Category Archives: MFA in Creative Writing

“Reading Like a Writer”

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At the start of chapter five in the book Reading Like a Writer, Prose says, “The truly problematic question is: Who is listening? On what occasion is the story being told, and why? Is the protagonist projecting this heartfelt confession out into the ozone, and, if so, what is the proper tone to assume when the ozone is one’s audience?”

These questions set my brain ablaze. I wondered: How often do I take the time to think about my potential reader when I sit down to write? Or do I just write? I hate to admit it but I’m fairly certain that more often than not I just write. Of course, there’s a point when I think about who might read my work but this revelation rarely comes with the inspiration to write. During that stage, I’m absorbed in the writing and, perhaps more so, in myself.

Then I thought, how often do we write without ever taking our audience into consideration? Do we write for ourselves and leave it to our potential readers to decide whether or not we’re speaking to them and how they feel, or don’t feel, about our words? Then why so we get sensitive or insulted when they don’t feel anything? Why do we take it so personally when we didn’t try to connect?

When I read the work of other writers, I rarely feel like they wrote for me or tried to connect to me specifically but, rather, I just happened to like or dislike whatever was written. Usually it feels more coincidental like, to use Prose airplane analogy, sitting down beside a complete stranger on an airplane and (instead of ignoring them) striking up a conversation and finding a new friend.

Every once in a while, in reading, like in life, a rare moment occurs when I truly feel the words were meant specifically for me as though it was (cliché alert) meant to be. What’s exceptional about those meant-to-be moments is that they feel magical. Don’t they? Whether they happen in life or in art, when we stumble upon that kind of deep connection, we feel satisfied and whole.

It seems to me that we, as writers, should strive to create more of those moments.

Who we are speaking to is at least equally if not more important that what we are saying. But let’s face it we don’t always get to pick our readers. We certainly cannot control what they like or dislike. But, still, when it comes to reading and writing it’s all about the connection. The words hardly matter if the person reading the words isn’t feeling them. Good writers don’t just write. They inspire emotion.

At the end of chapter five, Prose says, “What I hope I’ve managed to show is how much room there is, how much variation exists, how many possibilities there are to consider as we choose how to narrate our stories and novels. Deciding on a narrator’s identity, and personality, is an important step. But it’s only a step. What really matters is what happens after that—the language that the writer uses to interest and engage us in the vision and the version of events that we know as fiction.”

This paragraph not only summarizes Chapter 5 but it also summarizes what I’ve learned, so far, in my experience as a writer. All of the pieces are important but it’s the whole that is most important and even though no one topic will speak to everyone since we are each unique and so are our tastes and experiences, one thing we have in common is that we all feel. That said, writers should strive to provoke feeling and write so that the beauty and depth of our words and the artistry and passion in our sentences connects, engages and touches those who read them. 

Cantaloupe

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I’d like to credit the book 3AM Epiphany by Brian Kitely for the following writing exercise…

Looking Backwards. Write according to the following rigorous formula: Tell a story from a person’s childhood, using three sentences from deep inside the child’s POV(letting the adult mind interfere as little as possible) and then five sentences from the adult’s POV. Keep going back and forth this way. Show us both the very adult feelings of the narrator and the very childlike (and hence mystified or incompletely understood) feelings. Don’t let the child know more than the adult. The adult version of this self is always removed from the moment, always a bit more relaxed. 700 words.

As I read the various exercises in the book I selected this one because it immediately grabbed my attention and inspired me. It was a pleasure writing this memory from my own childhood. The following is a true story.

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Miss O’Lenski told us there’d be a fire drill that day but I forgot. The alarm went off and it was so loud I got scared. We were supposed to walk in single file but I ran.

At eight years old, it’s my first memory of a fire drill but the day was a memorable one all around. It started with the evacuation but then I panicked and fell down a flight of steps, twisted my ankle and had to go to the nurse’s office. It was pretty swollen and appeared to be sprained so the nurse called my mother. I was a clumsy kid so my mom wasn’t at all shocked when she had to leave work and get me. She came right away, brought me home, laid me down and told me to elevate my leg.

When my brother got home from school, I was on the couch. He was being mean and wouldn’t leave me alone. I couldn’t get him to stop it so I yelled, “Dad!”

When my father saw what my brother was doing, he shouted, “Franklin, I swear to God, if you drop that cantaloupe on your sister’s face, I’m going to kick your ass!” To which, my smart aleck brother scoffed and said, “I’m not gonna hit her with it, Dad. I’m just messin’ with her.” My father quietly sat, watched and waited as my brother continued to toss that cantaloupe from one hand to the other. Frank laughed every time I flinched which was every time he caught it within mere inches from my face.

He threw it like a million times. I was scared he’d miss. I kept telling him to stop but he called me a baby. 

Meanwhile, the phone rang and my mom answered it. It was an old rotary phone, beige and attached to the wall, and as she anxiously paced the room the cord stretched and twisted around her. My brother, father and I were far too busy with our cantaloupe drama to pay any attention to her or to the conversation she was having. But apparently it was a producer calling from one of those spin-the-wheel-and-then-answer-a-trivia-question game shows popular back in the 80s. She excitedly jumped up, switched on the television and then turned and shushed us.

Frankie was looking at Mom the last time he threw the cantaloupe. He missed. It hit me right in the face.

