matter what the style, time period, genre, etc. They are who students must learn from--make connections with, have conversations with while reading. A reading response is due about whatever sparks your interest or inspires you to write.
Sorry for the delay!
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Teaching Observation- Berkeley Community College
Logistics
Class title: English 92B, Poetry Workshop, through Berkeley Community College, on the campus of UC Berkeley
Class instructor: Professor Sharon Coleman
Date observed: March 9, 2010
Size of class: 30, approximately
Make up of the class: Huge age range, emblematic of many community colleges. There were students in their 20s, there were students in their 60s, and all ages in between. But definitely a large contingency of folks from both poles of that range (i.e. a good number of students just beginning their undergraduate studies, and a good number of older participants just taking one or two evening classes, to re-engage with topics of interest). This was a very multi-racial/multi-ethnic group. I would estimate roughly 50% white students, 50% students of color, mostly black and Latino/a. A similarly 50/50 balance of women and men.
Physical arrangement of the class: Because of the class size, it seemed tough to have any seating arrangement other than a series of rows. One full circle would have been impossible to create, given the space restrictions. There were probably five rows of desks, each row consisting of six or so students. This made the classroom feel quite large, and the gap from first to last row created something of a disconnect between students at the front and at the back of the class.
Social atmosphere of the class: There was a lighthearted mood before and throughout the course of the evening. A series of cliques had certainly already formed over the course of the semester, seemingly on the basis of age and similar poetics (i.e. younger students seemed to interact primarily with one another, and the same was true for the older students). The teacher had a very warm, student-centered approach, enabling a lot of commentary from students over the course of the first half of the class, which entailed a presentation and discussion of a specific text. Sometimes, though, it seemed as though the conversation could have benefited from the teacher directing the conversation a little more directly/concretely.
Time class started: 6:40 pm, about ten minutes after its stated start time.
Substance
The class was broken up into two halves, each roughly an hour and fifteen minutes in length. For the first half, students read aloud and discussed excerpts from a text Professor Coleman brought in and made copies of, entitled Erotic Love Poems From India, a collection of mostly short poems written by unspecified/anonymous scribes from between the years 800 and 1000, translated from ancient Sanskrit. The framing questions for the readings/discussion included: ‘What is the difference between love and eroticism?’ (which somehow morphed into a conversation about differentiating between pornography and the erotic) and ‘How do these poets imbue everyday objects with a sense of the erotic?’ The first half of the class concluded with a ten minute group free writing period, in which students were first asked to create a list of ten everyday objects with which they regularly interact, then write vignettes styled similarly as the short poems just read, in which those everyday objects are endowed with properties that transcend their obvious use or utility. For the second half of the class, students broke up into groups of five, and workshopped individual poems (each student allotted roughly ten to twelve minutes for discussion of the writing they brought in). Professor Coleman circulated throughout the room, dipping into the various small groups to ensure folks were talking and to support the discussion/engagements with student writing.
There were no specific goals stated for the first half of the class, though the questions Professor Coleman offered to frame the discussion, as well as the readiness to speak a good portion of the students displayed, kept the conversation lively and constant. Of course, given the size of the class, there were also a number of students who spoke rarely, if at all, and I didn’t get a sense that the teacher was doing anything extra to invite them into the conversation (perhaps she’d already made a point of urging quieter students to contribute earlier in the semester?). As mentioned, though, she had a very affable, approachable personality, and never claimed final authority in terms of her perspectives on the poems studied. Her teaching method was consistently Socratic, and while she critiqued the ‘New Age-y, Berkeley’ packaging of the text, she also named the usefulness of some of the writing therein to the creative projects her students were pursuing. I gathered that the students had a good deal of respect for her, and appreciated her personality as one component creating a safe space for them to explore new avenues in their writing.
Outcome
As for the impact of the substance of the class, the clearest impression I could garner was really through the free writing activity, and the work some students were willing to share immediately afterwards. It did seem as though the students were able to make good use of the framework Professor Coleman offered (i.e. taking everyday objects, and giving them some depth/layering beyond their apparent/evident function). Folks were able to tinge plants, desks, cooking pots, even car dashboards with hints of the erotic, and some spoke of the activity stirring up ideas for longer, more focused writing endeavors. On that basis alone, I’d say the activity was a success. Similarly, the teacher’s willingness to circulate during the workshop half of the class, sitting in and offering gentle but specific feedback to students whose writing was being discussed, seemed both appreciated and valuable.
(Post Script: If someone cares to tell me why the font on my blog posts always seems to change for the last couple paragraphs, when I cut and paste Word documents into the blog window, I'd be quite grateful!)
A Rough Draft on the Syllabus
In this class you will explore three different genres (fiction, nonfiction, poetry) and imitate author’s style and email me your piece, so that I can give you feedback before small group and large class discussion.
Group work, pair work, and discussions are an important part of the class. In-class participation will affect your progress in this class.
You will produce three pieces (from five to seven pages long) of craft from each genre you have learned and revise one of your favorite pieces as your final paper.
For the first half of the workshop, you select a paragraph from your piece to let the class dissect the narrative techniques and discuss how sentence structure function in your narrative. For the other half, the larger class will discuss and dissect and comment your piece for further development.
You will write a 1-2 paragraph response to assigned close reading and will read it to class each week. In your response you will explain what is and what is not effective, in terms of narrative techniques and devices and elements.
Group work, pair work, and discussions are an important part of the class. In-class participation will affect your progress in this class.
You will produce three pieces (from five to seven pages long) of craft from each genre you have learned and revise one of your favorite pieces as your final paper.
For the first half of the workshop, you select a paragraph from your piece to let the class dissect the narrative techniques and discuss how sentence structure function in your narrative. For the other half, the larger class will discuss and dissect and comment your piece for further development.
You will write a 1-2 paragraph response to assigned close reading and will read it to class each week. In your response you will explain what is and what is not effective, in terms of narrative techniques and devices and elements.
Syllabus
The proposition: I want each student to recognize at least a glimpse of their inner voice, develop a small preference for a genre they are inclined toward, and develop a working familiarity with literary terms and processes.
On the Syllabus: Congratulations! If you are scanning this syllabus you are more than likely enrolled in Introduction to Creative Writing. In this class you will be reading for pleasure and writing for enjoyment. As students you will be reading a collage of fiction, poetry, and non-fiction. You will explore various crafting techniques and literary vocabulary that introduce you to the basic foundation of writing. You will complete a final project of your choice (I’ll provide options, wise-guys) and will speak up during class discussion (a shy whisper is certainly permissible but remember a non-existent voice is no fun and disrespectful to your classmates and the author we are studying).
******
The Proposition: I want students to feel confident and in command of the subject. Engaging in classroom discussion is a must. I also want students to feel comfortable about approaching me during office hours. Gaining a simple understanding of the history, influences and roots of a genre or the piece of literature that we are studying is also important. I would like to do ½ lecture and ½ discussion or workshop.
On the Syllabus: I will introduce the history, influences, and roots of the reading or author at the beginning of each class. During the second half of the class you will engage in discussion or workshop. Your thorough preparation and enthusiasm is necessary in maintaining a strong and invigorating learning environment. Remember to respect others when commenting; your words are powerful and may impact your peers in a positive or negative way. If you have any questions or want further discussion of a topic sign up for office hours and I’ll try to be as helpful as possible.
