There
were four days before my community creative nonfiction workshop was set to
begin when I learned that, due to unforeseen circumstances, I’d be taking on
the community fiction workshop as well. At first this seemed like a daunting
task. I had all of my lessons already planned out, my readings selected and
ready to be photocopied, and they were all centered around—you guessed it—works
and craft elements of creative nonfiction. This left me with two major
questions I needed to answer in order to ensure that all of my students got out
of the workshop what they’d hoped to: 1.) How am I supposed to fit fiction into
the mix now with an already packed-to-capacity syllabus? And, 2.) Of all of the
combined craft concerns of the two genres, which do I choose to focus on in the
eight class meetings we’d have together?
The
second question needed to be addressed first. Once I decided how to shift the
focus of the class in order to encompass both genres, then I could worry about
organizational measures. With six students in the class, that meant I could
only afford to dedicate two of the two hour sessions to craft if I wanted to
have enough time for all of my students to have two different pieces
workshopped—which only seemed fair to me. A crash course in craft concerns was
certainly in order, but which craft concerns should take the focus? Well, I
would at least have to cover the elements of craft that are integral to both
genres. This meant, for me: plot, characterization, setting, dialogue, point of
view, and voice. On top of these, I’d have to cover certain elements unique to
creative nonfiction as well. And so I chose to add truth and universality to
the mix. No creative nonfiction class could be complete without a hearty discussion
of the difference between objective and perspectival truth and how to handle
weaving through both on the page. Universality, on the other hand, seemed
crucial to bring up in order to avoid the awkward possibility of having to
workshop 15 pages of Jane Doe’s private diary entries. “Your pieces should
appeal to an audience broader than just you and your circle of friends and
family,” I made sure to tell them straightaway.
With
that, I added a few fiction readings to the list, photocopied them out, and the
class had begun. Over the course of the workshop I found the amount of overlap
between the two genres (even in terms of truth and universality, believe it or
not) to be quite surprising. In fact, teaching the two genres together didn’t seem
to muddle the concerns of either in the limited amount of time we had, but,
instead, helped to illuminate the concerns of both in fascinating and beneficial
ways. They reflected and refracted one another when they needed to, making for
a swift understanding of the craft of creative writing overall. The other happy
accident of the hybrid workshop was that it gave the students a chance to step
outside of their comfort zones—an experience that I would argue is critical to
the practice of writing. If I remember correctly, everyone in the class,
whether they originally signed up for fiction or nonfiction, wrote one piece in
each genre and I had the pleasure of being able to watch their writing improve
and their appreciation of reading increase because of it.
Originally
from Rochester, New York, Dustin J. DiPaulo is an MFA candidate at FAU. He
writes creative nonfiction and music.
No comments:
Post a Comment