Over the years my mom must have told me a dozen times but for the life of me I cannot recall the question she was asked but she answered correctly and won $3000. She jumped up and screamed, and the next thing I remember is our neighbors rushing in to congratulate and hug her. I clutched my nose with both hands and cried hysterically while my dad shouted and chased my brother around the house. Suddenly I was invisible and not exactly happy about that. The worst part was that after being sent home from school one day with a sprained ankle I returned the next day with two black eyes.

My stupid brother broke my nose!  It hurt so bad I couldn’t stop crying. Nobody even cared.

That’s the story about how my brother broke my nose with a cantaloupe. Though our mom remembers it as the day she won the money that paid off our house. And oddly enough our dad hardly remembers it at all. I know Frank didn’t mean to actually hurt me; he was just being a kid and trying to be funny. And in retrospect it was funny and even though it really sucked I still laugh every time I think about it.

The next day at school everyone asked me what happened. I told the truth. They still called my mom.

Earlier this year, 28 years later, I finally went to see an ear, nose and throat specialist. When the doctor asked me what happened I told him this story. He laughed and said he didn’t expect my reply. Then he scoped my nose and diagnosed me with a deviated septum. Afterwards, I called my brother and told him all about it. I even threatened to send him the bill.

That Evening Sun – William Faulkner

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It’s been one of those weeks, and I must confess when I first read this my mind just wasn’t in it. That may be why I fought my way through during my initial read. I had to sometimes read things over again just to figure out what was being said and, to be honest, I found that incredibly annoying. I struggled with what seemed like grammatical flaws and purposeful misspellings. I had trouble with the diction itself and, at times, I found the dialogue almost mockingly horrendous—even flamboyantly racist here and there. There were moments when I found myself scratching my head, like at the seemingly superfluous use of the word “nigger” and asking myself did the author really say that… again?   

That said there was a point where everything just clicked for me. I found the rhythm and a purpose in the redundancies. I started feeling what Faulkner was attempting to accomplish and it began flowing for me somehow. The story started coming together and it gripped me powerfully. Suddenly, I was amazed how my perception could be swayed so quickly and so strongly, and what felt like a poor first impression became a potential lifelong friendship. When I started I couldn’t wait to finish and when I finished I started over and read it again.

I typed this paragraph so I could print it and post in my office:

Nancy whispered something. It was oh or no. I don’t know which. Like nobody had made it, like it came from nowhere and went nowhere, until it was like Nancy was not there at all; that I had looked so hard at her eyes on the stairs that they had got printed on my eyeballs, like the sun does when you have closed your eyes and there is no sun. “Jesus,” Nancy whispered. “Jesus.”

The way this paragraph is bookended with Nancy’s whisper with the narrator’s frightened, confused and innocent thoughts set in the middle really made this work for me.

I wish I could write sentences so awesomely authentic. Maybe I can. Thinking back to Prose and what she says about studying sentences, maybe I need to study these types of sentences more, break them down and figure out what caused my change of heart and inspired this connection. I don’t know. What I do know is that it takes courage to write something that people might not fully understand or even feel comfortable reading.

It took courage to write this and now I get that. 

Beautiful Sentences

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In  her book Reading Like a Writer, Francine Prose writes, “By now you may be asking: what is a beautiful sentence? The answer is that beauty, in a sentence, is ultimately as difficult to quantify or describe as beauty in a painting or a human face.”

She says this and I completely agree with it but then she goes on to point out specifics about what makes a sentence beautiful. That’s when I started to disagree. In reading her examples, I couldn’t help but wonder if there was maybe something wrong with me since the sentences Prose uses to define “beauty” and “good sentences” didn’t speak to me the way they spoke to her.

Doctor Johnson’s sentence on page 39, for example, that Prose uses to exemplify a good sentence felt wordy and overstated and, to me, the rhythm felt off. While the sentence is easy to understand it’s not exactly what I’d call beautiful.

This is the sentence:

It has been observed in all ages that the advantages of nature or of fortune have contributed very little to the promotion of happiness; and that those whom the splendour of their rank, or the extent of their capacity, have placed upon the summits of human life, have not often given any just occasion to envy in those who look up to them from a lower station; whether it be that apparent superiority incites great designs, and great designs are naturally liable to fatal miscarriages; or that the general lot of mankind is misery, and the misfortunes of those whose eminence drew upon them an universal attention, have been more carefully recorded, because they were more generally observed, and have in reality only been more conspicuous than others, not more frequent, or more severe.

And while Prose says “the quality that this sentence shares in common with all good sentences is first and most obviously clarity. Between its initial capital letter and its final period are 134 words, ten commas, and three semicolons, and yet the average reader, or at least the reader who has the patience to read and consider every word, will have no trouble understanding what Doctor Johnson is saying.” I agree that the sentence, though long, is clear. But Prose goes on to say, “Despite its length, the sentence is economical. To remove even one word would make it less lucid and less complete.” I disagree.

Perhaps Prose is talking to (readers like) me when she says “the reader who has the patience to read and consider every word.” I love to read but I’m not always the most patient reader, I admit. As a recovering event planner, my motto has often been “keep it moving!” I tend to read fast and even skip a few words here and there when things get overly descriptive for me. And there are times when I need to go back and reread because I missed something critical.

So maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m in too big a hurry. And maybe I don’t, yet, understand true sentence beauty the way Francine Prose does. I certainly have a lot to learn. That’s why I’m here. But in addition to that, to use a favorite cliché of mine, perhaps it’s true that “beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” This cliché basically says the same thing as Prose when she says beauty is difficult to quantify.

I understand that as writers we try to steer clear of clichés and find more creative ways but sometimes (not always but sometimes) clichés work. Isn’t that how they came to be clichés in the first place?

More words packed into a sentence don’t necessarily mean more beauty. Beautiful sentences can also be concise. Sometimes short and long sentences say, more or less, the same thing. And (gasp!) in some cases, at least to me, clichés can be beautiful, too.

Little Miss Sunshine – Dwayne

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My favorite character in Little Miss Sunshine is Dwayne. He is quirky and interesting and his personal development and transformation adds so much to the film.

In the beginning, Dwayne has an “I hate everyone” teen angst thing going on which is pretty typical but what’s not so typical is the way he chooses to express it. Taking a vow of silence until he reaches his goal of becoming an Air Force test pilot certainly sets himself apart from typical teens and from his family. It is, on one hand, a very adult/spiritual move, not very teen-like. On the other hand we are reminded that he’s still a teen through his “this isn’t fair” mentality. Perhaps the most interesting thing about him at this point is that while he’s silent he doesn’t avoid or try to hide his feelings—he has more facial expressions than anyone and when his nonverbal skills aren’t enough to express his feelings then his notepad does the trick.

The scene where Dwayne learns he’s color blind and his dream is shattered reveals a major change in his arc and highlights the depth of his character. In this week’s lecture we learned “A character’s qualities are best revealed through events that provide situations for the characters to respond to – and their response is what provides us information about them.” This is Dwayne’s “all is lost” moment and he must decide where to go from here. In one scene he goes through all five stages of grief (Denial/Isolation, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance).

His body looks like it’s about to explode, he jumps from the van, runs down the hill and collapses away from his family. He hasn’t spoken in so long that we’re not sure if he will or if so what he’ll say. His explosive “FUCK!” perfectly sums up his feelings. Then, he tells his mom, “You’re not my family! I don’t want to be your family! I hate you fucking people! I hate you! Divorce! Bankrupt! Suicide! You’re losers! You’re fucking losers!” Pointing out the flaws of his family members is his final effort to separate himself before accepting his situation.

Finally, after a soft moment with his little sister Olive, he gains perspective and it is as though all the anger and pain has lifted and drifted off into the ether. He stands back up, brushes himself off, apologizes for his words and actions and goes on with his life, seemingly over it.

After this scene, Dwayne changes dramatically. It’s as though one chapter of his life ended, he grieved then was ready to move on. This transformation shows his character’s strength even more so than the vow of silence. And much like a tragedy can spark an awakening, he was like a new person afterward. He becomes calmer, more open, accepting and loving. And by the end of the film where he’s dancing on stage it is clear that he is ready to embrace life, be a kid again and have fun.

Little Miss Sunshine – Dialogue and Subtext

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The dinner scene works because there are so many curiously chaotic things happening all at once. What could have been a typical, mundane family dinner is brought to life through a ballet of interesting dialogue and subtext which keeps the viewer intrigued and highly entertained by the ever growing quirkiness of the characters and the story itself. In this week’s lecture, we learned “(subtext) can be used to develop psychological depth in your characters” and “Innuendo and double entendre can also be used to add tension and excitement to a scene.” This scene is loaded with gestures, offbeat comments, odd behavior and innuendo working together to add insight into the characters’ mentalities and motivations. Sheryl trying to juggle everything including her job, family and her brother Frank’s attempted suicide, Frank’s disappointment in himself and his growing interest in Dwayne, Grandpa’s outbursts, Dwayne’s vow of silence and all the silly facial expressions and notes which come with it, Olive’s naivety and unrelenting curiosity over Frank’s “accident” and homosexuality and her overwhelming obsession about becoming Little Miss Sunshine, and Richard’s obsession with winning and his feelings about “losers” and his innuendo that Frank is a loser for giving up on himself all transpires over a bucket of KFC. All of these things contribute to the conflict while working together to add tension and excitement to the scene and brilliantly set up the story and the actions which follow.  

Another scene that is infused with subtext is the one when they get pulled over. Everyone clearly thinks they are about to be busted for having a dead Grandpa in the trunk but instead the dirty magazines pour out and kind of save the day. From Richard’s obvious panic to the rest of the family simply watching the highway patrolman in silence to the trooper’s reaction to the porn magazines, all of it adds more and more tension to the moment.  When the trooper grins and waves to the family trying not to let on about what he thinks is the reason Richard is so freaked out (the magazines) and the family waves back so innocently, as viewers we are hoping for the best for this poor family and we’re locked in to whatever happens next. Then when the trooper sees the “Honcho” magazine, stops grinning and looks at Richard who laughs nervously and offers a look that says “I’m guilty” the whole scene comes together. We don’t need any more action, dialogue or explanation. Watching the trooper drive away is enough. This entire scene pulls the viewer in as though we are in the van with this family. We’re more than just watching passively, we are locked in and invested, and just like any member of the family we are holding our breath as we hope for the best.