**
The Proposition: I want the class to complete a proposal outline and a final draft of the actual project i.e. chapbook, short story. A steady progression of work throughout the course of a semester will develop discipline and be rewarding when the student sees their final project.
On the Syllabus: You are expected to participate to the best of your ability in all class requirements. Specifically you are responsible for all writing exercises, providing positive and constructive feedback on your peers writing, and completion of a final project. You should come to class having read the assigned material. No ifs, ands, buts, or maybes, will be accepted and I reserve the right to give an unexpected and unplanned “pop” quiz. To be a good writer one must be well read, therefore you should not be alarmed by the word “quiz”.
Above all I want you to have fun. I am flexible and when presented with a well-thought argument I am more than willing to negotiate the terms and conditions of this syllabus.
**
The Proposition: I’m worried that students won’t stay motivated and may think that the class is dragging or lacking in material students can relate to.
On the Syllabus: I will limit my lectures to the first twenty minutes of the class on the day that a new piece of literature has been assigned. If time permits I will integrate outside sources like film and music into the class agenda. More importantly I am committed to providing each student the opportunity to workshop a significant portion of their final project.
**
The proposition: Knowledge is power. I want students to develop an affinity for flipping open a page. I want students to find universal themes, specifically using Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs, in literature that is considered to be more popular culture and those considered to be more academic. Finding a happy medium is ideal.
On the Syllabus: Please refer to the assignment page in this syllabus for reading due dates. The literature read in this class will provoke thought that centers on class, morality, racial tension, and the loss of innocence.
On the Syllabus: Congratulations! If you are scanning this syllabus you are more than likely enrolled in Introduction to Creative Writing. In this class you will be reading for pleasure and writing for enjoyment. As students you will be reading a collage of fiction, poetry, and non-fiction. You will explore various crafting techniques and literary vocabulary that introduce you to the basic foundation of writing. You will complete a final project of your choice (I’ll provide options, wise-guys) and will speak up during class discussion (a shy whisper is certainly permissible but remember a non-existent voice is no fun and disrespectful to your classmates and the author we are studying).
******
The Proposition: I want students to feel confident and in command of the subject. Engaging in classroom discussion is a must. I also want students to feel comfortable about approaching me during office hours. Gaining a simple understanding of the history, influences and roots of a genre or the piece of literature that we are studying is also important. I would like to do ½ lecture and ½ discussion or workshop.
On the Syllabus: I will introduce the history, influences, and roots of the reading or author at the beginning of each class. During the second half of the class you will engage in discussion or workshop. Your thorough preparation and enthusiasm is necessary in maintaining a strong and invigorating learning environment. Remember to respect others when commenting; your words are powerful and may impact your peers in a positive or negative way. If you have any questions or want further discussion of a topic sign up for office hours and I’ll try to be as helpful as possible.
**
The Proposition: I want the class to complete a proposal outline and a final draft of the actual project i.e. chapbook, short story. A steady progression of work throughout the course of a semester will develop discipline and be rewarding when the student sees their final project.
On the Syllabus: You are expected to participate to the best of your ability in all class requirements. Specifically you are responsible for all writing exercises, providing positive and constructive feedback on your peers writing, and completion of a final project. You should come to class having read the assigned material. No ifs, ands, buts, or maybes, will be accepted and I reserve the right to give an unexpected and unplanned “pop” quiz. To be a good writer one must be well read, therefore you should not be alarmed by the word “quiz”.
Above all I want you to have fun. I am flexible and when presented with a well-thought argument I am more than willing to negotiate the terms and conditions of this syllabus.
**
The Proposition: I’m worried that students won’t stay motivated and may think that the class is dragging or lacking in material students can relate to.
On the Syllabus: I will limit my lectures to the first twenty minutes of the class on the day that a new piece of literature has been assigned. If time permits I will integrate outside sources like film and music into the class agenda. More importantly I am committed to providing each student the opportunity to workshop a significant portion of their final project.
**
The proposition: Knowledge is power. I want students to develop an affinity for flipping open a page. I want students to find universal themes, specifically using Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs, in literature that is considered to be more popular culture and those considered to be more academic. Finding a happy medium is ideal.
On the Syllabus: Please refer to the assignment page in this syllabus for reading due dates. The literature read in this class will provoke thought that centers on class, morality, racial tension, and the loss of innocence.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Classroom Observation
Class Title: Creative Non-Fiction
Class Instructor: Maria Hummel
Location: Stanford University
Date Observed: March 8,2010
What is the size of the class? 16 class total
What is the make up of the class? undergraduates, all majors, 1:15 B/G ratio
How is the class physically arranged? A small room with windows (at eye level) in 2 of the 4 walls. Students sat around a large rectangular conference table. A chalkboard was at one end of the classroom.
What is the social atmosphere of the class? Everyone seemed friendly and well acquainted. However many of the students only met one another at the beginning of this class. Out of the sixteen only 2 are creative writing majors. The students were anxious to begin class when the teacher entered the classroom. They were excited to discuss plans for the upcoming final class (Stanford U. is on a quarter system).
What time did the class start? 1:15-3:05 The teacher dismissed the class fifteen minutes early.
******
What were the activities of the class? The class discussed business (entry into the CW class lottery and the class list for the next quarter), critiqued three 15 page pieces, and made plans for the final class (CUPCAKE PARTY!!!!! How awesome, is that?)
Were goals stated for the activities? The teacher stressed that the class was not specifically focused on memoir writing but pieces should still attempt to incorporate would could be considered literary emotion into the journalism/ non-fiction essays.
How were the activities conducted? Each piece was discussed individually and began with the student reading an excerpt chosen by the glass. The teacher only spoke to diffuse a negative comment or introduce another example/topic of interest into the workshop. Each piece was critiqued for 20-30 minutes.
Was text used? No text.
Lecturing? Discussion? Exercises? In-class writing? None, other than the expected discussion for workshop.
How many students participated? 3 pieces. All of the students joined in the conversation. If a student had spoken less than their peers the teacher would ask that student to begin the discussion about the next piece.
Described interactions among peers and with professor? The students and professor had a positive rapport and maintained a strong student/teacher relationship.
*****
What was the atmosphere of the class? The atmosphere was very healthy and encouraging. The majority of the feedback was positive and all of it was constructive.
Were the students involved? Yes, the students were involved and contributed with selfless comments that were well-thought and designed to help the writer being workshopped.
Did the substance of the class have impact? Yes, all of the pieces were well-written about subjects that are locally impacting. The students brought insight from several disciplines including marine biology, computer engineering, journalism, and sociology.
How did the professor engage the students? How did the students engage each other?
The professor treated the students as mature adults who are all capable of success.
Your general impression of the effectiveness of the class? The class was effective and well-organized. Obviously a writing class will make a positive impact on all of their studies.
Did you talk to the professor and what did you learn? I talked to the professor for only a moment and learned more from observing the class than from our discussion. When I complemented the students maturity she replied "well, these are Stanford kids, what do you expect?"
Class Instructor: Maria Hummel
Location: Stanford University
Date Observed: March 8,2010
What is the size of the class? 16 class total
What is the make up of the class? undergraduates, all majors, 1:15 B/G ratio
How is the class physically arranged? A small room with windows (at eye level) in 2 of the 4 walls. Students sat around a large rectangular conference table. A chalkboard was at one end of the classroom.
