Observation at Cal

Logistics:

English 243N / UC Berkeley
Thomas Farber
Thursdays 3:30-6:30
02.25.2010


Make up: Nine students: two males, seven females

The class is a graduate seminar made up of undergrads and graduate students from various departments. Because there is no grad-level creative writing major at Berkeley, the classes are usually a hodgepodge of disciplines.

Arrangement: Squaretable format, similar to Mills. Two people at the head of the table (the instructor and I), two students at the end, three on one side, four on the other. Classroom was a standard classroom. Wheeler Hall reminds me of a high school from the 70s with vintage tile, lockers in some hallways, and wooden doors with frosted glass and gold and black number decals.

Atmosphere: Positive. As a whole, the students were comfortable with one another, making light jokes.

Substance:

The instructor began with a lecture / discussion. He had a typed agenda arranged by number, of what he wanted to talk about. I peered over and saw my name at the top. He introduced me and then went to number two, which was a discussion about the process of writing, more specifically, censorship. He said, “If you’re going to censor yourself, you won’t have a true story to tell.” He went on to say writers should write first and worry about censoring when the story is finished. He then talked about writing being a way to reconcile things, to make them better.

The professor is a structured and frank, but approachable. He encourages students who are being workshopped to bring food for the class. His reasoning is that people can't "bite" if they're chewing. He said it’s normal for his classes to have food, but some of his colleagues laugh when he mentions it. I don’t remember if I told him the workshops at Mills are catered as well.

The workshopped pieces were from two students. They were in response to a writing prompt. The students commented on the pieces in a standard way by opening with something positive before saying something critical. The person being workshopped would have a usual “sit there and take it” look on his / her face and then interject a time or two before returning back to the "I don't need to explain myself to you guys" glossed-over expression.

When comments for the piece died down, the professor would interrogate the author for more information, sort of a way to draw out the story. He didn’t always ask questions about the work directly, but the conversation was a way to influence the author think about how to make piece richer. At the end of each individual workshop the professor would hand back the student his / her manuscript with professorial comments.

I forgot to mention, the professor required the students to hand in a page of typed critiques for the current piece before the workshop began. The students were also required to keep journals (creative writing journals, so the content could include sections of longer pieces).

Outcome:

The students were comfortable speaking in the class, some more talkative than others, mostly the older students. All spoke at least once.

The class seemed effective because it was well-structured and run by a writer / instructor who cares about writing. He dispensed what he knew to be true, asked the class about what he didn’t know. The students all seemed to enjoy and engage. I didn’t notice any slackers. Actually, I don’t think professor Farber would allow any slackers.

I talked indirectly to him about what I learned. It wasn’t a single conversation. Just random statements over time about writing and teaching. I know I said more than once that I want to be a novelist. I think if I say it enough it'll come true. That and actually sitting down to write.

Jian's Teaching Observation

Logistics
Class Title: Short Fiction
Class Instructor: Georgina Kleege
Date Observed: 2/24/2010
What is the size of the class? 18 students
What is the make up of the class? (grads/u/gs? Women, age etc)
2 auditors (2 older men), 16 u (1 middle-aged women; 5 young women; 10 young men)
How is the class physically arranged? Rectangle tables against and parallel to each other in the middle of the small room

What is the social atmosphere of the class?
Friendly. Two plastic containers with home-made chocolate chip cookies; passing around to each student. Before the workshop begins, Georgina introduced Gina and me to the class in a humorous, welcoming tone.
What time did the class start?
1:30-3pm

Substance:

What were the activities of the class? The class workshopped two students’ pieces.
Were goals stated for the activities? Not really.
How were the activities conducted (non evaluative) Georgina Kleege talks first. Then the students say what they think of a piece they have read and then the class begins to comment on it.
Was text used (published or peer?)
Just the two student’s short pieces of fiction.
Lecturing? Discussion? Exercises? In-class writing?
It was a discussion session.
How many students participated? Of the eighteen students, seventeen of them participated.
Described interactions among peers and with professor?
The students make comments in a soft tone. Georgina acts as traffic cop to makes sure each student talk. She also tries to make humorous comments while interacting with the students and maintaining her authoritative tone.

Outcome

What was the atmosphere of the class?
Students maintained the same soft tone since the start of the workshop.
Were the students involved?
Yes.
Did the substance of the class have impact?
Yes. Although it was the students’ second workshop, they seemed prepared, highly motivated supported each other’s work, giving advice on craftsmanship.
How did the professor engage the students? How did the students engage each other?
When the students were silent, the professor began to summary the student’s piece and asked the class question and writer’s if she has any questions. The talkative students make funny comments on a piece about monkey and sexuality, referring to the animal as it and “human.” Everyone laughs.
Your general impression of the effectiveness of the class?
The class is supportive.
Did you talk to the professor and what did you learn?
Yes. I learned that teaching is more about the students rather than about the teacher. You are there help and encourage them to be a writer. Students might ask questions that might surprise you, so workshop is unlike a literature course that you are prepared and have more control.

Gina's Teaching Observation

Gina Goldblatt’s Teaching Observation

Logistics

Class Title: Short Fiction

Class Instructor: Georgina Kleege

Date Observed: 2\24\10

What is the class size? 17 (2 auditors)

What is the make up of the class? 9 women 8 men, undergrads and 2 auditors

How is the class physically arranged? The class was arranged around a long conference table. There were floor to ceiling bookshelves on one side. There was a white board opposite it. There was a large window taking up most of the wall opposite the door.

What is the social atmosphere of the class? The students were quieter at first but playful and congenial. As the class progressed most people seemed comfortable participating and incorporating humor. They dealt with each other pieces with care for the most part. Comments flowed nicely and bounced off of each other in a conversational tone.

What time did the class start? 1:30 PM

Substance:

What were the activities of the class? The class critiqued two student stories.

What were the goals stated for the activities? Georgina stated the first goal in the form of a question: What is going on in this story? (thematically) The students were to provide feedback of what is working what isn’t and why. They were encouraged to make suggestions as to how one might approach the issue at hand. Georgia also made a point of saying that all of the feedback was mere opinion and that they were entitled to their opinions just as the writer was entitled to take their advice or leave it.

Was text used? Yes. The students’ stories were used.

It was a discussion-based class.

Fifteen out of seventeen students participated. One male and one female were silent the entire class.

Describe interactions among peers and with professor:

Georgina served as a self-proclaimed “traffic cop” in that she set the tone and guided the discussion but let the students take on the life of the conversation and critique. She started with the question “What was this story about?” After a bit of discussion she asked a second round of questions. These were: “How valid a sense of character did you get from this reading? What did you want to know more about? Where would this go?” More student dialogue took its course and she interjected to summarize and provide opposing views as well as clarify some points that were made. Lastly, she asked the author if they had any questions for the class. During the discussion she nodded and offered agreement and acknowledgement of different points of views.

Outcome

What was the atmosphere of the class? The atmosphere was congenial and comfortable. There was a lot of humor and a little bit of chummy teasing. They seemed at ease with each other for the most part. They also disagreed very respectfully and presented opposing views without meeting backlash. Rather people said several times during class “oh, I can see how that makes sense. I didn’t see that before.”

Did the substance of the class have an impact? I believe it had to. The students were critiquing each other’s work. This puts a certain pressure on it that is not present were the critique to be of a famous work or of someone’s work who wasn’t present. They were only on their second class of work shopping each other’s pieces, so it was also a relatively new practice for that particular group of people.

