January 2012 – Lit Bits

Introducing Students to Creative Nonfiction: The “I” and “Eye”

Today’s guest blogger is Angie Mellor, an Assistant Professor of English at East Carolina University where she teaches creative writing, creative nonfiction, and composition. Originally from Wisconsin, Mellor earned her B.A. in English at the University of Wisconsin, Whitewater, and an M.F.A. at Georgia College and State University. She is currently pursuing a Masters in Multicultural and Transnational Literature at East Carolina, and her work has appeared in The Whistling Fire and The Green Blade.

In my Introduction to Creative Writing class a few weeks ago, my students and I began discussing nonfiction. I was certainly surprised when the conversation began with this comment: “It’s boring.” When I asked why they thought of nonfiction as boring, it turned out that most of my students equate nonfiction with biographies. Once they learned that nonfiction comes in many varieties —such as the memoir, the personal essay, travel writing, and immersion journalism— they grew a little more curious about what type of nonfiction could work well for them.

However, the debate of what constitutes creative nonfiction continued. When one student, a communications major and campus newspaper editor, brought in a journalistic piece describing a particular place, students were shocked to find out that this could be considered nonfiction. Many were also hung up on the idea that nonfiction had to be a personal story, preferably a tragic one. We discussed that although personal tragedy is at the center of some memoirs, it is not a defining factor of nonfiction in general. In fact, the best nonfiction authors strive to go beyond the personal. Continue reading “Introducing Students to Creative Nonfiction: The “I” and “Eye””

Of Music and Memory: A Writing Exercise

In the small town where I live, one of our nicer restaurants often has their satellite radio tuned to a station that plays exclusively soft rock from the 80s and early 90s. Air Supply. Foreigner. A little Journey or, if we’re really lucky, solo Steve Perry. But there’s one song that seems to come on every time we eat there, one song that causes my wife to reach across the table, grab my hand and whisper, “Don’t sing. Don’t sing. Don’t sing. I mean it.”

The song I’m talking about is Chicago’s song “Look Away,” which a quick Internet search tells me was written by Diane “Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now” Warren. I didn’t know this until just ten minutes ago, but I can’t say I’m surprised. Like every other Diane Warren song I know, “Look Away” expresses its ideas about love in rather obvious, sentimental ways. The song is written from the point of view of a young man whose ex-girlfriend—with whom he still has a friendship—calls to tell him about her new love. In fact, the lead vocalist (whose name is not Peter Cetera) opens the song with the observation, “When you called me up this morning/ Told me about the new love you’d found/ I said I’m happy for you/ I’m really happy for you.” Of course, things aren’t really that simple; as it turns out, our speaker is still in love with his former paramour/ current friend, but he can’t possibly act on those feelings. For some reason. So he assures her that he’s “fine,” but then admits that “sometimes [he] just pretend[s].” In the chorus he tells her: “If you see me walking by/ And the tears are in my eyes/ Look away, baby, look away… Don’t look at me/ I don’t want you to see me this way.”

This is not a particularly good song. In fact, I don’t think it’s very good at all. But I love it anyway, and feel the urge to sing along with not-Peter Cetera every time it comes on. This desire has nothing to do with Diane Warren’s craft or not-Peter Cetera’s singing, and has everything to do with the memories this song evokes for me. Continue reading “Of Music and Memory: A Writing Exercise”

Beyond Realism

Teachers of beginning playwriting are wise to lay out certain rules that can boost the success of student writers. Buzz McLaughlin’s The Playwright’s Process—a textbook I use—puts forward “A Few Initial Guidelines” (17-19). Many of these guidelines are useful; however, I believe McLaughlin goes too far when he asserts that beginning playwrights should write in a realistic style (18).

While realistic drama has its place in the classroom, I question the notion that realism must come first. Such a premise denies the primary reason dramatists write: not to recreate life—which can be watched as it unfolds in any laundromat or public place—but rather to tell a story aloud.

Playwriting is best understood as a logical step in oral storytelling: first, describe an incident; then, add dialogue to that description; next, recite the dialogue with appropriate attitude (acting); and, finally—when the story overwhelms the capacity of the solo teller—ask friends to join in and take on roles (drama). Nothing in this process suggests the necessity of any imitation of life with its nitty-gritty details. Furthermore, theatre history tells us that drama did not begin with what we would call realism; so why begin with it in the classroom? Certainly, many of drama’s most lasting successes—the ancient Greeks and Shakespeare, for instance—are not realistic and are nothing like words overheard in a café. Continue reading “Beyond Realism”