Kearns: Voice of Authority

Rosalie Morales Kearns. Voice of Authority: Theorizing Creative Writing Pedagogy. CCC 60:4 / june 2009

Excellent critique of the "gag rule" which requires students to remain silent while others critique their work:

The gag rule not only silences the author being workshopped, but it also silences any students who are reluctant to participate in what may feel like a bullying session of a gagged target. When I started my MFA and first encoun- tered the gag rule, it struck me as a distinctly raced practice—specifically, a Euro-American practice. The expectations about spoken interaction that I have internalized as a woman of Puerto Rican descent include the understanding that staying silent or imposing silence is unacceptably rude. A discussion in which one of the parties must be silent violates all expectations of a healthy human interaction. When I saw how comfortably my fellow MFA students acquiesced to the gag rule, I felt that I was in a profoundly foreign place.//

Ironically, it has been my experience that when professors relaxed the gag rule in graduate-level workshops, the change has been negligible. Authors rarely entered the discussion even when they were allowed to. Perhaps gradu- ate students have internalized the notion that arguing or defending oneself may be seen as whining. We feel pressure to “take it on the chin”; all this fault finding is good for us, or else why would it be the predominant creative writing model in the country? (794-750)

On normativity and exclusion in the workshop:

The MFA curriculum assumes the existence of a particular type of student, a student firmly located in the Euro-American cultural tradition, sure of his right to claim the identity of Writer with a capital W. As mentioned earlier, the fault- finding, gagged-author workshop model serves to marginalize those uncomfort-//able with its adversarial, authoritarian practices. In addition, as a result of the normativity of the MFA curriculum and the larger literary discourse of which it is a part, there are many ways for students to be marginalized in relation to this “ideal” student: if our work alludes to authors and cultural practices about which he knows nothing; if we use narrative devices he dislikes or has never even seen; if we ignore his particular standards of coherence and intelligibility; if we write about subjects he considers unimportant; if we do not valorize a lone individual; if we write about topics in a way that seems “ideological” to him because he holds different values. As a result of this marginalization we are discouraged from seeing ourselves as Writers. (800-801)

Her notes toward an alternative:

As in the classes I taught, the author introduces the story by saying as much as she wants to about the process of writing it, where she got her ideas, what revisions she is already thinking of, on what topics she would particularly like feedback, or anything else she wants to bring up. The author then facilitates the discussion, calls on students and professor, asks questions for clarification, and so on…In contrast to the seek-and-destroy paradigm of the gagged-author, fault-finding workshop, the paradigm for this egalitarian ver- sion of workshop is a conversation among equals, in which everyone (professor included) is engaged in a shared learning experience.

Comment on the work will be made in the context of an ongoing discussion about all of our various assumptions about what makes stories work. Since we will have been doing close reading of a wide range of published works (not just canonical, not just realistic, etc.), we will have a corpus of works on which to draw that utilize a range of techniques and present us with successful “viola- tions” of what we may have thought of as “rules.” We will let go of the idea that any one individual knows what good art is and has the right to impose that on others. There will be a frank discussion of classroom dynamics, and everyone will be responsible for making sure that everyone has something to say.(804)

Brilliant! Many thanks Rosalie.

Knowing how to hunt

...it must be noted that the poet is never inspired, if by that one means that inspiration is a function of humor, of temperature, of political circumstances, of subjective chance, or of the subconscious. The poet is never inspired, because he is the master of that which appears to others as inspiration. He does not wait for inspiration to fall out of the heavens on him like roast ortolans. He knows how to hunt, and lives by the incontestable proverb, "God helps them that help themselves." He is never inspired because he is unceasingly inspired, because the powers of poetry are always at his disposition, subjected to his will, submissive to his own activity...

Raymond Queneau from his Le Voyage en Grece. Quoted in Oulipo: A Primer of Potential Literature. Ed Warren F. Motte Jr. Normal, IL: Dalkey Archive Press, 1986. Page 43.

Nicely put. And almost exactly contrary to most of what we hear about writing and how it comes about. Seems to me that if we want to argue in favor of teaching creative writing, we might begin with beliefs about the creative process similar to Queneau's. We ought not to be "nurturing" our students, but teaching them how to hunt.

First Article Submitted

Well, I've sent my first essay to College English. Twice now, actually. The first time, the editor asked me to revise the intro before he sent it on to his readers. And he was right. It needed work. Below is the intro as it reads now. Wish me luck, internet. :)

Creative Writing Literacy:
 Social Boundaries of an Academic Discipline

Many scholars have observed that the discipline of creative writing has yet to make many of the advances that its counterpart—the discipline of rhetoric and composition—has made over the past few decades. While creative writing, by and large, continues to treat writing as a product, particularly the product of “talent” or “genius” rather than historical contingencies, rhetoric and composition has learned first to treat writing as a process rather than a product and subsequently to situate this process in its social and historical contexts. A number of scholars have worked to bring these insights to creative writing (see for example: Bizarro, Haake, Bishop and Ostrom, Leahy); their work thus far has focused mostly on applying the framework of “process theory” to creative writing pedagogy. A few voices, however, have called for work that brings creative writing fully up-to-date with composition. For example, Peter Vandenberg predicts a future for creative writing theory that encompasses “Postprocess theory.” This theory, says Vandenberg, would study creative writing “as a function of the places where it is learned as well as where it is deployed” (108). Similarly, Tim Mayers, in a recent issue of College English, envisions a future for the discipline in which “practical knowledge of (and facility with) the composition of fiction, poetry, and other so-called creative genres” will be incorporated into “a more general intellectual framework concerning literacy itself” (225).

In the present essay, I want to take these calls seriously by treating creative writing as a kind of literacy, a social practice that involves reading and writing. The situation I’m most concerned with here is creative writing as it is practiced and theorized in the American university. Many scholars have noted the growing influence of academic creative writing over American letters. Mark McGurl comments wryly on this phenomenon in his study of the influence of the academy on American postwar fiction when he observes that “colleges and universities are now...where most “serious writers” (of which there is now an oversupply)...are trained” (x). As McGurl and others have discovered, contemporary academic creative writing is more or less synonymous with the Associated Writing Programs (AWP) and its masters in fine arts (MFA) issuing affiliates (The Program Era 25). Since it was founded in 1967 by 15 writers representing 12 programs, the AWP has grown exponentially to a total of 822 degree-conferring creative writing programs, 500 colleges and universities participating as institutional members, and thousands of individual members in 2009 (Fenza). The growth and expanding influence of academic creative writing coupled with the lack of hard academic work in the discipline has led to a situation in which popular practices have become codified in AWP policy without the benefit of rigorous scrutiny by academics.

Without the input of “postprocess” theory or the ability to place classroom and institutional practices in the “framework” of “literacy itself,” AWP programs continue to conduct the teaching of creative writing as if they existed in an ahistorical void where the social realities of race, class, and gender have no say. Only a serious study of the social realities surrounding academic creative writing can provide the perspective necessary to critique and correct whatever problems there may be in common practices and/or AWP policy. Though it is true that some scholars remain optimistic about the social consequences of academic creative writing (see, for example, McGurl on the development of “High Cultural Pluralism,” and Mary Ann Cain on the “counterhegemonic potential” of creative writing as a discipline), it remains the case that the AWP and its affiliates enjoy a position of unchallenged authority over the education of literary writers in the United States, and so it seems to me that only good can result from asking a few simple questions about the literacy practices of these programs.

In the pages that follow, I treat creative writing in the academy as a situated practice and analyze that practice through the lens of literacy studies. I find that factors like race and class are strong determiners of success for academic creative writers. Further, such factors are more often than not the source of labels like “talent,” which are applied to successful creative writers in the academy. In other words, the discipline of creative writing in the US tends to select students based on their familiarity with white, middle- and upper-class literacy practices, and then assigns labels like “creative,” “talented,” or even “genius” to those writers who adhere most closely to these practices. I find that this situation is perpetuated by the relationship that the AWP and its affiliated programs maintain with the American book market. An analysis of this relationship reveals that the common practice in AWP programs of insisting on “literary” work from students, as well as the restrictions the market places upon the term “literary,” not only limit student work but also effectively determine who is allowed to become a “creative writer” in the United States.

NAAL stats

Sheida White, Mark Kutner, Elizabeth Greenberg, Ying Jin, Bridget Boyle, Yung-chen Hsu, Eric Dunleavy. *Literacy in Everyday Life: Results From the 2003 National Assessment of Adult Literacy * Washington D.C.: National Center for Education Statistics, Institute of Education Sciences, 2007.

I want to look at this data because I think it shines a light on American literacy in a way theory cannot and because it helps me think about "literature" in terms of its social and political context.

The National Assessment of Adult Literacy (NAAL) tested adult Americans on a specific set of literacy skills, which they saw as essential to participation in the economic and political life of the nation. They divided these skills into three categories: prose, document, and qualitative literacies. Prose literacy will be the only category of concern here, since it is the one that most directly relates to the reading of creative work.

NAAL defines prose literacy as follows:

Prose literacy. The knowledge and skills needed to search, comprehend, and use information from continuous texts. Prose examples include editorials, news stories, brochures, and instructional materials. (iii)

Adults who are tested for this type of literacy achieve a sore between 0 and 500. NAAL divided these scores into four "levels" of prose literacy: proficient, intermediate, basic, and below basic. Adults unable to respond to the questions were not scored and were considered "non-literate in English." I've excluded "below basic" since this group is essentially unable to read and understand novels, poetry, or drama in English.

