CREATIVE WRITING

at the Ruth Asawa School of the Arts in San Francisco

Welcome! CW develops the art and craft of creative writing through instruction, collaboration, and respect. This blog showcases STUDENT WRITING and how to APPLY to Creative Writing.

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  • In The Neighborhood

    by Amelia (’13)

    Dance Mission

    If you have ever been to the mission district of San Francisco, you know you will never run out of things to do. Among the taquerias, panaderias, bookstores, cafes, yoga studios and thrift stores is a dance studio very close to my heart, a space tucked between a Chinese restaurant and a Turkish café, Dance Mission. My time at Dance Mission has not only informed my modern/contemporary technique, but also educated me on contemporary artistic feminism and issues that plague women and minorities around the world. I have danced for oil drilling and deforestation in South America, victims of domestic abuse and violence and women’s reproductive rights. Not many dancers in the dance department at SOTA can say that. But now if modern isn’t your thing, that’s fine, you could try out hip hop, salsa, bellydance, Afro-Cuban, or taiko drumming: I certainly have. What is utterly lacking in Dance Mission is its sense of elitism. Dance is often made out to be an expensive, individualized art for the few who can dedicate their lives to it. Dance Mission has never and will never operate like that. The Grrrl Brigade youth program (not unlike Riot Grrl) seeks to empower girls and women in their communities by allowing them to realize their potential through dance. Dance Mission is a matriarchy, made up almost entirely of queer feminist artists lending their abilities to social awareness through dance, spoken word, sign language and taiko drumming. These women are incredible. They are all indisputably talented, ridiculously compassionate and unabashed about standing up for what they believe in.

    I am coming up on my final performance as a principal dancer with Grrrl Brigade and my first incorporating my own writing. I suppose this warrants some self-actualization in how, over the years, my dance and my writing are equal players in my identity. To remember: writers are not lethargic and dance is not void of poetry. I am terrified of leaving a community that has been such a support system and so attentive to my personal strengths and weaknesses. What if a “conventional” dance studio doesn’t suit me? What if my next instructors don’t want to have drinks with my mother and ask me about my poems? I will leave that up to time. But if you ever find yourself at 24th and Mission with an hour to kill and $11, I urge you to discover something you will be inexplicably unable to forget.

  • Taking A Walk

    by Jules (’14)

    One of the things I have found extremely comforting in the recent weeks– with school getting more intense as everyone hurdles towards the springboard of senior year, with all the old people I know getting more or less fatally so– is forgetting everything, skipping out on homework and/or school itself to just walk. It’s one of the most profoundly satisfying feelings in the world, to be a machine operating at full capacity, taking in air and putting land behind you and looking at nothing in particular because you’re thinking of nothing in particular. Humans are built to get everywhere on foot, and in a world that is powered by gasoline and magnets it’s really easy to forget that 150 years ago everything was within walking distance. Even more satisfying than walking by one’s self is walking with another person, someone who you can talk to (but don’t have to), someone who you can communicate with through mostly hand gestures and inarticulate noises because the only thing better than hearing your own shoes crunch leaves or slap pavement is hearing somebody else’s keeping time.

  • Tom’s Final Play

    by Lizzie (’14)

    Last year, one of our internships was teaching the students of Room 208, high school graduates with special learning needs. Part of our job was to work with the students to create a skit which we then performed in a brown bag for the school. Unfortunately for us, the students of Room 208 now gather at a different site but I thought it would be nice to reminisce. Here is a play that I helped edit. It was written by the student, Tom. You could call it a silly exploration of what it means to feel excluded or you could just call it a masterpiece.

    Working with Tom was a pleasure, although it had its challenges, but then again, what doesn’t? I discovered that Tom could be pretty indecisive at time. The way we created the skit was by me presenting Tom with several different choices for the characters, plot, setting, etc. At times, Tom couldn’t decide between the choices, for example, if he wanted to write a skit about hot air balloons or playing ball, and there were even times when it felt like Tom was unmotivated to even make the decision. That was the hardest part because I occasionally felt like I was making the decisions and making the skit more about my ideas than his (and perhaps that was the reason why he was unmotivated originally—he may have felt it wasn’t his play). And of course, I was there as an editor, not a writer. However, despite those lapses in our creative process, which I often experience myself when creating a piece, Tom’s Play turned out to be truly Tom’s.

