The Place from Which Words Come - A Philosophical Essay

Written by Benjamin Fouché

I have known it to be quite true that the mind is the loudest at night.  And I dare say many would agree that this sentiment is hauntingly accurate.  For when the cacophony of daily sounds finally subsides; and the bright radiance that is the sun sinks below the horizon; and the birds deaden within their nests; and the bustle from the streets dissipates; and the neighboring souls retire to their beds, sinking into the haziness of sleep—it seems that those of us who reluctantly remain awake are cognizant of many sounds.  Yet these sounds seem to be suppressed during the day.  But, when the world around us slumbers—and our eyes gaze upon the ceiling through the darkness of our rooms—we hear them.  What are they, you might ask?  They are many things.  Memories.  Fears.  Doubts.  Regrets.  Wishes.  And a thousand of other things.

But to simply remain staring and pondering in the duskiness is possibly no different from subjecting oneself to perpetual torment.  Indeed, if nothing is done about these specters of the mind—especially the formidable ones—they will vanquish us one sliver of sanity at a time.  Then, after years and decades pass, our hearts and minds will be noticeably marred and eroded.  I say this not to be melodramatic, but because this is something I have lived with for far too long.  And I’m certain many writers can relate.  After all, writers are often observant creatures.  They scrutinize and interpret the world around them, and then reinterpret and illustrate what they know into something that only a reader’s imagination may observe.  It certainly makes the human experience far more intriguing. 

Yet the price one pays for noticing, discerning, and retaining even the seemingly insignificant details of life is absurdly high—sometimes even grave.  This means both enjoyable and dreadful memories reside within our minds, ever-present.  Yet despite pushing the bad ones away and endeavoring to forget them, we may not recognize that they merely linger on out of sight during the day.  But at night—especially when we are awake—they come out to remind us of their multiplying legions.  We then stare at the ceiling—seeing not the ceiling, but all of these thoughts.  And listening, we hear not the silence, but the sounds of our grim reveries.  We remember.  We are afraid.  We doubt others and ourselves.  We regret and wish.  We yearn.  And as this foreboding wave rises from the sea, we seem to stand all alone on a shore—awaiting the black waters and our inexorable drowning.

Even so, such a fate is not necessary.  Nor is it ‘inexorable.’  This is the moment when the lights should be turned on and we ought to throw ourselves out of bed.  This is the moment where we should remind ourselves that we are still alive and no such wave actually exists!  ‘Then,’ you might ask, ‘what are we to do at this time?’  The answer is to—whether penned or typed—WRITE.  It may be 9:00 pm.  It could be 11:00 pm.  Possibly even 12:00 or 3:00 am.  Regardless of the time, there is no reason to remain awake in our darkened rooms, tortured, tossing, and turning.  Sometimes, the remedy to such melancholies and anxieties is to sit down and travel to whatever distant realms our imagination leads us to.  From there, we may realize that these places, too, are inhabited by characters—characters who are surprisingly not so different from us. 

Sometimes the predicaments in which these imaginary figures find themselves may be quite extraordinary or unbelievable.  And yet, is not life itself (or the entirety of the world for that matter) unbelievable?  For instance, here you now exist—breathing the very air around you, reading this sentence, and living in this precise moment.  Likewise, your characters dwell within their own worlds and exist within their own moments of every paragraph, sentence, word, and syllable.  From the stirrings of your mind, heart, and soul, they were born.  And now, through the symbols of language, you have opened a window into their own story.  Doubt not, for this phantasmagoric vista can illustrate conflicts, loves, sufferings, adventures, and victories beyond our own empirical senses.  And you—yes, you, reader; whoever you may be—possess the ability to open this window and create this world. 

As a writer, you can seize every specter residing in your mind.  The memories, regrets, yearnings, doubts, and fears—all can become the coals that fuel the fires of your creative furnace.  These great journeys that we call ‘fiction’ share with others an experience constructed from both fantasy and reality.  Through your words, doorways open.  And sometimes these doorways are paradoxically mirrors.  In them, we see different worlds, but sometimes we may even see our own.  What is the result?  It is a voyage to somewhere else, but also an examination of the real story we call ‘life.’  Conflicts, adversaries, and tragedies all transpire within our lives at some point or another.  For loss, struggle, and hardship are certainly no strangers to us. 