Here is how NAAL defined each level, by skill set and by score:

Basic: reading and understanding information in short, commonplace prose texts. Score: 210–264

Intermediate: reading and understanding moderately dense, less commonplace prose texts as well as summarizing, making simple inferences, determining cause and effect, and recognizing the author’s purpose. Score: 265–339

Proficient: reading lengthy,complex,abstract prosetexts as well as synthesizing information and making complex inferences. Score: 340–500 (4)

To give a more precise understanding of what skills were involved at each level, NAAL published a gradation of types of skills, each assigned a score according to its difficulty. For example, whereas below basic readers could not explain the meaning of a metaphor in a narrative, comprehension of metaphor increased in each literacy level:

241 [basic] Explain the meaning of a metaphor used in a narrative.
304 [intermediate] Infer the meaning of a metaphor in a poem.
345 [proficient] Compare and contrast the meaning of metaphors in a poem. (5)

I don't think I'm alone in saying that I consider the ability to compare and contrast metaphors in a poem to be a basic, essential requirement for reading and understanding literary poetry, and that persons not possessed of this skill are not likely to possess the necessary skills to read literary prose either. Consider, for example, this passage from *Ulysses*, which Wayne Booth makes us of in his study *The Company We Keep: An Ethics of Fiction*:

Ineluctable modality of the visible: at least that if no more, thought through my eyes. Signatures of all things I am here to read, seaspawn and seawrack, the nearing tide, that rusty boot. Snotgreen, bluesilver, rust: coloured signs. Limits of the diaphane. But he adds: in bodies. Then he was aware of them bodies before of them coloured. How? By knocking his sconce against them, sure. Go easy. Bald he was and a millionaire, *maestro di color che sanno*. Limit of the diaphane in. Why in? Diaphane, adiaphane. If you can put your five fingers through it it is a gate, if not a door. Shut your eyes and see.

Stephen closed his eyes to hear his boots crush crackling wrack and shells. You are walking through it howsomever. I am, a stride at a time. A very short space of time through very short times of space. Five, six: the *nacheinander*. Exactly: and that is the ineluctable modality of the audible. Open your eyes. No. Jesus! If I fell over a cliff that beetles o'er his base, fell through the *nebeneinander* ineluctably! I am getting on nicely in the dark. My ash sword hangs at my side. Tap with it: they do. My two feet in his boots are at the ends of his legs, *nebeneinander*. Sounds solid: made by the mallet of *Los Demiurgos*. Am I walking into eternity along Sandymount strand? Crush, crack, crick, crick. Wild sea money. Dominie Deasy kens them a'.

*Won't you come to Sandymount,
Madeline the mare?*

Rhythm begins, you see. I hear. Acatalectic tetrameter of iambs marching. No, agallop: *deline the mare*.

Open your eyes now. I will. One moment. Has all vanished since? If I open and am for ever in the black adiaphane. *Basta*! I will see if I can see.

See now. There all the time without you: and ever shall be, world without end. (273-4 in Booth)

Booth recommends we read the passage aloud. He's right. It's lovely to hear. High modernism at its finest. And it is, not, I think, a stretch to say that the skill set require to read such a passage far exceeds the ability to compare and contrast metaphors. One must be much more than proficient to get anything from the passage at all, except, perhaps, a feel for the music. Here's Booth explaining his reaction to the text:

When as a nineteen-year-old I first read the passage, in my often baffled but exhilarated plunge through the novel, I felt completely out-classed. I had never read Aristotle or Aquinas or any other philosopher bald or hairy who grappled with this problem in this way; all I knew was that Stephen is troubled by some mysterious phrase, one that was meaningless to me...And I can remember looking up some of the strange words, and mumbling that mouth-filler: "ineluctable modality of the visible."...One must, in short, become at least a bit philosophical to be able to enjoy the passage at all...//

The possible effects are of course not confined to philosophical inquiry. I am asked, secondly, to mime "being learned."...Even if I can't catch many of the allusions, I will suspect that many allusions are being made—at least that phrase in Italian, if that *is* Italian, is an allusion to *something*, as is the "*Basta!*" Who *is* this "he," this "bald millionaire"? Who or waht is "Madeline the mare?"...

If I happen to recognize the quotation from *King Lear*, I will feel that I am a *little bit* learned, but I'll suspect that there are more allusions that I miss. And what does *nacheinander* mean? I may look it // up, if I happen to recognize that it's German. Or I may simply aspire to become the sort of person, someday, who knows languages and doesn't *have* to look it up. (274-6)

Booth's point it to explain how good literature can inspire a young man to become a better, more intellectual man—philosophical and learned. But we have to remember that he is already a young man capable of reacting so positively due to his early literacy experiences, shaped by the value placed on reading and writing in his family of origin, his early schooling, his experience in the Morman Church, etc. When nineteen-year-old Wayne Booth first read Joyce, he was already functioning at the high-end of proficiency, and Joyce came along to show him that reading could be so much more, that he as a reader could be so much more.

Consider the same passage as read by someone at a low-proficient or intermediate level. There is every chance that he or she will find the passage meaningless. Perhaps the lower-level reader will recognize in it some literary value. If so, he or she may feel intimidated, or challenged, or humiliated, or disenfranchised, or whathaveyou. But he or she will *not* likely feel the same kind or degree of inspiration as Booth. He was at the apex of measurable literacy skill, ready to take wing; average readers, at best, simply recognize a gulf of skill and learning that stands between them and understanding the text.

This raises a line of ethical consideration not taken up by Booth in his reflection on Joyce: What is the meaning of such a text to the general public? How many people are able to react like Booth? Who are they? How do they get to be at their level of skill? How is this skill distributed among readers? By who and according to what criteria? Yes, *Ulysses* is lovely, but for whom?

Here are the NAAL stats on levels of prose literacy across the entire US population:

Below Basic:
1992---14%
2003---14%

Basic:
1992---28%
2003---29%

Intermediate
1992---43%
2003---44%

Proficient
1992---15%
2003---13% (13)

So if 15-13 percent of the US populace is proficient, and a smaller portion of that group is "high proficient," meaning capable of getting something from artists like Joyce or Pynchon or whoever else you want to name that writes difficult prose, then we have to conclude that *Ulysses* is lovely for only a few.

Three hundred million Americans (give or take). Maybe five percent at what I'm calling "high" literacy (which, admittedly, was not a category measured by the NAAL, so I'm guessing here, and I think I'm being generous with that 5%). That still makes 15,000,000 potential Joyce readers in the US. Not a bad audience for him at all, really. Even at 1% (more likely) there's still 3M potential fans for his type of thing. But still, a vast majority excluded. 297,000,000 Americans Joyce leaves out of his conversation.

In her new collection of essays, Elif Batuman asks: "What did craft ever try to say about the world, the human condition, or the search for meaning?" I want to answer that craft can't help but say something about the world, the human condition, the search for meaning. At all times, and in every way, craft is inextricably linked to such questions. Craft choices are choices from among social conventions, which themselves stand in relation to questions of equity, political questions concerning the relationship of the author to the reading (and non-reading) public. When an author makes craft choices, that author sets the terms of access to their text, including some readers, excluding some others. It is not possible to write an all-inclusive text, but this does not mean that as authors and as educators of future authors we should pretend that craft exists in a vacuum, apart from issues of race and class.

Here are the NAAL figures for average prose literacy score by race:

White
1992---287
2003---288

Asian/Pacific Islander
1992---255
2003---271

American Indian/Alaska Native
1992---254
2003---264

Black
1992---237
2003---243

Hispanic
1992---234
2003---216 (15)

The report acknowledges that "Hispanic" is an overly broad term, and then further breaks down that category by nation of origin, or ancestor's origin. Puerto Ricans were the only group that gained over the period.

Notice that no group is proficient on average (cut off for that level is 340) but, until 2003, only whites were intermediate on average (cut off 265). In 2003, whites were joined by the Asian/Pacific Islander grouping. All other groups are of basic proficiency on average. However, we should also note some significant gains in black and native populations. Inequality remains, and change is happening.

NAAL stats on the percent of adults at proficient or intermediate levels by race:

White
proficient
1992---18%
2003---17%
intermediate
1992---48%
2003---51%

Asian/Pacific Islander
proficient
1992---9%
2003---12%
intermediate
1992---36%
2003---42%

American Indian/Alaskan Native
proficient
1992---5%
2003---10%
intermediate
1992---35%
2003---41%

Hispanic
proficient
1992---5%
2003---4%
intermediate
1992---28%
2003---23%

Black
proficient
1992---2%
2003---2%
intermediate
1992---27%
2003---31% (16)

So, in 2003, when 68% of white adults were at intermediate or above, only 43% of black adults performed at the same level, and only 27% of Hispanics. Again, Puerto Ricans were the only group who gained over the period, with 44% of adults at intermediate or above in 2003.

An author who makes a choice to write complicated, beautiful, demanding prose, is an author who consents to exclude most Americans, including a disproportionate number of non-whites.

And, of course, money is a factor, too:

NAAL stats on average prose score by annual household income

<$10,000---229
$10,000-$14,999---237
$15,000-$19,999---244
$20,000-$29,999---257
$30,000-$39,999---268
$40,000-$59,999---282
$60,000-$99,999---303
$100,000 and up---316 (31)

That, I think, is a very impressive finding. Every increase in income bracket is an increase in prose literacy score.

Authors who aspire to write like Joyce also do so at the cost of excluding minorities and the poor.

