Can Writing Be Taught?

Photo by Samantha McCuen, used with permission

Hi writers,

This month I stumbled upon Electric Literature’s ongoing series “Can Writing Be Taught?” It came at just the right time. Each month a different writer answers ten interesting questions about writing and teaching. I read the most recent interview by Anna Qu and began to wonder what my own answers would be. 

I want to share them with you as a way to communicate a little bit more about how I approach teaching writing and what I think is valuable about it:

What’s the best thing you’ve ever gotten out of a writing class or workshop as a student?

My favorite writing class is one I took in high school. It was an experimental writing class, led with spontaneity as a core value. We tore up old dictionaries, left poems on car windshields, and crafted erasure poems from books bought at a thrift store. It loosened my inhibitions and destroyed my expectations around what I thought my writing had to be. It gave me permission to fall in love with language again. Permission to play with words, to experiment when the stakes are low. Permission to think differently, to look at the way something is and ask -- why is the world this way? Why is language this way? Does it have to be? 

When we dive deep into a craft we can get rigid and stymied by our own expectations. When I feel stuck in my own work and weighed down by my own artistic expectations I remember that class. I try to bring the spirit of that class into every workshop I teach. 

What’s the worst thing you’ve ever gotten out of a writing class or workshop as a student?

I got flattened and I lost my own voice. I learned later that this happens to a lot of writers from marginalized communities. I entered my MFA program with the intention of writing about what it means to live in a body outside the norm. The body of work by disabled writers has grown … slightly … but at that time the only work anybody could point me toward as a reference point was “Autobiography of a Face” by Lucy Grealy. It’s a beautiful and haunting book but I couldn’t relate much to it. I wondered then if it was the sort of book I should be writing, but I didn’t know how to form that question into words yet, or who to ask. I didn’t know yet that the person I had to ask was myself. I wouldn’t have the language to ask myself for many years.

Writing about a body outside the norm involves a lot of curiosity and joy, but a few of my classmates only wanted to read about stories of pain and shame - and I wasn’t yet sure enough about myself as a writer to know which critical voices to listen to. I questioned myself and what I needed to write about. It took me years to learn to trust my own voice again and to recognize that the joy I experienced as a marginalized writer is just as worthy of being written about as the pain. This is why I believe it’s so important for workshops to include a diversity of perspectives and that, when possibly, marginalized students should be able to work with other marginalized writers and learn from marginalized teachers.

What is the lesson or piece of writing advice you return to most as an instructor?

Read your work out loud! That’s where you’ll discover the clunky sentences, the way the paragraphs fit or don’t fit together, and what the words sound like out loud. I once heard a writer say, “the ear catches what the eye cannot.” A lot of emphasis over the sound of words is talked about in poetry, but I don’t believe this school of thought should be limited to the poetry realm. Words play off each other, their sound evokes different things, the length of your sentences gives your work a rhythm. Read your essays and fiction out loud and hear what they sound like!

Be suspicious of any writing rules that appear to apply to everyone and instead work within your own life rhythms. There’s a lot of prescriptive writing advice out there: “Always write in the morning.” “Write every day.” I say, follow your own rhythms — but first you have to learn what those rhythms are, and a lot of us don’t take the time to do that because the world wants us to stay busy and distracted. I shouldn’t write in the mornings because I’m a night owl. I’m better served writing at night.

Don’t be afraid to rewrite writing maxims and rules to fit your own life rhythms better. When it comes to a writing practice I want to give you a lot of different tools and methods to try, but in the end I want you to have the self knowledge to try things and leave them behind if they don’t serve you. This is also part of the writing process.

Does everyone “have a novel in them”?

Yes, I do think everyone has a novel in them. I also think the pervasiveness of this phrase devalues the practice of writing. There’s a big difference between having a story and actually sitting down for the hard work and commitment and vulnerability of writing it down. 

Would you ever encourage a student to give up writing? Under what circumstances?

I would never encourage a student to give up writing. I might encourage them to reframe their expectations around writing. Your writing might never make money. It might never gain an audience. It certainly won’t solve all of your problems. But doing the work is still so important. 

I also think it's important to interrogate why we write. Is it for fame and fortune? (Ha!) To have the last word? Make sure your motivations are coming from the right place. 

What’s more valuable in a workshop, praise or criticism?

I don’t know that I have finalized my answer to this yet, but here are a few thoughts:

I think praise is more valuable than criticism and I like to lead with praise in my workshops for a few different reasons. Praise reinforces the inherent worthiness of every word that’s written and shared in a workshop. Secondly, I think we can learn as much from what we already do well as what we could do better. Sometimes we don’t know what we are already doing well or what might be resonating with others. We are always our worst critics, and sometimes it’s nice to see our words from someone else’s point of view.

However --- if you become too attached to the praise you’ll start writing for the praise and not for yourself. 

I also wish there was another word for giving feedback or criticism. In my workshops we don’t critique as much as ask neutral questions: what were you trying to do by adding that detail? How were we supposed to feel at the end of this piece? What question are you exploring in this essay?

I think over-relying on criticism can be dangerous for workshops, especially if writers are new to writing or if the workshop is only 6-8 weeks long - because I think to truly use criticism most effectively a writer has to do the emotional work to separate the criticism from the feelings it can stir up. That’s a lifelong process. 

Should students write with publication in mind? Why or why not?

Yes and no. The first draft shouldn’t be written with a reader in mind. However, in revision I encourage writers to identify an audience (it can be one person or a group of people) to help focus their final draft. I also think this answer is different for fiction and nonfiction writers.

What’s the best hobby for writers?

Something that gets you out of your head and back into your body. For me it’s taking long walks. I also think it’s important to have a creative hobby to accompany writing. Cooking, making pottery, macrame. We have to remember that a lot of creativity happens without words. 

What’s the best workshop snack?

I dislike multi tasking, even when it comes to food! I can’t eat and workshop at the same time - I find myself switching between enjoying the snack and focusing on the workshop. I’d rather stay present in workshop and then enjoy a snack later. I like chocolate covered pretzels for that sort of occasion. Sweet and salty. 

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Thank you for reading! I look forward to revisiting this in a year or so to see if any of my answers have changed as I’ve grown as both a writer and educator.

You can dig into the whole series on Electric Literature. Do you have your own answers to these questions? If so I'd love to hear them. 

Happy writing. 

[A version of this appeared in my October 2021 newsletter]