How did the professor engage the students? How did the students engage each other? The professor would guide the discussion with questions and pointers when she saw fit. The students bounced off of each other rather naturally and provided support and counter points. Some students posed questions as well. They asked, “How did you feel about this?” or “What was your reaction to this?”

What was your general impression of the effectiveness of the class?

I was impressed. I thought the atmosphere was very respectful and open. There was humor and taking turns and being supportive. I felt the professor was effective as a guide. She was not absent nor was she intrusive. The students engaged each other effectively and seemed invested in what they were providing feedback on.

Did you talk to the professor and what did you learn?

Yes. I learned about her approach to teaching creative writing, her history of teaching, and some of her personal history. She found creative writing to be both an exiting subject to teach and a scary one. She brought up the point that you cannot control the subject matter since students bring in their own stories. You cannot prepare in this sense. In teaching literature or English you can be prepared for the material since you choose it. In a creative writing class there is always the element of surprise. This can be daunting. She also had an interesting take on critiquing. Students only provided written critiques of two student stories. They were encouraged to write on the manuscripts and participate in class but only responsible for two written responses. This was to ensure that the quality didn’t wane as the semester progressed. I also learned that Georgina has been at Cal since 2003 and teaching Creative Writing in some capacity since 1991. She grew up in what is now the East Village in New York City and her parents were both visual artists. She was quite an inspiring and lovely person. I really enjoyed my time in her classroom and the chance I got to get her personal view on teaching and writing.

Theoretical Chops - 2nd response

Theoretical Chops

Lead to Improved Workshops…?

Theoretical chops – does one need them in the conventional creative writing workshop? In If The Shoe Fits, Katharine Haake has argued passionately in the affirmative. And not just because we might end up having to teach theory as she did. Theory, she says, belongs in the workshop because to know it, simply stated, is to be set free. And because knowing something about the act of writing – or at least what theorists believe the act of writing is - or language more precisely, something about which they tend to disagree more often than not - in addition to the desire to engage in it can lead to the discovery of other “modes of existence of a discourse”, with some of it being perhaps “explicitly experimental”. If what is meant by this is anything other than the written word – or anything else in addition to it – would seem to give rise to other self-imposed limitations: how many pairs of shoes would you need in circulation to reach a reasonably sized audience?

However, the gates were well guarded at the time Haake wrote this essay, already sixteen years ago, and I suspect they still are since nothing changes overnight in the hallowed halls of academe. In fact, the article written by Louis Menand for the June 8, 2009 edition of the New Yorker strongly suggests that things have not changed. He describes the creative writing workshop as “a combination of ritual scarring and 12-on-one group therapy”. And I wonder if the lack of instruction in which some “body of knowledge is transmitted by means of a curricular script” doesn’t in some way resonate with the need to incorporate the study of theory in the creative workshop according to Haake. It would appear today that no progress has been made in the direction of alternative goals/futures for creative writing students other than that of teacher and author. What I hear fellow workshoppers talk about primarily is publishing (and making a lot of money at it), and teaching. So far, there has been no theory. On the other hand we have this course in theories of creativity. My understanding, however, is that the latter is not a required course, but rather an elective. Unless misinformed, what is required are four workshops and four literature courses. So I jump ahead of myself here and ponder whether Haake was writing in a dark institutional wormhole. Or have there been iterations of her workshop model – a hybrid of theory and writing practice?

Understanding theory imparts power. The keepers of the domain (or status quo) have the power, and although power is indiscriminate when it comes to outstretched hands, those who hold it will do all possible to maintain it. It is, she writes, the “will to power, authority, and mastery that drives the most zealous of us”. Yet, how does the creative writing contingency get out from under the thumb of those who don’t even recognize the existence of the writer as being “central to their study”? Quite frankly, this seems an impossible posture in the first place, not to recognize the thing that generates food for thought -or wages. Here (and elsewhere), I’m not sure if Haake’s tendency towards high wit doesn’t sometimes obscure the issue she is seeking to enlighten. True enough she says that one way of moving towards the claiming of at least their share of the power, teachers of creative writing/creative writers (who generally double as teachers), should stop throwing polemic darts from a defensive posture and become “more informed about the work of [their] colleagues”, and cultivate a “spirit of interdisciplinary curiosity”. She suggests we might “gain a new and more playful access” to theory and to writing if as writers we let go of our sense of outrage and bruised egos and adopt “a sense of irony, humor, and perspective about our own activities” (she appears here to have taken her own advice).

Haake expressed major concern in the increase in graduate programs in creative writing, which inevitably leads to the need for more undergraduate programs in order to generate more creative writing teaching positions. This growth cannot go on forever, she states. No doubt. To refer to the Menand article, the AWP currently has more than twenty-five thousand members and today there are well over eight hundred degree programs, thirty-seven of which award the Ph.D., whereas there were only seventy-nine such programs back when the founder of the organization, Verlin Cassill, threw in the towel (1983) because creative writers had become, in his opinion, corrupted by the academic demands of publish or perish. Looking back, it becomes clear that Haake seems to have been trying to weave magic in the middle of a maelstrom in which we still appear to be caught up.

And what might the door prize be if we were to steal some of the fire? In addition to acquiring the ability to control one’s environment, finding out that there might be methodologies other than the creative workshop, which has become synonymous with teaching creative writing, and other “modes of existence of a discourse” to discover from within. Learning to theorize from the student’s perspective, Haake writes (p.91) “even very simple ways, the ‘supplementary’ nature of language and writing gives students a framework within which to break old bad writing habits, and it doesn’t take high post-structuralist (Derrida) scholarship to teach them this”. Sure, the elusive and abstract nature of theory turns it into a bristly cactus. On the bright side, however, teachers of creative writing don’t have to become theoretical virtuosi. Haake assure us that she herself is not.

Haake, admittedly, asked many questions at the outset, assuring us she did not have all the answers, and touched on some gnarly concepts, using, in the process, all three of what she terms the major discourses – critical, theoretical and creative. She lays it all out: “You could call theory (i.e., the master discourse) jargon-laden, or you could call it plain bad writing…but I think the functional principle that sustains the stylistic eccentricities of theory is, again, one of power. Theoretical texts, more often than not, work to position the reader as submissive to the will of the master theorist/writer” (p.86). When I read this I was immediately transported back to when I was last in graduate school. I can remember specifically having to read Claude Lévi-Strauss and Roland Barthes, among others. In spite of how long ago, I distinctly remember having to read paragraphs over and over, the concepts sometimes so abstract as to slip away from comprehension as fast as they had arrived, each time making little progress in understanding the meaning of familiar and unfamiliar words, expressions and turns of phrases – this happened with Barthes more so than Lévi-Strauss - and wondering why they wrote in a manner that seemed deliberately contrived to keep the reader at bay. Yet, having been ‘forced’ to submit to the demands of the department, I plowed through monumental works such as Anthropologie Structurale I & II, and Le Degré Zéro de L’écriture – now in the “phallocentric” halls of fame no doubt - to be inspired to write a dissertation on the myth of the French Revolution because I came to look at history/past reality in a completely different light.

