On Creative Writing Classes

One of the most hotly debate topics among authors is whether or not creative writing classes are worth an aspiring writer's time.  The internet is filled with wonderful think pieces by writers of all types on the topic.  While a few of these pieces are unrelentingly pro- or anti-creative writing class, the majority of them have a more nuanced view that weighs the relative pros and cons of creative writing classes.  Many of these articles that end up being against creative writing classes recognize their merit, while many of these articles that conclude they are worth it do recognize they aren't without drawbacks.

Well, as an author myself, I figured I would take a moment to weigh in on the debate.  I took two creative writing classes in college and both had a tangible impact on my writing.  In this post I will lay out why I think these classes can be of a lot of benefit to aspiring writers, though they are not without their drawbacks.

Of course, no amount of writing classes can be as helpful for your writing

as finding a frenemy to become dramatic rivals with.

The first and most obvious merit to creative writing classes is one that almost every think piece on the subject, regardless of their ultimate position, regards as a merit for creative writing classes: time spent reading other creative works and writing your own pieces.

There doesn't seem to be much to say here, really.  The more practice you can get at whatever you're trying to do, the better.  A creative writing class mandates that you read and write a certain amount, and that extra practice on top of whatever else you do in your free time is important.

On the other hand, you can say that a dedicated writer will find time to write no matter what.  There is a lot of merit to this idea at first glance, especially considering the majority of authors we consider great never took a creative writing class in their life.  Sure, you might not be doing it for a class project, but that doesn't matter if you're getting in that practice on your own, right?

Well, yes and no.  To get at what I mean, let's talk about another one of my favorite topics for a moment: boxing.

First lesson: if you can throw a punch, you can write a book.

Say you want to try your hand at boxing.  You scoff at the idea of going into a gym "because all you need is a heavybag and the practice", and so you go to your local sporting goods store and buy yourself your own gloves, mouth guard, wraps, heavybag, and heavybag stand.  Of course, knowing that direct practice is what counts, you make sure to get in your sparring rounds by boxing with friends in your backyard.  After training for a while you set up your first boxing match and, surprise surprise, you lose terribly.

It doesn't take a professional boxer to figure out what went wrong in the scenario above.  You didn't have a coach to instruct you on how to better your technique and fight more effectively.  Meanwhile, your opponent was being guided along a path of proper boxing and constant peer-review from people who have at least an idea of what they're doing.  But that's completely different from writing, right?  Boxing is about objective results (winning matches), whereas writing is a much more subjective experience.  Stemming from that, there is an objective way to be a good boxer, whereas there isn't really a standard way to be a good writer, right?

Well, not exactly.  Yes, there are general ways to become a better boxer- keeping your hands high to protect yourself from getting hit, for instance.  It's one of the first things they try to teach you in any boxing classes.  "Hands up, hands up, hands up!"  Yet tons of famous boxers, including the infamous Muhammad Ali, had a habit of winning fights with their hands down.

Hah, this "Ali" fella clearly knows nothing about boxing!

There is no universally "correct" way to box.  Check out just a few seconds of a highlight reel of Pernell Whitaker, then Roy Jones Jr, then Roberto Duran.  I could go on, but the point is clear: the way each of these men fight and move are very different, and yet they're all regarded as some of the greatest boxers of the last few decades.  None of their styles are "wrong" even though they don't clearly resemble each other at all.

So, we can understand there isn't a "right" way to box, even if there are general principles you want to keep in mind.  The same can be said of writing.  And this is where someone might reasonably come in and say "but writing is completely subjective!  Proper boxing is partially subjective, but you're still trying to win.  Writing is completely subjective!"  That technically isn't wrong, but it's also not an opinion most people actually hold, even if they think they do.

Let's try something real quick to see what I'm getting at.

"Once there was a guy named Sam.  Sam worked at an office.  One day he died of a heart attack and it was super sad."  If story telling were completely, absolutely subjective, do you think it is perfectly reasonable to say what I just wrote is as compelling and absorbing as The Great Gatsby?  Or, to compare it to a work of comparable length, even as much as Hemingway's famous six word short story "for sale: baby shoes, never worn"?  Probably not.