Yet hope, joy, and affection are equally undeniable in their existence.  And knowing this, we take what we have known to be good and bad in this life and merge it with the fantastical.  The result is a realm to which we escape, but also a realm from which we discern meaning and collective experiences.  Sometimes, if the journey is quite exceptional, readers may never again be the same.  Such is the mystery and beauty of words and writing.  We can see, hear, smell, taste, and touch what they create—yet they are not tangibly present.  Like some distant apparition, they appear before us—only to dissolve once the experience has long-subsided.  But undoubtedly, we remember them always.  This is perhaps the greatest gift of fiction.  It is something that touches the spirit in ways that nothing else truly can.

In the end, it is up to us writers to make the choice as to how we handle the perturbing midnight thoughts that overwhelm us.  Either we allow these prowling anxieties to call to us and inflict a thousand tossing-and-turnings in bed or we seize the night and turn our millions of straying thoughts into something meaningful.  The choice is yours. 

Creative Writing and How it Relates to Academic Writing

 

Written by Benjamin Fouché

    Often times when we hear the word creative writing, we associate the word specifically with fictional stories, poetry, and perhaps even world-building.  Nevertheless, creative writing is more than simply an artistic outlet for writers; it is a way in which writers can practice the craft of communication and articulation; it is a way in which writers can learn to become more proficient; and it is especially a way in which writers can learn new things and gain self-confidence.  Ultimately, all of this contributes to a writer who is not only great at creative writing but also great at writing in general; this may include emails, resumes, and even academic writing.  Yet this may seem unlikely to some people.  After all, one might ask how—for example—writing a story may be beneficial to students in college and the innumerable papers they are required to write.  But the truth of the matter is that creative writing can indeed be helpful—and helpful in more ways than anyone could possibly imagine.

    According to Patrick T. Randolph of West Michigan University, creative writing has the potential to overall improve a student’s writing abilities.  Randolph explains this after conducting his own research amongst his students when he says:

[…] [A]t my current institute, there is a writing assessment test given at the end of each eight-week term for all the students in the program. In order for the students of the intermediate level to move on, they need a four out of seven to pass. Before the creative writing program was instituted, the number of students who passed to the next level was lower than after I started the program. In general, 50% to 60% of the intermediate students would pass the writing assessment. After the first creative writing course started, the numbers improved dramatically. Currently, 80% to 85% of the students pass the writing assessment, and, in some cases, I have had terms where up to 90% of the level four students move up to level five. It was after this substantial change in the test scores that the administration of the institute decided to permanently keep the creative writing program for the intermediate level writing class (Randolph, 78-79).

Here, we have an outstanding example of creative writing overall benefiting students; without the creative writing program, fewer students passed—yet with it, those numbers rose exponentially.  Thus, it appears that creative writing can be used to help students grow into stronger writers; yet, why is this?  Randolph explores this question further when he says:

Neuro research has also recently […] discovered that fiction excites and stimulates the brain more than academic literature […] If this is true, then the use of creative writing, as a pedagogical tool, is the best way for ESL learners to acquire new vocabulary and sentence structures and to expand their command of the English essay (Randolph, 78).

Randolph brings up another excellent point in that fiction—not academic writing—is something that captivates students—and this ultimately gives them motivation.  Therefore, as they continually write with determination, the skills they develop will eventually manifest in their other, non-creative writing.  Randolph exemplifies this further in his own study when he says:

Another assessment element is that the readers of the writing assessment noted a better command of vocabulary and use of language among the creative writers as compared to the general academic writing classes. The creative writers started using more colorful vocabulary and taking more risks in their writing. For example, instead of using words like ‘nice,’ ‘beautiful, ‘difficult,’ and ‘good,’ they used vocabulary such as ‘delightful,’ ‘breathtaking,’ ‘arduous,’ and ‘embrace.’ Two simple sentences were more likely to be combined to form a compound sentence, and the writing, in general, possessed a richer sense of voice (Randolph, 79).