As compelled as I felt to do so, it was nevertheless a real challenge to respond to Haake’s dense essay. Although feeling inadequate to the task of explaining why, I tend to be in agreement with her complexly woven argument. Perhaps creative writing per se cannot be taught, but theory or theories behind it can. Perhaps we cannot teach a student how to write better, but we can help them understand “flow” so that they will come to enjoy playing with language in all its iterations, to enjoy creating for the sake of creating and not for the need to communicate.

I think about the diversity in our theories of creativity class: a young Asian man in a wheelchair for whom English appears to be a second language; a black man who may be a little more mature than I initially thought; a young white man; a 32 year old Latina; six white women ranging in age from early twenties to thirty; and myself, a black woman, representing a demographic not often encountered in a classroom in terms of age and education. There is at least one Catholic, at least one atheist, only children, children from large families, straight and queer folks. Someone amongst us might well have a learning disability we cannot see, or whose learning style does not conform to the ‘norm. In our midst is bound to be someone of ‘great’ talent who might not ‘succeed’ as author and/or educator, someone of ‘mediocre’ ability who just might because she will do the equivalent of Haake’s mediocre hyperfiction shoe-writing student – try harder and/or have an epiphany, but only after being fed a bit of theory to free up the mind for the all important flow or trance.

Workshop Theory

I found the Camoin essay and the correspondence between teacher and student (first and second entries in the section) to be the most intriguing of our readings this week. Where critical theory fits in the workshop setting and where the workshop fits in the academic setting are at question here. First, I believe there to be value in the workshop. There is no purpose to a writing program without class-time dedicated to producing work and conversing with our contemporaries about that work. We are working to be the authors we study in lit classes. To grow in our craft, workshop participation "comes down to speaking about how texts mean, what they do, how they exist in the world, how they function" (5). As Francios Camoin puts it, "the theory (whether we want to call it that or not) is always there" (5).

Does this mean that good workshop participants have to be students of critical theory? If we must employ theory to examine and further work effectively, do we rely on the critical theory that students bring into the workshop or should workshops also teach theory as a way of engaging with texts? Eugene Garber, in a letter to Jan Ramjerdi, describes a change in the workshop atmosphere that corresponds to social trends and developments in social theory (9). Students are people (as strange as that sounds to assert), and as society evolves in demographics and ideologies the classroom will reflect and be tasked to accommodate these changes. That means acknowledging a shift in the dominant paradigm, making room for new voices and perspectives, and learning how to engage with those voices that may speak counter to traditional ways of assessing texts.

As a workshop facilitator, is it enough to be aware of social and critical theory, even if such theory is employed in the structure of the class? Can we assume that students will know or understand how to examine "the rhetorical properties of a work, what it tries to get readers to believe or even do" (9) without specifically addressing these subjects in the space of the workshop? Can the work and time spent in the workshop be valuable without this type of examination? If our work is to be out in the world, we must ask what the work is introducing or perpetuating. A benefit to the changing demographics of our society is the diversity of experience that will gather around the workshop table. Contention may very well arise. Our skills as facilitators, navigators of charged space, will become essential to conducting a successful class. Theory, though nearly infinite in perspective, may provide a buffer for heated opinions, a common ground from which to examine work. "It gives us a vocabulary...a way to talk to ourselves...faced with the problems of craft" (5). As teachers, as every space becomes political, we are tasked with providing the tools (or access to them) for assessing and developing the craft and placing it in the world.

Ramjerdi cites a change in the workshop in her response to Barber: "the shift in focus from the text as autonomous object to text as a construction of the reader" (10). This shift is accepted theory in this program, and likely most others. Interestingly, Camoin supports this observation, saying "the text under study is no longer the text under study...Nothing in the workshop is less sacred than the text" (4). He thinks critical theory is too important to leave to the critics (4); "they never see the text at the instant where it must become something else" (7). The shift in perspective of texts and the function of work in revision cannot then be separated from theory. "The political and ideological issues that emerge when we can no longer isolate the text as object" are "the focus of contemporary theories" (10-11). Are we serving students, preparing them and guiding growth, if we neglect to incorporate critical theory into the workshop setting? Indeed, how will we continue to develop theory so that it is useful and reflective of writing and society without testing it?

We can use theory in the workshop to get beyond surface commentary, and really move the work and the writer to new places. Discussion of theory is a way to challenge writers' conceptions of the world around them and their places in it. It also provides a basis for honoring work that does not fit into traditional forms. "What is most interesting in writing workshops: the unexpected, the aberration, the deviation from conventional narrative norms that necessarily points to itself and the convention it violates" (19). Without access to critical theory, these pieces are sidelined for their lack of convention, likely because students aren't sure how to talk about them. They have one idea of what "should" be, because that is what they've been told through secondary school is all there could be. College, and certainly a graduate program, is where this notion must be proven false. This is the place where minds are broadened, no? Otherwise, why am I paying?

I found very interesting the teacher and student takes on "master narrative" in the first correspondence piece. Teacher Barber states: "Discussions of works that appear to be representational but don't represent correctly (i.e. re-represent the master narratives) will be the most energetic because people will see that the counters and structures of master narratives are really being challenged" (17). Student Ramjerdi counters this notion. Her response exhibits the attention required to root out one's prejudices even as the theories are entertained. With more exposure to theory we might see trouble with the use of "correctly" in Barber's comment. Ramjerdi asserts an inclusionary view, saying her story used as Barber's example was indeed a master narrative, only with women as the masters. "What is so threatening is the question of who is master here (18)... what is violated is not a narrative convention but a social convention in narrative form" (19). The distinction speaks to the importance of examining texts in terms of social theory to get to the base of discrimination and ferret out the othering that exists in every politicized arena. Increasing access to critical theory increases capacity for conceptualizing society and the art that reflects and moves it forward.

So do we require theory classes for writers? I think this removes the tool from the job. Ramjerdi says, "the workshop is the ideal place to examine and test contemporary theories against contemporary texts" (11). A workshop, indeed a writing program, is a group of contemporaries. The group is governed by the rules of the academy and the politics of the institution. But an institution would benefit from "producing" writers who are capable of making a mark on the world. To do this, the contemporaries must be versed in how to talk about their work within the context of power structures in content and form; they must be tasked to think in these terms in order to produce work that challenges the status quo. This is how society advances, theory combined with practice. This is how we make ourselves an important part of the academic community, and the community at-large.

I have not encountered theory in the workshops I've attended in this program, unless espoused by a student. Perhaps it is a function of the highly politically-aware undergraduate population; perhaps the administration assumes that theory has already been introduced by the graduate level and if more is wanted, there are theory classes available. A change in this perspective to include theory in workshops would reduce the complaints by students that a workshop was not useful to them, the comments remained on the surface of the work, or they got little response at all. Theory taught in addition to evaluation of writing submissions solves these problems, lends a framework to discussions, gives direction, sparks questions. This is how we make the workshop worth a student's time. This is how we ensure better writers (and citizens) come out than went in.

From Mills to USF: A Teaching Observation

Jennifer Massoni
Professor Abinader
ENG 271: Theories of Creativity and the Teaching of Creative Writing
February 26, 2010

Teaching Observation

LOGISTICS:
Class Title:
"Nonfiction Workshop IV" (at USF)

Cass Instructor:
Lowell Cohn

Date Observed:
February 16, 2010

Class Size:
Six students

Class Make-up:
- First and second year MFA graduate students, all of whom are focusing in nonfiction
- Four females and two males
- Mostly Caucasian, one Asian American female
- Age range from recent college grad to late 30s.