The biggest objection I can think of to my reading of these stats is this: why should it be the author's job to set these things straight? Society is unfair, unequal; this is a question of social reform, not artistic integrity. If we were to take me seriously and attempt to write as inclusively as possible, it would mean the death of high literature in English and an impoverishment of our literary culture. Instead of asking authors to compromise their art, why not insist that society promote more minorities and more of the poor to "high proficient" literacy levels? Why not ask authors to help in this effort. In fact, Authors like Joyce, it could be argued, are the best advocates for the highest levels of literacy, since they show us what beauty can be achieved at those levels.

A good objection (if I do say so myself). And I can't disagree with it. Of course we should promote literacy more equitably. Of course we should not do anything to impoverish literary culture. We need Joyce. And we need more readers who can read Joyce. Absolutely.

So let me nuance my position a bit:
Authors who write in English for an American audience send their work out into the social realities of that audience. These authors have choices to make about audience. Who will read their work? What would they like their work to mean, do *do*, and to whom? As they consider these questions, they must have access to clear data about the realities of American literacy to guide them in their "craft" choices. All craft decisions, from genre to "level" of prose, are decisions that shape the potential audience for the work, including some and excluding others. Responsible participation in creative writing literacy requires that authors make their choices purposefully and address both form and content to the included recipients of their work.

The English Lit folks owe it to America to create more Wayne Booths. And especially more black, Latino Wayne Booths. Wayne Booths who are granted a leg-up from poverty.

We CW folks owe it to America to produce more black, Latino, poor James Joyces, yes. But also to create creative writers to are aware of and act as conscious participants in the social realities of American literacy.

Booth citation:
Booth, Wayne. *The Company We Keep: An Ethics of Fiction.* Berkley: University of California Press, 1988. Print.

Data on masters degree recipients

So, in searching out data for the gender/class/racial demographics of the MFA graduate, I've come across a little bit of data relating to race, not about the MFA specifically, but about the English major in general, of which the MFA comprises some part.

First, racial demographics of the USA, according to the US census. Here's the breakdown for 2008:

White----79.8%
Black----12.8%
Hispanic----15.4%
Asian----4.5%
Native Hawaiian and Pacific Islander----0.2%

It's important to note that persons who responded "Hispanic" could also report other categories, which I don't think is the case for the data that follows.

As far as I can tell, what we would hope from a progressive society is, at the very least, that the number of masters degree recipients by race would be roughly proportionate to the racial demographics of the nation. And this is pretty much what we get when we consider all masters degrees received between 2006 and 2007 after subtracting non-resident aliens from the total population measured:

White----74%
Black----11.6%
Hispanic----6%
Asian+pac islander----6.7%

White and black numbers suffer a slight decrease, apparently due to the disproportionately large number of Asian and Pacific Islander recipients. It is not clear whether the number for Hispanic recipients represents a drop from the proportion of the total population since these respondents, I believe, could not double report ethnicity.

So, more or less, this is good news for American education in general. Unless I'm reading the numbers wrong.

On the other hand, things are far bleaker when one turns to the number of recipients of masters degrees in English by race over the same period, again taking non-resident aliens out of the picture in order to get a more accurate representation of domestic racial demographics:

White----85%
Black----5%
Hispanic----4%
Asian+Pac Islander----3.7%

What can we call this but a failure on the part of American English departments? Racist, since it represents an institutional inequality based on race.

What this means for MFA programs is that, assuming the numbers in MFA programs are roughly equivalent to the numbers for the English department at large, in their role as sponsors of creative writing literacy, creative writing programs in the United States are favored white students and disfavored students of any other ethnicity.

Who gets to be a writer in America? Well, it helps if you're white.

Book purchasing data

Greco, Albert N. *The Book Publishing Industry* 2nd. Mahway, New Jersey: Lawerence Erlbaum Associates, 2005.

Greco cites *2001 Consumer Research Study of Book Purchasing (New York: Book Industry Study Group)

Subject category and % of Total units sold
Popular Fiction 55%
Nonfiction Religious 10%
Cooking/Crafts 9%
General Nonfiction 7%
Psychology/Recovery 4%
Technology/Science/Education 4%
Children's 3%
Art/Literature/Poetry 3%
Reference 2%
Travel/Regional 1%
All Other 1%
(216)

Ouch. Pretty devastating figures for "literature."

Greco, Albert N., Clara E. Rodriquez, and Robert M. Wharton. *The Culture and Commerce of Publishing in the 21st Century. Stanford: Stanford Business Books, 2007.

Cites NEA 2004 study as follows:

Popular fiction is still, by far, the most common type of book bought, with the majority (57.3 percent) of all books purchased for adults being in this category. The next largest categories are nonfiction religious (8.9 percent), cooking and crafts (8.4 percent), and general nonfiction (7.6 percent), each of which accounts // for less than 10 percent of all purchases. The remaining 18 percent is accounted for by purchases in the areas of psychology and recovery, technical, science, and education; art, literature, and poetry; children's reference; travel and regional; and all other. In addition, while the popular fiction are has been growing consistently since 1997, all of the other areas have either declined or fluctuated during this period. (175-6)

The numbers are essential the same. Add the figures of all besides pop fic, cooking, non-fic, and religious and you get the same 18%. So it looks like "serious" literature and art and poetry have been sharing that 3% share since at least 2001.

Here is more or less how that 55 percent breaks down:

Fetto, John. "Reader Request." *American Demographics.* July/August 2002. (page numbers???!)

Fetto cites Ipsos Book Trends research as follows:

Unit share of adult books sold by selected genres.
General fiction: 1999---6.4% 2001---10%
Mystery/Thriller: 1999---13.8% 2001---15%
Romance: 1999---20.7% 2001---20%
Science Fiction: 1999---6.5% 2001---5.5%

We can't confuse "general" fiction with "literary" fiction, since this category comprises all kinds of stuff not collected by the other named genres. So, if you want to reach an audience, write romance. Or thriller.

More depressing news about poetry reading in America:

*Who Reads* (cite author date and publisher!...it's a study from the '80s)

In estimating the size of the audience for poetry, the distinction between those who read classic works only and those who read contemporary as well as classic literature makes a substantial difference. If one includes those who read well-established poetry then the ARTS and BISG [Book Industry Study Group, more recent figures cited above] surveys indicate that the audience for serious poetry is about six percent of the adult population...On the other hand, if one restricts the audience to those who read contemporary "literary" poetry, then, as noted above, the poetry audience ammounts to once percent or less of the population. (33)

And that is in the 80s. NEA surveys indicate that poetry reading has declined since then. Even the latest report "Reading on the Rise" suggests that popular fiction is up again, but poetry and drama reading continue to decline.

Declining from less than one percent of the adult population...there can't be much left...

This presents a difficult situation. For fiction writers, it seems crazy to insist on "publishable literary" fiction, since the market for this is like 1.5 to 2% of the book market. This is a very small audience, and is not likely to be the audience that many writers actually want to address. Seems like an educated move into genre fiction allows for a larger cultural impact for work and perhaps reader demographics somewhat closer to what is desired (although this is not guaranteed; the presence of the white, middle-class, suburban female still dominates fiction). Opening MFA programs to genre writing seems like an obvious move.

For poets...what the hell do you do? There's no cultural capital available outside of the academy. Green's "useful" poem is the only way out. You have to already have a community for whom the poem will be useful and meaningful and then write directly to them. So your choices are: the academic-poet crowd, the Slam scene, some kind of June Jordan community project scenario, or whatever else you can pull together. Whether it's high brow or grass roots, you're still very limited in who you can reach.

Maybe that's not a bad thing... If it's about community more than it is about reaching a mass audience, then poetry may be the better choice.

Anyway, all these figures add up to the reason why this guy is my new hero.

bishop and ostrom: Colors of a different Horse

*Colors of a Different Horse: Rethinking Creative Writing Theory and Pedagogy.* Ed. Wendy Bishop and Hans Ostrom. Urbana: NCTE, 1994. Print.

Camoin, Francois. "The Workshop and Its Discontents."

In favor of theory:

I would like to argue, I think, that just as war is too important to be left to the generals, so critical theory is too important to be left to the critics. (4)

The "law" of silence:

[I]t is the Law of the Workshop, as powerful as the law of incest is int he culture at large, that *the author must not speak*. This fundamental Law shapes the workshop, makes it what it its. (4)

Totally nuts. But generally accepted, I think.

Unexamined theory is still theory, and a theory already explicated by some other theorist:

The theory (whether we want to call it that or not) is always there, though it's often suppressed, disguised as craft, or common sense, or literary taste, or *what-I-have-learned-in-twenty-years-of-being-a-writer.* But, finally, it comes down to speaking about how texts mean, what they do, how they exist in the world, how they function. We can look into our hearts all we want; what we will find there will always be somebody else—Henry James or Percy Lubbock or E. M. Forster. Or Barthes, Kristeva, Irigaray. (5)

Theory helps us with revision:

It's not a bad thing, this critical theory...It gives us a way to talk to ourselves when the Orphic fever has died down, the first draft is done, and we're faced with the problems of craft. (5)

Tips his hand that his "theory" is mostly formalist stuff:

The student who learns that he has // no intentions worth talking about—that he has nothing to say when he sits down at the typewriter, only something to make—will write much better fiction. The student who thinks about narrative logic, writing strategies, the foregrounding or erasing of the narrative act, who has learned that writing fiction consists largely of putting off telling a story, (that in fact the ingenious devices by which she delays the story *are*, in the end, the story) will write better fiction than when she is trying to make the reader feel what she felt when her aunt Maggie died. The reader will still weep, if weeping is called for. (5-6)

These next two name the key difference between the writer and the critic:

I'm writing the story...I have options. The question is how to think about them in such a way as to write a better story. Or else I'm reading the story in a workshop, and the question is then how to talk about the options effectively. (6)

My critical colleagues—it's not a fault, it's the nature of what they do—never see the text at that instant where it must become something else. Sometimes they burrow through the special collections and come upon first drafts, or incomplete attempts, but those are texts already frozen, traces of a process always already completed. (7)

Domina, Lynn. "The Body of My Work Is Not Just a Metaphor."