(My) Pedagogy of Creative Writing

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I agree with Clay Reynolds when he says, “Those who do, many literature professors will aver, probably should not teach. Or at least, they probably shouldn’t teach what they do.” While I wholeheartedly respect teachers, I have confidence in my talent and ability to write but not (yet) to teach. Someday that may change but I still have much to learn about doing, let alone teaching.

My pedagogy of creative writing, which I will attempt to show through screen play below, is that, much like teachers need a certain level of confidence to teach, writers and writing students need a certain level of confidence to write. The writing workshop should be a place to build this confidence and nurture the self-worth of those involved. Outside the workshop, writers need practice—space and time to write and revise. But inside the workshop, they should be challenged and nurtured, but not critically compared to one another or traditionally graded (if they must be graded, then I agree with Katherine Haake when she says “if it were up to us, creative writing classes would all be pass or fail… as not to privilege any one writing over another.” Success should be based on participation rather than perceived talent or skill level considering (we and) our works are works-in-progress and therefore impossible to judge in (our and) their current states. Writers should not be held captive inside of a bubble (because in this case the bubble only protects the people existing outside of it and because this type of bubble by definition is silencing to the student writer). And, perhaps most importantly, writers and writing students should be inspired and empowered in the classroom to find, develop, use and share their gifts.

THE SCREENPLAY

INT. CREATIVE WRITING CLASSROOM – DAY

A TEACHER finishes up a creative writing workshop class and asks a NEW STUDENT in the program to stay behind to discuss the student’s progress and feelings about the experience.

TEACHER: How are you liking the workshop?

NEW STUDENT: It’s OK.

TEACHER: You seem a tad unsure.

NEW STUDENT: It’s just not quite what I expected.

TEACHER: How so?

NEW STUDENT: I came into this thinking it would be a great opportunity to share my work and strengthen my skills but I’m not sure this type of workshop is the right place for me. Maybe I need to learn more before I can be here, if that makes sense.

TEACHER: But the purpose of being here is to learn. Look, I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t noticed you’ve been holding back.

NEW STUDENT: Yeah. I’m not usually like that. But honestly I’ve been feeling a little intimidated here. Everyone’s so advanced… and so, well, talented.

TEACHER: You’re talented, too. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t.

NEW STUDENT: It’s not that I think I have nothing to contribute but I’m new to this. I was hoping to get my feet wet but instead I feel like I’m drowning.

TEACHER: You just need to relax and open up and let the class help you.

NEW STUDENT: That’s easy for you to say.

TEACHER: I like to think of my classroom as a safe place where everyone is equal.

NEW STUDENT: That sounds great. But I’m not sure you and I have the same perspective.

TEACHER: That’s fair. But I want you to know that I’m interested in your perspective. I want my class to work for everyone in it and I think you can help me achieve that. So why don’t you help me come up with a better solution?

NEW STUDENT: Really?

TEACHER: Yes, really. If you feel this way, chances are others do too. Maybe they’re even too intimidated to say so. Why don’t you go home and come up with an alternate solution, come back and present it to me and the class.

NEW STUDENT: You want me to present it to the class? Weren’t you listening when I said I was intimidated?

TEACHER: Of course I was listening. I obviously need your help. And this wouldn’t just help me. It would also help you, the rest of the class and potentially future creative writing students, as well. Your perspective could change the status quo for the better. But I understand your reluctance so how about if I make it a class discussion instead? It won’t just be you up there alone. It will be a class project. You can lead the discussion but everyone will get to participate. What do you say?

NEW STUDENT: You’re not grading me on this, are you?

TEACHER: No. And if anything, it’ll be more like you and the rest of the class are grading me.

NEW STUDENT: OK, since you put it that way. I’ll give it a shot.

INT. TEACHER’S LOUNGE – LATER THAT DAY

Teacher sends out email to the class explaining the project.

INT. LIBRARY – THROUGHOUT THE WEEK – MONTAGE

New Student feverishly researches for the discussion. CLASSMATES prepare, as well.

INT. CREATIVE WRITING CLASSROOM – A WEEK LATER

TEACHER: Alright, class, as I mentioned in my email, we’re going to do something different today. One of the best things about workshops is they are a place for you, as writers, to get together and discuss learning. This is going to be an exercise in that.

Teacher steps aside and offers NEW STUDENT the floor.

NEW STUDENT: Hello, everyone. I’ve been trying to figure out how I should start this discussion and I think the best way is to get to the point: I’ve been having trouble in class. I’m at the point where I dread sharing my work. I’m trying to improve my writing but the more feedback I receive here, it seems, the more confused I get. In fact, I’m starting to question myself as a writer.

CLASSMATE #1: Believe me, we’ve all been there! Wendy Bishop says “confusion can result in self-doubt” and “students who enroll in creative writing classes for the first time may have to overcome an overwhelming sense of unworthiness.”

NEW STUDENT: I want to grow as a writer, but half the time I don’t even understand what any of you are saying. Other times I know what you’re saying but I’m having trouble learning anything from it because I’m too busy trying not to break down and cry.

CLASSMATE #2: Some say the purpose of these workshops is to thicken the skin.

NEW STUDENT: But is that necessarily a good thing? The feedback I received during week one made me run right home and edit to reflect all of the comments.

CLASSMATE #2: Francois Camoin says “all writing is rewriting.”

NEW STUDENT: Sure, I’d agree that there’s an element of truth in that statement. But if I make every edit that someone suggests, when is my writing no longer my own?

