An introduction to Creative Writing

Over a week between posts. Aaargh. That pretty much sums it up. I'm told there was a weekend some time during the last few days. Can't say that I noticed it.

The reason I've been so utterly neglectful of my blogging responsibilities is largely due to the fact that Uni started this week. Once again our happy little campus is buzzing to the tune of several thousand new uni students all merrily going about their business.

Actually, I like it when the uni comes back to life - somehow it doesn't really feel like a uni during those quiet summer months. Some places are meant to be filled with crowds. And, of course, with the arrival of the students from their summer migration comes the necessity for those of us with offices to start preparing to (gasp! shock! horror!) Teach!

Which is why I've been neglecting my four readers here at Musings... (Sorry Mum, Dad, Imogen and Toby)

I've been writing lectures. Specifically one lecture. Specifically the first lecture in my Introduction to Creative Writing unit. And it's proven a lot more difficult than I'd thought it would. I discussed this briefly last year and the situation hasn't improved since then. I spent a good chunk of my Christmas break pondering the notion of just how you 'introduce' someone to creative writing.

"John, I'd like you to meet creative writing. Creative writing, meet John."

Clearly not.

But still, it's been harder than I thought. Largely because the act of writing is such a difficult idea to pin down to any one motivation or approach. In the end, I opted to just wuss out on the whole thing and took the fifth, metaphorically speaking. Here's a few paragraphs from the introduction to my lecture (which I'm happy to post here, because neither mum, dad, Imogen or Toby is, so far as I know, enrolled in my unit):

Before we get into this too far, a disclaimer:

This unit will not teach you how to be a creative writer.

It will encourage you to take the first steps along the road to developing your own creative writing abilities, and it will hopefully provide you with a few useful skills and tools to help in that regard. It will, with a bit of luck, open the door to some different perspectives and ideas about writing, the act and the art of it, but the one thing it most definitely won't do is turn you from being a 'non-creative writer' into a 'creative writer'. That part of the equation is entirely up to you.

And why won't it? Isn't that what you're paying your HECS for? I'd like to begin by thinking for a few minutes about what precisely we mean by the term 'creative writing' - at first glance, this question seems like a no-brainer. Creative writing is writing stuff down, creatively.

If only it were that simple. But, of course, it isn't. The fact is that for different people, the act of writing is one that will take on different significances. For some, writing is a political act, for some it's therapeutic, for some writing is the driving passion that makes their life worthwhile and for others it’s a demon they'd rather be without.

Since the earliest development of the written word, the act of writing words upon a page (or slate, or wall, or parchment) has been used for the expression of power, of despair, of passion, of rage, of faith, of scepticism, of hatred and of peace.

Your approach to the entire concept of 'creative writing' will depend upon a vast plethora of factors. Within this unit, for example, sitting in this lecture theatre, it should be immediately apparent that we have here a wide range of people: different ages, genders, political persuasions and - naturally - different courses of study. Some of you are enrolled in your bachelor of writing degree, some of you are doing education. There are very possibly journalists, linguists, lawyers, computer programmers, engineers or scholars among our numbers. There will be people for whom this unit is their first taste of university, and some of you who might be returning to university for the fourth or fifth time. Some of you will have already spent years in the workforce, some of you are hoping this degree will be the first step in a long career. Some of you are parents, some of you can't think of anything worse.

And for each of you, the idea of 'creative writing' will doubtless hold different implications;

For some of you, the idea of having to write something down and put it 'out there' is terrifying.
For some of you, it's as natural as breathing.
Some of you want to one day see your name on the front cover of a novel.
Some of you want to write the perfect poem.
Some of you want to write speeches for politicians.
Some of you want to write screenplays.
Some of you will write every spare moment you have.
Some of you will have to lock yourselves in a small room with a non-internet computer and a time delay lock, just to get started.
Some of you are here because you really want to be.
Some of you are here because you really have to be.

It goes on (and on... and on...) but I'm going to leave it there, for the moment. And yes, I know it's a cop out, but it's also, I suspect, the most honest way to approach the subject. Unless you're Monty Python, which I'll leave you with...

Abstract Web-Based Creativity

This is my self portrait, entitled Self Portrait in Orange with Horse, done on the very enjoyable Mr Picasso Head website...

I came across this site while browsing through this excellent website here, to which one of my colleagues referred me. For anyone working in any sort of creative field, it's a veritable treasure trove of what lots of other people have done using the interwebs to express themselves in various forms. I've already found a whole lot of stuff I intend to use during the course of the year, both in my teaching, and for keeping myself switched on and motivated.

Of course, the downside of this site is that I've been here in my office for an hour now, and haven't actually achieved anything from my 'to-do' list.