We apprehend truth, as writers, at least as much with our bodies as with our minds...yet the form or hue or movement of our bodies will suffer [dis]approbation from a community of writers much more quickly than any movement of our mind—though this [dis]approbation will almost inevitably be vehemently disguised as criticism of our work. (28)

She's something of an expressivist, saying things like "one of the primary tasks of the student writer is to learn trust and acceptance of the self" (28) and "Know thyself...and the metaphors will come" (29). And yet she offers qualifiers like: "literature is not primarily therapy, workshops are not therapy sessions" (30). So I suppose she means that confidence in identity precedes good writing, and that workshops ought to be self-aware in their identity politics if they are to offer an environment supportive of a student's best work.

in the undergraduate classroom many students confront difference to a much greater extent than they have in the past, which can be very good for writing, but which also can have devastating effects both in execution and reception—to the extent that difference is threatening rather than engaging, to the extent that difference is hierarchialized // and hierarchy condoned in the classroom as it is outside the classroom. (29-30)

Here's her best point, I think, that unexamined workshops can suppress good writing:

what many traditional-age college students...long to do *is* to write mildly embellished autobiography. Much of the time, this is completely appropriate. Much more dangerous is s student's internal or external pressure to avoid autobiography.

For many students, this risk of revelation is exacerbated by their place in society. The dictum to write about what they know about means writing as a person of color in a racist culture, writing as a gay man or lesbian in a homophobic culture, writing as a woman in a sexist culture—and the culture of workshops consists of instructors and classmates who are as likely to be bigoted as anyone else in our reputed melting pot. If a writer's obsessions arise from experiences of exclusion, changing the proper nouns hardly suffices as protection when the excluder is running the workshop...And although students // who impose self-censorship may write competent, even eloquent sentence, the body of their work will lack the requisite investment and passion of the truly promising writer. (31-32)

Writing about what you know about often implies writing about what other members of the workshop will not know about, which is easily enough dealt with if what you know about is running a dairy farm or swimming competitively or communicating with an Australian via short-wave radio, less easily dealt with if what you know about is prostitution or incest or addiction, and much less easily handled if what you know about is anger at your exclusion from a culture by white people or by wealthy people or by men or by heterosexuals, who are all your classmates and/or your teacher. (33)

It seems to me that this is good justification for a workshop that begins with student intent. Who are you writing to and why and how can we as a class help you achieve that goal? How ought we to read? If we start there, then at least these issues are foregrounded in the workshop itself.

Berry, R.M. "Theory, Creative Writing, and the Impertinence of History."

His best line is his first:

One could persuasively argue that in America the most influential theory of literature since World War II has been Creative Writing. (57)

And, of course, that is exactly what he intends to argue. Not sure why he needs to be cute about it. Nevertheless, he's saying that CW *is* theory or is itself *a* theory. Smart move.

On the public influence of CW:

Most concretely, this influence makes itself felt on the public audiences for the writers' festivals, summer workshops, and readings sponsored by Creative Writing programs or faculty. Less noticeable but possibly more significant is the presence of Creative Writers on literary awards committees, editorial // boards, government funding agencies, small and large presses, book reviews, magazines, and virtually all other organs of contemporary literature. (57-58)

He brings in the training of poets in antiquity:

That Creative Writing is a theory of literature seems less peculiar when Creative Writing is compared to the literary apprenticeship it replaced. Prior to the nineteenth century the most widespread European model of the poet's education tended to de-emphasize individual creativity and to foreground the deliberate imitation of other poets...According to this pedagogy, the apprentice poet learned to replicate and adapt various models under the supervision of someone who had established his...reputation as a master. (58)

Contrary to modern expectations, what the Greek or Roman apprentice gleaned from models was not technique only, but plots, themes, scenes, vocabulary, and even the topics of characters speeches, as though becoming a poet involved both learning a skill and acquiring a repertory of stories or lore. (58)

What did strike them forcefully—the Greek and Latin writers as well as their Renaissance imitators—was the sharp difference between a master's transformation of a model and a novice's copying of one. (59)

He examines Castiglione's *The Courtier* as an explanation of Renaissance apprenticeship:

Where the difference between the Renaissance and our present institution appears sharpest is in their directly opposite remedies for affectation. Whereas Creative Writing might advise a mannered writer to find a subject, style, or voice truly her own, *The Courtier* advises further and wider-ranging imitation. Given all else in sufficient measure, Castiglione insists, imitation can make any voice, style or subject the writer's own. (60)

the old pedagogy imagined no unembattled realm // within which learning could occur. Education was, from the outset, a venture into occupied territory...*The Courtier's* assumption that nothing is inviolably one's own—except one's limitations—seems the vertiginous downside of the idea that anyone can learn to become just about anything. (60-1)

He turns to Bakhtin to show that perhaps the early pedagogy has more merit than we might expect:

For Bakhtin, imitation is the inescapable condition of speaking because language is no abstract for or tool to be picked up and layered back down. (61)

Then he turns to the theory that is CW:

Creative Writing's differentiation of itself from literary study appears—to an imitative poetics—as the severing of practice from its ground in the real life of language, the history of saying. The distinctive pedagogical innovation of Creative Writing—viz., the workshop—is a forum oriented exclusively to the present. (63)

Treating writers' language as unoccupied territory, Creative Writing from the start suppressed its own otherness. (72)

An early poet confident of the tradition and community he inhabited may not have felt // particularly self-conscious about imitating, but for poets—both in the Renaissance and today—whose relation to tradition is what modernity has rendered problematic, making one's writing answerable to and for some past may be precisely what's needed for that writing to count. This task can seem overwhelming, for it demands nothing less than the full acknowledgment of the nightmare that history threatens to become. To the extent that Creative Writing protects present poets from this nightmare, it obscures obstacles to practice and lulls poetry into continued sleeping. A political task of literary study today, and of its theory and practice, its creation and criticism, its teaching and writing, is to wake up. (72-3)

All in all a compelling argument for an imitative practice, or at least for some responsible ("answerable") engagement with language and its history.

Leahy: Power and Identity

*Power and Identity in the Creative Writing Classroom: The Authority Project.* Ed. Anna Leahy. Clevendon: Multilingual Matters, LTD, 2005. Print.

Royster, Brent. "Inspiration, Creativity, and Crisis: The Romantic Myth of the Writer Meets the Contemporary Classroom."

And Royster has good leads on creativity studies. And a solid summary of Csikszentmihalyi, applied to CW:

What, then, is at stake if a dynamic model is never implemented in the creative writing classroom? If creative writing workshops are growing in popularity, why is a revised notion of creativity and a restructuring of the workshop necessary? Simply put, a product-centered stifles growth. Such a system places too much emphasis upon particular, validated modes of writing, while devaluing other valid, though unfashionable, styles and voices. Equally important is an awareness of those students whose abilities are driven by an intense need to know or, rather, to explore...Many students delight in tinkering with language or are fascinated by the writerly mystique, some value current trends in writing and theory, and still others wish to explore writing as an extension of political aims. In other words, if ew place too much emphasis upon individual poems or stories submitted to workshop, we may neglect to consider the real reasons students enroll in workshops and the variety of benefits they might gain. (35)

LEADS
for a conception of the process-oriented workshop:
Don Bogen (1984) "Beyond the Workshop: Suggestions for a process oriented creative writing course." Journal of Advanced Composition V, 149-61.

Brophy, K. (1998) *Creativity: Psychoanalysis, Surrealism, and Creative Writing.* Victoria, Australia: Melbourne University Press.

Study of artists on inspiration:
Marsh, Diane and Judith Vollmer (1991) The polyphonic creative process: Experiences of artists and writers. *Journal of Creative Behavior*. 25, 280-8.

Minot, S. (1976). Creative writing: Start with the student's motive. CCC 27, 392-4.

This guy comes up again with a rather sophisticated idea of creativity:
Csikszentmihalyi, Mihaly (1999) "Implications of a systems perspective for the study of Creativity" In R.J. Sternberg (ed) *Handbook of Creativity*. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Lefevre, K.B. (1987) Invention as a social act. *Invention as a social act* (pp. 33-47) CArbondale: Southern Illinois University Press.

Clark, Timothy. (1997) *The Theory of Inspiration: Composition as a Crisis of Subjectivity in Romantic and Post-Romantic Writing.* Manchester University Press.

Taylor, B. (1995) *Into the Open: Reflections on Genius and Modernity. New York: New York University Press.

Weisberg, R.W. (1986) *Creativity: Genius and other Myths.* New York: W.H. Freeman.

Ritter & Vanderslice: Can it really be taught?

Ed. Kelly Ritter and Stephanie Vanderslice. *Can It Really Be Taught?: Resisting Lore in Creative Writing Pedagogy.* Portsmouth, NH: Boynton/Cook, 2007. Print.

Haake, Katherine. "Against Reading."