CLASSMATE #2: Like Steven King says, we need to write to our “ideal reader” and not to the critics.

NEW STUDENT: No offense but none of you is exactly my ideal reader. That may have come out wrong. What I mean is I’m the least skilled writer in the workshop. My natural reaction is to try to please and impress you. My ideal reader, if such a person exists, would be able to take that into consideration when critiquing me.

CLASSMATE #2: Don’t think of it as critiquing. We all need to take in the constructive criticism offered in the workshop and learn from it… let it challenge you.

CLASSMATE #3: That’s easier said than done. Constructive criticism is subjective. Something may seem constructive to you but heartbreaking to someone else.

NEW STUDENT: And exhausting…

CLASSMATE #3: Exhausting? How so?

NEW STUDENT: Well, after running home to make those changes I mentioned earlier, I then resubmitted the revisions the following week and got totally different feedback. So then I ran home again to make more changes, even changing some things back to their original form. Now I have so many versions of the same story that I’m starting to get my characters confused and I’m starting to question my future as a writer. Lynn Domina says, “By the end of a typical workshop, too many students taste something fetid at the back of their mouths which won’t dissolve no matter how many times they spit.” I’m starting to taste it. Is that really normal in these workshops?

CLASSMATE #1: Domina also says “the primary task of the student writer is to learn trust and acceptance of the self.” I’ve been taking these workshops for a while now and what I’ve learned is to avoid the urge to knee-jerk edit. You have to absorb everything and take time to digest it. You have to trust that no one here is trying to hurt you and you also have to trust your own instincts. We’re all students. Even the teacher is a student of sorts. We are all learning and trying to help each other. No one is right or wrong.

CLASSMATE #3: And you shouldn’t let your experience in the workshop or anything you read or hear destroy your passion for writing. It’s not just new students who feel the way you feel. After reading Moby Dick, Katherine Haake said, “Now, under the spell of Melville’s prose and genius, my future, stark as destiny, seemed clear to me. I was neither smart nor talented enough to be, as I had dreamed, a writer.” See, we all have our own insecurities. The ones you have are pretty common.

NEW STUDENT: Well then there should be a way to fix them. If it’s not just me feeling this way, how many other new writers may have given up altogether because of a negative experience in a workshop? Perhaps these workshops should be divided by experience or skill level so we can truly be amongst our peers? That would help. If you’re more advanced than me, I might be holding you back or giving you feedback you feel is beneath you while you’re going to spend most of your time criticizing my skills rather than my potential.

CLASSMATE #2: That’s a good idea. But that may not be feasible in every situation, for example there may not be enough students in a program for separate workshops at varying levels each semester. In that case, perhaps a rule should be established where students do not verbally criticize structure, technique and skill of the student in the bubble. Perhaps those types of things would be better saved as margin notes on the actual paper.

CLASSMATE #1: That would certainly keep the oral focus of the feedback on the creative writing itself, rather than things like misspellings and grammatical errors which seem inconsequential by comparison and which can potentially embarrass a young writer.

CLASSMATE #3: And, specifically for the young writers, maybe we should establish some sort of rule or classroom condition discouraging students from making knee-jerk changes based on feedback. Maybe it’s something as simple as saying all edited submissions need to be saved for the last class? That way, students would be forced to process feedback before they acted reflexively based on a comment given but never fully digested in the bubble.

NEW STUDENT: That works for me. And while we’re on the topic of the bubble, can I just say how weird it feels to have someone talking at me like that without being able to respond, explain or defend my work?

CLASSMATE #3: I think that’s the point.

NEW STUDENT: Yeah, but it makes me feel like a prisoner.

CLASSMATE #1: A prisoner?

NEW STUDENT: I feel that way because I’m exposed and, yet, I have no rights. I am sharing myself with you but you have all of the control in the situation. You can say whatever you want to say but I can’t even respond without first asking permission. It’s a very uncomfortable feeling for me. It’s not very empowering… well, except maybe for the critic.

CLASSMATE #1: I never thought of it that way.

NEW STUDENT: The bubble is counterproductive because it shuts the writer up. I keep hearing how important it is for me to share and avoid being silenced but then I’m locked up in a bubble of silence. What if the reader misinterpreted something? Or what if I need to ask a question or explain further in order to understand where I went wrong? Besides, in real life, there are no such bubbles. People are going to speak when they want to speak.

CLASSMATE #2: Francois Camoin says, “I walk into a workshop and deal with living writers who are full of as many intentions as anyone can stand, and then some. The Law of the Workshop, which does not allow them to speak, is both necessary and terrible.”

NEW STUDENT: But is it really “necessary?”

CLASSMATE #2: Well the whole point is to encourage the writer to listen without being defensive.

NEW STUDENT: I don’t know about you but just because I’m quiet doesn’t mean I’m not feeling defensive. I may not be interrupting but am I really absorbing the feedback? I think we should give it a shot without the bubble and see how it works.

CLASSMATE #3: The bubble doesn’t really bother me, but I think if it bothers you and other students this much, then yeah, I’m all for trying it without the bubble to see what happens. The bubble was set up with good intentions but it does seem to value the critic more than the writer. This isn’t a Critiquing Workshop; it’s a Creative Writing Workshop.

TEACHER: OK, now we’re making progress! Keep going. You’re doing great.