    Tom’s Play

    (Curtain Rises. Duck, Bike, and Clown are playing catch.)

    CLOWN

    I’m so glad we came today. You guys are my best friends.

     

    DUCK

    You guys are my best friends too.

     

    BIKE

    (Obviously ignoring DUCK)

    Yeah, Clown you’re my best friend.

     

    (They go quiet and awkwardly continue playing catch.)


    BIKE

    Hey Clown, I know a game we can play.

    (Turning to DUCK)

    But only two people can participate.

     

    CLOWN

    Umm…I guess we could play. Duck, is that OK with you?

     

    DUCK

    (Obviously hurt)

    Yeah, you guys can play.

     

    (CLOWN and BIKE begin to play their two-person game, which is just catch. DUCK gets upset and runs off stage sniffling. CLOWN and BIKE continue playing until CLOWN realizes DUCK has left.)

    CLOWN

    Hey, where did Duck go?

     

    BIKE

    It doesn’t matter.

     

    CLOWN

    It does to me. What if she’s lost?

     

    BIKE

    She’ll find her way back on her own. Let’s not waste time trying to find her.

     

    CLOWN

    You know, I’ve been getting the feeling that you don’t like her.

     

    BIKE

    I don’t like her.

     

    CLOWN

    Why don’t you like her?

     

    BIKE

    Because she never talks to me

     

    CLOWN

    What? She’s always talking to you.

     

    BIKE

    Yeah, but one time I saw her on the bus and she didn’t say hi to me.

     

    CLOWN

    She probably didn’t notice you…Come on! We got to go find her.

     

    (CLOWN and BIKE run off stage. DUCK walks on stage from opposite direction. She sits down in the center of the room and quietly cries. CLOWN and BIKE run on from the side DUCK entered.)


    CLOWN

    What’s wrong, Duck?

     

    DUCK

    You and Bike made me feel left out!

     

    BIKE

    That’s only because you’re mean to me!

     

    DUCK

    How am I mean to you?

     

    BIKE

    You ignored me on the bus!

     

    DUCK

    That’s only because I thought you didn’t like me!

     

    BIKE

    WHAT?

     

    CLOWN

    Whoa, whoa, whoa! I think we have a little miscommunication going on here.

    (Turns to audience)

    Bike thinks that Duck doesn’t like her because she ignored her but Duck ignored her because she thinks Bike doesn’t like her. What do you think? Whose fault is it?

    (CLOWN waits for audience to enter. No matter what the audience says CLOWN will continue like this)

    You’re right, no one! Now that we’ve realized it’s no one’s fault, no one has to apologize, no one has to be mad, and everyone can play catch!

    (CLOWN throws ball into air and curtain closes)

  • Girl Scout Cookies and World-Building

    by Olivia A. (’14)

    Many of you have probably noticed by now that I’m a girl scout (especially now that it’s cookie season, meaning that you can buy cookies from me for $4 a box if you feel so inclined). It’s difficult for a lot of people to imagine high school-age girl scouts. One would think girls would lose their attraction to the organization once they age and the cookie-selling gets tough (it’s much easier to make money if you are six years old, adorable, and shivering on a street corner). However, my troop has stuck through it for eight years now and has morphed over time to become a very intimate, eccentric group. Ours is probably the only troop in history to also be a band (four ukuleles and an occasional children’s accordion).

    A couple of years ago we came up with the idea of doing a Harry Potter-themed camporee to put on for younger girls in our service unit. We were excited by the possibility of fully entrenching not only ourselves but those around us in an exciting world of our own invention. It became a very complicated and involved process. Not only were we planning the logistical aspects of hosting a camporee for one hundred guests, but also creating the fictional world we would reside in for the weekend. We used the basic structure of the Harry Potter books to plan out the world, yet we created our own characters, legends, and traditions—all complex and fully realized.