Haake presents a problem that reinforces Shelnutt's critique of CW status quo as taking power and effectively diminishing the quality of writing in America:

to the extent that we continue to proceed by presenting unproblematized literary models in our classrooms as a primary teaching strategy, we will work toward reinforcing already anachronistic twentieth century views of what counts as writing...Curiously, this remains the single sacrosanct element of our profession. Aren't we, after all, training our students to read us? It's not polite to say so, but if not them, who?...Students who emerge from such workshops...will have internalized some vague notion about what contemporary writing is supposed to look like, and in the best tradition of imitative pedagogies, will try to produce it. And this is precisely how we have earned our reputation for an MFA-homogenized // literature in what Patrick Bizzaro describes as a "...workshop-writing phenomenon [that] no doubt works vertically, where sameness is passed from teacher to student who, in turn, becomes a teacher who passes certain literary biases to yet another generation of students" (Bizzaro 305). (Haake 21)

Here's a sad outcome to an inspired assignment of "reading" the world:

I began to require that my students keep a "fact of the week" journal, utterly convinced that though many seemed dispassionate about, even uninterested in, the broader world, it would take little more than a glace to awaken their latent curiosities and vital sense of connection with [what] Bahktin has called the "open-ended present." But in the relative stability of post-earthquake, post-uprising L.A., my students were generally confounded by the assignment and had trouble finding even one fact in the whole world to command their attention and interest each week.

Today, that world is a vexed and altered one, and though it may not be the job of the creative writing teacher to tell the students how to think about that world, surely it should be to expect them to look at—to "read"—it. And as they do, they should ask hard questions about the role of writing in the particular world that turns out to be thiers, and how they would have their own work engage and move through it, defining their own intersection with history and what they would have their writing both *be* and *do* in it. (24)

That second paragraph is key. A great orientation for the CW workshop. Dovetails nicely into what I'm thinking of doing with literacy theory and CW.

LEADS: that bizzaro: "Research and Reflection in English Studies: The Special Case for Creative Writing." *College English* 66.2:294-309.

Cross, Michelle. "Writing in Public: Popular Pedagogies of Creative Writing."

Cross presents a typology of popular CW pedagogies. That is, CW pedagogy as it appears in public. There are four: Literary, Commercial, Holistic, Iconic. Literary focuses on craft.

Commercial pedagogy:

focuses on literary texts in the context of a market-driven public culture. It implicitly conceives of creative writing as a vocation and of the writer as a professional labourer engaging in economic activity in an industry, more so than pursuing a path of artistic or spiritual self-discovery. As such, the lessons therein may vary in their specific suggestions for the craft of writing—from codified genre conventions to loose principles of plot and character development—but are linked in their explicit recognition of the market as having a palpable presence in and influence on the writer's life and work. (69)

You'd think she was describing Marxist analysis, and she may well include such analysis in this category, but Cross is mostly referring to tomes like *Writer's Market* and *How to Write Short Stories That Sell* etc.

Here's where she brings it home:

But despite its apparent vulgarity, commercial creative writing pedagogy may deserve credit for its lack of illusions, having looked at and engaged with the current literary publishing business for what it is—a profit-oriented industry—and having made the most out of it all the same. The industry has not changed, but has only become more massively corporatized, and the commandment that "thou shalt not be in it for the money" has served publishers better than writers...Like the myth of the hardworking immigrant, the fatalistic idea that 'good' literature will transcend the fate of the starving artist and prevail over the market is an attitude that serves to further naturalize the market-driven nature of the industry, and potentially propels unsuspecting aspiring writers into creative writing programs that do not properly credential students for professional survival, let along success, after graduation. (70)

Holistic pedagogy is all about self-discovery and echoes what Myers said about CW in its earliest from in American junior high schools:

[It] focuses on engendering a writing experience that contributes to the discovery, development, and healing of the writer's spiritual and emotional *self*, first and foremost...it values process over product, writing over literature, and individual concerns over social concerns. (70)

Iconic pedagogy is essentially the "star" system in the public sphere. Name authors write books about how they write, etc.

LEADS:
Epstein, Jason. 2002. *Book Business: publishing past, present, and future.* New York, NY: Norton.
She quoted him in her commercial pedagogy section to good effect. Something about "mass merchandise for the mall" on 105 and celebrity of authors on 19.

Vandenberg, Peter. "*Lore* and *Discipline*"

So many good things in such a small space....

It is a sad fact that when we complain about "theory," we are almost always complaining about something else—nominalizations, bald professionalism, myopia, professional turf-grabs, arrogance, elitism, and so on. We are rarely complaining about *a particular set of provisional concepts, definitions and propositions that, by specifying relations among variables, functions to explain and predict phenomena.*

to do so is to engage in theory, to be a theorist, rather than to simply complain.

What irritates us—even those of us who write and profess "theory"—is someone else who doesn't seem to share our language or location attempting to govern our understanding of "our" concepts, definitions, and propositions. *As an institutionalized practice,* the production and circulation of theory in textual form functions to empower some and disempower others. It is not theory, then, that threatens, but a particular, institutionalized *version* of theory-as-practice. Throwing the baby out with the bathwater, so to speak—rejecting "theory" when one means to reject the authority of a particular institutional practice—tends to deny creative writing and its practitioners critical tools and a self-reflexive ethos.

While there is much of interest in discussions about the appropriateness of theory in and for creative writing, when such discussion reifies scholarly debate and dismisses it derisively as "theory," creative writing defines itself in opposition to critical inquiry. (107)

A nice, succinct rebuttal to the anti-theory folk. Thanks, Vandenberg.

He's also got some great stuff about "postprocess theory" and how he expects that CW theory will catch up to it someday soon.

The term "postprocess"

comes not from a desire to abandon a commitment to the writing act over the finished rhetorical artifact; rather, it signifies that there is too much to consider to remain fixated on the individual writer's act of composing.

and here he is on the future of creative writing theory:

A more self-consciously critical discourse of creative writing will most certainly refuse to continue bracketing conventionally defined literary genres, instead pulling them into a theory of relation with other writing practices and decidedly *un*literary text types. It also seems likely that these relations will be understood to be as they are because the circumstances in which writing is produced have an inevitably local and material dimension. To talk of creative writing as the product and preoccupation of a generalized and dislocated "workshop" will no doubt seem to explain less and less about what mean by *writing*. As has been the case elsewhere in English studies, creative writing will no doubt be increasingly studied as a function of the places where it is learned as well as where it is deployed; we are sure to hear much about creative writing as a *situated practice*. Signifying as it does an expanded attention beyond the individual writer's cognitive process, postprocess theory will open creative writing to the notion of positionality. (108)

Again, a nice tie-in to literacy theory and its application to creative writing. Strikes me that another solid hour or so of class discussion would flow from assigning this essay along with Harris's. Anti-theory process guy vs. pro-theory postprocess guy.

He gives an interesting example, applying Anis Bawarshi's work on first-year comp to the CW workshop. By examining "the syllabus, the written assignments, the margin notes and formal written comments developed by students in response to their classmates' work, and the teacher's informal and formal assessment" the postprocess analysis of the workshop finds that "the student's poem—as a response to an assignment sheet—is not only a poem in the conventional sense of a literary artifact but also a reflection of intention and subjectivity *organized by* particular relations specified by the genre set" (109).

LEADS: should look this guy up and see if he's written anything lately that expands on his application of postprocess to CW.

Harper and Kroll: Creative Writing Studies

*Creative Writing Studies: Practice, Research and Pedagogy.* Ed Graeme Harper and Jeri Kroll. Clevedon: Multilingual Matters LTD, 2008. Print.

Three useful articles here. Fraser for the value of post-structural theory. McLoughlin for a framing of the project. Hardy for a negative example of the application of the intentional fallacy to the workshop.

Fraser, Gregory. "A Translator's Tale."

Fraser considers himself a translator in the sense that he devotes himself "'translating' the discourses of critical theory into the art and discipline of Creative Writing" (152). Fraser is especially interested in translating post-structural and postmodern theory into CW practice. The primary value of this theory to CW students, according to Fraser, is that is saves them from "parochialism" and/or "provincial attitudes." Understanding sophisticated theory allows authors to write sophisticated creative work.

The value of understanding Foucault's work is that it leads to closer examinations of power relations:

Without a fine-tuned awareness of 'minute and everyday' expressions of power, as well as of larger authoritarian forces in culture (not to mention the continual commingling of the two), Creative Writing students may open their work to criticism of parochialism...[S]killful authorship demands a keen perception of authority in its innumerable forms—in big business and government, to local-level yet no-less-complex exchanges between parents and kids, to 'everyday' (and often seemingly power-neutral) interactions with friends, lovers, and perfect strangers...It is frequently this vision of power that leads students to subtler works of fiction, drama, and poetry. It helps them avoid the narrow view that simply ignores the play of power, and the similarly limited vision that believes power to be located solely in institutions divorced, form, and standing above, the 'everyday'. (157)

Postmodern notions of the de-centering of discourse and the subject help "emerging writers de-essentialize their characters and destabilize formulaic plots" (160).