NEW STUDENT: OK, if you don’t have an issue with bursting the bubble, how would you feel about eliminating grading altogether?

TEACHER: You want to eliminate grades?

NEW STUDENT: Hear me out… Stephanie Vanderslice says, “Rubric has become a distasteful word, hasn’t it? Rubrics might work in program assessment, but narrative response is much more effective for individual evaluation. We shouldn’t lean too much on rubrics in creative writing (music to many readers’ ears!), in part because they can be overly faultfinding, which doesn’t help writers at any level. The writers who are doing well don’t really find out why and even what they, individually, could be doing better, and the writers who are having problems don’t get those individual problems addressed.”

CLASSMATE #1: If we eliminate grading, then how will we know how we did?

NEW STUDENT: Can’t we leave the grades for the skills classes? Workshops should be pass/fail. By removing the elements of competition (for a grade and among classmates) students will take more risks and the class will work more like a team. Students won’t need to worry about saying the wrong thing or saying the right thing the wrong way or thinking too far outside the box because their GPA is no longer riding on their words and actions. They can simply work together toward the mutual goal of becoming better writers.

CLASSMATE #2: That actually makes a lot of sense when you take into consideration different levels of skill and different types of talent. How exactly do you grade talent? Is it fair to grade one writer against another or even against himself? Steven King says, “It is impossible to make a competent writer out of a bad writer, and while it is equally impossible to make a great writer out of a good one, it is possible, with lots of hard work, dedication, and timely help, to make a good writer out of a merely competent one.”

CLASSMATE #3: That’s a rather pretentious statement, don’t you think? I may not be a great writer yet but I intend to be. Isn’t that why we’re here? If writing was an Olympic sport, it would be foolish to believe that work and determination couldn’t win someone the gold. But if King’s right, then grading is futile in a creative writing workshop. You might as well give out a bunch of As and Fs on the first day of class unless, of course, the grading is based strictly on one’s own growth. On the other hand, if competency and talent level are solely based on the work reviewed in class and our grades were riding on it, would we only ever submit our best work and ignore the opportunity to improve the rest?

NEW STUDENT: Exactly. And how can you really tell how much a writer has grown and improved until you read more of their writing? In fact, one might say you’d have to read the final product to really determine the overall quality and growth. A poor letter grade could even silence a writer or cause them to toss a project. Is a letter grade worth that?

TEACHER: So, to recap, we’re changing the methodology behind constructive criticism and feedback, we’re discouraging knee-jerk revisions, we’re emphasizing teamwork and empowerment, and we’re eliminating the bubble and traditional grading altogether? OK, I’m game if you are. Everyone in agreement, say “Aye.”

CLASS: AYE!

TEACHER: All opposed say “Nay.”

No one replies.

TEACHER (CON’T.): Looks like the ayes have it. Nice job, everyone. Let’s get started with the new rules next week. We’ll see how it goes.

NEW STUDENT: You’re really going to change the class because of this discussion?

TEACHER: Sure, why not? Clay Reynolds says, “Creative writing doesn’t conform to any particular norm. Some workshops work as regular courses, with thick reading lists and imaginatively evolved assignments in response; some operate as extended critique sessions, wherein the entire focus is on students’ original work; criticism, rewriting, and revision are emphasized. Others take more individualized approaches.” If there are no norms, then we have the freedom to get creative. Anyway, isn’t that the whole point?

Students applaud and talk amongst themselves.

As students leave class, the teacher pulls the new student aside.

TEACHER: You did a fantastic job with this. Not only did you add a critical POV to the discussion, but you inspired the class to think about creativity and how it works—an important aspect of being a creative writing student. In fact, I think you’d make a good teacher.

NEW STUDENT: Thanks. I’m glad I did this. I’m really glad I was able to help. And you were right—this helped me, too. I truly feel empowered and inspired by the experience, and I can’t wait till next week. But, in regards to being a teacher, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

TEACHER: (laughs) OK. See you in class.

WORKS CITED

Bishop, Wendy. “Crossing the Lines: On Creative Composition and Composing Creative Writing.” Colors of a Different Horse. Bishop, Wendy and Ostrom, Hans. National University. 181-197

Camoin, Francois. “The Workshop and Its Discontents.” Colors of a Different Horse. Bishop, Wendy and Ostrom, Hans. National University. 3-7.

Day, Cathy, Leahy, Anna and Vanderslice, Stephanie. “Where Are We Going Next? A Conversation about Creative Writing Pedagogy (Pt. 2)”

Domina, Lynn. “The Body of My Work Is Not Just a Metaphor.” Colors of a Different Horse. Bishop, Wendy and Ostrom, Hans. National University. 27-34

Haake, Katherine. What Our Speech Disrupts. National University.

King, Steven On Writing, A Memoir of the Craft.

Reynolds, Clay. “Does the Workshop Work? (Or How Much Work Could a Workshop Work if a Workshop Workshopped Work?)” The Vocabula Review. November 2010, Vol. 12, No. 11

Juno: Dialogue and Characters

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The dialogue from “Juno” effectively reveals a great deal about all four characters involved.

In this week’s lecture, we learned the importance of “Be(ing) attuned to your characters’ backgrounds, their education, their states of mind.” The dialogue in this scene was successful in doing all of that. Having the four meet like this was a genius way to get all four personalities on screen simultaneously and reveal their motivations and insecurities all at once. Also, “the dialogue here is effective because of the way it moves back and forth between mundane exchanges.”

