By the time I got my degree in English, I still thought that writing was an entirely creative act. Oh what an utter, sad moron! It wasn't until I took a course in playwriting that it became apparent that creativity was only part of it. The choice of how we express ourselves in our writings is down to a very conscious, organised, logical process which is at odds with the romanticised view of creativity fuelled by sparks of experience, memory, feelings and processes that are entirely personal and unique to the writer.
All of these matter in their own ways, but creativity is very rarely, if at all, a river rushing through the mountains and out to sea; it moves and flows slowly through plains and droughts as it negotiates with the logic that underlies the original idea. I do not know why all of this did not become evident as my very first forays into literary essay writing took place, nor do I know why the epiphany did not hit me as I started the theory and practice of criticism, when secondary sources became as important, if not more, than the texts themselves. I guess I was still certain that, despite my own personal efforts, creativity could not be taught and that a writer is born, not made.
A natural propensity to creative writing is helpful to the aspiring author, much like being naturally numerate helps the prospective accountant, but I now know that writing talent does not always present itself beyond any reasonable doubt; neither does it freeze itself in time, either crystallised as rough or as polished for ever. Writing boasts an organic quality which is tortoise-like in its progress, as the author grows, evolves and changes as each page is written, drafted, edited and proofed many times over. When I re-read short stories I wrote at fourteen (which, admittedly, I rarely do for obvious reasons of self-esteem), I snort in disgust at what I then thought were my abilities to convey drama, psychological insight and poignant resolutions (honestly... who the hell did I think I was... Austen? Milton? Shakespeare? Good job I kept that stuff to myself and my best friend who also operated under similar delusions).
What the processes of writing and analysing it have taught me, however, is that there are methods and logical systems that can test and better one's abilities. The more technicalities you know and the better your writing will become. This is the reason why students of creative writing go on to become authors despite a certain widespread ability spitefully to come up with a string of best-selling authors who never took a creative writing course or workshop. This does not make the classes any less valuable or any less likely to improve your writing exponentially. I am absolutely certain I could have lived quite happily without knowing that who, what, where, when and why are the questions to answer for any plot to function, but the day I discovered it, I was finally navigating an unknown metropolis with a GRPS system in my fist, and not a map sketched on a paper napkin. Given the choice, I'd always rather know more than less.
No time is wasted when we focus on the articulation of the technicalities of the creative process, even if we may end up with a less profitable day, output-wise. One of the most valuable suggestions I ever received about working my way through writing difficulties is to read Aristotle's Poetics, quite possibly the most influential such text of the Western canon. But of its fabulousness, I shall tell you another time. Oh yes, I can be a tease.
oh - I have a romanticised vision of creative writing. I like to make things up as I go along. Maybe I have learnt more than I realise along the way . . . . . . I fight logic daily.
Excellent writing as usual. Your course sounds fab!
Amelia.xx
Posted by: Amelia | 15 March 2010 at 20:06