    I was Professor Kale P. Cucumere for the entire weekend. I had a backstory, costume, and personality that I occupied and believed in. The younger girls did too. They believed that the Oobleck I was teaching them to make had magical properties, and that I had real stories to tell them about my days as a wild werewolf loose in the Oregon forests. They often came up to me, excitedly demonstrating how they could get the non-Newtonian substance to shift between solid and liquid. They asked me about Kale Cucumere’s middle name, her family, and her favorite place in the forest.

    I don’t think anyone came away from our camp expecting to perform real magic, and I didn’t honestly envision myself transforming into a werewolf after I went to sleep at night—and yet, I like to think that in fully realizing the stories that we created, my friends and I briefly brought to life a world that we felt at home in.

  • Mission Proof

    Let the streets be the given.
    The buildings are a defining property of the
    streets.

    The x axis is numbered 1–30.
    Let the x axis be called Mission.
    Points are clustered between 15 and 25.

    In this equation, all buildings have a height ≥
    2 stories, though not all have two distinct stories.

    In f (x), where x are spoken words, f is
    English•2Spanish.

    Though food varies, it has a probability >50%
    of being enjoyable.
    Note: Enjoyable ≠ good for
    you.
    See “Bacon Wrapped Hot Dogs.”

    The number of fruterías ≈ 1.5 the number
    of panaderías.
    All baked goods within a panadería need not
    be of a single origin.

    Within the limits of the stores, sequins
    are incorporated in 40% of the clothing.
    Outside the limits of the stores,
    sequins are incorporated in 0.5% of the
    clothing.

    The boarded up movie theaters are
    scattered along the x axis, but have no
    mass.
    They are structured absences.

    The fire escapes are the vertices.
    From these points all other points can
    be calculated.

    by Hazel Mankin
    Class of 2013
    Click here for more poems from The Divine Feminine.

  • “These Are the Best Years of Our Lives”

    by Hazel (’13)

    “Best” is sometimes substituted with “easiest.” Either way, this is a statement a lot of teenagers have heard. And sure, maybe the stakes are lower. There’s all that “do well in school or you won’t get into college” stuff, but it’s not like a teenager has to worry about the mortgage or feeding their kids. The “job” they perform most days of the week does not have extrinsic value, that is, it is not providing a good or service for which they are paid.

    But let’s stop and think about that for a moment. High school age kids are spending at least six hours a day (that’s without lunch and passing periods) doing essentially meaningless work (I’ll go further into that one in a moment) in a space where their competence is doubted, their movements are restricted and monitored, and whatever constitutional rights they have as minors come second to maintaining order. Then comes the hours of homework that swallow their afternoons. And evenings. And weekends. Recreation hours are tinged with the stress of looming work and the guilt of “unproductive time.”

    Now let’s talk about schoolwork. It’s not as though learning is a meaningless activity. I personally love to accrue more and more information, apply it to new situations, see how it all fits together. But teachers, whether they want to or not, cannot simply teach. They must follow a curriculum that culminates in standardized tests that, in some cases, test a student’s ability to take standardized tests as much as their understanding of the subject. Some teachers give homework because it is what is expected or because they would be reprimanded for failing to do so.

    And now: the brain. We all know that teenage brains are a strange soup of hormones and angst, undergoing constant development. I recently heard Neuroanatomist Jill Bolte Taylor speaking on City Arts and Lectures about the teenage brain. She talked about the amygdala, which controls the “fight or flight” reflex—that is, in the presence of possible danger it prepares the mind and body for confrontation or escape. Apparently, the teenage amygdala is more easily activated, and thus teenagers are more likely to react to stressful situations (whether danger is real or perceived) with something of an “oh god I’m going to die” response (that’s what we call “scientific lingo”). This is even more true in depressed teens.

    In the “Motivation and Work” chapter of my Psychology textbook, one can find this passage:

    “People’s quality of life increases when they are purposefully engaged. Between the anxiety of being overwhelmed and stressed, and the apathy of being underwhelmed and bored, lies a zone in which people experience flow.”

