Sometimes I think that the critical part of my brain is killing the creative part. It’s like the more analytical I become, the less likely I am to take risks and try something innovative or different. Anything I create now is viewed through an analytical lens in real time, and so most of my writing projects never get off the ground. I probably have 800 files in my computer or on flash drives that are no more than 500 words. Sometimes they are just a sentence. I would have an idea about something I wanted to write, but then I would get wrapped up in the “how” or “why” of the whole thing; before I could stop myself, I would completely lose the “what” that brought me there in the first place. Analysis creates indecision creates stagnation. Barf.
It wasn’t always this way. I started writing short stories when I was in the 3rd grade. I still have most of them in an old Five-Star notebook and anytime I do serious cleaning, I get side-tracked. I can’t stop myself from re-reading all of them, or keep myself from cringing at how trite and obvious the writing is. I used to chase my parents, teachers, and friends down and practically shove those hilariously long sentences littered with awkward and forceful similes down their throats. (Not much has changed really). I was blissfully ignorant of the world of analysis; I could create the “what” because the “why” and “how” didn’t occur to me yet…thanks a lot Piaget.
Throughout high school I wrote poetry-ish. It all rhymed. It was all about being in love with boys who either didn’t know my name or who knew my name but thought I smelled like boiled cabbage. I would write the poems on poster-board in fancy script with water colors, or calligraphy pens. I made entire collages of tortured poetry and hung them on my wall. I hung them right by the door so my brother’s friends would see them when they walked by. I wanted all literate people to read them. Today, every single poetry board that I ever made is under my bed, supporting an impressive colony of dust bunnies.
I guess ignorance really is bliss in the creative process sometimes. When I started taking English classes on a college level, I began to notice that my own short stories and poems were pretty lame. I changed my major from creative writing to just English because I started to worry that I was wasting my time. I mean, if Matthew Arnold wasn’t happy with “Dover Beach,” what on earth would he say about some of the crap I had written? Literary analysis flooded my creative subconscious, and those waters still haven’t receded. I can’t remember the last time I wrote a complete piece of fiction that I felt good enough about to share with anyone. Fiction is terrifying to me now. It is so dangerous and I feel so vulnerable when I do it. Fiction is when you leave the trail or go off-road. It’s when you stop trying to make sense of everything or explain the purpose of its existence. In so many ways, it is the complete opposite of analysis. Yet, I don’t think it could exist without analysis.
Since I teach AP classes, my job is to prepare my students for their college level English courses that are always analysis based. I have to teach my students how to become analytical readers and writers…but at what cost? I’ve started to realize that for a lot of my students, I might be that first person who is chiseling away at their creative subconscious. I’m shining a light onto the creative process that will completely change the way that they view it in the future. I’m like the opposite of the catcher in the rye. I’m the catapult in the rye! A cold, analytical, pragmatic (and highly dramatic) catapult that gets my students spring-loaded for an illuminating view that will separate them from the “what” that they have reveled in for so long! (And again, I’m terrified and humbled by the amount of power—and therefore responsibility—that comes along with my job).
As I spend more and more time in the analytical sphere with grad school and work, I hope I can figure out a way to reconcile these two parts. I want my creativity and analysis to co-exist symbiotically. I want to be able to use my analysis to improve the creativity of my writing instead of letting it paralyze me. I want my creativity to loosen the rigid analysis that I’ve learned to lean on over the past 10 years. I want to be able to encourage my students to be more perceptive, active readers who interact with the words on the page in a personal, meaningful, and scholarly way. But I don’t want them to lose their creative powers or their souls in the process.
And most importantly, I want to ask Matthew Arnold what the heck was wrong with “Dover Beach.”
It wasn’t always this way. I started writing short stories when I was in the 3rd grade. I still have most of them in an old Five-Star notebook and anytime I do serious cleaning, I get side-tracked. I can’t stop myself from re-reading all of them, or keep myself from cringing at how trite and obvious the writing is. I used to chase my parents, teachers, and friends down and practically shove those hilariously long sentences littered with awkward and forceful similes down their throats. (Not much has changed really). I was blissfully ignorant of the world of analysis; I could create the “what” because the “why” and “how” didn’t occur to me yet…thanks a lot Piaget.
Throughout high school I wrote poetry-ish. It all rhymed. It was all about being in love with boys who either didn’t know my name or who knew my name but thought I smelled like boiled cabbage. I would write the poems on poster-board in fancy script with water colors, or calligraphy pens. I made entire collages of tortured poetry and hung them on my wall. I hung them right by the door so my brother’s friends would see them when they walked by. I wanted all literate people to read them. Today, every single poetry board that I ever made is under my bed, supporting an impressive colony of dust bunnies.
I guess ignorance really is bliss in the creative process sometimes. When I started taking English classes on a college level, I began to notice that my own short stories and poems were pretty lame. I changed my major from creative writing to just English because I started to worry that I was wasting my time. I mean, if Matthew Arnold wasn’t happy with “Dover Beach,” what on earth would he say about some of the crap I had written? Literary analysis flooded my creative subconscious, and those waters still haven’t receded. I can’t remember the last time I wrote a complete piece of fiction that I felt good enough about to share with anyone. Fiction is terrifying to me now. It is so dangerous and I feel so vulnerable when I do it. Fiction is when you leave the trail or go off-road. It’s when you stop trying to make sense of everything or explain the purpose of its existence. In so many ways, it is the complete opposite of analysis. Yet, I don’t think it could exist without analysis.
Since I teach AP classes, my job is to prepare my students for their college level English courses that are always analysis based. I have to teach my students how to become analytical readers and writers…but at what cost? I’ve started to realize that for a lot of my students, I might be that first person who is chiseling away at their creative subconscious. I’m shining a light onto the creative process that will completely change the way that they view it in the future. I’m like the opposite of the catcher in the rye. I’m the catapult in the rye! A cold, analytical, pragmatic (and highly dramatic) catapult that gets my students spring-loaded for an illuminating view that will separate them from the “what” that they have reveled in for so long! (And again, I’m terrified and humbled by the amount of power—and therefore responsibility—that comes along with my job).
As I spend more and more time in the analytical sphere with grad school and work, I hope I can figure out a way to reconcile these two parts. I want my creativity and analysis to co-exist symbiotically. I want to be able to use my analysis to improve the creativity of my writing instead of letting it paralyze me. I want my creativity to loosen the rigid analysis that I’ve learned to lean on over the past 10 years. I want to be able to encourage my students to be more perceptive, active readers who interact with the words on the page in a personal, meaningful, and scholarly way. But I don’t want them to lose their creative powers or their souls in the process.
And most importantly, I want to ask Matthew Arnold what the heck was wrong with “Dover Beach.”
I would encourage you to take Creative Writing classes. English departments it seems have been taken over by a cold philosohpical peoples who are into theory and not literature, much less creating their own work. I can make that kind of generalization because I've experienced this kind of thing myself. it's becoming a big competition rather than any sort of collaboration.
ReplyDeleteThere's this essay by richard rorty in his book Achieving Our Country that sums up this idea and gives some awesome responses to this problem in ENglish departments today. I can't remember the name of it, but it sums up how I think English departments should be. Keep writing about this, I have issues with this too.
Nate