Steve May is Head of
Department, Creative
Studies, at Bath Spa
University. Doing Creative
Writing, his book for
Creative Writing students,
was published by Routledge
in 2007 (see this issue for
David Bausor’s review).
He is currently working
on his 45th drama
commission for BBC radio.
The starting point for this project was simple and practical. Creative Writing is a relatively new subject. It has developed in different ways in different places. There’s no consensus about what it is, or what it’s for. However, it’s increasingly popular with students1. It struck me that I had been teaching Creative Writing in universities for 12 years, had been running a large undergraduate Creative Writing department for three, but I had no clear idea of why students were choosing our courses, what they expected from them, how their experience matched (or failed to match) their expectations, nor, taking a broader view, how their attitude to the courses changed during their time at university.
It’s true, for a previous English Subject Centre project2, I had visited various institutions and, wherever possible, talked to students and recorded the conversations, and equally true that at Bath Spa we routinely carry out a questionnaire survey of new students. And of course all tutors administer module evaluation forms to students, and summarise (or are supposed to summarise) these responses in terms of changes in structure or content for individual units.
However, none of these gave me quite what I wanted. Module evaluation forms are all very well, but can be treated as a tedious admin chore, and even at their best are course based, not student based, and perhaps, most significantly, take for granted the key factors of motivation and expectation in which I was particularly interested. The surveys of incoming students throw up some fascinating insights, but again run the risk of lack of motivation and involvement for participants (herded into computer rooms in order to enforce compliance). Oral discussions permit a more personal involvement, but also tend to accentuate the loud and diminish the withdrawn. Group dynamics may obscure the subtleties of individual response.
So, I tried to develop something different, something that avoided:
• a tickbox or questionnaire approach
• local and limited responses to do with individual courses, modules or tutors
• responses that were tied to purely academic concerns
• an oral basis
I wanted to encourage:
• a sense that I cared about what participants said
• a sense that what they said could make a difference, if not to their course, to courses in future
• an environment where they felt free to say (or not say) whatever they wanted
• responses which involved them as people, including their aims and aspirations
So, I transcribed some key quotes gathered in the aforementioned English Subject Centre project, and took them into a class of first-year Creative Writing students at Bath Spa. The quotes I used were mostly related to motivation for taking, and expectations of the course:
I definitely want to be published, that’s why I’m here.
I think all the lecturers maybe spuriously all think that everyone on this course wants to be a writer.
I don’t want to be a writer, I don’t want to learn anything, I just want a 2:1.
I was desperately looking through clearing, cos originally I chose English and History, but I didn’t get the grades.
I wanted to do something as well as Creative Writing, because people don’t take it seriously.
My flatmates, writing? They go, “that’s not a real degree”.
I didn’t know what to expect and I was very naïve to everything, like seminars, was someone going to come and talk at us? I had no idea what to expect at all.
I then led a discussion of the quotes – neither in order, nor exhaustively – trying to follow the interest of the group as we moved from topic to topic. Soon the discussion was progressing energetically – perhaps too energetically. When I invited the students to write down anything they wanted, to do with their experience of Creative Writing, the results were a little cursory and mechanical. I realised that the discussion had been too full: the students had said all they wanted to say orally, and repeating it on paper was tiresome. So, I did the experiment again, and limited the discussion, rousing interest but moving on quickly before people had a chance to say all or most of what they wanted to say. The results seemed much more interesting. The students were eager and wrote quickly – and (as we will see) were surprisingly articulate.
I was offering something they all valued: a snapshot of their own students’ attitudes, presented in a
way they hadn’t been presented before.
I now had a crude methodology, which I applied across the years at Bath Spa, taking the first-year responses in to
second-year students, and second-year responses in to third years. The exercise took about 20 minutes, split into 10 minutes introduction and discussion of “seed” quotes, and then 10 minutes
of student writing.
I found the resulting responses fascinating and informative. Certain key themes recurred, especially to do with confidence (or lack of it), expectations and lack of clarity about the purpose of workshop exercises. It occurred to me that (given the wide variety of auspices of Creative Writing in higher education), it might be even more interesting and informative to repeat the process in a cross section of institutions, to see whether Bath Spa students were representative, or if there were variations depending on institution and kind of course. Coincidentally, at about that time applications were invited for a new series of English Subject Centre mini-projects. I applied and, after a more or less painless process of discussion, peer review and revision, got funding of £5,000, mainly to cover teaching relief, travel and accommodation.