    (486, Psychology: 7th Edition by David G. Myers)

    I can agree wholeheartedly with the first sentence, but I take issue with the second. Many (if not most) high schoolers are stressed and bored by the work they are assigned. The adolescent frustration with schoolwork is not based so much around quantity as quality. A huge volume of busywork will not teach a teenager anything, both because it is badly designed work and because the amount is impossible to cope with. A small amount of revised, concentrated work will present a student with new information in a challenging and engaging format without overloading their brain with superfluous data.

    Teenagers can be irrational, surly, dramatic, moody. This I will not deny. However, at least part of that must be attributed to the overhauling and reprogramming of their brains. Another part must be attributed to an educational system that is designed by adults, who struggle to create lessons and an overall institution that will benefit people whose brain functions they do not understand. Another bit of responsibility goes to the scorn teenagers face as inexperienced children trying to stay afloat among all this.

    I am a poster child for inexperienced youth. There are all sorts of folks out there who can tell you in more detail and more depth about these exact issues. I’m mostly here to say, go look for them, because it’s interesting and it’s important. I’m also here to say, on behalf of teenagers, sorry we’re grouchy sometimes. It’s scary over here, and we’re doing what we can.

  • The Blatant Racism of Joseph Conrad

    by Mollie (’13)

    Polish writer, Joseph Conrad, is most known for his acclaimed novel Heart of Darkness. Heart of Darkness follows Marlow, a British sailor in search of adventure, while traveling up the Congo River and into the depths of the Congolese rainforest in the late 1800s. While acclaimed for its literary merit and considered to be one of the Western canon’s best contemporary short novels, Heart of Darkness is heavily debated over for its portrayal of Africa. As Nigerian novelist, Chinua Achebe, so eloquently states in his essay, “An Image of Africa: Racism in Conrad’s Heart of Darkness,” the thoroughgoing racist Conrad dehumanizes, stereotypes, and creates the image of Africa as insubordinate to the Western world. Thus, as Achebe proves, through Conrad’s dehumanization of all Africans, his fixation on Africans’ dark skin, and his “exotification” of African culture, Conrad presents himself as an undeniable racist, and this most acclaimed novel simply perpetuates stereotypes, racism, and an illusory image of Africa and Africans. (more…)

  • The Eatwell Farm

    by Josie (’16)

    I have worked for a farm called Eatwell Farm at the Ferry Building farmers market, held on Saturdays, for a year now. Eatwell Farm is a small, organic farm located in Dixon, California that produces a variety of products from body scrubs to eggs.

    I got the job at the farmers market not only because my family has been friends with the farmer for a long time, but also because my brother and sister worked at the stand when they were in high school. Now that they have moved on to college, I get to fill in for them. I love working at the farmers market and I love Eatwell Farm.

    Recently, the farmer, Nigel Walker, had expressed an interest in having a farm rap. So, over winter break, my siblings and I created the Eatwell Farm rap and gave it to Nigel as a Christmas Present. We are very proud of our creation:

    Eatwell Farm…it’s all I think about
    Let me tell you bout a place called Eatwell Farm
    It’s certified organic so don’t be alarmed
    And it’s run by a homie named Nigel Walker
    He’s an awesome dude but a Facebook stalker
    Always tryna set people up with a love that’s true
    but that’s okay cause Eatwell Farm’s a great place to meet yo boo
    we got cows and chickens 
and food that’s finger lickin’
    and a horse and a pond 
and a real deep bond
    with the bay area homies that invest in our CSA
    that’s who the farm be workin for every single day
    growin kholrabi and tomatoes
    lavender and potatoes 
without harm in’ the Earth
    We’re Eatwell farm dawg
and Dixon, California is our turf
    EATWELL FARM that’s all i think about…
    Jason’s growin out his hair soon it’s gonna be a mullet
    homie don’t complain if we only got pullets
    cause our eggs are the best, everybody knows it
the chickens live like kings
    and that orange yolk shows it
    and don’t get me started with those strawberries man
    they the real bomb-diggity 
UNDERSTAND
    When yo chillin on the farm there ain’t no better offer
    then kickin back in the sun with a Drinkwell softer
    but watch yo back dawg
don’t make a mistake
    if you ain’t careful the Walker twins gonna throw you in the lake
    So dawg you might be askin,
    Homie what’s a CSA?
    well it’s community supported agriculture baby
    and it’s A-OKAY
    Dawg you must be cray-cray not to be in our CSA