Class Arrangement:
At tables, positioned in a circle. Professor sat at the head of one end.

Social Atmosphere:
Friendly, familiar, plenty of pre-class banter—all indicative of it being a few weeks into the semester. The students were mature, polite, engaged, and seemed to be happy to be in the class. They were also very welcoming of my presence there. The professor made a point to introduce me to each student in the class. With my permission, he saved time at the end for the class to ask ME questions about Mills and its MFA program. As he put it, the added perspective “is really helpful for us.” While I had made the initial connection because a friend of mine is currently in the class, he seemed genuinely interested in my point-of-view, creative process, etc.

SUBSTANCE:
What were the activities of the class?
From what I gathered from the professor prior to class, this meeting would be the first where students workshopped peer submissions. After introductory remarks, nearly the entire 2 hour/45 minute block was dedicated to the review of two students’ work. One submitted a journalistic piece on the spawning of herring in Richardson Bay; the other two comedic narratives pulled from daily life (To have a better idea of what would be going on in class, I had asked to read the two submissions prior to the class.). And as I mentioned in class, he and the class spent the last 20 minutes of class questioning me about Mills, how many students were in our program, why I chose it, how my workshops were run, what I was writing on, you name it. With some guilt, it seems this impromptu Q&A pushed the class’s planned discussion of dialogue in nonfiction to the next class, as well as an exercise writing overheard dialogue and then rewriting it as a 150-word piece of nonfiction prose, including description, etc.

Were goals stated for the class?
While Professor Cohn did not state goals per se, his syllabus (I have a copy if anyone is curious) details a clear and refreshingly direct agenda, from learning outcomes (ie. An idea of what constitutes “a completed work of nonfiction” to submission and course requirements (ie. A strict adherence to deadlines). The general course description also articulates tenants of nonfiction and its requirement that one studies “the world as it is.” His agenda then expands about how to apply techniques of both fiction and nonfiction to prose (such as dialogue, openings/closings, and description), encourages students to take risks, and emphasizes how to generate new work.


How were the activities conducted (non evaluative)?
In the class I observed, Professor Cohn began workshop with a typed list of his own observations about the writing at hand. In other words, he directed the discussion with specific questions of the text, rather than waiting for the students to offer their own comments, as I’ve typically seen done in fiction workshops. Speaking to a friend, however, this didn’t seem a specific method to workshopping nonfiction at USF, but rather an approach specific to the professor. For example, for the piece on herring, he asked: “What are the writer’s goals? What does she want to do for the reader?” After eliciting student feedback, he then distilled three main goals: 1) establish authority as a narrator in control of her information, 2) entertain with her narrative choices, and 3) produce a good piece of writing. He then invited the class to show him where the writer accomplished said goals. This gave the workshop an agenda to follow, and kept the class off tangents.

Was text used (published or peer)?
Published text was not used, only the workshopped peer work. The syllabus does state that there are no required texts for the class, though the professor will hand out short selections during class to read and discuss. That night’s homework assignment involved a dialogue reading, for instance.


Lecturing? Discussion? Exercises? In-class writing?
While the entirety of this class focused on workshop, my friend told me during the break that previous classes had involved in-class writing exercises, as well as the submission and review of a proposal from each student about his/her planned project for the term (ie, profile of an interesting person, investigation of an issue, memoir about a specific life incident or epoch, a piece of travel writing, a series of essays or opinion pieces, etc.). A writing assignment was also due the first night of class.

The syllabus charts four “activities” specific to workshop: 1) generating original writing ideas to be pursued in class, 2) considering writing problems as they arise, 3) doing serious reading and critique of each student’s submissions, and 4) the revision of a final piece due the last class. I particularly love that revision is required of this workshop. I’ve noticed that many times it isn’t, making it all too easy to procrastinate incorporating feedback during the same semester. While sometimes projects need to incubate, I wouldn’t mind revision assignments while things are fresh.

From the syllabus, I also gather that each class pertains to a different craft element of nonfiction (ie. The function of last paragraphs) or a directed writing exercise (ie. Taking a short bus trip and describing the action of going and coming back and what if anything changed in you or for you.)

How many students participated?
Everyone participated throughout the class. I didn’t pick up on an ounce of unprofessionalism or the sense that anyone hadn’t arrived fully prepared to discuss the work. Most feedback seemed divided into “Comments” and “Questions,” which I can assume is USF lingo, and which I like. However, it being such a small class, it was obvious who was giving a little more or a little less. I did notice that the one student was criticism heavy in her feedback overall, which is always a bit of a bummer in workshop. Later, she also said, “I thought about Mills, but I decided not to go. I forget why,” which was just such a vague statement and only further annoying, so I chalked her feedback up to a somewhat sour demeanor overall. (How easily we judge and fall back on those predictable workshop characters when we take things personally, eh?)

Described interactions among peers with professor?
In addition to the social atmosphere described above, these students seem to get on with the professor, who it was clear had taught a few of them in previous classes. One student even brought him tea and it seemed like a ritual (ps. soy cappuccino noted!)

OUTCOME:
What was the atmosphere of the class?
As an observer, I felt that the class moved along at a steady clip. While folks were friendly with one another, they seemed to bring an impartial intelligence to peer review. I’m not privy to the nuances of these students to know well enough if someone was subtly peeved or otherwise miffed. But it didn’t appear so. The overall atmosphere was classic workshop: being present to respond to and question a piece of writing submitted by one’s peers.

Were the students involved?
To restate, yes. However, here I’ll add some behind-the-scenes feedback. My friend took me aside during break to tell me that she was surprised at how structured this workshop was, and she was a little frustrated that the professor seemed to be steering discussion with his own agenda. I was proud of her when, after the break, she respectfully voiced her inquiry as to whether this would always be the format of workshop. The professor admitted he was here to teach and had a lot to share, but was very willing in tone and manner to adapt towards her concern. He asked the class to help him remember to inquire about any other line of questioning the students wanted to address before moving on to another point of discussion, and did so.

Overall, this episode reminded me that we will all likely develop very unique teaching styles just as we possess unique writing styles and creative processes. This professor also admitted that he didn’t know how other instructors in the program conducted their workshops, which seemed to indicate a lack of connectivity amongst the program faculty, but that could easily be an assumption on my part. I just know from being at Mills, that the faculty seems to have a clear sense of respective workshop styles—which I’m pleased to sense.

Did the substance of the class have impact?
As a fiction student, it was fascinating to observe the critique of nonfiction. The pieces themselves were impressive and very different from one another—from in-depth reporting of the natural world to dark comedic glances at the ridiculous in the mundane. Due to the workshop approach, however, much of the “substance” of the class stemmed from the professor.

He did an inspiring job of weaving the trademarks and the motivations of the genre into the workshop itself. In this way, he really jived off the work of the students and drew parallels to published work and craft elements. For instance, when discussing the depth of information in the herring piece, he noted that the author was a “dogged researcher and interviewer and a good writer, which you need be for nonfiction.” He also added: “we’re not academic readers/writers,” speaking collectively for nonfiction writers. In other words, the voice the author brought to the piece made the topic of herring fascinating and inviting, not dry and academic. He continued to call attention to the access point of nonfiction, saying: “The world is there to be used every minute of every day.”