What is the social atmosphere of the class? Everyone seemed friendly and well acquainted. However many of the students only met one another at the beginning of this class. Out of the sixteen only 2 are creative writing majors. The students were anxious to begin class when the teacher entered the classroom. They were excited to discuss plans for the upcoming final class (Stanford U. is on a quarter system).
What time did the class start? 1:15-3:05 The teacher dismissed the class fifteen minutes early.
******
What were the activities of the class? The class discussed business (entry into the CW class lottery and the class list for the next quarter), critiqued three 15 page pieces, and made plans for the final class (CUPCAKE PARTY!!!!! How awesome, is that?)
Were goals stated for the activities? The teacher stressed that the class was not specifically focused on memoir writing but pieces should still attempt to incorporate would could be considered literary emotion into the journalism/ non-fiction essays.
How were the activities conducted? Each piece was discussed individually and began with the student reading an excerpt chosen by the glass. The teacher only spoke to diffuse a negative comment or introduce another example/topic of interest into the workshop. Each piece was critiqued for 20-30 minutes.
Was text used? No text.
Lecturing? Discussion? Exercises? In-class writing? None, other than the expected discussion for workshop.
How many students participated? 3 pieces. All of the students joined in the conversation. If a student had spoken less than their peers the teacher would ask that student to begin the discussion about the next piece.
Described interactions among peers and with professor? The students and professor had a positive rapport and maintained a strong student/teacher relationship.
*****
What was the atmosphere of the class? The atmosphere was very healthy and encouraging. The majority of the feedback was positive and all of it was constructive.
Were the students involved? Yes, the students were involved and contributed with selfless comments that were well-thought and designed to help the writer being workshopped.
Did the substance of the class have impact? Yes, all of the pieces were well-written about subjects that are locally impacting. The students brought insight from several disciplines including marine biology, computer engineering, journalism, and sociology.
How did the professor engage the students? How did the students engage each other?
The professor treated the students as mature adults who are all capable of success.
Your general impression of the effectiveness of the class? The class was effective and well-organized. Obviously a writing class will make a positive impact on all of their studies.
Did you talk to the professor and what did you learn? I talked to the professor for only a moment and learned more from observing the class than from our discussion. When I complemented the students maturity she replied "well, these are Stanford kids, what do you expect?"
Massoni Reader Response #3
The Domain of the Word
Having not yet responded to Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, I was eager to dive into this chapter, dedicated to the specific creative experiences of novelists and poets. I often find interviews with writers on craft to be some of the more inspiring access points to a writer’s unique world. For how else can we get any closer?
I believe it was Orhan Pamuk who once said writing “is a commitment to being alone in a room.” We all experience this isolation, and we all attempt to release honest renderings of our imagination, experience, and the characters we create and emotions we invoke. Attempts to communicate these other worlds that often spring from solitude seem inherently challenged. We cannot sit by the side of the writer, perch on the edge of his/her desk, and simply observe. So, we read interviews, we read textbooks on creativity, and we engage in dialogue with other representatives of our field. Perhaps when we’re fortunate enough to publish, we communicate with members of our audience. All the while, there is the voice of our critic to contend with, who tells us when to cut, when to start over, and hopefully, finally, when to rest in completion.
I did take away helpful snippets from “The Domain of the Word,” and I’d like to begin forming this response with those. The first point seems obvious, when Csikszentmihalyi writes: “we all write to a certain extent, so the craft of professional writers is not abstruse” (237). This is true. We all need to communicate with one another, despite our professional pursuits, especially today, when so much business is conducted through email. Our verbal communication skills feel like they may only continue to atrophy when one can resort to an email/text rather than a phone call or face-to-face conversation. This digression is meant to reiterate that writing skills are perhaps MORE important than they have ever been before, as the written word continues to pervade the ordering of our professional and social worlds.
Csikszentmihalyi looks back at the evolution of written language. He assesses that “the oldest symbolic systems in the world are those organized around content and the rules of language,” and goes on to state: “the discovery of writing made it possible to preserve memory outside the fragile brain, the domain of the word became one of the most effective tools and greatest sources of pride for humankind” (238). And perhaps this is what writing is fundamentally about: preserving memory and experience outside of ourselves, truly releasing something from our brains through our fingers and out into the world; writing as giving birth if you will.
This exteriority is coupled with a complex interiority, for “the written word allows us to understand better what is happening within ourselves. In recording real or imaginary events, the writer arrests the evanescent stream of experience by naming its aspects and making them enduring in language. Then by reading and repeating a verse or passage of prose, we can savor the images and their meanings and thus understand more accurately how we feel and what we think” (238). This summation sounds lovely in theory, and certainly the process of expressing ourselves through writing often leads to a clarity of mind we might not have arrived at without the filter of translating thought into text. However, it sounds all too easy. Elmaz asked us an interesting question last class when it came to writing our syllabuses: Who needs to be served/satisfied here? The teacher or the student? I found this compelling as I’ve been wondering if it has to be one or the other? How do we ensure the progression of our students’ creativity and productivity and hold ourselves accountable as teachers and derive a sense of self-satisfaction from that? Are these mutually beneficial always? Exclusive on occasion?
Does the same theory hold for writing? Should we be concerned about serving/satisfying our audience? Or with achieving this personal understanding as Csikszentmihalyi suggests? Shouldn’t we focus more on living up to the authenticity of the creative piece at hand and serving THE WORK? I’m not sure that I’m motivated by understanding more accurately how I feel or what I think. At least not while I’m in process, which is what the portions of Creativity: Flow and the Psychology of Discovery and Invention that we have read seem to be concerned with thus far.
This chapter seems specifically concerned with the intersection “between the intellect and the intuition” (239), which calls to my mind a rather formal and scientific visual rendering of creativity, and one that needs to be defined by the very material at hand: language. This week in my Craft of Fiction class with Professor Powell, we discussed Aureole by Carole Maso and themes of language and desire. Our conversation culminated in the idea that many of the books we’ve read this semester illustrate where language CANNOT go, and other failings of text. For these books often challenge even the way we conventionally read a book or can be read quite differently depending on the reader’s current emotional or mental state. What happens when language does fail us? Perhaps in terms of how we express the experience of reading a particular book or perhaps here with what Csikszentmihalyi is discussing: how we write?
Mark Strand mentions patience as one element that is required when language may be failing or not conforming to the images or emotions the writer wants to express. He says of his poetry that “the secret of saying something new is to be patient,” (240), that reacting too quickly might yield a superficial cliché rather than a deeper, original meaning. He suggests that the same patience is required of the reader: “Poetry is about slowing down…There’s no rush to find out what happens in a poem. It’s really about feeling one syllable rubbing against another, one word giving way to another, and sensing the justice of that relationship between one word, the next, the next, the next” (240).
When Strand specifically addresses language, however, he claims that “Writers are people who have greater receptivity to language, and I think that they will see something in a phrase, or even a word, that allows them to change it or improve what was there before” (241). While I adore Strand’s work and I want to believe this, and it certainly sounds true of writers, particularly during editing phases, it sounds rather conceited to assume the writer’s receptivity is greater than any other’s. Doesn’t the perceptivity of the words we place next to one another dependent upon the receptivity of our readers? Who’s to say one is any greater than the other?