  • Poetry Through Jazz

    by Hazel (’13)

    We recently finished our Poetry through Jazz unit in Creative Writing II. It was a new approach in that it gave our writing a historical context, both in terms of subject matter and style. But the one thing that will really stick with me was something that Justin (our artist in residence) said on the last day. He invited us to thing about sentimentality and rationality. We’ve all been told, or perhaps told ourselves, to “stop being so emotional and just think rationally.” I’ve relied heavily on this approach to life, especially in recent years. I would banish emotion by placing it into ill-fitting, “rational” boxes. But here is the underlying issue that Justin brought to light: why is emotion fundamentally inferior to sentimentality? I think one would be hard-pressed to say that it is not viewed as such, at least not in the academic world (by which I do not solely mean schools, in case that was unclear). I view my own emotions with a certain contempt, subject them to scrutiny, and place them below essentially any “reasonable argument from anyone, no matter how unreasonable it may be.

    I suppose my question is more of a “how” than a “why.” How did we end up here, thinking as we do? Can we find the roots of such thinking in the Enlightenment? Or is it older than that? Is it more prevalent nowadays, or is this simply the era in which I am alive and sentient? How is it affecting us, personally and societally? What would we be like without this bias? How would our thinking on a plethora of other subjects be altered if we did not hold it, if it had never existed?

    Those are a few of my questions. Now here is my statement: let’s stop. Not entirely, of course; I’ve expressed my personal love and use of rationality. However, we should not discount our emotions simply because we have been taught that we are above them, that to feel is childish. To feel is not to be infantile, but rather to be mortal. We only have so much time, but there is enough both to feel and to reason. There is certainly not enough time, however, not to be honest with oneself.

    ps. This was not just me building up to a yolo joke, I promise.

  • What Do You Guys Even Do In Creative Writing?

    by Olivia W. (’16)

    This is a question I get asked a lot. Nobody ever asks, “What do you even do in band?” because that’s quite obvious, as well as “What do you even do in Visual?” or better yet, “What do you even do in Vocal?”

    Nobody asks “what do you guys even do in Media?” or “What do you guys even do in Tech?” (Which I personally think are the most obscurely named departments.)

    At SOTA, our departments are named for what they focus on. Band will play their instruments and Visual will conduct visual art and Vocal will be vocal and so on and so forth. Creative Writing is no exception to this rule of thumb.

    Or maybe we are.

    When I am asked this question or someone just wonders it out loud with no direct reference to me, someone in the vicinity will usually answer “I dunno, they just like, write all day.”

    This wonderful misinformation has cleared the road for all of our highly amusing Creative Writing stereotypes. We drink tea all the time, read and write at every chance we get, are sadly underdeveloped and love poetry.

    We do have a hot water boiler in class to make tea, I know for a fact that I write poems in math textbooks, and we did conduct poetry circles for a couple of weeks in CW1.

    The stereotypes of Creative Writing aren’t a far throw from the truth. They are merely grossly bloated overblown romantic renditions of it.

    What do we do in creative writing? Sometimes, we have deep, philosophical discussions. Sometimes we eat cupcakes. Sometimes we watch clips from awfully camp movies. Sometimes I have no idea what is happening.

    Creative Writing changes day by day. I can tell you that we have a fall fiction unit, and then comes poetry, and we finish off with playwriting. I can tell you that we have Portfolio checks and Lit Reviews and three shows a year. I can tell you that Heather is our head and everyone loves Isaiah even though my freshman class has no clue who he is. I can tell you that on Friday we went to a Zen monastery and we won field day and that I know the names of everyone in my department and their grade but I cannot tell you what we do. It’s not because it’s a secret, it’s because so many things go on in my department I wouldn’t be able to give you the faintest clue in a novel.

    Asking what we do in Creative Writing is like asking a mole what the ground tastes like. If you really wanted to know what the ground tasted like, you should take a bite yourself. Moles don’t eat dirt. They just swim in it.