He also offered general tenants that writers of all genres might appreciate: “We’re choosers every time we write. Every word is a choice.” He in fact began many, many sentences with “We, as writers…” This kind of language gave a nice sense of inclusion and equality among all in the room. He then showed good writing choices in the text. His style also leant itself to the ability to really drill down into the text, asking students to look at a particular paragraph and examine closely how it works. He also gave feedback on student commentary, which I think sometimes gets brushed over in workshop with so many students vying for the mic. For instance, he told one student who made a revision suggestion, “That was editing. Very good. Thank you.”

How did the professor engage the students? How did the students engage with each other?
As I’ve touched upon, the professor was continually asking questions of the students, especially engaging them to point out in the text from where they were drawing their critique. The students were comfortable disagreeing with one another as well. For the most part, everyone raised their hands to be called upon.

My general impression of the effectiveness of the class?
In terms of discussing each student’s work for, numerous craft elements, and engaging the participation of each student, I found the class to be effective. As an observer, I must admit I was surprised that formal criticism didn’t kick in for some 30 minutes. In other words, the workshop felt praise heavy, though the praise was consistently calling elements of the genre to the surface of the discussion. As we’ve discussed, there is a balance between being encouraged and being stretched. While praise is ego boosting and reassuring, I think we’re in workshop mostly to know how to improve works in progress. The class did eventually lead to a line of questioning and suggestions for revision. For the most part, the writers accepted the feedback graciously. Since one piece was unfinished and the other would likely be part of a larger series, the professor was very attuned to potential endings, alternate beginnings, etc., which I think is important. After all, it’s not all about the words at hand, but what those words mean for what’s coming next.

Did you talk to the professor and what did you learn?
Quite a bit. Before class, we emailed and I got a sense of his background: PhD English Lit Stanford 1972; Sports columnist Santa Rosa Press Democrat the last 15 years, before that sports columnist SF Chronicle 15 years; has published in Sports Illustrated, NY Times, Switchback; published Rough Magic: Bill Walsh's Return to Stanford Football (HarperCollins) 1994; and has taught at USF 20 years. I appreciated this career trajectory, as I come from a magazine journalism background myself and am looking at the teaching of writing as a related/alternate/parallel career path.

As for what I really learned, as corny as this sounds, one of my main takeaways is that often after a student offered particularly astute or perceptive feedback, Professor Cohn would simply say with intention: “I love it.” It was so validating! To hear those words and feel they weren’t being spoken out of a repetitive teacher tic, but truly from one insightful mind to another. Another turn of phrase I appreciated and plan to steal is: “You’re a writer, you’ll handle it one way or the other.” It communicated a sense of trust in the writers to, after all was said and done and suggested in workshop, make the big decisions on their own.

Reconsidering The Writing Workshop

Gill James' essay "The Undergrad Creative Writing Workshop" offers insight into how undergrad writing workshops are typically conducted, the pros and cons of the system, and suggestions to making the model better. In my reading and notes I found that there were an equal amount of advantages and disadvantages of the writing workshop if conducted "properly." What I also found is that there is not much room for change which as a student and potential professor frightens me a lot.

True to workshop format, I'd like to start with the pros of the system. In speaking of undergrads, I think it is advantageous that students are paired at such an early stage in their careers with writers of different genres. It provides students the flexibility necessary to play within genres and work between them. It is important to be adventurous at this stage in creating and not limit the self to one specific category in writing. Hopefully students keep with them that they should not try to box their peers into genres later on as it can be limiting and could lead to stumping creativity.

Students should find it in their favor not to receive grades on their creative writing work as it allows them to focus on the feedback, and not a letter grade. The goal is to offer student the highest potential to improve with the least amount of hurt. If students take the feedback they receive from fellow students and their professor, writing workshops can be a training camp where students learn to be their best critics. "They learn when to take advice and when to leave it, when to rely on their own finely-tuned intuition and how to ask for insights...when they are too close to a text to see either its faults or its strengths." And if students are in a smaller classroom, these training camps can be extremely successful environments for students with different voices, style, and gender to get together and teach each other what writing is to them. If professors can separate students to mix up gender, style, and genre, among other things, students are afforded a classroom that is diverse where no two writers are alike and individual voices can flourish.

There are two ways to categorize the disadvantages of an undergraduate creative writing workshop. The first is what the students can do wrong inside the classroom (and out) to jeopardize their success and the success of their classmates. The second is what professors can do to jeopardize the success of the entire workshop. Students who do not observe workshop guidelines and regulations can not only disrupt the flow of the class but can also ruin the experience for themselves and others. By speaking out of turn, too often, or not enough, one student has the power to change an entire classroom. Students should not be defensive about their work during a critique because the professor should lay out rules such as the writer not being able to speak during his or her workshop until the end when he or she can ask the professor and classmates questions and clear things up. Although the guidelines are up to the professor to make, it is up to the students to follow them. Students who critique each other's work based on "what they like" and "what they don't like" aren't going about their feedback in the right way and it is up to the professors to regulate this behavior. "A critical reader can appreciate the appropriate use of skill and techniques employed in the production of texts..." It is also dangerous for students to think of their professors as psychologists. Although there is room for heavy topics and people come out with traumatizing things that have happened in the past, the student and the writing should be accepted by the professor and the class, but the student should be led to seeking professional advice, in my opinion, in these sorts of situations. This is another topic that I think should be discussed in the preliminary parts of the course so when something like that does happen everyone in the classroom is prepared and knows that help is available in the right places. Not setting up the ground rules can harm students as well as professors in the long run.

Another possible disadvantage of the writing workshop is students having less time to write due to heavy reading. This can be regulated by the professor assigning no more than 200 pages of reading per week, but it is up to their discretion. Students only getting 25 minutes to have their piece workshopped each time (usually twice as undergrads) can also be a disadvantage in that students may not feel as if they have received enough feedback or spent enough time on the piece. Another problem that students can run into is having a professor whose attitude is that they are "better" than their students. This is usually the case when over qualified writers who should not be teaching run the risk of "going above the head of the student." Unfortunately this is a problem that can only be avoided by the professor. A good professor is well-rounded, invested in their student's success, and cares about the students more than themselves.

Another potential problem students and professors face is getting stuck on a certain form or style and trying to mold everyone else's work based on those theories. Both parties must regulate that this does not happen, and discussing the issue early on will probably make it easier for everyone to distinguish if and when it starts to happen. "They may overlook the brilliant and innovative which shines out beyond any personal opinion." Furthermore, what we fear most is the "uniformity of texts which leads to the death of literature." Students can also enter the workshop at different skills levels, so some may succeed, others may flounder, but this can be difficult not only for the students but for the professor as well. Dividing up the right attention to each student and figuring out what each student personally needs to improve must be the hardest part of conducting a workshop.

If I had three suggestions to make to the workshop system it would be:

1) Spend more time writing in the classroom (creates a community, free-writing inspires good ideas and is a great outlet).

2) Spend less time categorizing student work into genres and instead encourage students to play within them.

3) Spend time looking at the process of writing (organizing ideas, using images for inspiration, fueling creativity, etc. and how to get there) and spend a little less time focusing on the final product--pages of written work.

Lastly I would like to close on the encouraging note that although all the pros and cons are still swimming in my head and I haven't decided exactly what to do with them yet, I do think the most important thing students can and for the most part do establish through the workshop is their inner critic so they can make their own judgements and guide their own work into the right direction. =) Thank you!