For often isn’t it the experience that precedes language that may give us something to say in the first place? I appreciated the candor of Hilde Domin and the “chronic state of psychological dislocation” (244) that appears in her work, which she presents as a kind of salvation, saying that “flight into a world of symbols saves the writer from the unbearable reality where experience is raw and unmediated” (245). Again here though, the writer seems to be the one served, and readers an after thought in order to preserve the integrity required to package a difficult experience in language.
Domin also speaks directly to my previous point about the limitations of language. As she learned up to five different languages, she observed “the same word may have a certain set of connotations in one and a very different network of meanings in another. Or that one language could express some emotions or events more accurately than another” (245). While this is not a novel observation, it suggests the borders of any one language and its ability to be the best mode of expression for a certain experience. Despite her great knowledge of multiple languages, Domin ultimately gravitated back to her native tongue, German, and that is the language where she found her utmost refuge for “she could not live where that language was not spoken” (245). This further suggests something about how we absorb spoken language as well. Perhaps it’s never enough simply to push words in one direction, away from ourselves; so much also depends on the ways we take in those words (reading is relevant here, too).
I was flabbergasted to have it confirmed that Domin’s fair instinct to concentrate “on the merits of the writing instead of the personality or politics of the writer” when judging literary prizes so starkly contrasts with the way it is commonly done in her experience. How then do we take the field to task? How can it be fair that politics should count more than the writing itself? I truly don’t understand how “jealous and antagonistic critics” are permitted “to silence the artist’s voice” (246). I understand the dynamics of competition, but I don’t understand the places jealousy or antagonism have earned in the field. How does that serve anyone? Finally, I appreciate the time and practical advice Domin gives to aspiring writers she believes she can help, so I reiterate it here: “mainly to simplify, to cut out whatever is redundant, flabby, unnecessary” (247).
Madeleine L’Engle seems an example of a writer who could have been silenced altogether by a field that did not want to let her into the domain, rejecting her manuscript A Wrinkle in Time as many times as it did, saying it didn’t fit neatly into conventional notions of genre or either adult or YA prose. While success didn’t arrive until after 40, admirably, L’Engle “was never tempted to compromise her vision in order to play it safe” (257). While “the enjoyment of writing comes first” for L’Engle, it’s soon followed by “a sense of responsibility for what she writes” (255), which seems a conscious serving of both writer and audience, and is why her stories preserve “some kind of hope” (255).
As for Richard Stern, I don’t mean to belittle his literary accomplishments, but he sounds like one more Caucasian male who had the good fortune to study at Iowa (among other Caucasian males) and who began to publish prolifically in the mid-20th century. Yet, he too, it seems, must “overcome the pain of existence” (261) through writing. While his observations earned their place in the domain, I’m not sure how relevant his personal story is to aspiring writers, many of whom will undoubtedly be of different age, race, gender, or socio-economic bracket (I found it interesting that Mark Strand was the only writer to mention the financial constraints brought on by career choice).
So does Csikszentmihalyi fulfill this chapter’s hypothesis: to present “a number of cases from the same domain, in order to get a more detailed understanding of what is involved in producing a cultural change” (238). Alas, he wraps up his chapter by generalizing the similarities of these five writers, all of whom “keep notebooks handy for when the voice of the Muse calls…usually start a working day with a word, a phrase, or an image” and their “work evolves on its own rather than the author’s intentions” (263). What’s more, if one does not maintain the two processes of trying not to “miss the message whispered by the unconscious and at the same time force it into a suitable form” … “the flow or writing dries up.” Well, this is certainly a daunting threat, since, “after a few hours the tremendous concentration required for this balancing act becomes so exhausting that the writer has to change gears and focus on something else, something mundane” (264).
I still have to wonder what other methods are out there for cultural change? I admit that I do not write fiction everyday. In some ways, I will consider myself a failure until I do. I also try to acknowledge that I’m in a demanding program while I work a virtual full-time job. But I know Elmaz did this, too. And she confided that she writes all day some four times a week on her writing days. Oh, the dedication that can inspire! I seriously doubt that after a few hours, she finds she can do nothing else but turn to the mundane.
Having not yet responded to Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, I was eager to dive into this chapter, dedicated to the specific creative experiences of novelists and poets. I often find interviews with writers on craft to be some of the more inspiring access points to a writer’s unique world. For how else can we get any closer?
I believe it was Orhan Pamuk who once said writing “is a commitment to being alone in a room.” We all experience this isolation, and we all attempt to release honest renderings of our imagination, experience, and the characters we create and emotions we invoke. Attempts to communicate these other worlds that often spring from solitude seem inherently challenged. We cannot sit by the side of the writer, perch on the edge of his/her desk, and simply observe. So, we read interviews, we read textbooks on creativity, and we engage in dialogue with other representatives of our field. Perhaps when we’re fortunate enough to publish, we communicate with members of our audience. All the while, there is the voice of our critic to contend with, who tells us when to cut, when to start over, and hopefully, finally, when to rest in completion.
I did take away helpful snippets from “The Domain of the Word,” and I’d like to begin forming this response with those. The first point seems obvious, when Csikszentmihalyi writes: “we all write to a certain extent, so the craft of professional writers is not abstruse” (237). This is true. We all need to communicate with one another, despite our professional pursuits, especially today, when so much business is conducted through email. Our verbal communication skills feel like they may only continue to atrophy when one can resort to an email/text rather than a phone call or face-to-face conversation. This digression is meant to reiterate that writing skills are perhaps MORE important than they have ever been before, as the written word continues to pervade the ordering of our professional and social worlds.
Csikszentmihalyi looks back at the evolution of written language. He assesses that “the oldest symbolic systems in the world are those organized around content and the rules of language,” and goes on to state: “the discovery of writing made it possible to preserve memory outside the fragile brain, the domain of the word became one of the most effective tools and greatest sources of pride for humankind” (238). And perhaps this is what writing is fundamentally about: preserving memory and experience outside of ourselves, truly releasing something from our brains through our fingers and out into the world; writing as giving birth if you will.
This exteriority is coupled with a complex interiority, for “the written word allows us to understand better what is happening within ourselves. In recording real or imaginary events, the writer arrests the evanescent stream of experience by naming its aspects and making them enduring in language. Then by reading and repeating a verse or passage of prose, we can savor the images and their meanings and thus understand more accurately how we feel and what we think” (238). This summation sounds lovely in theory, and certainly the process of expressing ourselves through writing often leads to a clarity of mind we might not have arrived at without the filter of translating thought into text. However, it sounds all too easy. Elmaz asked us an interesting question last class when it came to writing our syllabuses: Who needs to be served/satisfied here? The teacher or the student? I found this compelling as I’ve been wondering if it has to be one or the other? How do we ensure the progression of our students’ creativity and productivity and hold ourselves accountable as teachers and derive a sense of self-satisfaction from that? Are these mutually beneficial always? Exclusive on occasion?
Does the same theory hold for writing? Should we be concerned about serving/satisfying our audience? Or with achieving this personal understanding as Csikszentmihalyi suggests? Shouldn’t we focus more on living up to the authenticity of the creative piece at hand and serving THE WORK? I’m not sure that I’m motivated by understanding more accurately how I feel or what I think. At least not while I’m in process, which is what the portions of Creativity: Flow and the Psychology of Discovery and Invention that we have read seem to be concerned with thus far.