Subsequently, we may conclude from this that the creative writing program that many of Randolph’s students took had beneficial impacts on their writing skills.  With this increased self-confidence, students would write in ways they normally wouldn’t—thus experimenting and pushing the boundaries of their abilities.  In contrast, students who were only subjected to classes with academic writing were not nearly as creative in how they approached writing.  Therefore, it becomes far more reasonable to believe that creative writing can in fact strengthen and improve a student’s academic writing and stylistic choices.

    Furthermore, this opinion is echoed by Dr. Maria Antoniou and Jessica Moriarty.  In their article entitled “What can academic writers learn from creative writers?”, Antoniou and Moriarty argue the following:

 

In our experience, writing in whatever style or genre is an emotional and identity-related activity, as well as a technical, craft-based one. Writing is intricately linked to a sense of Self (personal and professional), and is a way of expressing that Self. Therefore, writing cannot only be taught in technical terms. Any support and guidance for academic writing must address personal experience and emotional processes (Antoniou and Moriarty, 166).

 

This statement brings up a very crucial component of writing: the writer him or herself.  Indeed, writing is always an expression of one’s mind and thought process.  And because of this, the authors argue that writing should be approached with this understanding.   This is not to say that the technical and structural aspects of writing should be ignored; rather, Antoniou and Moriarty place emphasis on the personal elements of writing and believe that it is actually quite necessary to give writers more creative freedom, as this allows such self-expression to flourish.  Moreover, allowing this will also encourage students (instead of discouraging them) to write their papers.

    Undoubtedly, it is this freedom to express the self that can motivate students to write—but how does it impact their lives personally, as well as their overall attitudes?  This is another crucial question that may illustrate the larger impact of allowing creative writing and choices within the classroom.  Laura Bean of Berkley University of California reflects upon this very question in her article entitled “How Creative Writing Can Increase Students’ Resilience.” By discussing her own experiences with her past students, she is able to demonstrate the effectiveness and positive changes she noticed within her classroom.  Additionally, by discussing the science behind this as well, she is able to give an explanation as to why her implementation of creative writing has been extremely successful.  One particular part of her article touches on these aspects when she says:

 For students, sharing their own stories of bravery, resilience, and determination brings these qualities to the forefront of their minds and helps solidify the belief that underlies a growth mindset: I can improve and grow. We know from research in neuroplasticity that when students take baby steps to achieve a goal and take pride in their accomplishments, they change their brains, growing new neural networks and fortifying existing ones. Neurons in the brain release the feel-good chemical dopamine, which plays a major role in motivating behavior toward rewards.  After writing about a few different personal topics, students choose one they want to publish on the bulletin boards at the back of the classroom. […] In my experience, students are motivated to do this assignment because it helps them feel that their personal stories and emotions truly matter, despite how their other academics are going (Bean). 

Therefore, by granting her students the opportunity to share the work they create, she raises positive outlooks and a sense of inclusion and belonging within her classroom.  Ultimately, this leads to greater confidence amongst her students and far greater enthusiasm.  Perhaps many could learn from Bean’s example—and if schools began incorporating such practices within their curricula around the nation, the positive outcomes would be immeasurable.

    After reviewing these examples of the benefits of creative writing and its contribution to academic success, students and instructors alike ought to feel encouraged to pursue these activities.  Moreover, they might be surprised by the results—and perhaps by what they learn about themselves in the process.

Works Cited:

 

Antoniou, Maria, and Jessica Moriarty. “What Can Academic Writers Learn from Creative Writers? Developing Guidance and Support for Lecturers in Higher Education.” Teaching in Higher Education, vol. 13, no. 2, 2008, pp. 157–167., https://doi.org/10.1080/13562510801923229. 

Bean, Laura.  “How Creative Writing Can Increase Students’ Resilience.” Greater Good Magazine, 30 Oct. 2018, https://greatergood.berkeley.edu/article/item/how_creative_writing_can_increase_students_resilience

Randolph, T. Patrick. “Using Creative Writing as a Bridge to Enhance Academic

Writing.” Michigan Teachers of English to Speakers of Other Languages Conference, https://commons.emich.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?referer=&httpsredir=1&filename=7&article=1001&context=mitesol&type=additional, 7-8 Oct. 2011.