Our creative writing final exam in my junior year at Mercer Island High School was an oral presentation on one of our favorite authors: give a little history, show their impact from a literary, historical perspective, and tell how the author affected us personally. This was to be half of our grade, and the teacher was a very strict grader. Worse, he gave the grade at the close of the presentation for all the class to hear. This was based on his assumption that the first reaction is always the truest. This made for a pretty charged public display. These finals were legendary in our school; the teacher was a strict grader and never minced words. He’d tell you how he felt without reservation.
I loved that class. As well, I hated that class. Two things are clear to me now. First, he put a charge into our learning, made us think twice about what we were going to say, made sure we prepared well, built an argument, to be persuasive. He also taught us to be passionate about our writing. Funny, after all these years, I still remember, in almost lucid clarity, Paul Simpson’s final presentation. I can barely remember mine. I think I got about an 85 or so- just about as high as you could get from this teacher. He only gave one or two 90’s a year on the final exam.
We all gave our presentations. Probably pretty boring, looking back. I think mine was on Soren Kierkegaard. I know, how do you worm that into a creative writing presentation? Paul Simpson? He barely said anything. But he got a 97!
Paul began his presentation by giving a few facts about his author. I believe it was a poet, but I’m not completely sure. I do remember his thesis, which was that if you couldn’t experience the author’s writing at a visceral level, feeling moved and affected by the words and thoughts and images, then you hadn’t really understood or encountered the writing at its most fundamental level. Rather than say these things, Paul brought a paper bag full of props, and with lightening precision and nimble timing, he’d pull out something and recite a terse, one or two-line passage from the author’s work. As he neared the end of his report, he started propelling out colored balls toward his listeners. I’ll never forget the mental picture to this very day.
I really do think about that presentation every now and then when I sit down to write (I rarely write standing up... see you're starting to get a mental picture!). How can describe I an image in words that will stick in the reader's mind? I'm not saying this is the primary goal of writing, and I realize there are many styles and genres of writing. Still, I think we would do well to consider how are words live on in a reader's mind, not just during the experience, but long after. As you reflect on some of your favorite books or poems, don't you form a visual panorama of a particular scene or part of a poem? It may not be wildly flashing colored tennis balls, but perhaps something just as memorable will come to mind. If so, I'd love to hear about it here.
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Written by Edward Nudelman, who is also a Books Correspondent for Gather: POETRY CENTRAL
Keep up with Ed’s other posting and Gather activity by joining his Gather network-just click here and select the orange “Connect” button on the left-hand side of the page. If you are interested in my background or qualifications, I invite you to read my profile which has information concerning my published writings.
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Comments: 42
A poem of relating to the sun in my face the , tree for coolness, the warm of the northern sun for warth, flowers at my graveside. brings back some very strong memorizes of a dear sweet friend parting ways.
Thanks for sharing your days & writting skills with us. This was very interesting & a very god read.
10* always
God Bless
dee-dee
Great article Ed.
As I learn each day what writing is, I become aware of the discipline of not getting lost in the forest of words, but to use words as tools to build the visual effects to which you just alluded. Your reversal about sitting down or standing up to write demonstrates yor thesis precisely. Thanks. Can't wait for the next lesson.
Pat.
And I agree with Dan R about The World According to Garp, it is one of my favorites.
I was beginning a Fiction course taught by McGill Prof and author Bharati Mukerjee Blaise, married to French Canadian Clark Blaise - Google these and see what you find - but I decided against Mrs. Mukerjee's course when she required 30 typed pages a week, full of color, tone, flavor...all too much
for me. She wrote a fascinating novel, based on her growin up in India. I took a course in Poetry, taught by an American.
Great article.
Thanks for a wonderful article, Ed. Congrats!
"Stopping By the Woods on a Snowy Evening" IS a good example. When I read it in my junior high American Literature class, the teacher felt it was necessary to debunk the myth that it was a poem about a letter carrier making his/her rounds. Now I can't read the poem without thinking of a mail carrier.
When I remember my favorite authors, I recall that they included just enough description for me to picture the scene without being flowery. I remember John Steinbeck's novels and short stories being evocative.
One weakness of current TV journalism is its emphasis on visuals. Pictures can evoke powerful emotional responses--think of the airliners crashing in the Trace Center towers. But I want to know: How did we get to a place where young men feel they have to kill thousands of people to make their point. Pictures--however well drawn in words or captured on film--cannot answer that sort of question.
Even with fiction, I favor works that emphaiss idea. While storytellers certainly need pictures (and other sensory impressions) to hold their readers, merely showing isn't enough for me. I want a writer who has powerful insights, who can tell me something about life that I haven't yet discovered for myself.
It was a surreal experience for me--then and now. I made a pot of tea and threw a blanket on the floor and invited everyone to join me. I remember it as the best performance of any kind that I ever did. And I don't remember it at all. The memory is ethereal. Even at the time, I couldn't really see myself from the outside. Somehow, I swallowed the part whole. It was an amazing experience.
Thanks for giving me the opportunity to remember it--even if I can't think of details, it warms my heart.