This chapter seems specifically concerned with the intersection “between the intellect and the intuition” (239), which calls to my mind a rather formal and scientific visual rendering of creativity, and one that needs to be defined by the very material at hand: language. This week in my Craft of Fiction class with Professor Powell, we discussed Aureole by Carole Maso and themes of language and desire. Our conversation culminated in the idea that many of the books we’ve read this semester illustrate where language CANNOT go, and other failings of text. For these books often challenge even the way we conventionally read a book or can be read quite differently depending on the reader’s current emotional or mental state. What happens when language does fail us? Perhaps in terms of how we express the experience of reading a particular book or perhaps here with what Csikszentmihalyi is discussing: how we write?
Mark Strand mentions patience as one element that is required when language may be failing or not conforming to the images or emotions the writer wants to express. He says of his poetry that “the secret of saying something new is to be patient,” (240), that reacting too quickly might yield a superficial cliché rather than a deeper, original meaning. He suggests that the same patience is required of the reader: “Poetry is about slowing down…There’s no rush to find out what happens in a poem. It’s really about feeling one syllable rubbing against another, one word giving way to another, and sensing the justice of that relationship between one word, the next, the next, the next” (240).
When Strand specifically addresses language, however, he claims that “Writers are people who have greater receptivity to language, and I think that they will see something in a phrase, or even a word, that allows them to change it or improve what was there before” (241). While I adore Strand’s work and I want to believe this, and it certainly sounds true of writers, particularly during editing phases, it sounds rather conceited to assume the writer’s receptivity is greater than any other’s. Doesn’t the perceptivity of the words we place next to one another dependent upon the receptivity of our readers? Who’s to say one is any greater than the other?
For often isn’t it the experience that precedes language that may give us something to say in the first place? I appreciated the candor of Hilde Domin and the “chronic state of psychological dislocation” (244) that appears in her work, which she presents as a kind of salvation, saying that “flight into a world of symbols saves the writer from the unbearable reality where experience is raw and unmediated” (245). Again here though, the writer seems to be the one served, and readers an after thought in order to preserve the integrity required to package a difficult experience in language.
Domin also speaks directly to my previous point about the limitations of language. As she learned up to five different languages, she observed “the same word may have a certain set of connotations in one and a very different network of meanings in another. Or that one language could express some emotions or events more accurately than another” (245). While this is not a novel observation, it suggests the borders of any one language and its ability to be the best mode of expression for a certain experience. Despite her great knowledge of multiple languages, Domin ultimately gravitated back to her native tongue, German, and that is the language where she found her utmost refuge for “she could not live where that language was not spoken” (245). This further suggests something about how we absorb spoken language as well. Perhaps it’s never enough simply to push words in one direction, away from ourselves; so much also depends on the ways we take in those words (reading is relevant here, too).
I was flabbergasted to have it confirmed that Domin’s fair instinct to concentrate “on the merits of the writing instead of the personality or politics of the writer” when judging literary prizes so starkly contrasts with the way it is commonly done in her experience. How then do we take the field to task? How can it be fair that politics should count more than the writing itself? I truly don’t understand how “jealous and antagonistic critics” are permitted “to silence the artist’s voice” (246). I understand the dynamics of competition, but I don’t understand the places jealousy or antagonism have earned in the field. How does that serve anyone? Finally, I appreciate the time and practical advice Domin gives to aspiring writers she believes she can help, so I reiterate it here: “mainly to simplify, to cut out whatever is redundant, flabby, unnecessary” (247).
Madeleine L’Engle seems an example of a writer who could have been silenced altogether by a field that did not want to let her into the domain, rejecting her manuscript A Wrinkle in Time as many times as it did, saying it didn’t fit neatly into conventional notions of genre or either adult or YA prose. While success didn’t arrive until after 40, admirably, L’Engle “was never tempted to compromise her vision in order to play it safe” (257). While “the enjoyment of writing comes first” for L’Engle, it’s soon followed by “a sense of responsibility for what she writes” (255), which seems a conscious serving of both writer and audience, and is why her stories preserve “some kind of hope” (255).
As for Richard Stern, I don’t mean to belittle his literary accomplishments, but he sounds like one more Caucasian male who had the good fortune to study at Iowa (among other Caucasian males) and who began to publish prolifically in the mid-20th century. Yet, he too, it seems, must “overcome the pain of existence” (261) through writing. While his observations earned their place in the domain, I’m not sure how relevant his personal story is to aspiring writers, many of whom will undoubtedly be of different age, race, gender, or socio-economic bracket (I found it interesting that Mark Strand was the only writer to mention the financial constraints brought on by career choice).
So does Csikszentmihalyi fulfill this chapter’s hypothesis: to present “a number of cases from the same domain, in order to get a more detailed understanding of what is involved in producing a cultural change” (238). Alas, he wraps up his chapter by generalizing the similarities of these five writers, all of whom “keep notebooks handy for when the voice of the Muse calls…usually start a working day with a word, a phrase, or an image” and their “work evolves on its own rather than the author’s intentions” (263). What’s more, if one does not maintain the two processes of trying not to “miss the message whispered by the unconscious and at the same time force it into a suitable form” … “the flow or writing dries up.” Well, this is certainly a daunting threat, since, “after a few hours the tremendous concentration required for this balancing act becomes so exhausting that the writer has to change gears and focus on something else, something mundane” (264).
I still have to wonder what other methods are out there for cultural change? I admit that I do not write fiction everyday. In some ways, I will consider myself a failure until I do. I also try to acknowledge that I’m in a demanding program while I work a virtual full-time job. But I know Elmaz did this, too. And she confided that she writes all day some four times a week on her writing days. Oh, the dedication that can inspire! I seriously doubt that after a few hours, she finds she can do nothing else but turn to the mundane.
Interesting article on teaching in last week's NY Times Mag
Can Good Teaching Be Learned: There are more than three million teachers in the United States, and Doug Lemov is trying to prove he can teach them to be better.
By Elizabeth Green
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/03/07/magazine/07Teachers-t.html
By Elizabeth Green
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/03/07/magazine/07Teachers-t.html
Syllabus Development
A work in progress, with these propositions and syllabus excerpts still in their early stages...
Row #1
The question: What are the goals of this course (my goals, not just re: the description) and how do I want to communicate this to my students?
The proposition: I want my students to gain familiarity with the different literary techniques used to create successful/engaging poetry, fiction, memoir, and explore those techniques in their own writing, such that their final portfolio reflects a development in their craft over the course of a semester, and shows some use/incorporation of elements gleaned from authors studied.
On the syllabus: Welcome to the second year creative writing workshop. In this class, through a mix of weekly readings and creative writing activities, we explore various facets of literary expression, and specific craft techniques, that lead to successful/engaging poetry, fiction, and memoir. As students/participants, you read a mostly contemporary mix of these genres. You write (draft, edit, revise) new work in these genres. You share your work with your peers, offering spoken feedback on their writing during class workshop sessions as well as written feedback on a week-to-week basis. You gain familiarity with different movements within these genres, and develop your voice and vision as a writer, drawing on the craft techniques of the authors studied.
Row #2
The question: What teaching style do I plan to use and how much are the students involved in the pedagogy of the class?
The proposition: I want to blend short lectures on the theme/content of each class with student-led discussion/facilitation on the week’s studied author and prompt-generated student writing time. I want students to feel empowered as class leaders, and have them leaving the semester feeling like they can teach or t.a. at least part of an introductory-level creative writing course.
