There might not be many sessions on speculative fiction at Hay, but the session on creative writing courses is applicable to everyone. The Guardian has some highlights, including Hanif Kureishi:
The fantasy is that all the students will become successful writers – and no one will disabuse them of that.
And Fay Wheldon:
the fewer adjectives and the fewer adverbs the better, you’re just doing the world a favour.
Tough job, this writing lark.
Ok, so let me get this right: he lies to students by giving them all the same grade and then accuses creative writing departments of being dishonest?
One of the very first things we tell our students is that they won’t all make it. And then we spend much of their third year helping many of them realise that they are not writers–or at least not the kind of writers they thought they were.
Of an intake of 55 I’d be very surprised if more than 20 still thought of themselves as potential novelists when they graduate. What the remainder leave with is some very marketable skills in areas such as copywriting and writing for tourism etc.
He did seem to be going for the whacko sound bite market, didn’t he.
But I’m delighted to hear that you are able to find suitable careers for your students. Being able to write well, and being able to write fiction well, are not the same thing. It just so happens that the fiction writers are often the ones who get the glory, so kids who love writing tend to want to grow up to be fiction writers.
The same politics in in use here, Farah, but in a bit different order due the structure of the whole programme (first two years in open university, the MA programme in the department of literature and then, possibly, doctorate).
We start by going through different types of writing during the first year, which helps the students to adopt the forthcoming fact that one is not able to write whatever one wants – and possibly help them to find a profession where they may use their skills. (most of these are academic students so this is something they want to enhace their skills in thier area of expertee, too)
During the second year, those who continue, are able to deepen their skills on two or three areas: drama, novel, essay, poetry etc.
Then those who want to learn academic skills may apply to MA programme. It includes heavily theory of writing, reception and cognitive processes, and, again, people usually want the degree to improve their skill as work. This is a way to become qualified as a teacher in creative writing, too.
But, true, even still in MA programme some (very few, though, nowadays) people tend to believe that going through the programme is THE way to become a writer.
Heh, Fay Weldon’s comment highlights exactly why I have no interest in attending courses, workshops, or even conferences. The number of adjectives or adverbs has nothing to do with the way fiction works – unless you want to write cookie-cutter fiction.
But I don’t know anyone who teaches that way!
My statement to students is simply that it depends what you are trying to achieve. There are some students for whom paring down is appropriate for the piece they are working on, and others who get a quick lesson from me on the joys of writing (and reading) purple prose.
@ Farah: I agree entirely that it depends on what you’re trying to achieve. If you see the task as one of preparing students for the job market, and a career, then you’re probably doing the right thing. If you’re interested in the sort of work Marilynne Robinson does, for example, then your programme, and your agenda, will look very different.
I have no idea what you are talking about.
Creative writing programmes are not job market programmes. They are about showing students all the sorts of techniques that are out there and introducing them to ideas and ways of writing they may not have encountered before.
That we do help students prepare for a job market simply reflects the fact that many of our students discover that they are not (at this moment in time anyway, as all people change) “writers” in the sense they initially thought.
Like most creative writing departments we have a staff made up of people with very different approaches. Also like most creative writing departments, most of our staff are successful published poets, novelists playwrights etc. (I’m an anomaly, someone who drifted this way with editorial rather than writerly credentials).
So tell me: suddenly listening to other writers–as people clearly do at the Hay festival or even in conversation with their writerly friends–is not a helpful thing for a young writer to want to do?
I don’t doubt that technique and craft can be taught – at least to a certain extent, though beyond a basic level of competence, the problems multiply and become more complex, not less. Craft enables but can also limit.
Much depends on how you measure success. I have no idea which university you lecture at.
Personally, I’d rather listen to the immigrant from Kazakhstan who probably never reads a book, and certainly would never write one, but who tells me wonderful stories about her home and family and her worries than to a whole festival full of writers performing for the public.
One more thought …
‘They are about showing students all the sorts of techniques that are out there and introducing them to ideas and ways of writing they may not have encountered before.’
They might try reading.
And how exactly else did you think that introduction went? Or have you never, ever read a book brought to you by someone else?
Of course I have, though in my case, more from literary critics and bloggers than from a class. It’s a question of priorities: I suspect more time could be profitably spent in reading and thinking, deeply thinking, about how the best fiction works, than sitting in a bunch of classes (I’ve done more than my fair share). And very possibly in trying at first to emulate those techniques, always stretching them a bit further.
I also value the intense interaction with other art forms.
I’m going to quote a Russian violin professor who taught my daughter for a long while: ‘I can teach you some technique. But in the end you have to teach yourself.’