Juno’s dialogue relays her nervous energy as well as her youth and intelligence. While we see her intelligence through some sarcastic and witty references like “fluoridated water” and “sea biscuit,” the way Juno repeats Gerta Rouse’s name in “an exaggerated German accent” shows her adolescent way of speaking and acting without thinking about repercussions (much like how she wound up pregnant). Also, the fact that Juno refers to her unborn child as “it” shows she isn’t yet attached or perhaps she’s trying not to be. When she tells Vanessa, “You’re lucky it’s not you” it shows she clearly has no comprehension of what this woman must have felt wanting so badly to conceive a child. Her youth shows through again here because she’s not trying to hurt Vanessa’s feelings, but rather she simply doesn’t think before she speaks.

Her father Mac uses sarcasm to deal with a very emotionally challenging situation. His teenage daughter is knocked up and about to give up his only grandchild. This is difficult for him on so many levels, including having to see his daughter suffer. But he wants what is best for both his child and grandchild. His dialogue reveal’s a lower education level than his daughter who he must have pushed to excel in school. Still, his dialogue shows that he is indeed smart. He comes across as an older, more mature version of Juno. In contrast to Juno’s flippant speak-before-she-thinks type comments, he replies more thoughtfully and tries to show his family has manners with things like “We’re fine. Thank you.”

Mark starts off by describing himself as “the husband.” That seems like an innocent comment but like we learned in this week’s lecture what people do not say is just as important as what they say. Later in this scene when Mark says “Vanessa has wanted a child since we got married” he may not realize that he is implying that it was just Vanessa wanting the baby and not him. When Juno asks Mark if he’s looking forward to being a dad and he nonchalantly replies, “sure, why not” that shows that he’s not taking the matter seriously and that he and his wife are not on the same page. All of this foreshadows the unraveling of their relationship. When Mark replies to Juno’s “kickin’ it old school comment” with “technically that would be kickin’ it Old Testament” it shows he is able to easily bring himself down to an adolescent level to relate to Juno. At this point it seems endearing but later in the scene and even more so later in the film we learn that he can’t help it since he hasn’t quite grown up enough himself to deal with having a child. When Mark follows Juno upstairs, their one-on-one dialogue heightens this feeling. He reveals his fear of being perceived as “paranoid yuppies” and then counters Juno’s “klepto” comment with “I don’t get a klepto vibe from you. Evil genius? Maybe. Arsonist? Wouldn’t rule it out.” He doesn’t speak to her like a man who is about to adopt her child. He speaks in an almost flirtatious or competitive tone instead, like someone trying to be on her same level or who’s not ready to let go of his own childhood and grow up just yet.

Vanessa comes across as well educated, overly formal, a little uptight and concerned. It is obvious that she wants this baby and she’s afraid to somehow mess up the opportunity. She works hard to impress Juno and Mac and make them feel at home. She thinks of everything. “I’ll get drinks… I’ve got Pellegrino, Vitamin Water…” shows her desire to put the baby’s health first as well as portray her and Mark as healthy and suitable potential parents. Throughout the scene, she tries to keep everyone on topic and focus on the baby and Juno’s health. In a way, this makes Vanessa seem cold and even obsessed with motherhood. This may make the viewer dislike her here but later it allows us to look back and value the fact that she puts the baby first when we see that this quality is what makes her a good mother.

Chinatown: The Slapping Scene

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Chinatown (the slapping scene):

The scene where Jake continuously slaps Mrs. Mulwray in the face is an unexpected conflict that contributes a great deal to Chinatown’s overall narrative arc by revealing new and hidden qualities of the characters and of the story itself while significantly advancing the plot.

Slapping Mrs. Mulwray shows Jake’s growing frustration. He came across as such a cool, collected, calculated and even reasonable guy up to this point but he was tired of getting the run around and certainly lost his cool completely. There was no other time in the film that he lost it like this (the scene in the barbershop gave a glimpse into the possibility of it but even then he managed to pull it together).  On one hand, it shows a very personal attachment he must have had to Mrs. Mulwray since that level of frustration can only come from a deeper connection. On another hand, it shows that he’s capable of hitting a woman, that he has limits and that he’s not perfect, and it reveals he’s willing to go to the extreme to get to the truth.

For Mrs. Mulwray, it showed her at her weakest. She came across as so strong and pulled together prior to this moment where she completely breaks and her secret flies out into the open. She seems utterly exhausted, too, as though she’s been working so hard to keep her secrets hidden for so long and to keep her stories straight in her own head. In addition, it showed a deeper quality we hadn’t seen before—the quality of an abused woman. By not standing up for herself in this scene and just letting this man slap her like that, it was clear that she had the unfortunate mentality of a person who had lived a life of abuse and may have even grown to believe she deserved it. 

Both characters reach their breaking points in this scene. Also, they start to show qualities that seem opposite to the characters we were introduced to at the start of the film. But this is another thing that makes the story so great. The characters are clearly multidimensional. It’s not that they suddenly changed personalities here, but rather it showed that they have inner demons which they worked hard to hide from the world in addition to having weaknesses and the ability to change and grow through stress and circumstance.

