CW HOUSE RULES (5 excellent reasons to drop HUL241)
1. You cannot miss classes on this course, because it depends on active
participation. Even if your excuses are brilliantly ingenious, your being absent for more than three classes during the semester will send your grade plummeting! No easy rides Accident prone+
2. You may have to give up some your weekends between January and April. Sad because you'll have to be in class instead of romancing during the magical and brief Delhi spring _ Going nowhere
3. You must choose whether you like it or not to belong to one of four focus groups in either poetry, prose fiction, drama or essay-writing. Of course this does not mean that you will be excluded from learning about the other genres, but it does mean you have to make some hard choices early on
Which road to take
4. You have to maintain a file folder, containing type-written versions of your creative efforts. Scrappy pieces of handwriting torn out of grubby note-books are unacceptable, no matter how inspired! Copies of this folder must be available on demand without fail Terribly hard work
You will have to submit your immortal writings to brutal scrutiny. In addition, marks on this course are likely to be dismal
+ Why bother to make the trip? x x x x x Action cancelled!?
"Writing is looking in the mirror and realizing that the person you see there is not yourself but somebody else. Our task as writers is to figure out who that figure in the mirror is and what the scenarios behind him or her really represent." RUKMINI BHAYA NAIR, 2012
COURSE OUTLINE AS IN THE UG(H!) BOOKLET (NOT BY ME, ALAS, BUT I SHALL STRIVE TO DELIVER ON THE PROMISE)
Introduces the concept of creative writing through an analysis of the techniques of writing and stylistics along with explorations in the problem of literary creativity. It also introduces contemporary writing that is relevant to the areas being discussed in the workshop. Students are invited to write in a genre of their choice. Selected readings in the theory and practice of creative writing will be used to brainstorm on what is involved in acquiring a style of writing.
Introduces the concept of creative writing through an analysis of the techniques of writing and stylistics along with explorations in the problem of literary creativity. Q I. - WHAT IS CREATIVITY?
It also introduces contemporary writing that is relevant to the areas being discussed in the workshop. Q 2. - WHAT IN THE WORLD IS A 'RELEVANT CONTEMPORARY TEXT'?
Students are invited to write in a genre of their choice. Q 3. WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO WRITE ABOUT AND HOW? THE 'HANDS ON' APPROACH? OR THE 'HANDS OFF' APPROACH'?
Selected readings in the theory and practice of creative writing will be used to brainstorm on what is involved in acquiring a style of writing. Q4. WHAT CRITICAL READING IN STYLISTICS OR COGITATIONS BY WRITERS WILL WORK FOR US? WOULD IT BE A GOOD IDEA TO 'BRAINSTORM' AROUND THE ISSUE OF WRITING WITH SOME WRITERS IN DELHI, AS WELL AS AMONG YOURSELVES? HOW DO WE MANAGE THE LOGISTICS OF SUCH DISCUSSIONS?
ON THIS COURSE, ALL OF US (INCLUDING ME) WILL WRITE AND CRITICALLY EVALUATE EACH OTHERS WORKS PREFERABLY IN SMALL GROUPS (FOR EXAMPLE, TUTORIALS) MANTRA OF THE COURSE: READ, READ, READ! THOSE WHO CAN, READ; THOSE WHO CAN'T, WRITE
HUL241 WORKSHOP IN CREATIVE WRITING Tentative Schedule rbn/5january2012.
Lectures: Mondays and Thursdays Tutorials: As scheduled
Thursday 5 January Introduction to course
Monday 9 J Creativity: some illustrations Thursday 12 J More on the 'problems' of writing and creativity
MARKS: Workshop/Class Participation:30; MI 20; MII 20; MAJORS 30.
What We Teach When We Teach Creative Writing by Peter Ho Davies
I'm a British writer living in the US. It says so in the bio at the back of my books. I was born in Britain. Many of my stories are set in Britain. I fight with my long-suffering US manuscript editor about preserving British spelling and usage in my work (Manchester United are the greatest football team ever, not Manchester United is the greatest soccer team ever). It would not, in short, be unreasonable to say that Britain is my inspiration. And yet, whenever I return home, I'm reminded that in a very specific sense I'm an American writer: a writer, that is, made in America. I moved here almost a decade ago to join a graduate creative writing program and have stayed ever since, supported by grants and fellowships, advances and awards, but mostly through teaching in the same kind of programs I first came to study in.