On the syllabus: While I incorporate short presentations on some facet of writing by the authors we study into our weekly class meetings, student participation and discussion/facilitation is the key component of the class. Your active engagement makes this class run. You present a close study of one of the authors on our reading list to your classmates over the course of the semester, leading discussion about the text by that author we’re examining. By actively contributing to workshop discussions of your peers’ writing, you play a key role in ensuring the success of those portions of our meetings focused on developing your and your classmates’ work.
Row #3
The question: What are the formal expectations of this class? What do I want the students to accomplish and what do I want them to know?
The proposition: I want each student to actively engage with the specific craft techniques and forms of literary expression we examine week to week, both by reading and discussing the selected authors as well as by writing into prompt-generated activities. I want students to hand in an end-of-semester portfolio that incorporates writing across the genres studied and reflects a development in their craft over the course of the fifteen weeks, showing some use of elements gleaned from authors studied.
On the syllabus: You are expected to engage in all facets of this class, from weekly readings and discussions of selected authors, to actively writing into prompt-generated activities, to offering useful feedback on your peers’ writing in class workshop sessions. Your semester’s goal is to generate a final portfolio that incorporates writing across the genres studied and reflects a development in your work over the course of the fifteen weeks. You are expected to utilize elements of craft (characterization, pacing, voice, etc) gleaned from authors studied.
Row #4
The question: What are the pitfalls of the class? Where can it go wrong and how can I prevent that?
The proposition: I am concerned that I might over-assign readings, preventing students from gaining momentum on their own writing endeavors. I am also worried that I’ll over-lecture and take up too much class time presenting my perspectives/aesthetics.
On the syllabus: I limit my comments on authors studied to roughly fifteen minutes of each class’s first half, and offer those only after our weekly student presenter has shared her/his study of the particular author being explored that week. I am committed to ensuring that the workshopping of student writing garners an equal, if not greater, amount of time and energy as our collective study of authors writing in specific genres, and present the group a template/model for successful workshopping strategies/requirements (referring to it as necessary over the semester’s course). As students, you are responsible for meeting the workshop portion’s writing and discussion requirements.
Row #5
The question: What is the role of reading in your class? How do you determine the authors you’ll discuss and will they be models or points of discussion or what?
The propositon: I want the reading to be representative of the racial, economic, gender, and religious diversity of the U.S. (and, ideally, the city/campus I’m teaching at). It’s important to me that our class be a space where the Eurocentric ‘canon’ in literature be problematized/de-centralized, and the writing of traditionally under-represented communities be re-centered.
On the syllabus: A completed reading of a new author is due at the start of each class session. Authors read in this class represent the racial, economic, gender, and religious diversity of the U.S., and deal with themes of pertinence to the contemporary social/cultural moment. The authors’ use of specific craft techniques will greatly inform the class’s writing activities, so completed readings and preparation for discussion are essential.
"On the syllabus" draft
The wording is not finalized and neither are the page counts.
------------
This workshop is a chance to share your work and ideas with your peers. In addition to original pieces from the class, there will be texts for reading, discussion, criticism, inspiration and imitation, but the workshop will revolve mostly around your work. You will become familiar with the elements of a prose and poetry, develop your writing voice, and become comfortable engaging with the text of your peers.
The class will function as a group; it is a joint enterprise. Come prepared to work and give the necessary effort.
Near the end of the semester you will be required to prepare a short story or a collection of poems for submission to a literary magazine. The point is to think like working writers. It is important to generate new work and revise previous drafts regularly.
Genres will be broken down into five-week sections. Prose submissions will be from X to XX pages per submission. Poetry submissions up to X poems. You will submit two copies weekly of a one-page critique of each of student piece being discussed. One copy goes to the writer, the other to the instructor. You might address what you think was the intention of the piece, its narrative strategies, what you feel are its strengths, weaknesses etc. Please be considerate of your classmates’ efforts and comment with the mindset of improving the piece. Try not to be prescriptive.
The typical class session will begin with a discussion of an assigned text, lead by one or two members of the class. Afterward, there will be a reading of one short work (or works, if really short) from each member of the class.
------------
This workshop is a chance to share your work and ideas with your peers. In addition to original pieces from the class, there will be texts for reading, discussion, criticism, inspiration and imitation, but the workshop will revolve mostly around your work. You will become familiar with the elements of a prose and poetry, develop your writing voice, and become comfortable engaging with the text of your peers.
The class will function as a group; it is a joint enterprise. Come prepared to work and give the necessary effort.
Near the end of the semester you will be required to prepare a short story or a collection of poems for submission to a literary magazine. The point is to think like working writers. It is important to generate new work and revise previous drafts regularly.
Genres will be broken down into five-week sections. Prose submissions will be from X to XX pages per submission. Poetry submissions up to X poems. You will submit two copies weekly of a one-page critique of each of student piece being discussed. One copy goes to the writer, the other to the instructor. You might address what you think was the intention of the piece, its narrative strategies, what you feel are its strengths, weaknesses etc. Please be considerate of your classmates’ efforts and comment with the mindset of improving the piece. Try not to be prescriptive.
The typical class session will begin with a discussion of an assigned text, lead by one or two members of the class. Afterward, there will be a reading of one short work (or works, if really short) from each member of the class.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Excerpts from my observation at the school I didn't pick
It's long so I included the highlights for you below.
Class Title: Graduate Fiction Workshop
Location: CCA - SF
Class Instructor: Miranda Mellis
Date Observed: Monday, March 8 (4-7pm)
Class Size: 11 + Instructor
The room was a small-medium square, bare white walls, black carpet, a window at the ceiling that let in light but did not afford a view. An exposed steel beam ran diagonally along the wall beneath the window. Thin gray tables were arranged in a square, and beneath them black metal chairs without cushions, formed for sitting upright. Two fluorescent ballasts hung from the ceiling. A white board hung on the wall opposite the steel beam. The room presented a heavy echo, the HVAC system rumbled loudly. Housed in a building that sits under an overpass, the space did not seem conducive to creativity.
***
The instructor was young; she told me later she had been teaching for six years. She had the wild hair of a writer, and the diction of a literary critic from Brown (where she got her BA). The square of tables had at one end a single chair, which is where she sat. She talked with the students as they trickled in, and from the content it was obvious that she was friendly but not necessarily familiar with them. She displayed a sense of humor and (perhaps) an attempt to connect with the students in terms of age, saying “When I have a teacher rolly-bag, I’ll know I’ve grown up.”
Every person in the room (instructor and I included) was White, some with various “other” heritage half-hidden, revealing itself most often as dark, curly hair. The class was not overly chatty, pretty quiet, some whispering. All in the room were likely under 35 and definitely under 40.
***
The class began with a lecture and boardwork on the three stories they’d read from The Best European Fiction 2010 (an anthology apparently of authors little known in the U.S.; authors from countries widely read in the U.S were not included; for instance, Germany was not represented). Most students had seated themselves with their backs to the board. The instructor mentioned passively as she announced board work that they may want to move; they did not.
***
She spoke using technical terms, and continued to train the discussion to the list as the students spoke. They jumped into the discussion pretty easily, though not all participated. Only a few of the students were speaking and she began to fill out the list herself, then included “feeling” words among the technical terms. The purpose of making the list was not stated.
She then read from one of the stories. Her enthusiasm for the material was evident in her performance. She read for a surprisingly long time, a page at least. She summarized the students’ comments into concise phrases with lingo, and they verbally agreed to her interpretation when asked. For the most part, the students spoke to her, and she back to the speaker. She reviewed the terms on the list, and presented the elements as a way of layering meaning, creating density in the work.