Like with boxing, there isn't a "proper" way to do everything, but there are some guidelines you should try to follow.  How can you make readers care about your characters, or challenge them to think about the themes in your story, or keep them on the edge of their seats as they race through your story's plot?  The story I wrote above doesn't even try to answer any of those questions.  You don't know who Sam is and why you should care about him, you aren't challenged to think about any sort of themes, there is no story arc for us to get absorbed in.

*scoff*  Obviously my story was a commentary on post-industrial capitalism.

So what does all this have to do with writing classes?  A lot.  The feedback from your instructor and peers will be valuable, and guide your practice in the right direction.  In your writing teacher you will have the equivalent of your boxing coach, who presumably has more writing experience than you and therefore some valuable perspective on what you're trying to accomplish.  In your classmates you have your sparring partners: putting your work up for review is like stepping into the ring to test your technique.  Like the feedback that comes with testing your boxing technique in sparring, the feedback that comes with testing your writing technique in peer editing will help immensely.

It's important to note this feedback is coming from other people pursuing the same craft as you.  That's what makes it so important.  It's not that people who haven't taken a creative writing class can't bring equally valuable advice to the table- of the friends I turn to for trusted feedback on my writing, a number of them have never taken a creative writing class in their life.  It's that a creative writing class gathers a group of people who enjoy creative writing and spend time thinking about it.  That's not easy to find outside of a classroom specifically dedicated to the subject, especially if your city doesn't have any sort of writer groups/clubs.  Getting feedback from people who also take writing seriously is what counts, and a creative writing class just happens to give you an environment where you are more likely to get that.

Let's go back to something we mentioned earlier: the fact that many writers we call great never took a creative writing class in their life.  That is absolutely true.  Yet most of them still had a lot of experience in writing-related environments: Ernest Hemingway, Mark Twain, Maya Angelou, and Sinclair Lewis all worked as journalists before becoming novelists, for instance.  Countless writers began as copy editors and other such small time jobs involving writing.

All of these experiences helped them shape their writing and understanding of the written language itself, making claims of "they didn't take any creative writing classes at all!" true but disingenuous when looked at in context.  Even if they weren't writing fiction when they worked in these other fields, they were still interacting with the written word, day in and day out, consistently.

Sort of like how a background as a breakdancer can help you on your way to becoming a Jiujitsu blackbelt in a record amount of time (yes, I am shamelessly promoting my Jiujitsu coaches).

Now, this isn't all to say that you should take feedback from others unquestioningly.  I have written an entire post about this topic before.  The gist of my final point in that post: even when you're getting feedback from people who know what they're talking about, not all feedback will work for what you're trying to do.  Sometimes you may even get directly contradictory feedback; one person may suggest a certain part of your story needs less descriptive writing, for instance, while another may suggest more for the exact same passage.  You have to weigh the pros and cons of each bit of feedback you get, while also making sure you reject or accept feedback for the right reasons (for instance, making sure your ego isn't getting in the way of accepting certain feedback).  This is, of course, easier said than done.

But the point here is that creative writing classes offer a good chance to get this sort of feedback, which will help guide your writing with useful tips and guidelines to keep in mind.  This practice, as in any other pursuit, is a lot more valuable than practice that isn't informed by any sort of feedback or awareness of craft.

This is all without getting to specific exercises and ways of writing that you can get in a creative writing class.  To give an example of something that helped me early in my writing, in the first of the two writing classes I've taken in my life our teacher had a rule when it came time for writing: we couldn't kill off our characters.  His reasoning was that too many aspiring writers try to kill off their characters at the end of a story as a shortcut for unearned drama and tragedy.  At first I scoffed and rolled my eyes, but in the long run it helped me.  It gave me practice writing stories where the stakes are raised without character deaths, and practice writing tragedy which comes from more than just the end of life (unfulfilled dreams, compromised values, other such things that can deflate us without death).  It also meant I was more careful about choosing when a character dies.