And here's the thing. In the US at present there are over 300 creative writing programs. In Britain there are ten. IN INDIA? MAYBE 2 OR 3? RBN
What this means for me today is that it's unlikely I'll be returning to live and work in my home country anytime soon. What it meant to me seven years ago was that I felt I had to leave if I wanted to become a writer at all. The British attitude was neatly summed up for me on a recent visit home when an old friendnow a high school science teacherasked me with devastating politeness: 'But can you teach creative writing?'
Now, I've heard this one before. It's a question I myself asked (implicitly and with a slightly defensive hostility) of my own teachers when I first came to graduate school in the US. I was confident that a program could offer me time and financial support, less sure that anyone could teach me something as individual as writing. It took a few months, but slowly I began to feel my work improving and because I was learning something (issues of craft as much as art) I assumed I had been taught. In the years since, caught up in the busy academic round of classes and committee meetings, I hadn't given the question much more thought until my friend's very British question.
What I told her at the time is that if music and art can be taught in colleges, why not creative writing? This is a ready answer, a neat analogy, but a slightly spurious one.
One reason colleges of music and art have an academic currency is that they frequently, alongside the teaching of technique and craft, offer classes in the history, criticism and appreciation of their subjects. Those things feel scholarly, feel teachable. Yet in creative writing, although my own teaching and that of most of my colleagues includes reference to, and often classes in, literature, its harder to see this as the remit of Creative Writing Programs since separate and independent of them we have institutions which teach the history, appreciation and understanding of literature; they're called English departments (or HSS Depts. -RBN)
I might have tried a cleverer answer to an implicit charge in the original question. Not so much 'Can you teach creative writing?' as 'Can you teach creative writing?' The hubris question, if you like. And in fact that's an easy one to answer. Do I teach creative writing? Not quite. I think of myself as frequently in the general vicinity of the teaching of creative writing. The traditional workshop method with its peer discussion of student work means that, at least at the graduate level, good students often teach each other as directly as I teach them. But this answer while honest, feels also slightly cowardly, a ducking of the issue.
At heart I suppose the problem for my friend is that she can't imagine what I teach when I teach creative writing. She's no more knowledgeable than me about music or art, but she respects the terminology of perspective and colour theory, point and counterpoint. The technique that I teach in creative writing classeshow to construct a scene, how to strike a balance between narration and dialoguelargely lacks such specialist terminology. Art and music have both been able to appeal to the sciences (the physics and biology of perception) and to maths in particular (the geometry of perspective, the precision of harmony) for a kind of borrowed technical authority. They feelto the layman at leastlike theories. By comparison what writers have seems more like a kind of folk knowledge, a set of old wives tales that might or might not adequately help us through the narrative woods. Write what you know, show don't tell, are catchy slogans, but if they're rules at all, they're at best rules of thumb. Each story or poem, because of its very individuality, presents along with familiar issues the potential for new problems, new challenges for which the answers won't have been worked out previously.
I do teach technique, practical quotidian stuff (how to use a speech tag, like 'he said' not just to indicate who's speaking but within a line of dialogue to suggest pauses, breathing, for instance), but it's also that very lack of theory and learning to live with it that I find myself teaching more and more.
This is a kind of problem-solving where the answers are uncharted and where a good deal of time and thought has to go first into problem-analyzing, problem-defining, problem- elucidating.
And here I must confess somethinga dirty little secret. Before I was a writer, before I studied literature or took a writing course, I was a scientist, like my old friend. My first degree is in physics. The dirty part of the secret, what's embarrassing, is that I don't remember a single formula, a single theorem from three years of college physics (this is actually more not less shameful because I graduated summa cum laude). But what I do recall, I hope, is certain ways of thinking, of approaching the world. Physics taught me those and they have remained with me long after the equations faded. What I'm trying to teach my students then are ways of thinking, which for want of a better word I might call a sensibility. And that's what I wish I'd told my old friend.
But there is one final thing that I hope my students are learning, even if I'm not sure I'm teaching it (suspect, in fact, that they're teaching me it week after week). Exposing cherished work and risking having it criticizedan inevitably painful processis something we all do reluctantly and a graduate student in a creative writing program does it every three or four weeks. Some fail the testthey turn in work they care less about, they reduce the stakesbut a remarkably high number persevere, keep taking risks. It's an act of ego certainly, foolhardiness probably, but also, in a modest but too easily overlooked way, of bravery.