Breaking the characters like this advances the plot in several ways. The obvious one is that now Mrs. Mulwray’s secret is out in the open and something must happen next because of it. But also, it shakes the viewer up and potentially alters our perspective. For example, seeing Jake get physical with Mrs. Mulwray caused me to question him as a man and reconsider his likeability. I think that’s a natural reaction to watching a man slap a woman in the face like that. It also made me feel sorry for Mrs. Mulwray in an uncomfortable way because it was clear to me that she had deeper rooted issues than had been revealed.  But most dynamically, this scene changed the game. If you weren’t awake or already paying close enough attention up till now, you certainly woke up and started focusing. It was almost like Jake slapped Mrs. Mulwray, himself and the viewer in the face all at once.

I believe this scene was one of the most dramatic and successful scenes in the movie. Personally I didn’t expect it. While it caught me off guard in the moment, in retrospect it really worked. It shook me up but then everything about the narrative and the characters started coming together and the entire story started making sense.

Hey! What’s “Up”?

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Up is a very charming story with characters who are lovable, engaging and honest and a plot and pace which keep our attention. We are drawn in through memories and emotions and then swept away on a journey with our protagonist, a grumpy old man named Carl. And much like many non-animated films starring grumpy old men (and women), we learn early on that Carl didn’t start out that way and it takes an adventure, a cute kid (and a dog) to help fix it.

Right from the start, Docter, Peterson and McCarthy establish characters who grab our attention and pull us effortlessly into their story. In the first 25 pages, in addition to our protagonist Carl (our adventurous kid/responsible adult/crabby old man protagonist), we also meet energetic/enthusiastic Ellie (Carl’s lost love), Charles Muntz (the childhood idol), Russell (the kid who reminds our protagonist of himself as a kid and who adds tension and gives Carl someone to love) and the construction workers, real estate developer, police and nursing home agents (the bad guys).

Even though the characters are animated and adorable, they have been given realistic qualities and real life problems. While destruction and cartoons have been cohabitating forever, it’s unusual to have a married couple in an animated film experience such dramatic and heartbreaking real life situations (i.e., trouble conceiving, miscarriage, money problems, growing old, forgotten dreams, sickness/loss/death). By giving the characters human qualities and real life experiences and feelings, we as viewers empathize with them just like they were real people and we come to understand why our protagonist became this grumpy old man. This is effective because once empathy has been achieved we become locked in and invested.

In this week’s lecture, we learned the importance of actions over dialogue: “Not just dialogue, but also your characters’ actions: think of the volumes of information that can be conveyed by a glare, a question that is met with silence, or a character simply watching another character’s actions.” In Up, action (past and present) weaves the setting. “Each scene should contain only the absolutely essential information (so as not to distract from the overall plot and theme).” In the first 25 pages, we are given a lot of information in a short period of time, but it’s done well and all of it is critical to the story. Simple actions like Ellie pushing Carl onto the beam show how much he needed her “pushing him.” And in the moment when Carl touches Ellie’s handprint on the mailbox and smiles, he doesn’t need to say anything to show us how much he loves and misses her.

Just like a real person mourning the death of a spouse, Carl loses his spirit and zest for life. He was, at one time, in love with life, adventure and he had a charismatic woman to share his life. They shared their dreams but then they grew up and life got in the way. When Ellie died, their dreams fueled by her energy died with her and Carl is left mourning her loss and the loss of those dreams. It is easy to understand why he fights so hard to keep his home from being torn down by developers; it’s all he has left and his memories of Ellie are tied up in the house especially since it’s the one tangible thing they achieved together. By the time we get to Plot Point 1 and Carl makes the decision to launch the balloons and fly away with the house, we want him to learn to live again and we are ready to float away with him.  

At times, the pace and fluidity of the dialogue kept things moving (i.e., Ellie’s rapid fire dialogue) and at other times removing the dialogue altogether slowed things down and forced us to pay close attention to the actions and details. Even though we were given a lot of information in the setup, the elements were easily digestible and critical to the story. Giving the details and emotions efficiently allows the story to get to the point—or the adventure—faster. This is especially effective when we consider that animated films are watched by both children and adults. The kids may be watching primarily for the excitement and effects but this film gives adults everything they need, too, with a relevant and captivating story full of drama and emotion.

The writers also utilized parallels to set up the story and bring the characters to life. For example, we have physical, mental and emotional parallels between Carl and his childhood idol Charles Muntz and between Carl and Russell. It was like meeting three generations. After all Carl had been through in the first 25 pages of the script, we want him to go on that big adventure he’d promised Ellie and to succeed where his childhood idol failed. We also want him to take Russell (the son he and Ellie never had) with him so he doesn’t eventually wind up on the same path.  

Props also play a huge role in helping us get to know the characters and advancing the plot. Seemingly simple things like the ties showing the passage of time or the torn adventure badge and the missing scout merit badge showing a failed attempt at a goal and, of course, the balloons and the house itself were so symbolic to the ups and downs of Carl and Ellie’s life. And perhaps the most important prop is Ellie’s adventure book which showed Ellie and Carl’s hopes and dreams and we see Carl looking at it with regret for what wasn’t yet accomplished.

The beauty of Up is that everyone can relate to this story. We have all experienced some sort of loss in our lives and it is easy to imagine failing at a dream or feeling left behind, lost, lonely and stuck. Through charming characters, realistic situations and some savvy storytelling techniques, the writers bring Up’s characters to life and make us believe that anything is possible.