Lacan for characters:

I find that the Lacanian notion of deferred desire can help students create characters whose motivations are less predictable, more open to surprise. (160)

And Lacan for poetry:

Lacanian theories about selfhood have a special force, as well, for student poets. At the onset, many students who wish to write poems proceed from myths of wholeness about the self Students often write poems to voice what they take to be the essence of an inner being. They seek // to capture some final, genuine truth about an allegedly unique emotion or experience. And these underlying assumptions often produce texts that reach for effect...Lacanian theory can help students recognize not so much the fragmentation of an ultimately unified albeit imperiled self (a modernist conception), but the cultural/linguistic manufacture of the very idea of selfhood (a more postmodern assertion). Such a perspective gives students a different kind of freedom to adopt masks and to explore self-contradictions as generative rather than logically fallacious. Lacan can't help students completely shed the dominant fictions of culture (none of us can do that), but his thinking can encourage students to recognize and tamper with these assumptions in unexpected, artistically vitalizing ways. (160-1)

And Lacan for the creative process:

Students may in fact become more willing, after a little training in Lacanian theory, to let language (rather than a sense of stable selfhood) guide the poetic process. They may allow language to suggest unstable constructions of selfhood, flickers of desire, suggestions of unconscious strings of motivation. This can lead to stronger poems. (161)

Derrida has some value, too:

Derrida's thought can 'free' them [students] from the 'tyranny of the central idea.' Such freedom frequently leads to greater flexibility in characterization, plot development, and language use. By not beginning with a main theme or idea, students avoid working predictably down the page. (162)

I'm not as convinced by this argument. I've yet to see a constructive application of Deconstruction that works. And how could such a thing work? Derrida's thought is liberating for some, since it allows for the undoing of established categories, etc... But I'm not sold on the idea that reading "Structure, Sign, and Play" will allow students to write less predictably, or that whatever they'll come up with instead will be preferable.

McLoughlin, Nigel. "Creating an Integrated Model for Teaching Creative Writing: One Approach."

McLoughlin speaks of "writerly criticism":

At the center I write. Everything stems from that. If I didn't write, I would not be interested in writerly criticism, because to write means one must also criticise in a writerly fashion. Writerly criticism is // different from literary criticism. There is a difference of viewpoint. Literary criticism is concerned largely from the reader's viewpoint. What impact the text has on the reader, how different readers may read a text. While writerly criticism is concerned with that also, it is only part of the story, it is only ever a means to an end. A writer will examine a text critically in order to look closely at the effects it might have on the reader, and at different ways the text may be read, but the motivation is different. The writer may want to add an ambiguity or remove one; a writer may wish to engender a specific effect or set of effects on the reader. Either way, writerly critics are concerned with making the text 'better'. They tend to start from the premise that, this would work better if... (88-89, his ellipsis)

McLoughlin feels that teaching creative writing is, to some extent, teaching students the art and practice of writerly criticism. It allows them to practice such criticism on their own texts. However, he does not feel that they are best taught by workshoping their own texts:

It quickly became apparent that exemplars of good and bad writing worked much better as a way of demonstrating, in practical terms, particularly fine writing or cliche and redundancy etc. in a less emotionally charged atmosphere. It enabled students to criticise and edit the writing of others and by extension their own writing, through using worked examples from other writers that pointed out certain features that students could recognise in their own work or try and adapt to their own uses. (89)

Here's how to pass writerly criticism on to students:

Teaching students to be critical requires balance between bringing out ideas they may have about how a text is working (or not working) and whether the text is good of its type. That // means also teaching them that just because they don't 'like' a text, it does not mean that it is not working, or that there is nothing they can learn from it as a writer. In order to teach this, as great a variety of texts as possible are introduced and the students are asked to interrogate the text from several viewpoints: Does the text work? How does it work? Could it be improved and if so how? What are the constituencies out of which the text is written? What can the student learn from the text as writer?

Later, he expands slightly on these last questions:

How does the author achieve his/her effects? What tropes do they use? What can I learn from these texts as a writer? (92)

The rest of his essay is taken up with the elements that must be taught and the sequence in which they are best taught. It's a good essay and a fine prescription for CW. Strikes me that this along with Shelnutt's article would make for a healthy class discussion, since she provides the best critique yet of CW status quo, and he provides an solid alternative model.

LEAD:
He cites Kolb's model of the writing cycle from Jarvis, P. (2004) *Adult Education & Lifelong Learning: Theory and Practice*. London: Routledge Falmer.

Hardy, Nat. "Gonzo-Formalism: A Creative Writing Meta-Pedagogy for Non-Traditional Students"

I was hoping for more from this guy, but (as far as I could tell) he was promoting the traditional workshop in grandiose terms.

Most importantly to me, he exposes his unexamined assumption that the author of a text should be silent while the class critiques his/her work:

On a symbolic level, the workshop...embodies the 'death of the author' notion, because the monological author must restrain any response to criticism until the critical mass has concluded its interpretive, or poly- // phonic, review. For any author, donning the scold's bridle for the duration of workshop dialect is the most difficult, nay emasculating, part of workshop. Verbal castration sounds excruciating, and, for the silenced writer, it is as if he or she must quietly endure a discriminating panel of critics who cast literary judgments on the author's work...Once critical discussion of the creative work has concluded, the author can address his or her live audience to clarify ambiguities, ask questions or, in some cases, beg forgiveness. (103-104)

First of all, it's not possible to comment on this without first addressing Hardy's sexism. How can "any author" feel that something is "emasculating"? Has he ever felt de-feminated? Or, better yet, how can "he or she" endure "verbal castration?" Do his female students have their balls cut off by words? Or is that that all words have testes, and the workshop removes these, neutering each author's language?

In any case, this strikes me as really bad practice and leads to much wasted class time. Gonzo-formalist wasted class time, I guess. Authors are left on their own to measure the distance between intention and effect, rather than the whole class working intentionally and conscientiously on this project together. I guess "Gonzo" is his justification for all the weird, wasteful turns that class discussion can take when it is not directed toward productive criticism of the text. Radical.

Myers: Elephant Teach

Myers, D.G. *The Elephants Teach: Creative Writing Since 1880*. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall, 1996. Print.

Let me see if I can nutshell the history: Creative writing as a university subject came into being at about the time of the decline of philology and the rise of criticism. Creative writing instruction before "creative writing" proper consisted of "how to" handbooks and courses in writing (mostly the short story and mostly by correspondence) that emphasized formulas for commercial success. Creative writing proper began in a middle school and spread in the K-12 public school system as a part of the progressive movement in education. This CW was characterized by a lack of concern about the quality of prose/poetry produced and, instead, a focus on the development of creative expression in students. CW at the university level began when Norman Foerster took over the School of Letters at the University of Iowa. He opposed the progressive/expressive model of creative writing and felt that creativity and criticism ought to be taught in conjunction for a more complete understanding of literature. Since then, creative writing has shifted its emphasis from teaching literature to creating professional writers. Then, they taught writing as a means to another end. Now, we teach it as a distinct, even isolated, branch of English studies. The "elephant machine" is in full swing.

Seems to me there are branches of progressive and critical still in practice. The progressives still have K-12, more or less, as is evidenced by the latest CTA magazine. (I'll have to dig that up) And I had an undergrad workshop that was more or less a progressive deal. Wandor and others complain of this "therapeutic" tendency in the contemporary workshop. And there are some who advocate for CW as an education in "reading."

Here are the quotes I pulled, which more or less flesh out the history outlined.

CW as distinct from lit studies and rhet/comp:

Creative writing...has been an effort to treat writing as an end in itself. As such it has acted with hostility toward two different conceptions of literature and writing, which for convenience might be labeled the scholarly and the socially practical. On one side are those for whom literature is primarily a genre of knowledge...On the other side are those for whom literature or writing is a social practices that either serves the dominant powers or the forces of opposition...The one side has been content merely to *understand* literature, the other merely to *use* it. (8)

Historically, creative writing has beckoned a third way...They [the writers who taught writing] wished to substitute an approach that was grounded (in the words of their allies) on a practical experience of writing. they sought to impart the *understanding* of literature through a *use* of it...Creative writing was originally conceived as a means of teaching literature from the inside, as familiar experience, rather than // from the outside, as exotic phenomenon. It was intended to be an elephant's view of zoology. (8-9)

That's a nice reversal of the "elephants teach" deal. Basically accepting but also affirming the value of that premise. He uses the term "constructivist" to define CW.

Hughes Mearns is the dude who brought creative writing to education as a part of the progressive education movement. He wrote the books *Creative Youth* (1925) and *Creative Power* (1929), both of which might be worth looking up.

Mearns begins the whole expressive take on CW.

For Mearns:

Creativity was not exactly the same thing as productivity. It involved a shift from *product* to *process*. And in literary terms, this mean the poem carried little weight next to poem-producing. "[F]rankly, we do not care much about the product itself," Mearns said; "our interest goes out to the value in growth of personality that comes from genuine self-expression."...Mearns's view of poetry: it was continuous activity. The poem as something *made* or *said*, as something thta has finality, was foreign to him/ and thus to his conception of creative writing, too. Even the term *creative writing* implies something in progress, imperfect, not yet complete. (118)

Mearns's approach is allied with what Myers calls "creativism" which had to answer to critics:

The message of 1920s creativism was that the conditions for cultural renewal were political and educational: first creative ability had to be democratized, then education had to find to set it free. Left unanswered, though, were two questions. To create anything at all (including a new culture) did it suffice merely to liberate creative talent? and even if it did—even if creative talent were just as democratically distributed as creativists said—did not a culture also depend upon undemocratic distinctions between greater and lesser creative achievements? Wasn't *criticism*—not helpful criticism, not communal criticism, but unsparingly evaluative criticism—also necessary?...By shifting attention from the aesthetic object to the aesthetic experiences, creativisim tried to sidestep this problem. (120)

I like the idea of the democratization of creativity. That's huge. And the expressive approach strikes me as totally appropriate in K-12. Less appropriate at the college level.