So I'm going to get to work now.

Promise.

J.D. Salinger, RIP

By now, pretty much everything that can be said about the death of JD Salinger has been said, but I'm going to weigh in with my 0.02c, anyway.

I didn't like The Catcher In the Rye.

Not the first time I read it, anyway (aged 12 - got to roughly chapter 4, from memory).

Nor the second. (aged 16, read about half)

Nor the third. (18, for uni. Finished but didn't really see what all the fuss was about.)

But about five years ago, as part of my early research for my PhD, aged 32, I read it again, for the fourth time.

And it rocked my world.

The Catcher in the Rye changed the way I think about my writing. It changed the way I think about the people I write for, the people I write about, and the reasons I write. I have no idea why it took so long for me and that book to 'click' with one another, but I know for certain that it's one of the few books that fundamentally shifted my perspective on almost everything. How many books can you say that about?

Rest in Peace, JDS.

(and here is a brilliant obituary written by those too-clever-by-half folk at The Onion)

Australians All Let Us Rejoice?

So, it's Australia Day today. Happy national day, everyone. 

Once upon a time, this used to be my favourite day of the year - absolutely without question. Back when I used to row competitively, my mates and I would spend the 26th January down at the boat shed by the Swan River. We'd pull a couple of ratty old couches out onto the river bank, set up a barbeque and a stereo, and listen to the Hottest 100 while cracking a few beers. We'd play cricket. Kick the football. Chuck a frisbee around. When it got too hot, we'd go for a dip in the river. After sunset, we'd move out to the shed's launch ramp and watch the fireworks over the city, a couple of kilometres upstream. One memorable year we filled the bottom of an old rowing 8 with ice, and (no doubt in contravention of almost every maritime safety regulation in the world) converted it into a 40 foot long, row-able, floating esky (with about an inch and a half of freeboard, but that's okay...) and headed out into the bay for several very pleasant hours.

Yep. Fun. Relaxed and fun.

These days, though, I've gotta confess that I've got mixed feelings about Australia Day. It might well be just me but it feels, well, different, somehow.

One of the things I loved about our days by the river was that it was a celebration of everything I really love about living in this country - mateship, being outdoors, enjoying the utterly beautiful environment we've been gifted with, but at the same time it was somehow understated. Australian, if you like.

Not so much, any more.

Even aside from the ABC accidentally leaking the results of the hottest 100 (not that this matters to me nowadays. In recent years I've become more of  a radio national listener. Yes, I'm old and boring. And I have utterly no idea who Mumford and Sons are.) it feels like Australia Day has become, in recent years, more and more ... unsubtle. More overtly nationalistic.

It's no longer enough to just get out and quietly have a day off work - nowadays it seems like you can't turn around without seeing some hotted up bogan-mobile with ten little plastic Australian flags (made in China) hanging off it. There'll be guys at the beaches and at the Big Day Out wrapped in the flag, as though they have something to prove. Some idiot will tell a news crew that "If you don't love it, then leave". It's all a bit jingoistic. Worse, it's all a bit too unthinking.

I dunno. Perhaps I'm just becoming old and curmudgeonly. Very likely I'm looking back at the 'good old days' of my youth through rose-coloured glasses. And don't get me wrong - I'm a big fan of this country. Love it to bits. I just don't feel like I have to prove it to anyone.

And there are things we need to think about: Indigenous health, terrorism and our response to it, global warming, the ongoing racism present in so many parts of our society, whaling and our role in the Antarctic, our place in South East Asia, our water useage - these are big issues that are going to shape both the cultural and physical landscape of this country for our children and generations to come and to my mind, Australia Day should be the day where, as well as celebrating our country, we call it in to focus - we talk about the country we want to live in, and the ways we might achieve that. 

To my mind, an unquestioning celebration of anything isn't a celebration worth having. Let's celebrate our past achievements, sure. But let's also use the opportunity to map out our future ones.

The 26th of January celebrates the day when the first fleet sailed into Sydney Harbour and dropped anchor, just off the beach where today the Sydney Opera House holds court across the water. It celebrates the birth of a modern nation, an inventive nation, a resilient and tough and brave and beautiful nation.

But let's not forget that it also celebrates the invasion. The introduction of European diseases to the Aboriginal people. The introduction of the firearm and the use of power to dominate the disenfranchised. It celebrates the introduction of European models of land use - clear felling and large scale grazing - into a landscape just not suited to it. It celebrates the beginning of erosion, salinity, the slow decline of the barrier reef, the damming of rivers, the draining of the Murray.

Australia Day is not just a celebration, but is a day of duality, and always has been. We need to remember that.