At this point, she tied the exercise to student work, saying “we’re not layering as much as we could be,” and proposed a writing assignment, acknowledging that this activity was outside of the “normal” operation of the workshop. The assignment was to write a story incorporating as many elements of the list as possible: instruction, digression, repetition/recursion, reflexivity, intertexuality, quotation (use of someone else’s language), a drawing/image/schematic. She asked them to, “play with this toward this notion of dense description.”
***
At this point, 45 minutes in, the first cross-table student discussion began. Three students still had not spoken: two guys, one girl. The class turned their questions to translation and what is lost. It was an even-keeled exchange; they were not overly agreeable or confrontational. They were hyper-sensitive of silencing, suspicious of the info source. The instructor suggested a reading, exhibiting her prowess with a language besides English. She mentioned that the next book would be by an Iranian author. She asked if there was anything else about the anthology they wanted to discuss, and added, “I can say as an editor, it’s a fraught and flawed process.” She repeatedly mentioned her work during the class, and displayed personal acquaintance with published authors. It strikes me that CCA students expect that/are impressed by that/are looking for that connection as a part of their education.
***
She then announces the start of workshop. No break, and we’d been sitting in those metal chairs awhile (she did break after the first person was workshopped; they workshop three pieces each class). She has taken an approach to workshop that excited me with its novelty. A student facilitates the discussion about another student’s work using an interactive presentation technique. This process is modeled and informed in the first few classes; she then turns it over to them a few weeks into the semester.
The student facilitator demonstrated a knowledge of workshop terms and etiquette, using the phrase “engage with the work,” and a familiarity with the freewrite process, saying “wrap up that sentence,” when five minutes had passed. She suggested the class write a note from the perspective of a character in the story to analyze whether or not the character was developed enough to do so. I was impressed with the idea, though she exited the exercise with a leading question that squelched discussion rather than opening it. The students provided their opinions rather than attempting to adhere to question.
The instructor played the role of student during this portion of class. She did not use literary lingo during while acting as a student, and entered the discussion quite early, speaking 3rd in the process. Though she was playing the role of student, she still carried the authority of teacher, and the class deferred to her comments. The students give attentive advice. The author spoke intermittently throughout the discussion “to clarify” her objectives and intentions, seemed passively defensive. The facilitator seemed to disappear mid-way through the discussion, as more voices join in and instructor asks questions after commenting. A student who had not yet spoken joined the discussion and spoke with authority and attention.
***
When the class reconvened, the instructor did some housekeeping, reviewing due dates, etc. The second student facilitator didn’t have an activity planned. He suggested going page by page. The instructor reoriented the discussion to a more productive manner of engagement, taking a close look at one passage in the story. One guy still has not spoken, and has been writing the entire class period. A student says what she “likes” but then adds, “not that that matters.” The instructor takes the opportunity to pursue the comment, saying “Why doesn’t that matter?” The student says that she has been trained to think that her opinion doesn’t matter as opposed to what the work is doing in the world and to the world. The instructor asks the class if anyone else was affected by the passage the student “liked” and got a positive response; she used that to show that the passage was a strength of the text and as such the student’s opinion was valid.
The instructor demonstrated a good balance between keeping the boat moving and keeping it steady; she was not afraid to call a description “incoherent.” She recommended a revision technique and described the process. She closed the discussion asking the writer if he had “any questions for us or any notes we didn’t hit on.” He declined and the third piece was brought up for discussion. The scheduled facilitator was sick, so the instructor took the role. She directed their attention to a textural element of the piece and used it to demonstrate the layering aspect she wants them to achieve (tying the lecture/list into the workshop discussion). One student looked back at the board to use one of the terms in her analysis. There did not seem to be rules about speaking or taking turns as a one student dominated the discussion for the second half of period.
There was no clock in the room, but three hours is a long, long time. Too long to hold anyone’s interest. Though I don’t know how one would fit a reading lecture and three fiction pieces to workshop into a shorter time period. The story subject matter included the supernatural, magic, and pornography. There is no way for me to tell whether class discussion gets incorporated into story making. The participants seemed attentive to each other’s work, and the class seemed successful in that respect. I did observe lengthy written notes on the papers handed back. There were regular discussion participants, but the class and classroom had a subdued atmosphere. The students seemed to grasp the discussion topics well, and presented their ideas well. The quality of student seemed to play a larger role in this assessment than the quality of instruction.
Class Title: Graduate Fiction Workshop
Location: CCA - SF
Class Instructor: Miranda Mellis
Date Observed: Monday, March 8 (4-7pm)
Class Size: 11 + Instructor
The room was a small-medium square, bare white walls, black carpet, a window at the ceiling that let in light but did not afford a view. An exposed steel beam ran diagonally along the wall beneath the window. Thin gray tables were arranged in a square, and beneath them black metal chairs without cushions, formed for sitting upright. Two fluorescent ballasts hung from the ceiling. A white board hung on the wall opposite the steel beam. The room presented a heavy echo, the HVAC system rumbled loudly. Housed in a building that sits under an overpass, the space did not seem conducive to creativity.
***
The instructor was young; she told me later she had been teaching for six years. She had the wild hair of a writer, and the diction of a literary critic from Brown (where she got her BA). The square of tables had at one end a single chair, which is where she sat. She talked with the students as they trickled in, and from the content it was obvious that she was friendly but not necessarily familiar with them. She displayed a sense of humor and (perhaps) an attempt to connect with the students in terms of age, saying “When I have a teacher rolly-bag, I’ll know I’ve grown up.”
Every person in the room (instructor and I included) was White, some with various “other” heritage half-hidden, revealing itself most often as dark, curly hair. The class was not overly chatty, pretty quiet, some whispering. All in the room were likely under 35 and definitely under 40.
***
The class began with a lecture and boardwork on the three stories they’d read from The Best European Fiction 2010 (an anthology apparently of authors little known in the U.S.; authors from countries widely read in the U.S were not included; for instance, Germany was not represented). Most students had seated themselves with their backs to the board. The instructor mentioned passively as she announced board work that they may want to move; they did not.
***
She spoke using technical terms, and continued to train the discussion to the list as the students spoke. They jumped into the discussion pretty easily, though not all participated. Only a few of the students were speaking and she began to fill out the list herself, then included “feeling” words among the technical terms. The purpose of making the list was not stated.
She then read from one of the stories. Her enthusiasm for the material was evident in her performance. She read for a surprisingly long time, a page at least. She summarized the students’ comments into concise phrases with lingo, and they verbally agreed to her interpretation when asked. For the most part, the students spoke to her, and she back to the speaker. She reviewed the terms on the list, and presented the elements as a way of layering meaning, creating density in the work.
At this point, she tied the exercise to student work, saying “we’re not layering as much as we could be,” and proposed a writing assignment, acknowledging that this activity was outside of the “normal” operation of the workshop. The assignment was to write a story incorporating as many elements of the list as possible: instruction, digression, repetition/recursion, reflexivity, intertexuality, quotation (use of someone else’s language), a drawing/image/schematic. She asked them to, “play with this toward this notion of dense description.”