How receiving a letter changed my outlook on life :)

Before this assignment I had two letters stowed away in my keepsake box. Whenever it seemed like the thunderstorm from outside was about to flood my belly,that feeling when your lungs feel like they might flutter out of your chest and your throat feels like a million bees used your larynx for a landing strip, I would sneak over to my memory box and pull out whichever one I needed most.
The first letter came from a political science teacher in high school. One of the only teachers who ever believed in me and had confidence for a future that I have yet to make good on. That letter comes out whenever I need to say "get up, get up, get up, get going."
The other letter came from a girl who ended up as my AOII little sister but began as a competitor in a speech and debate tournament. Now, I don't like to lose (who does) and during my years as an active forensic league member I made it my business to practice so hard....well, you get the picture. My junior year the only tournament I placed second at (in this particular category) was at state and the number one blue ribbon went to my future lil'sis. You can imagine what my reaction was when she first met me and said "oh my god, you're Christina McCleanhan, I beat you once!"
Time, breakups, studying for exams, all of that weighed me down and needless to say when I received her letter just before my undergraduate graduation, the opinion that she had of me and the wishes she harbored in her heart came as a much needed and unexpected reward. I take that letter out when I need to remember who I was in high school, before rejection turned my roar into a slight growl.
I get to add another letter to that secret hiding place. This assignment is really wonderful because it makes you feel like the greatest thing since sliced bread after you've read it. I mean regardless of what's said, someone had to really listen to what you were saying and that feels pretty awesome.
Here's what I learned:
1. that even though most of my thoughts are bogged down in self-critical observations and fears, in reality they all seem pretty pointless because I move forward so quickly I'm never really stuck in the mud for that long. So in a nutshell- If I am a notebook of creativity and existence then the fears are kind of like the perforated edges of paper in a notebook and I just need to crinkle those up and toss 'em....or a make a really big spit ball to shoot.
2. I need to take my own advice or at the very least practice what I preach. Surely to God if I can help someone out of writer's block by telling them to do something like pretend to tell me a bedtime story, I can do the same.- Do you think Elvis got a phone call that said " Hey El, this is popular culture calling and we'd like for you to swivel your hips when you sing so we can piss off older generations? No. My ingenuity and creative spark is the only thing that's going to make me the next big thing. I've got a lot of debt piling up so listening to my heart might be a good idea.
3. I need to trust my instincts and live the life I love. In a nutshell- I might feel like I'm jaded but that's not how it looks to other people. Alas, I must carry the burden of having positive characteristics...so much for living my life as an emo-hermit... I was totally looking forward to spending MWF listening to Nirvana and TTH blasting Death Cab for Cutie......huhhhhhhh

5 ways to curb workshop madness

1. To keep the classroom/workshop society a comfortable place by coming to class with a positive open-minded outlook and work that has been developed to the best of each student's ability.

2. To offer students the opportunity for frequent and extensive writing, guided by a teacher, supported by peers with constructive criticism relevant to the student piece being read during class.

3. To be able to identify characteristics of English grammar, mechanics, and usage and apply them to their own texts as well as others they may edit.

4. To develop a scheduled strategy at the beginning of the semester for submissions by brainstorming a piece, constructing a calendar for a specific amount of pages to be completed and revision of a final draft to be handed into the professor at the conclusion of the course.


5. To have fun and not take oneself too seriously while analyzing texts from contemporary and classical authors, attending class on a regular basis, and submitting to at least one contest or magazine throughout the semester.

5 Goals for Creative Writing Workshop

1. Develop a writing discipline - define an atmosphere conducive to your practice, set a schedule, and begin the habit.
2. Develop confidence and willingness - find your voice and focus on development of that voice (open-minded engagement with comments).
3. Develop skills in constructive criticism - learn to honor work and form constructive comments.
4. Develop skills in constructive conversation - learn how to make positive contributions in a group setting.
5. Explore your beliefs and prejudices - learn who you are, expand the boundaries of your concepts, grow.

3hree Affirmations for writing

I feel pressured to be great in the eyes of my family. Being a writer can pay very little, so me being talented, yet broke, doesn't translate as successful in the eyes of my family...and women don't tend to like broke dudes. My partner for the exercise mentioned that focusing too much on what others think of me being a writer may diminish the quality of my work. Although I think it affects the quantity of pages I produce more than anything, I take from my partner's comments that I should concentrate more on the process of writing and let the rest fall where it may.

I also talked about a fear of changing my style to meet reader expectations, to which my partner responded: "How does the artist keep his artistic integrity while thinking about satisfying others' expectations...?"

I was once told by someone that I see the world in a totally different way than anyone else. True, that statement could apply to any of us as individuals, but the way she said it made me feel like an alien, like a delusional alien in amber shades, especially when I had just finished telling her about something mundane and not the least bit fantastic. So, I feel pressured to be conventional because readers won't understand my style or why I take the surreal so nonchalantly. I take away from my partner's comments that I should "engage with that spark that created ishmael the artist in the first place."

Lastly, my partner wrote that "hard work is what it takes." A simple concept, but really profound. If I work towards something, the desired results are more likely to occur. I just need to make sure my efforts are focused on the project and giving the work its due.

おわり。

5ive Goals for a creative writing workshop:

1. To educate students in the artistic philosophies and literary styles of various eras and cultures.
2. To teach students how to read critically as writers--to gain insight into other writers’ creative “urges” and aesthetic choices and how the process relates to the students’ own works.
3. To offer students frequent opportunities for writing and reading, guided by the instructor, supported by peers, to provide an apprenticeship with words and language.
4. To break through creative blocks through exercises that help students to draw inspiration from various sources.
5. To craft a publishable work of poetry, fiction or nonfiction.

Reading Response: If the Shoe Fits, put that sucker on!

If the Shoe Fits was easier for me to relate to than Creativity has been so far. Wendy Bishop, the author of Colors of a Different Horse, teaches and reasons with a feminist bent that resonates with me. Her scope is also much more narrow in that she focuses on creative writing specifically. In Csikszentmihalyi's text, I find myself often getting stuck on the examples of scientific creativity and the puzzling specifics and lingo that go along with them.

One of the first points Bishop brings up in If the Shoe Fits is that of bringing the focus of writing from the product to the process. She describes her own experience with teaching creative writing and literary theory and her struggle to shift this very focus in her teaching and writing life. Using herself as an example, rather than a data-collecting observer standing on the sidelines, she talks about power. The idea of power in a classroom as well as in the context of writing, are of interesting to me. When I consider power I am almost inextricably considering gender and the boundaries that are inherent in these definitions. I begin to think about love and nurturing and qualities that are often deemed “feminine” and the ways in which these could be cast away as useless or unprofessional in an institutional setting. I am reminded of Peter Elbow’s theory that we should teach ourselves to “like” our students writing. The construct and dichotomy of women in institutions and careers comes to mind as well. Csikszentmihalyi sites the example of Grazia Livi in The Work of Creativity. One of her stories was inspired by this double bind and her emotional ties to it. It makes me wonder if a woman is suppose to be cold and competitive in order to come off as professional and compete with people of the opposite sex. It also makes me weary of the competition that is so often seen and fostered by students and professors alike in writing workshops. There is an exclusivity that precludes many from “liking” everyone’s work or even expressing their appreciation of it. Are we trying to gain respect in the eyes of more scientific fields, which are by nature more competitive? (Where many people are striving to find a solution to the same problem that only one person will get credit for the finding of.) Does this exclusivity sometimes work in order to push other valid competitors, i.e. good writers out of the running?

