Introduction

[It took me fifteen years to discover that I had no talent for writing, but I couldn't give it up because by that time I was too famous.
Robert Benchley]

Can writing be taught, or does it lie beyond the grasp of the teaching process? This question is frequently discussed in literary and academic circles and opinions are invariably polarized. The proliferation of creative writing courses at both undergraduate and postgraduate level, together with the huge number of writing classes/courses run outside the solipsistic world of academe would appear to answer the above question with a resounding ‘yes’.

A few months back the Independent featured a piece on the rapid rise of creative writing courses offered by universities. In 1992 just 12 courses were available; there are now 85+ and the number is likely to increase, particularly as such courses are regarded by many academic institutions as ‘cash cows’. There are some 11,000 short-term and evening courses given over to the subject, and in 2003 an estimated 110,000 people enrolled on some kind of creative writing course. I suspect this number will have risen sharply by the time the data for 2007 is published.

There are those who adhere to the notion that writers are ‘blessed’ with a gift denied to ordinary mortals and, equally, there are those who avowedly preach the opposite: everyone can write if they are exposed to the necessary tuition and guidance. This natural genius versus untutored everyman paradigm presents an intractable dilemma peculiar to writing, and is the cause of much chaos, confusion and cant. Few people have a problem in stating that a particular sports man, or woman, is in possession of a special talent which sets them apart. However attempting to apply this idea to writing can land you in all kinds of trouble; you’re likely to be deafened by the cries of ‘Elitism!’. The other arts seem to suffer much less in this regard. Writing, unlike painting, sculpting or composing, is something most of us indulge in in one form or another on a daily basis, a fact which has, perhaps not surprisingly, given rise to the pernicious idea that dashing off a thank you letter to your Aunt Dorothy for those six pairs of hand-knitted argyle socks is but a short step away from completing a publishable, indeed bestselling, novel.

I’m personally convinced that the egalitarian ‘anyone can do it if shown how’ approach defrauds the ‘wannabe’ writer, however comforting it might be to subscribe to it. Instinct and experience have taught me that if the facility for deploying and handling words is present in an individual then a well run, supportive creative writing class can prove extremely beneficial for a writer at the beginning of their career - but if that in-built, finely tuned ‘shit detector’ (Hemingway: see below) is not part of a novice writer’s armoury then I doubt that a third party can purchase, install and maintain it on their behalf. I note that in the Independent article referred to above the bestselling novelist William Boyd supports this view, strongly suspecting that writers are born and not made.

This might be an appropriate moment to quote from Malcolm Bradbury (Liar’s Landscape: Collected Writing from a Storyteller’s Life – Picador, 2006). Although he’s discussing the novel his comments apply equally to all forms of writing: What is a good, a great novel? It can be simple, or it can be difficult. But, first and foremost, it is not an imitation. We feel there is an originality of talent, a personal passion to the writing. It is a work that has been considered, studied, examined, not written according to a handy prototype. It is a book that has its own inner voice – a voice we want to listen to because it is a clue to knowing more about life and the world… I sometimes guiltily wonder whether ‘creative writing’ has become responsible for the illusion that anyone can write… The truth is that we can teach many of the skills of writing: how to structure, how to pace… how to begin and how to end. What we can never teach is the originality that is at the heart of good writing. It comes from a love of language, a depth of experience, perhaps above all a crucial and lifetime theme which we can feel the writer developing. (From ‘Do We Have Great Novels Anymore?’)

No writing course, however brilliant and dedicated the tutor (and here you are fortunate, indeed), can teach instant and unqualified success, nor can the potential problems of narrow perspective, proscriptive personality and inability to accept, and learn, from constructive criticism be entirely overcome. None of us is perfect; we all have our Achilles heels and blind spots. The course on which you’re about to embark will provide you with the tools required to begin, and complete, a satisfactory piece of written work. The rest, of course, is up to you.

These spontaneously generated – and burgeoning - notes should in no way be regarded as definitive (I’m saving the composition of my own creative writing manual for another occasion), but rather as a bare-bones series of reading lists augmented with some sound, if basic, advice on how to market yourself and your work, and on the writing process itself - advice which is intended to be ‘fleshed out’ in class.

Q: How many writers does it take to change a light bulb?
A: Is it absolutely necessary to change it?