***
At this point, 45 minutes in, the first cross-table student discussion began. Three students still had not spoken: two guys, one girl. The class turned their questions to translation and what is lost. It was an even-keeled exchange; they were not overly agreeable or confrontational. They were hyper-sensitive of silencing, suspicious of the info source. The instructor suggested a reading, exhibiting her prowess with a language besides English. She mentioned that the next book would be by an Iranian author. She asked if there was anything else about the anthology they wanted to discuss, and added, “I can say as an editor, it’s a fraught and flawed process.” She repeatedly mentioned her work during the class, and displayed personal acquaintance with published authors. It strikes me that CCA students expect that/are impressed by that/are looking for that connection as a part of their education.
***
She then announces the start of workshop. No break, and we’d been sitting in those metal chairs awhile (she did break after the first person was workshopped; they workshop three pieces each class). She has taken an approach to workshop that excited me with its novelty. A student facilitates the discussion about another student’s work using an interactive presentation technique. This process is modeled and informed in the first few classes; she then turns it over to them a few weeks into the semester.
The student facilitator demonstrated a knowledge of workshop terms and etiquette, using the phrase “engage with the work,” and a familiarity with the freewrite process, saying “wrap up that sentence,” when five minutes had passed. She suggested the class write a note from the perspective of a character in the story to analyze whether or not the character was developed enough to do so. I was impressed with the idea, though she exited the exercise with a leading question that squelched discussion rather than opening it. The students provided their opinions rather than attempting to adhere to question.
The instructor played the role of student during this portion of class. She did not use literary lingo during while acting as a student, and entered the discussion quite early, speaking 3rd in the process. Though she was playing the role of student, she still carried the authority of teacher, and the class deferred to her comments. The students give attentive advice. The author spoke intermittently throughout the discussion “to clarify” her objectives and intentions, seemed passively defensive. The facilitator seemed to disappear mid-way through the discussion, as more voices join in and instructor asks questions after commenting. A student who had not yet spoken joined the discussion and spoke with authority and attention.
***
When the class reconvened, the instructor did some housekeeping, reviewing due dates, etc. The second student facilitator didn’t have an activity planned. He suggested going page by page. The instructor reoriented the discussion to a more productive manner of engagement, taking a close look at one passage in the story. One guy still has not spoken, and has been writing the entire class period. A student says what she “likes” but then adds, “not that that matters.” The instructor takes the opportunity to pursue the comment, saying “Why doesn’t that matter?” The student says that she has been trained to think that her opinion doesn’t matter as opposed to what the work is doing in the world and to the world. The instructor asks the class if anyone else was affected by the passage the student “liked” and got a positive response; she used that to show that the passage was a strength of the text and as such the student’s opinion was valid.
The instructor demonstrated a good balance between keeping the boat moving and keeping it steady; she was not afraid to call a description “incoherent.” She recommended a revision technique and described the process. She closed the discussion asking the writer if he had “any questions for us or any notes we didn’t hit on.” He declined and the third piece was brought up for discussion. The scheduled facilitator was sick, so the instructor took the role. She directed their attention to a textural element of the piece and used it to demonstrate the layering aspect she wants them to achieve (tying the lecture/list into the workshop discussion). One student looked back at the board to use one of the terms in her analysis. There did not seem to be rules about speaking or taking turns as a one student dominated the discussion for the second half of period.
There was no clock in the room, but three hours is a long, long time. Too long to hold anyone’s interest. Though I don’t know how one would fit a reading lecture and three fiction pieces to workshop into a shorter time period. The story subject matter included the supernatural, magic, and pornography. There is no way for me to tell whether class discussion gets incorporated into story making. The participants seemed attentive to each other’s work, and the class seemed successful in that respect. I did observe lengthy written notes on the papers handed back. There were regular discussion participants, but the class and classroom had a subdued atmosphere. The students seemed to grasp the discussion topics well, and presented their ideas well. The quality of student seemed to play a larger role in this assessment than the quality of instruction.
3rd column, hopefully
| On the Syllabus |
| Each student, in her own way, engages with the other students’ work, mindful at all times to be respectful and considerate. Moving about the space is permitted, but only when you have the floor. Otherwise, you are always seated and engaged. You submit work based on guidelines, and you will read and respond in written form to your classmates’ submissions. |
| Do not hold back. What you have to say is important, whether the rest of us know it or not. The assigned materials are designed to help you with creating a solid foundation upon which to build. You are expected to read them all by any specified due date and be prepared to engage in any direction and on any level the class takes when you come to learn. |
| To each of the assigned readings you will write a 1-page (300 word) response in your own words, focusing on some craft aspect. Each response will deal with a different aspect of the genre. You will compose 2 pages of poetry, 5 pages of both fiction and creative nonfiction. Your final project will be 15 pages of either poetry, fiction or creative nonfiction. |
| You will be put into groups and assigned a project that you will do collaboratively. The end result will be a work in any of the genres. You will have to clear this project with me in advance. You are expected to have fun with this and to really use your imagination. You will present this to the class, a twenty-minute project. |
| Based on what you offer on the first day of class as creative works you feel are seminal and/or indispensable to the serious creative writer, one of such suggested works in each of the three genres will be assigned as class readings and will be treated in the same manner as the pre-assigned readings. A vote will be taken and in the event that a decision is not clear cut, I will be the one to decide what pieces will be added to the syllabus. |
Having real problems posting...
| The Proposition | On the Syllabus |
| I want to provide a safe space where each student will grow in confidence and trust. As there is diversity in learning styles, so is there diversity in communicating, interacting, and engaging styles. I want them to develop a better sense of who they are as writers. | Each student, in her own way, engages with the other students’ work, mindful at all times to be respectful and considerate. Moving about the space is permitted, but only when you have the floor. Otherwise, you are always seated and engaged. You submit work based on guidelines, and you will read and respond in written form to your classmates’ submissions. |
| I want the workshop to be interactive but with some “instruction” or “lecturing” in the beginning for centering, orientation and learning the basics components of the genres, of analyzing a text and otherwise engaging with it. | Do not hold back. What you have to say is important, whether the rest of us know it or not. The assigned materials are designed to help you with creating a solid foundation upon which to build. You are expected to read them all by any specified due date and be prepared to engage in any direction and on any level the class takes when you come to learn. |
| I want the students to read at least one text or body of work in each genre, and to critically read and respond to these texts. My hope is that they develop the habit of writing every day. | To each of the assigned readings you will write a 1-page (300 word) response in your own words, focusing on some craft aspect. Each response will deal with a different aspect of the genre. You will compose 2 pages of poetry, 5 pages of both fiction and creative nonfiction. Your final project will be 15 pages of either poetry, fiction or creative nonfiction. |
| That the line between formal and casual gets blurred and discipline erodes. That the students lose interest. | You will be put into groups and assigned a project that you will do collaboratively. The end result will be a work in any of the genres. You will have to clear this project with me in advance. You are expected to have fun with this and to really use your imagination. You will present this to the class, a twenty-minute project. |
| In this introductory workshop I want the students to feel as comfortable with the reading materials as possible. I want diversity of genre and style of basically contemporary authors. The point of the reading would be to engage their interest, and this means that the texts would have to be approachable. I also want the readings simply to broaden their base. | Based on what you offer on the first day of class as creative works you feel are seminal and/or indispensable to the serious creative writer, one of such suggested works in each of the three genres will be assigned as class readings and will be treated in the same manner as the pre-assigned readings. A vote will be taken and in the event that a decision is not clear cut, I will be the one to decide what pieces will be added to the syllabus. |
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