That's just one example of a few rules that teacher had.

Another rule: if possible, be Murakami.  Not, like, emulate his writing style.  Just literally be him.

In both classes we also did specific writing exercises, beyond just free writing, that helped our story-telling.  In the second class I took, one incredibly helpful writing exercise we had was to read short stories and analyze specific story telling decisions the writer made in putting the story together.  The point is to zoom in on every narrative decision made to determine whether each decision worked, and in what way, and to what extent.  I used that exercise in writing a post about poignant moments in videogames and another one in looking at the writing in Avatar: The Last Airbender/The Legend of Korra.

So, creative writing classes are very helpful.  That said, they're not perfect.  While I had a great experience in both of my classes, I've heard mixed results from others who have taken creative writing classes.  Sometimes the instructor is pretentious, sometimes the instructor doesn't like writing styles that don't fit their definition of what writing "should" be, sometimes the teacher doesn't have much of a background in writing at all, sometimes there is nothing wrong with the teacher but their teaching style and your learning style just don't vibe; sometimes the instructor is great, but your classmates suck for various reasons.

Beyond that, maybe you're already in an environment where you have plenty of exposure to the written word and don't feel the need to take a creative writing class.

Also, with college being as expensive as it is, maybe you can't afford paying over $100 just to take a 3 unit creative writing class- or, you can, but that's still a lot of money and you don't want to risk spending that much in case the class doesn't turn out to be good.  That is perfectly understandable, even wise.  But in that case I would recommend supplementing your reading and writing practice with looking up reading and writing exercises online, reading books about writing from masters of the craft, and other such forms of enhancing your practice in guided and informed ways (which, to be fair, you should be doing even if you have taken classes before).

Whatever your field, it's important to supplement your practice with study and thought about your art.  A creative writing class is a good way to get that, hence why I would recommend it, but it is by no means a necessity.  Just remember the most important part of writing: keep creating, and have fun!

The Importance of History

For those of you reading who don't personally know me, a couple months ago I began working as a mentor for an after school program at an elementary school.  It's been a great experience so far.  One thing I try to do with the students in the program is ask them about their classes and what they've been learning about.  The other day, I had just such a conversation with one of my students.  As we talked about learning and which classes she likes, she told me point blank that she finds history boring.  I was saddened but not at all surprised.  It is a sentiment that all too many people have, and it's a serious problem.

And it's not really their fault, either.

This fall I'll be starting graduate school at San Diego State University, going for an MA in History with the goal of becoming a community college professor.  It'll be a tough road- and I don't just mean my schooling.  There's a good chance I'll be hired as an adjunct professor, and if so, a 25% chance I'll be on public assistance considering how little adjuncts are paid.  It'll be tough, but it will be worth it.

"And that concludes today's lecture about US-Nicaraguan relations during the pre- and post-revolutionary years through the lens of gender.  Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go rummage through a garbage can because I haven't eaten today."

But if you had told me ten years ago this would be my current path, my fifteen year old self would probably laugh at you.  Because back then, I still viewed history the way most people do: a long list of dates and proper nouns to memorize.  A bunch of names, places, and events that told me about the past, but not much else.  Even the war stories that were supposed to be "exciting" for male students held little interest for me.  There were some things here and there that captured my attention, but history as a whole?  Gracias, pero no.

In the time between then and now, however, my view on history has changed thanks to a variety of chances to see it in a different light.  From great teachers and professors, to the community college debate circuit, to underground hip hop (especially Immortal Technique), I was given the chance to learn that history is so much more than a list of numbers and words to memorize.

One of the most oft-repeated sentiments about history is that learning about our past helps us understand the present.  It's one of the most cliche sayings about history, but also one of the truest.  Knowledge of history allows us to give context to the world around us.  As a culture, we don't like learning about the past because we confuse knowing about the past with being stuck in the past (just look up all those feel-good graphics floating around on Facebook about never looking back and always living in the present).  But we miss out on so much of the world when we don't understand where everything came from.