The next question was, why on earth would any sane course director let an outsider (and in many ways a rival at that) loose on their students? Surely not an attractive prospect, to have some Justice Overdo prying about looking for enormities? Perhaps some felt like this, but I was pleasantly surprised by how positive most people were whom I approached. And I was offering something they all valued: a snapshot of their own students’ attitudes, presented in a way they hadn’t been presented before.
The project was (rather grandly) titled “English and Creative Writing: Coherence, progression and fitness for purpose - student perspectives”. I have to confess that the “English” bit was inserted to make the proposal more appealing to the English Subject Centre. To have limited the survey only to institutions (and students) doing both subjects would have been both impossible and undesirable. Part of the richness of the gathered responses indeed lies in the wide variety of subjects the students are doing alongside Creative Writing.
The institutions that were kind enough to host these visits were varied, though perhaps not as varied as I would have liked: several institutions unfortunately had to drop out during the course of the project. Participating institutions were Lancaster, Chichester, Winchester, Brunel, Northumbria, Columbia College Chicago and, of course, Bath Spa. My thanks to all the course leaders, tutors, administrators and especially students who gave their time and energy in helping me to carry out the project.
I was terrified about the creative writing module – I had to do it as part of English studies.
Geographically the split was:
London 1
South-east England 1
South-west England 2
North-west England 1
North-east England 1
USA 1
The location of Creative Writing within the institutions ranged from self-standing (without film and poetry), through inextricably conjoined with English, to within English and within Drama. My first visit took place in October 2006 and my last in May 2007. I gathered contributions from 237 students, totalling over 23,000 words.
Generally, when I showed student responses from one institution to staff at another, they pronounced them interesting, but would add something to the effect that “but of course our students are different”. However, on each occasion, it turned out that their students were not materially different, and echoed the concerns and attitudes of their peers in other institutions. Yes, there were some differences: perhaps the Northumbria drama/script students (in fact script students everywhere) were more focused and practical, and show a more confident understanding of the purpose of their writing; and the Chicago students showed greater awareness of what to expect, perhaps because of the unique Columbia College Story Workshop method. But these are differences of emphasis. It is fair to say that, for these seven institutions at least, similarities of response far outweighed differences.
This survey reveals a broad spectrum of motivation, ranging from the dedicated and committed would-be writer (with varying levels of experience and ability), through people with interest in or talent for writing, including also those who want to teach and those who want to expand themselves as people, people who want to do English in a different way, and (let’s be honest) a proportion of free-loaders. Perhaps I’m being harsh here: those respondents who are honest enough to confess that they chose Creative Writing just because it sounded like an interesting subject (or in one case “for a bet and to reduce my workload”) are not hugely different from many other students choosing many other subjects – except in one respect. Few of our students will have had any experience of doing Creative Writing in any kind of formalised way before starting the course. Perhaps, for this reason if for no other, it behoves us as teachers to make as clear as possible at the outset to our students how our courses work, what they are expected to do while on the course, and what they’re supposed to be able to do after successfully completing it.
What students say
First, I must note the weight of positive comments. Students praise their courses for a variety of reasons: as interesting, exciting, fun, as giving a chance to use their imagination; because of tutors who are experienced, professional and funny; because of the chance to mix with like-minded peers; as developmental in terms of writing and character: in short, as one first-year student sums it up:
This class has sparked something inside of me, an inspiration, a motivation I have been unable to find anywhere else.
Another student, coming to the end of their course, perhaps sums up the experience for many:
Coming towards the end of the Creative Writing degree, I feel that the course has really worked for me. I have been encouraged to experiment, while always being given support in my preferred genre. The first workshop session was a horrible embarrassment, but as everyone is thrown into it together, a group dynamic forms. In the best Creative Writing groups you feel a real desire to help everyone achieve their own goals, as well as follow your own. I don’t see myself as a professional writer yet, more of a dabbler. However, writing is something that I will always do and who knows, when I’m an old lady in purple, maybe I’ll read the grandkids my published novels. (Year 3 student)
This (fairly representative) student has been empowered, enabled to work collaboratively, will continue to write without the overt aim to publish, but harbours semi-secret aspirations in that direction. Others have been converted from “dabblers” to something more driven and serious:
I also now have found the courage to think about being a writer and not just an enthusiastic amateur or – the most dreaded – ‘a simple jotter’. (Year 2 student)
However, other students have moved in the opposite direction:
I set out with the course thinking that I’d like to become a professional writer. The course has taught me that I don’t have it in me. (Year 3 student)
I would contend that this is by no means a sign of failure, either for the student or the course they have taken. As I’ve put it elsewhere (3):
There are too many people who harbour an untried (and probably unrealistic) longing to write. If you have tried, and can reflect on your experience, and analyse why you don’t want to pursue writing further, you will have learned a great deal, both about writing and about yourself.