[Mearns's Creative writing] was a course in personal development by means of self-expression for its own sake, not for the sake of demonstrating mastery of concepts in English language and literature...the business of making professional poets—something with which Hughes Mearns had never had the least interest—was left to take care of itself. (121)

When CW comes to the university, it begins in Iowa under Norman Foerster, who brings criticism into the mix. Foerster wrote a manifesto for the study of letters: *The American Scholar*, in which he laid out his plan for the University of Iowa, which included an emphasis on creative work:

He was clear about his objective: "We must set about restoring the traditional alliance of scholarship and criticism, the divorce of which has worked injury to both and played havoc with education." The time was ripe for a restoration: "the age of philology and minute historical research," he declared, "is drawing to a close." An age of criticism was dawning. And creative writing (as one of his assistant's phrased it) would be criticism's natural ally. (125)

Myers provides some helpful nuance on the new criticism:

Originally the name [new criticism] referred not to any special method of criticism but to the academic condition of the subject prior to 1941. The emphasis was not upon *new* but upon *criticism*. What was new was the argument that criticism was the best means for studying literature, not the kind of criticism itself. (129)

[The new critic's] conception of autonomy—to say nothing of their special method—had been badly misinterpreted. It was set forth in the Letter to the Teacher attached to *Understanding Poetry*: "thought one may consider a poem as an instance of historical and ethical documentation," Brooks and Warren said, "the poem in itself, if literature is to be studied as literature, remains finally the object of study." *If literature is to be studied as literature*: right there was the major premise of the new criticism. The blunder of most commentators has been to treat this as the minor premise, assuming the new critics set to work by stipulating that literature is virginally isolated from the social and historical context in which it is created.
Literature was not so much *defined* in this way as *studied* in this way. The new criticism was first of all a pedagogy. (130)

In other words, if you study a poem historically, you study it *as history*. If you study it biographically, you study it *as biography*. If you study it in terms of its effects, I suppose you study it *as psychology* or something to that effect. Etc. If you study the poem in terms of its poetry, you study it as such.

The interrelated nature of creativity and criticism:

the new criticism was distinguished by its confidence in the identity of criticism and literary creation...[They] argued that criticism must be grounded upon a practical experience of writing. This was perhaps the central doctrine of the new constructivist approach to literature. (131)

To write a poem, on their understanding, was to decide critically among the many creative directions it might take; to read it was to reenact those decisions. And to write criticism, then, was to duplicate the poet's experience—in a different medium. (132)

Criticism and creative writing went hand in hand at the Iowa School of Letters. As Foerster explained in his inaugural address, literature would be studied there from both the creative and critical points of view. Approaching it creatively means "[w]e are to study it from the inside, we are to see it, so far as possible, with the eyes of the creative artist." The ultimate aim, as he had put it in *The American Scholar*, was "to assist in an inner comprehension of art." (133)

A long quote here, Myers's paraphrase of what sounds like a valuable, unpublished essay by Foerster. Foerster argues for a middle ground on the "can it be taught?" issue, and he rails against the solipsism of "expression":

Foerster did not accept the essentialist dogma that writing could not be taught, though he also rejected the practical vocational alternative to it. In an unpublished lecture on "The Education of a Writer" delivered after he had left Iowa, he identified two popular fallacies: (1) "That a writer can be trained—that if he is promising, and take enough courses in various types of writing, he will be started on his career and thereafter advance by a natural process of growth"; and (2) "that formal education has *nothing* to offer the writer, that he develops from within as he grows in experience of actual life, especially life in the raw." Although seemingly antagonistic, the two ideas were really two sides of the same sentimental naturalism. They merely expressed an unwillingness to undertake the responsibility of educating writers. Foerster sought a mean between these two extremes: "I would have the writer go to college," he declared, "but I would not have him become what we call an 'academic.'"

Writers plainly needed a college education, but what they plainly did *not* need was undisciplined practice in creative self-expression. "Expression is a type of solipsism," Foester scolded, "based on the view that the self can known and depict only its own states." And the literary counterpart to the philosophical fallacy of solipsism was this: "While representing a private perception or experience, [the self] communicates doubtfully at best, unless the artist in some way explains." This was why he looked to bind creative writing tightly to the activity of criticism...in order to come truly into possession of creative power, he was convinced, a writer must ally his or her "precious idiocracy" [Whitman's term] to a discipline of ideas—that is, to a critical power. (135)

After Foerster, CW grows and spreads and stays "constructivist".

[As it grew] creative writing remained a discipline of criticism, but the criticism was neither "know-how" nor an absorption in technical detail; perhaps even "vocationalism" is too hidebound. Creative writing was the knowledge of how literary texts are made, how they work; it was a discipline of constructive knowledge. (159)

Morton and Zavarzadeh

Morton, Donald and Mas'ud Zavarzadeh. "The Cultural Politics of the Fiction Workshop." Cultural Critique, No. 11 (Winter, 1988-1989), pp. 155-173

M&Z present a Marxist critique of the realist fiction workshop. My feelings about their work are similar to my feelings about Marxist critique in general: I appreciate their work in opening up the political dimensions of the workshop for examination, and when they make clear their own agenda, I lose interest.

They draw from another Marxist to show that realism isn't just an aesthetic category, but is an ideology that reinforces patriarchal Capitalism by affirming for the reader the status quo. They feel that realism has this effect as its "political agenda." Odd to think of an abstract category as in and of itself motivated to support anything at all outside of itself.

They begin by listing some of the assumptions of the workshop that have come under attack by postmodern critical theory:

the idea of the free "subject," the integrity of "experience," the sharp separation of "reading" from "writing," the individual "voice," the "authority" of the author, uniqueness of "style," the obedience of the reader, "originality," and "intuition." (155)

They certainly could have demonstrated all of these points without the Marxist slant, but the political agenda is important to these authors:

The fiction workshop is not a "neutral" place where insights are developed, ideas/advice freely exchanged, and skills honed. It is a site of ideology: a place in which a particular view of reading/writing texts is put forth and through this view support is given to the dominant social order. By regarding writing as "craft" and proposing realism as the mode of writing, the fiction workshop in collaboration with humanist critics fulfills its ideological role in the dominant academy by preserving the subject as "independent" and "free."...a subject who perceives herself as self-constituted and free so...can then "freely" collaborate with the existing social system, a collaboration that assures the continuation of patriarchal capitalism (161)

So by excluding the examination of cultural and historical forces, the workshop preserves these forces in their present form.

Their critique of the realist workshop's view of creativity:

"Creativity," in other words, is the ability to transcend the political, the economic, and in short the "material" conditions of writing (transcend the "order external to" oneself) as a social person and arrive at a transdiscursive space. It is in this unbounded space, free of all political, social, economic, and linguistic constraints, that the creative person is able to penetrate the opacities of culture and experience reality in its absolute plenitude. (163)

The emphasis on "voice" and "finding" one's unique, singular, personal voice reinforces the political agenda of the independent subject:

Far from being "singular," the voice is in fact a "construct"-a politically needed cultural product produced // by professionals of ideology such as...writers who direct fiction workshops across the country. The commodification of"voice" and of individuality in the fiction workshop is in fact the major political role played by creative writing programs (165-166)

On character:

Character (the model for the free subject) is depicted as a unitary and coherent individual who is always unique and, in his most authentic mode, solitary-like an entrepreneur, he works all by himself. Through individual characters realistically portrayed, the reader discovers his own subjectivity. The valorization of character in the fiction workshop, in other words, is part of its cultural politics in legitimizing the ruling values of capitalism. (167)

They don't like causality, either. Character, realism and causality are forces of patriarchal Capitalism. Seems kind of arbitrary. What if a-causal, non-realistic fiction without characters sold like hot-cakes? Wouldn't that make "experimental" fiction an ideological apparatus of the state? And what of realist fiction published in communist and/or socialist nations? Is that capitalism creeping in? Or simply a reinforcement of their own status quo, making realism exactly the neutral aesthetic M&Z don't want it to be.

Here's what they have to say about Nadine Gordimer, of all people:

Her texts work to legitimate a reformist program by offering a local critique of apartheid and thus help to forestall a radical reorganization of social arrangements in South Africa. In this respect, she is actually undertaking the same ideological program being undertaken by many white South African investment bankers and other capitalists against the wishes of the
present government. (171)

Which exposes the problem with Marxist criticism. It's all very smart and interesting and then eventually reveals that nothing short of full Marxist propaganda will ever be good enough. If you're not advocating the overthrow of the state and the installation of worker control over the means of production, you're just a puppet of capitalist ideology no matter how socially progressive your message.

And, of course, these guys are hypocrites. They publish marketable prose that in no way upsets the status quo. For all their talk of radical theory, M&Z have adjusted quite well to the comforts of the academy and the security of tenure (or the tenure process). In fact, publications like this are little more than efforts at tenure, since Marxist critique is a salable good in the academic marketplace. Journals are likely to publish, publications are likely to please tenure committees, and tenure makes for happy "Marxists", securely positioned in the Capitalist regime, their work appropriated by an intelligentsia with no interest in large-scale social reform.

Here's what they think the workshop should be doing:

Instead of "resisting" theory in the name of the free subject, the fiction workshop should be the pedagogical space in which the processes of signification in texts of culture are to be examined and the construction of what is represented as "reality" is made intelligible. By undertaking such an inquiry and political critique, rather than adopting the traditional stance of the humanist ideologies and "resisting" theory, the radical fiction workshop will propose theory as resistance to all semiotic constructs of culture which are offered as "natural," "eternal," and "unchangeable" and will discover under their seeming eternity the historical interests of the dominant social class and its texts. (173)

So essentially, they want to do to student texts what they did to Gordimer: "Can't you see, dear student, that you are merely a puppet of patriarchal Capitalism?" They want to forward their own ideology in the classroom, and their own postmodern aesthetic which they mistakenly feel best expresses their ideology. (*Gravity's Rainbow* was a bestseller, right? As was *Underworld*.) There is no indication from M&Z about how Marxism will make students better writers, but then, making students better writers is not the goal of these authors. They are not interested in helping students learn to write, they are interested in posing as radical social critics in order to forward their careers in the academy. Just like the rest of us.

