(note: this was originally written as a critique for the "Teaching Creative Writing" class I am taking at UMass Boston as I pursue my MFA in poetry)
A Critique of Janet Burroway’s “Imaginative
Writing”
The element of Janet Burroway’s “Imaginative
Writing” that I appreciate the most is the emphasis placed early on the value
of play. Her vignette on a class day
combining choreographers and writers was inspiring. Both groups of students are trying to create
an experience for the audience to witness, feel, and engage with. While the writers were unsure, looking for
what to do “right,” the choreographers were focused on exploring what was
possible, laughed off their missteps, and kept going. This was a very, very useful metaphor for a
play-centric approach to early stages of writing that suggested a lot of ways creative
writing students can learn from the practice of other forms of art and make “serious”
art without worrying whether we’re doing things “right” or not. Mess around.
See what happens. Keep
fiddling. Keep tweaking it. Let it be what you’re focused on consciously
and unconsciously, allowing it to continue to evolve. Disappointingly, this book did not live up to
that promise and could use a good dose more of play in its prompts and samples.
While there are interesting
things in a wide variety of the prompts and samples, maybe because of the
sections this book is broken into, or maybe due to Burroway’s biases, the
prompts and much of the model texts seem to be concentrated more on capturing
what is the focus of the chapter than exploring it with/through a sense of
play. This is vital if an emphasis on
the importance of play towards imaginative writing can actually be
instilled.
In
this day and age, play is something that has to be retaught to students who are
out of grade school. Play is seen in our
society as important to early childhood.
It is how children are often allowed to take in the world and develop
the skills needed to learn. Then around
middle school we are taught that it is no longer a form of learning and engaging
with the world, but a “childish way” that must be “put aside.” This is especially true for “serious” writers
in high school or college. This is
especially true for millennials and current students, many of whom grew up
around television, internet, and videogames as forms of fun: a much more
passive, less tactile or full body form of play. Play is not an active or allowed element for
most students in regards to creating “serious” work.
Let
me share an example from my own life: I am a college junior in a theater class
where there is a guest instructor leading a workshop on clowning. I see this opportunity as giving no direct
challenge to me as I am used to what I believed to be clowning around in my art
and everyday life. After some
exploratory group exercises, one by one he tells us to walk across the room and
let something surprise us, deal with it as a clown would, and continue on. Halfway through, I fall down. He tells me I planned it. I honestly thought I surprised myself, or at
least wanted to believe that. He says
no, go again. Allow yourself to be
surprised. Before I am even halfway
through a sudden noise in the room triggers me to imagine a wasp that I must
swat. By the time I finally catch it in
my hands it in my hands to kill it, it stings me. And my hand swells. It swells so large that it is soon stuck to
the ground until I can squeeze out the swell and move on my way. Obviously, this is a much more vivid scene
than falling down. And it explores
something very human. Safe to say, it’s
also a series of events that I never could have thought of if I hadn’t been
forced to surprise myself and actually play.
I learned to let my inner critic go, be in the moment, and do.
Learning
and adapting the skill of play made me a more creative writer. Instead of worrying about what was “right”
and making my edits and choices relatively simple once I had come up with a
concept, I learned to explore what is possible.
I began writing pieces in my notebook randomly that might go
nowhere. Or might become one of my best
works for that time period. So now how does
one actually teach play? There are two
overlapping methods I would like to propose:
(1) Forcing students to have no choice but to create new
and differently.
(2) Learning from the methods and products of other art
forms.
Forcing Students to have no
choice but to create means, like birds thrown out of nests so they can fly,
pushing them out of their comfort zones and watching with a caring eye. This means encouraging experimentation. This means giving prompts that might include
word banks, weird challenges, and surreal images that gives them no choice but
to create. It means using an abstract piece
of art for an ekphrastic writing assignment.
It means gathering lines of imagery, being given a different context
than the place they were gathered in, and forcing students to write. If there is no way students can write
something “correctly” or “incorrectly” but have challenges they must contend with,
they will have almost no choice but to write something in an imaginative way
that pushes new possibilities out of them.
Like
the promise of working with dancers, students should learn process, value, and
other skills from other arts. Pull
imagery from a painting. Like the jazz
musician, explore the value of listening and what it can give you to play off
of. Play with movement and explore what the
body does to craft a walk that then becomes an improvising voice that then
becomes the speaker of a monologue that once embodied is then frantically
written from. Then worry about what the
monologue is doing and what bigger work it may or may not be part of. Chances are students have at least a mild
background in some other art form, the very least as an appreciator, and can
explore what they value. What are the
elements they love in a painting or an album?
How can they make it happen in their work?
While
doing a class or homework exercise (a “try this” as Burroway calls them) focusing
on trying to capture a reality or vision are useful, an intro to imaginative
writing should force more play out of its students. If they’re choosing to take a writing class,
chances are they already have at least a few things they want to write
about. And will. Force them to play around and explore what
else is possible. Like the two minutes
of clowning that have made me a better writer ever since then, forcing students
to play will better prepare them to write what they really want to write. Besides, who doesn’t like a good excuse for
play?
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