Further, if your course has been a good course, and you’ve made best use of it, you should have a fairly clear idea of how ‘creative industries’ work, and how work gets sold. You should also, more generally, have learned how to manage a project from initial idea through to completion, and to work with other people in a flexible, supportive and intelligent way. These aren’t negligible accomplishments. They should place you well whatever direction you decide to take.
Apart from those who have decided that writing is not for them, there are also recurring doubts, reservations and anxieties, expressed by students across all institutions. The “horrible embarrassment” of the student quoted above, and fear in anticipation of starting the course, are by no means uncommon:
I was very scared coming to my first seminar, because I wasn’t sure what to expect. I had trouble finding the room and getting there on time combined with the uncertainty made me very nervous when I sat down. (Year 1 student)
I was terrified about the Creative Writing module – I had to do it as part of English studies. My interest was much more about studying ‘good published literature’ than attempting anything of my own. However, so far it has been fine, and I am actually enjoying the exercises. (Year 1 student)
The following student’s expectations in terms of the peer group seem to have been confirmed:
Although my initial fears were of a class full of pretentious, psychologically damaged rich kids, and generally annoying wankers, I have learnt to put up with them. (Year 1 student)
I have been encouraged to experiment, while always being given support in my preferred genre. In the best Creative Writing groups you feel a real desire to help everyone achieve their own goals, as well as follow your own.
The same student touches on another common theme – a lack of clarity about the purpose and benefit of in-class exercises (however much fun they might be):
Although I enjoy writing in my own time and having the chance to read other people’s work, I’m glad Creative Writing is only one module on my English course.
Even the student quoted above who, because of the course, has found courage to think of themself as a writer prefaces that affirmation as follows:
Although the exercises seem like a waste [my emphasis], they help me to open myself up to other writers and explore other points of view. With the mastering of such exercises comes a certain sense of confidence – I no longer fear the dreaded workshops and the scrutinous gaze of other writers. I look forward to having my work torn apart as it allows me to build upon it. I also now have found the courage to think about being a writer and not just an enthusiastic amateur or – the most dreaded – ‘a simple jotter’.
(Year 2 student)
It is extremely common for students not to realise what they’re learning:
I don’t really think the exercises enhance my writing but I assume some people find it a benefit to them. (Year 2 student)
Generally I enjoy the course, but I feel that sometimes the exercises that we are asked to do are not beneficial to me as I feel I write better and have more ideas when I am alone and in a creative mood. (Year 1 student)
Generally, as students progress through the course, they do come to understand better the purpose of what they’re asked to do in class:
At first I was embarrassed with some of the Creative Writing class exercises – I found them hokey and ‘touchy-feely’. As I’ve gotten used to them, I now feel much more comfortable and participate enthusiastically. (Level 2 student)
While some of the above students find they work better when alone, outside of class, perhaps equally represented are students complaining about the difficulty of motivating themselves without the stimulation of the workshop environment:
I have one lesson on a Friday and the rest of the time I’m expected to be doing work in my own time. I find it hard to get motivated when sitting at home and prefer to be in uni more often with specific lessons to sit and write. (Year 2 student)
There are clashes also between the structure of courses, and some students’ sense of individual freedom of expression:
I enjoy my personal Creative Writing process, but resent the formalised structure. Ultimately, this course is a means to an end, although I am keen for it to become more than just that, less laboured. Undoubtedly I will gain from it, however quite what that will be I’m unsure. Reading this back, perhaps I should be paying more attention. (Year 2 student)
these students’ contributions, written in haste, spontaneously, without warning, planning, or the opportunity to edit, are overwhelmingly articulate, clear and persuasive.