Because it is a lucky country, and we are young and free, and the moment we forget the costs of that achievement, that's when we start to become less than we might be.

News, and a little bit of pimping

My friend Karen Brooks has a new website and blog. You should check it out here. It's really nice. I'm possibly kind of jealous (though not really; my website was designed and built by my clever wife, which I find very cool, too. The last website I put together for myself looked like the internet equivalent of duplo.)

On other matters, if all goes well, then Daywards should be off to the printers this week. The cover is done, the blurb written, the internals looking *pretty*, we've dotted all the i's, crossed the 't's' and removed all the preposterous words from the text. Like, well, 'preposterous' for example. It'll probably even be out on time, and in time for any lucky people attending the Somerset Celebration of Literature to be the first people in the country to be able to buy a copy.

My next book, Orion is a little stalled at the moment, owing to the vagaries of start-of-semester madness. Hopefully once things get going at uni in a couple of weeks, and my daily routine becomes a routine again, rather than a series of crisis-management triage moments, then I'll be able to get back in to it.

Anyway, it's hot as hell here, and we're off to Toby's grandmother's place for a swim.

Have a nice weekend, everyone.

Okay, so I know I'm a bad blogger

Dear blog,

I'm sorry. Really. I know I've been neglecting you, and not putting enough effort into this relationship of late. I know that a week ago when my family were away I couldn't get enough of you, but now that they're back it seems like I've just cast you aside like so much internet introspection.

And I know I could offer you excuses like 'I've been playing with my son' or 'we had to get a new childcare place organised' or 'just when I think I've done the final little bit of work on Daywards something else comes up' or 'semester starts in a week and I just discovered that I have an entire unit outline which I've not put together yet' or even 'it was my wedding anniversary and I had other things to do'. But I won't. You deserve more than that.

So I'm sorry for neglecting you so badly this last week. I'll do better next week. Promise.

best,

Tony

Family Matters

So tonight Imogen and Toby are coming home. I can't wait. They've had a lovely week over in Perth, staying with my parents, while I've had a lovely week of getting in to work stupidly early every morning, and then getting a lot done.

And I'm over it.

I have achieved quite a bit, though. One of my two units is almost totally done - lectures complete, website built, tutorials ready - the whole bit. The other is well along the path, though it's new territory for me, so will be a little more full on.

I've also got a good chunk of my next book written. I'm enjoying writing it, and hopefully will have the first draft almost finished by the time I have to start actually teaching.

The other day, my editor Kristina and I went through the final tweaks for Daywards. We wrote the blurb. We signed off on the cover. It's looking really good. It should be going to the printers tomorrow or wednesday. I can't wait to hold it.

Lets see... what else...

Saturday I went out to a Gliding Club in Goulbourn with the intention of going flying. Sadly I got there just as an enormous thunderstorm rolled over and turned the airfield to mush, so I missed out there. I did get to sit in a glider, though. On the ground. In the hanger. Wasn't quite the same, somehow.

I also sold my old road bike. This was a bittersweet moment. This was the bike I bought when I was in my late 20's and still doing triathlons fairly seriously. At the time, it was a state-of-the-art road bike, with carbon fibre forks, Ultegra groupset (bike-people will understand), a flight deck computer, Rolf 18-spoke racing wheels, the full bit. God I loved that bike. And I rode it, too - my mates and I put in thousands of kilometres around Perth and up and down the coast. Most saturdays we'd do a lap of the river - about 55 kilometres, stopping in Fremantle for a coffee and then up the coast a bit before heading back in to the city. Lovely days.

But for the last three years, my road bike has been sitting in my carport under an increasingly thick layer of dust. A spider had nested in the front brake. It was too hard and uncomfortable for riding on the *really shitty* Canberra roads, and so a year ago I got myself the bike equivalent of a station wagon. A big, wide-tyred, soft seated, low geared Shogun for riding in to uni.

And so this week, after putting it off for three years, I sold my shiny red road bike. I got $300.00 for it. Which I then spent on a Baby Bike seat and helmet for Toby, so from tomorrow, I can take him for rides on the 'station wagon'. I think this is a good investment.

Last night I started revisiting The West Wing, beginning again from series one. This show is such a brilliant piece of television. If you've never watched it, then (a) what's wrong with you? and (b) you need to do so.

But I'll be honest - I cannot wait to go to the airport tonight and have our little family back together again. Last week when they left, Toby was walking a lot, but still crawling about 50% of the time. Now, I'm told, he's running pretty much everywhere.

And I can't wait to see it.

As I write this, Min and Toby should be just about on their way to Perth airport, and it's almost knockoff time for me, so I'm going to go home and get the house organised.

Or perhaps watch a couple more episodes of The West Wing.

Fly safe, family.