Another point that got me thinking as well as made me a Bishop-ian rather than a Csikszentmihalyi-ian was the following quote: “theorists persist in refusing to recognize us as being central to their study.” In complaining about Creativity’s lack of examples of “artistic creativity” and rather heavy-handed use of “scientific creativity,” I found this quote. Csikszentmihalyi’s lack of follow through on artistic creativity can be seen via the example of fire rings being the inspiration for the possible shape of a benzene molecule, an association allowed by subconscious thought that was uninhibited by the restrictions and guidelines of conscious associations. While the example functions as model of the “incubation” period, it fails to be a source of validation that the incubation period resolves itself in a realization that bears importance on the creative endeavor. Were the molecules ring shaped? Where is the follow through? (Yes, thank you to Wikipidia, I now know that Benzene molecules are rings. However it does not site anywhere that the association was made due to the visual of fire rings.) How can we learn about creative writing if creative writing studies do not have creative writers at the base of their studies?

“There’s no center” mirrors the point I came to when discussing this conundrum, that if we decide to say that there is no quantifiable way to analyze creativity, there is also no point to theorizing, there are only one-sided perspectives due to everyone’s experiences being true to their individual life’s and thoughts, and there is no point in trying to relate. Hence we are all islands and cannot see each other. This is counter productive to creating a creative environment be it classroom or otherwise, and so therefore is not a viable escape if we are to go on becoming teachers of creativity. What choice then do we have but to validate the similarities, the common ground, as it is, even with its peculiarities and idiosyncrasies, in order to relate to each other? For example, the role of an actor that demands knowledge of being a killer, does not in fact ask that the actor go out and kill but that they draw from their experiences to create a psyche in which they could imagine and embody the sentiments involved in killing. This commonality seems to be what we are in fact striving to recognize and riff off of.

Bishop provides the argument that theory is necessary but dense and suggests that the answer is to use “irony, humor and perspective” in application to teaching. She believes we should provide students with theory as a basis for their desires to “express themselves” so that they have a “real meaning behind them” or perhaps a link to a greater accomplishment or a reason why this expression is valid to others and the world at large. This conclusion makes a lot of sense to me. It also addresses one way to handle the inevitable sense of self-doubt that writers are prone to. It rationalizes why each writer has a unique idea and a valid place from which to speak. I think this becomes increasingly important in teaching female creative writers as theory can give perspective on the history and context of the male-centered writing world and urge females to challenge, express and work with the suggestive norms of their gender.

Similarly, Bishop brings up the idea of the “modes of existence of our discourse.” Our language exists in many different domains, sometimes simultaneously. Who has access to these domains? How do factors such as sex, age, religion or race affect our accessibility? This is an interesting concept to me being that I TA at COA in a remedial English class. This class is at the very roots of trying to give those who do not have access to academic lingo access. However, this is a very complicated endeavor. What is access? Is it a set of rules, a set of guidelines, a set of vocabulary and faked authority? How do you cross over from a place of not having authority to using these words and rules and having the authority? It makes more sense to me, especially in the context of creative writing, that you have authority to write based on the place you are situated, whether it be between two languages, dialects, or modes of speech or not. It makes sense that authority must be explained as the authority to speak from who you are about what you know. This however is in conflict with the restrictions of SWE and the expectations of academia, who impose grammar, structural and cultural norms on writing as a means of judging its credibility and quality.

If what Bishop is essentially arguing is that that theory is both inaccessible and necessary to contextualize the work of writers, it is my understanding that as future teachers of creative writing we are to serve as interpreters. Bishop states: “stories are constructed, convention-driven, and ideologically charged.” This seems to be part of the conclusion she came to in searching for more definitive ways to be a teacher and a writer. It seems to suggest that she believes that teachers need to come to a certain set of definitions for themselves. Some of which include, what is a story? What is a writer? What is a teacher? We have to be able to define to ourselves where we fit in the culture and language and give our students a bit of this knowledge, at least enough to have them asking of themselves where they might be, or even just inspecting the different pressures, norms and controversies that surround the field they are entering. They are not just writers expressing their ideas, but a part of a massive organism with all sorts of history.

Watching the sun set on the eve of my 32nd birthday, I am trying to let these fears fall away. What my hesitations have cost me can only be repaid by release. Time is heavy on my mind; and though I know its nature is not merely sequential, waste looms large over my shoulder. I gotta let it go.

The assignment has been either torture or rescue. It was hard to say what I'm afraid of, these demons have chased me for so long. But then to call their names, to reveal that I know...once a thing is identified but not addressed, that is choice. That is choosing to suffocate. And no matter how destructive my tendencies, self-preservation kicks in.

The genius of what we've been asked to do is this: the letter i wrote for my partner i also wrote for myself. Our fears being similar, and likely similar to all writers, balance is afforded through knowing one is not alone in this necessarily solitary profession; I was forced to face my own fears in order to craft encouragement to another person.

I have ingested the kind words and honest offering of the letter I received in return (thank you). I affirm that I have worthy stories to tell and a duty to tell them. I will enact the change I want to see; I will uproot oppression where I find it, first in my house and in my mind. I affirm that I am my own yardstick, and my best work is only bound by my willingness to explore. Creating personal and writing goals will help me quiet the head chatter, and grow in discipline. I owe myself a healthy mind and body and this can only increase the skill, space, and energy I have for writing. I affirm that I will be courageous in the recovery of magic, see it in the smallest thing, write it down.

This was a rare opportunity to be vulnerable and nurtured, and empowered.

Reading Response: Teaching Creative Writing If the Shoe Fits

As I began reading If the Shoe Fits, I noticed the author's intention to steer away from sounding too theoretical or full of academic jargon for fear of losing her audience--creative writing professors and students who feign theory. And I have to admit I have feigned theory since I can remember, especially when it has to do with creative writing. I have always felt that when you think too much about what you are writing and why it takes the beauty and ease that I so enjoy out of it. But tonight my attitude has changed--a little. ;) To Haake's defense, her method at easing away from theoretical jargon when talking about theory worked, and I kept reading. I believe it is to my benefit as well. I think she got me when she said that in order to arm students with the proper ammo to write creatively and have a chance at entering the domain they must know the theory behind writing in order to "teach it, learn it, know it and represent it." Theorists have power, which is why they make readers feel submissive—for the most part. So shouldn’t students have equal access to that power, especially if they are the future theorists of the field?

But let’s start from the beginning. Hakke states that teaching is about more than just the students learning about texts and how to read them. I wasn’t sure if I agreed with her at this point, but later when creative writing is discussed as the most under-theorized program under the English tract I realized she is right. How many times have I wandered around after a writing workshop and wondered what it was that I was doing exactly? This has happened to me many times in my creative writing career as an undergrad and graduate student. Her ideas have helped me piece a little bit of my wonders together.