It is not uncommon, in a minority of students, to see a dislocation between writing-for-the-course and “real” personal writing:
Before uni, I wrote a lot on my own. The workload quickly took that away from me, and now, over two years later, I’ve lost a lot of confidence in my prose work, and a lot of, shall I say, raw, unmanaged talent. (Year 3 student)
“Confidence” crops up again and again – often as something that Creative Writing courses give to students, but equally as something that students lack, both in themselves and in Creative Writing as a degree course:
I would have to agree that people seem to almost look down on Creative Writing – I know people who call it the ‘Mickey Mouse’ part of my degree. (Year 2 student)
I think the moment I had to produce a piece of creative work for a workshop I knew I wasn’t a writer, especially if my work was the last to be looked at, because I just felt out of my league. I feel that I write just enough to pass the course and for that reason alone. (Year 3 student)
It is remarkable how many students within any given group think of themselves as “the worst writer” – perhaps a quarter or a third. And it would surely be absurd to expect students not to experience some sense of competition in the workshop:
I’m not keen on reading out my work … actually I despise reading out my work in fear of being criticised as, generally, I feel that it’s not as good as others in the class. (Year 2 student)
There’s always someone in the class who I hate and whose writing I hate, there’s also always a rival who I respect and fight with to find out who’s best and then there’s a bunch of people I don’t really give a shit about. (Year 3 student)
I used to write all the time before I came to university, and never tried very hard because it was just for fun. Here, I have to try really hard every week, and it takes up so much of my time. But it’s all in a quest to not being the worst writer. (Year 3 student)
It does seem somewhat strange that we, as writers or experts of literature, whose business involves the intricacies and complexities of human relationships, perhaps subscribe (on the surface at least) to a rather simple model of workshop interaction, based on equality, giving of constructive feedback, taking of same in good measure and co-operation towards mutual improvement. Not all students see things quite that way, nor have unqualified faith in their tutorial input:
I am less confident with my writing now, as tutor feedback has proved detrimental to my progression. I find the writing modules slow and frustrating. I thought I would be a good writer one day, now I just think I will finish my degree bitter and slightly twisted.
Having one tutor praise your work and then another almost failing you when marking it, suggests to me that it isn’t what your write but who you are writing for. I will continue to write but for me only, and I feel a completely new career path will have to be chosen. I haven’t given up hope though. (Year 3 student)
My preliminary conclusions and suggestions are as follows:
• to make sure that from their first workshop or lecture (before if possible) our students are aware of the way our courses work, what they will be asked to do and why. (I will also try to make sure our staff are aware of these things)
• to make students aware of the purpose of individual exercises and workshop activities, both in terms of their writing, and of “transferability”, both to other writing genres and activities outside of writing
• to make students aware of the changing demands of our courses as they move through the levels, and the progression from directed to self-directed work, and from private experiment to public display
• to be aware of the pervasive lack of confidence among a sizeable minority of students in almost every workshop group, and work to build confidence in each individual
• to be aware of the “competitive” element that students’ private self-evaluation entails
• to be aware of (and respect) the range of motivation underlying students’ decisions to do Creative Writing
Postscript
Finally, I need to stress something: these students’ contributions, written in haste, spontaneously, without warning, planning, or the opportunity to edit, are overwhelmingly articulate, clear and persuasive. I’ll leave the last word to this third-year student, whose eloquence and ability to draw the reader into their story for me belie the surface negativity:
This exercise sums up my feelings about the course. I sit and think for a while about what I should write, and when I put pen to paper it confirms to me that I am no writer. If the truth be known, I started the course as a bet and to reduce my workload.
Our students do learn from our courses: for me the next step is to make sure we make them aware of what they’re learning, and what use it will be to them, and alongside this to work towards a consensus concerning the nature of the subject of Creative Writing in higher education, including (and especially) a definition of research.
Notes
1 See the English Subject Centre Survey of the English Curriculum and Teaching in UK Higher Education (2003), Halcrow Group Limited, with Jane Gawthrope and Philip Martin, available at www.english.heacademy.ac.uk/archive/publications/reports/curr_teach_main.pdf (accessed 6 December 2007).
In the Higher Education Statistics Agency statistics (www.hesa.ac.uk/) ‘Imaginative Writing’ first appears as a subject in its own right in 2002/2003 with 775 full-time undergraduate students. This rises to 2,250 in the most recent (2005/2006) figures (accessed 6 December 2007).
2 For a full range of student (mainly oral) quotes, see Steve May, “Teaching Creative Writing at Undergraduate Level: Why, how and does it work?” (Report on English Subject Centre sponsored research project, 2003, available at www.english.heacademy.ac.uk/archive/projects/reports/under_creatwrit_bath, accessed 26 January 2008).
3 Steve May, Doing Creative Writing (Routledge, 2007) p.117.