Anyway, they do provide a valuable service in opening a conversation about the politics and culture of the workshop. They point out all the right problems, even if their solution lacks integrity.

LEADS:
Pierre Macherey, A Theory of Literary Production, trans. Geoffrey Wall (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1978), 66.

Derrida *On Grammatology*

Marjorie Perloff, " 'Homeward Ho!': Silicon Valley Pushkin," American Poetry Review (November-December 1986): 45

Moxley: CW in America

Just picked a few articles that looked the most useful.

Valerie Miner "The Book in the World"

Really interesting stuff here. She describes what sounds like a vital class, one that should be required rather than labeled "experimental." Students take internships and examine the social realities of publishing and sales of books. "Social issues in publishing" is the name of the course.

Her list of theoretical issues reads like a recipe for a chapter of my thesis:

The theoretical issues include: literacy in the United States; regional identity in publishing; the economics of conglomerate houses and independent firms; the role of the critic in society, the treatment of under-represented cultures in publishing, First Amendment rights and responsibilities. (228)

Or close, anyway. She found the connection between literacy and CW, and its "social issues" related to publishing creative work. Smart.

Here's her defense of the course against those who feel that students should be shielded from the social and economic realities of publishing:

I'm not teaching people to compromise their art to suit the bestseller list or the elite list of celebrated literary houses. Quite the opposite, I'm saying that writers need to know about the world around them to understand how to protect the integrity of their work. // As artists, it's crucial to understand how we function as social agents...it is essential to understand what does and doesn't get published and why...By studying the *context* of the making of literature we can preserve good writers from early discouragement...the more we understand how our work is treated in the world, the more likely we are to survive and succeed as writers. (233-234)

And here's her take on one important aspect of the racial inequity involved in publishing:

[An] American legend worth examining is the notion that "any good book eventually gets published." If we live in a country where—as popular myth would have it—anyone can grow up to be president, certainly anyone can be a writer. The truth is that in either case you may succeed more readily on the basis of race, gender, social or geographic status. (234)

I agree on both points, President Obama's incumbency notwithstanding.

A few LEADS, and other books I found while on Amazon:

editors on editing

book publishing industry 2nd ed

Books: the culture and commerce of publishing


Eve Shelnutt "Notes from a Cell: Creative Writing Programs in Isolation"

Shelnutt's article offers a powerful critique of CW programs and the state of literature in America. I'll let her do most of the talking:

The unsettling fact is that in America the majority of new "serious" imaginative writing is being produced by writers trained in M.F.A. programs staffed by teachers who themselves are products of M.F.A. programs.
The intellectual climate in these programs ceases to be of provincial concern when publishers, the reading public, and alumni of M.F.A. programs are congruent...Moreover, when so many aspiring writers and publishing teachers are gathered under the umbrella organization of the Associated Writing Programs (AWP), which concerns itself, among other things, with developing connections with publishers, it becomes difficult to discern how much the publishing industry is influenced by writing spawned in M.F.A. programs (4)

I remember at Alice James books that decisions on the poetry contest (the only way they published) were made by the board, and that the board was made up primarily of graduates of Iowa City. While I was there, we published three or four poets, all of them fellow alumni. I don't think this was intentional, or the workings of a good-old-boy network. Rather, Iowa City produces a particular aesthetic, valued and promulgated by its graduates. When the board read from the submissions, they naturally gravitated toward their own. That said, these were not blind readings, so a the more cynical explanation could still be true. Either way, this to some extent verifies Shelnutt's complaint.

Shelnutt connects the proliferation of literary journals with the rise of MFA programs and the new availability of federal and state money for the arts. Graduates and teachers needed places to publish, and CW departments needed a public face that would legitimize their "contribution" to letters, so the journals filled these needs. Because they are motivated by these needs rather than a desire to find and encourage the best available writing, these journals are not, according to Shelnutt, providing much of a service to contemporary literature. And small university presses, since they base their decisions to some degree on an author's track record with the lit journals, these presses are not exactly a beacon of hope, either. Intellectual fiction, and the writer as a public intellectual, are not supported by this state of affairs.

the relevant questions seem to me to be, *what* are we teaching students who come to us wanting to learn how to write fiction, poetry, and nonfiction? And how does what we teach or fail to teach affect contemporary literature? (8)

The assumption is that the AWP, or the collective CW programs, exercise a great deal of influence over the direction of American lit. If it's all McPoetry or whatever, then that's bad news.

I have come to believe that M.F.A. students are largely separated from the broader intellectual life of the university, and...I see this separation as augmenting publishers' economic moves away from quality literature (9)

Interesting how she ties the MFA to publishing and economic factors...

Then there's this:

There are no theorists of the teaching of creative writing equal to the theorists in literature and composition. (15)

If that isn't a call to arms, I don't know what is.

Important to address are "considerations of a writer's attitude to language and form as carriers *in themselves* of political and social assumptions as well as methods by which subtle social and political affects are or can be expressed in imaginative writing. (20)

In defense of theory:

Knowing of and thinking about contemporary theories of criticism does not mean an M.F.A. student must embrace the theories...The M.F.A. student may want to consider new ways of thinking about literature when encountering new literary works. (21)

LEADS

Looks like we gots to get Gass's article. Solid critique of the MFA.


Moxley's article "Tearing Down the Walls: Engaging the Imagination"

Moxley surveys comp theory, like Bishop, and is most helpful for his leads

He suggests Erika Lindermann *A Rhetoric for Writing Teachers* OUP 1987 for a survey of prewriting strategies.

This guy did a really interesting experiment on productivity under constraint:
Boice, Robert. "The Neglected Third Factor in Writing: Productivity." *College Composition and Communication* 36: 472-80.

these two sources suggest that teachers comment on student writing based on a student's intentions and purpose:
Knoblauch, C. H., and Lil Brannon. "Teacher Commentary on Student Writing: The State of the Art." *Freshman English News* 10: 1-4.
Sommers, Nancy. "Responding to Student Writing." CCC 33:1-3, 7.

He make this weird claim:

Many creative writers reject all the have read when they sit down to write. Instead of mimicking work they admire, creative writers turn their focus inward toward the depths of inner speech...Many creative writers look inside, assessing what they've internalized, as opposed to mimicking what they admire (37)

Then he quotes Salinger...or one of Salinger's narrators to this effect:

Ask yourself, as a reader, what piece of writing in all the world Buddy Glass would most want to read if he had his heart's choice. The next step is terrible, but so simple I can hardly believe it as I write it. You just sit down shamelessly and write the thing yourself (38)

This may reflect what many writers report of their process, and so, for those writers, it may be appropriate to leave well enough alone. However, Moxley proposes that writers are actually doing what they thing they are doing, which is rather impossible. No one can "reject all they have read" nor is there any "inner speech" somehow essentially separate from public speech. The writer can't really originate text out of thin air; writer's draw on what they know, what they have read. They may do something new, but only new in relation to and in conversation with what has come before. Moxley needed more emphasis on the "internalized" and less emphasis on the "reject".

As for Buddy Glass, he is not claiming that audience does not matter, but merely that he, himself is also a reader and is therefore his own best chance of understanding what readers think like, what they like, what they want from a work of fiction. "You were a *reader*" he says "long before you were a writer."

Moxley goes on:

Contrary to the rhetorical paradigm, writers like Aldous Huxley don't bother with the thoughts of external audiences when they're writing: "I've never made a point of writing for any particular person or audience; I've simply tried to do the best job I could and let it go at that." (38)

But what is a "good job" for Huxley? How does he know when he's done one? Surely he can't think his standards for good writing are wholly original, private, originating in himself. A "good job" of writing is always a good job of saying something in a way that achieves a desired effect for a particular audience, even when that audience is not consciously addressed and the writer never bothers to investigate his/her concept of "reader."

Janet Emig comes up again:
"Writing as a mode of learning" CCC 1977 28: 122-28

Weis brings brain research from the 80s into her work:
Weis, Monica R. "Current Brain Research and the Composing Process" In *The Writer's Mind: Writing as a Mode of Thinking,* edited by Janice Hays, Phylis Roth, Jon Ramsey, Robert Foulke, 25-34. Urbana: NCTE, 1983.

*The Courage to Create* by Rollo May looks really good, and that in conjunction with *The Mirror and the Lamp* would make for the beginnings of a decent paper on creativity.

Selzer Jack, "Exploring options in Composing." CCC 35 1984: 276-84

Why do I feel like I'm stuck in the 80s???

Murray, Donald. "Teach Writing as a Process not a Product." In *Learning by TEaching* Upper Montclair, N.J.: Boynton/Cook Publishers, Inc., 1982, 14-39.

Because I AM stuck in the 80s. Cue the Wham!


Finally, a quote from Moxley's intro, which summarizes the content of the collection:

Taken as a whole, these authors and editors make the following recommendations: (1) student writers must be readers—a background in literature and criticism enables student writers to identify and produce creative work, (2) academic training in writing must be rigorous and diverse; (3) student writers must have an understanding of the composing process and a knowledge of a variety of composing strategies; and (4) student writers must master the fundamentals of craft. (xvi)

LAST LEAD:
To catch me up on process pedagogy, Lad Tobin's article in this book might help. In fact, the whole book should offer a nice overview of comp pedagogy and what it might have to teach CW. Maybe it ends in the 80s, maybe there's more to read. either way, Tobin will fill me in.