Sometimes I feel that there is a lack of structure in creative writing classrooms and I think this is true because creative writing programs have not changed or evolved and have remained stagnant since their origins in the 30s. Thus, Hakke suggests that professors and students must constantly question what teaching creative writing means, and professors must give students a sense of knowing what they're doing when they are doing it. She recognizes the power that is withheld in theory and does not necessarily agree with how that power is implemented, but notes that students should be armed with the knowledge of this power in order to hold it within their own hands. Students have created their own means of publishing because the publishing world seems to be controlled by such an inaccessible powerhouse—because it is for the most part. But all of that power is guarded by theory, and if students are taught this theory...well, you get where I’m going. I’m surprised I haven’t articulated this before because it makes a lot of sense. In order for students to enter the writing domain and have a proper chance at success--not a blind shot in the dark—they can have that lustful mindset typical of most creative writers, allowing their words to carry them off into that hypnotic state, but they must also learn what they are doing during those moments.

In order to make the changes necessary in the creative writing field, we as innovative thinkers, students and professors must recognize that the mistrust between writers and theorists is the product of how writing is “defined, perceived, and constructed.” This goes back to Haake’s original point that in order for teachers to create the most successful learning environment for students, they must question what writing is, what it means for the students, and revisit and transform what teachers expect of their students and their work. Things have to change. No student benefits from hearing his or her professor tell them merely "how to make their stories better." Nor do they necessarily feel comfortable when their professors push them on a tract that expects them to enter either the publishing world or the teaching world if they are to be deemed "good" writers after their graduate studies. I personally have no desire to teach, and although I am open to that changing over time, have found it astounding to have professors assume that I would like to teach creative writing just because I enjoy the craft. Instead, professors should be thinking about new avenues for their students, and should try to not place them into such small categories just because that’s what we’ve been doing since the beginning. Professor should instead be questioning if their students struggle to understand their own writing, and what it means if they are. Haake suggests that students should be pushed into different directions, ones that lead them into uncharted territory for them as writers, to question “if they write the writing, or if the writing writes them.” And pushing students into new realms and arming them with the proper theoretical ammo will be a good start to broadening the teaching scope of creative writing, but I don’t think it will be the end. If creative writing has been taught similarly to how it was first implemented in the 1930s, how does this encourage professors who take no regard for the class, race, or gender of their students? The student’s desired tracks after graduation?

In my closing statements I would like to say that students would benefit from the power that comes with knowing the theory behind creative writing. Instead of scaring their students away with it, professors, theorists and students must clarify how creative writing is defined, the boundaries in which creative writing should be stretched must be defined, and professors must be open to the idea that the best way to teach creative writing to students may not have been fully refined yet. There is always room for improvement, and always room for change. This quote helped this chapter come together for me: “The difference between what we say and what we mean may constitute the only depth in us.”

Thank you and good night!

5 Goals:

Students will:

1) Closely analyze the craft and style of different authors--read books as writers.

2) Learn to focus on the intention and craft of the author when workshopping.

3) Develop constructive techniques for critiquing during workshops.

4) Contribute to a safe, comfortable, and respectful workshop environment.

5) Share work and be proud of it!

Three affirmations, c/o this week's exercise

Three of the affirmations I came away with from this activity, and in specific the letter my partner wrote me following our conversation:

1. The self-consciousness I carry with regard to my writing helps to keep the writing honest. My concerns around replicating the forms of oppression I may lambast/criticize in my written work will keep me cognizant and critical of how I’m approaching characters, circumstances, and portrayals of both privileged and marginalized sectors in that work. This awareness will keep me committed to developing both my craft and the social/political analysis therein. In short, self-consciousness need not necessarily be a negative.

2. Through my writing, I have the capacity to affect and alter the opinions of those closest to me (read: family), and I shouldn’t underestimate the potential my work holds to afford those with dramatically differing stances on some of the key issues I address (read: family) an opportunity to gain new insights and evolve their own understandings/assessments. In short, though it may provoke some pain to criticize family’s ideological stances in my writing, my words may also provide relatives (and strangers with similar political stances as relatives) an opportunity to shift their perspectives and understandings.

3. Though choosing writing as a career path may provoke fears of lifelong financial and emotional instability, the commitment to prioritizing my creative work is and will ultimately be a much more rewarding path than that of ignoring this passion. My commitment to writing is a commitment to myself, and even if bills may be tough to pay in either/both the short-term or long-run as a result of writing being a less-than-lucrative field (generally speaking), I can and must take pride and pleasure in knowing that I’m working to fulfill dreams, and maintaining my integrity by pursuing my creative vision.

This was a tremendously humbling and humanizing experience/exercise. I gained a great deal from both speaking/listening to my partner as well as from reading/writing the letter. Looking forward to discussing everyone’s processes around this on Tuesday…

Affirming Insights

I was partnered with Celine for this class assignment and she came through with some inspirational advice that I’ve taken to heart.

1. I stated to Celine that perhaps my greatest fear is that what I have to write about is not relevant to what is going on in today’s world (in last Thursday’s novel workshop, I found that not to be true at all, thankfully!). She so wisely wrote to me that all of time is relevant to today…because the past, present and future are relevant to what is going on today. That really hit home. My affirmation: I will remember that I am unique as a writer, a person and a thinker, and that what I have to say is relevant for all time.

2. I also expressed to her that sometimes I feared that my writing was not cutting-edge enough or, if you will, not experimental enough; in other words, that it doesn’t offer something new and fresh at the craft level. Her advice was to the point: if I ask myself am I challenging myself enough, pushing myself enough to be experimental and to think outside the box, and the answer is “yes”, then I should by all means feel reassured that I’m bringing novelty to the table. My affirmation is: I will acquaint myself with the demands and expectations of the domain by continuing in this path I’ve chosen and by reading and inquiring with the purpose of informing my art in terms of direction. I will open my mind to the vast possibilities of multi-form expression.

3. I also told her that one of my greatest concerns is learning how to structure my work, particularly the huge pieces like novels. My process sometimes doesn’t feel grounded or planned out. I believe this has to do with organizational skills, to some extent. She suggested that I play around with different organizational methods until I find something that works. She ended her letter with: I know that when you are satisfied and feel that you have pushed the envelope, been experimental, continue to familiarize yourself with the domain, and bring something new and structured, your work will not only fly; it will soar.” My affirmation: I know if I buckle down and give the not so fun parts of creativity - its mundane aspects - the respect they require and demand, I will move my creativity forward with amazing results.

Three New Affirmations I hope to Believe One Day

Jian sent me a beautiful story about a little boy and an old woman, the message being "center your heart, cultivate your spirit." While I have three affirmations based on this story, I am a bit skeptical as to how one actually goes about believing these things or practicing them.

1- I am capable of centering myself.

2- I am capable of cultivating my spirit, art, self

3- I am worth putting the time in that it takes to "center" and "cultivate"

I do believe that I am capable and worthy, yet in the day to day, it is quite hard for me to really do all the things I have deemed necessary to actually center and cultivate. I love these two words and the broad array of things they encompass, though that very broadness is also intimidating. For instance, what does it take to center myself? Daily workouts, yoga and socialization. These are the basis for cultivation, or the conditions under which cultivation can start. However, even if these things are happening and my mind and body are a clean slate that I can start to cultivate my art from, things can always get in the way. (IE my parents calling, news about my family, some shmuck I dated posting things online about me...) These things wreck my confidence and all the settling and building up I've done gets demolished in seconds. It is hard enough for me to keep on a schedule and do what I deem necessary to create optimal "cultivating" circumstances (mentally, physically, monetarily) without life jack-knifing your plans. How do you deal with these things?