To give an example, in my Top Everything of 2014 post my "Actual News Story of the Year" choice went to the US beginning to normalize relations with Cuba.  Now, to someone whose only knowledge of the history of US-Cuba relations is "Castro took over in a revolution and then there were missiles and the trade embargo happened because... communism?" are missing out on a lot of important information

The most important information: the Cuban rebels were known for their beards,

and were actually called Barbudos (bearded ones) by much of the press.

To give an incredibly brief summary of US-Cuban history, things started with the Spanish American War that began in 1898 between the US and Spain over Spain's territories.  The US won, and in 1903 the Platt Amendment was passed to make Cuba a "protectorate" (read: colony without using the word "colony") of the US.  That meant that whenever Cuba did anything to stand up for itself, and/or did anything to go against US interests, the US would intervene.  Those who came to power in Cuba had to be loyal to US interests, or they would be overthrown.

Revolt was common, but none truly succeeded until the 1959 Revolution, Fidel chief amongst the figures in the revolution.  Fidel's leadership after the revolution involved both good and bad: he mobilized literacy and healthcare campaigns in the countryside, changed the economy from the ground up to an egalitarian model that created a lot of gains for those who had been at the bottom, and overall created a strong socialist state that helped the people who needed it most.  On the other hand, he was a repressive dick who didn't allow the slightest bit of dissent or non-state approved voices.  But, however repressive he was, he wasn't any worse than Fulgencio Batista, his US-backed predecessor that he overthrew in the Revolution.

The Cubans that came to the US immediately after the 1959 Revolution were largely wealthy elites (which is why Cuban Americans are known for being staunchly conservative).  And, with their wealth and disdain for Castro, a strong anti-Fidel lobby was born.  The influence of the first wave of Cuban immigrants in favor of blacklisting Fidel's Cuba, and the lack of wealthy opposition, meant that the embargo with Cuba hadn't gone anywhere even a couple decades past the Cold War.  Politicians who tried in the past were met with fierce opposition from these first wave Cuban immigrants, while not having much of a political base of support in favor of normalizing relations with Cuba (plenty of people are for it, but no one has been for it strongly enough to lobby and organize around it as a cause).

So the embargo remained until the present, where most first wave Cuban immigrants have now died off, and both their descendants and later Cuban immigrants simply don't hold the same anti-Fidel opinions the first wave of immigrants did.  With less of a lobby around to fight against normalizing relations with Cuba, it has finally become a distinct possibility to do so.

Though we all know Pitbull's hardline pro-party outlook
is the most important Cuban American lobby of all.

Knowing just those four paragraphs of information drastically changes how we can look at, and think critically about, the normalization of relations between the United States and Cuba.  There is so much more to this situation than "Cuba and the US didn't get along, communism is bad, trade embargo!"  And it brings up a lot of questions, the proper examination and answering of which are far beyond the scope of this post.

Beyond simply understanding the present, understanding history means we also have extra information that allows us to make more informed decisions when going into the future.  To stick with this same example, I support the idea of normalizing relations with Cuba.  But what will this normalization of relations look like?  Because using historical precedent, we see that when the US and Cuba had strong ties, the US was using Cuba like a colony.  That raises questions that need to be thought about moving forward, questions that we won't think to ask when we aren't aware of the comprehensive history behind a certain issue.  And right now many students in K-12 aren't taught a comprehensive history that challenges them to think critically.

To be clear, I don't think the watering down of history is some grand conspiracy that everyone in the K-12 education system is involved in.  Rather, I think it's a combination of a variety of factors,
none of which involve a bunch of shady Illuminati-types sitting around a table and laughing manically to themselves.

Yet, intentional or not, we have to teach history in a way that feels relevant and important to those learning it.  Otherwise, we are doomed to continue hearing students talk about how "boring" history is as their actual history is being ineffectually taught (or in some cases, like with ethnic studies in Arizona, even denied) to them.  More students like the ones in the program I mentor for, or even fifteen year old me, will continue to avoid history.  And there is no way we should want that to happen.  History is too important.