The whack-a-doo

I remember signing up for a fiction-writing class my junior-or-so year. I walked into the class of twenty-five, to see a lanky man with a pile of books at the front of the class. He introduced himself, his work (he was primarily a writer, who taught classes as the whim took him,) and then took a look around the class.

"I don't usually like teaching classes this big, I like fifteen-person classes,"  he announced (where he got these elusive small class-sizes in the first place, I will never know). "So if you want to leave, feel free."

And then, to prove his point, he turned on the whack-a-doo, presumably to scare us off. He proceeded to go off on a series of readings from his own books that were exceptionally out there and deliver impassioned speeches about how words are a third dimension and a religion and, as a writer, you must find the words that enthrall you so thoroughly you see the face of the sweet baby Jesus in each printing.

Some didn't come back. Most did however, including me. I just don't drop classes. In fact, I took his sort of behavior as a challenge. I am not typically a stubborn person, but I am academically bullheaded. If any sort of challenge to my skills is issued, I always (whether it is intelligent or not) respond with a resounding "Well, I'll show you!" So my response to the whack-a-doo behavior was a resounding "You want me to go out there? Well I'll give you outer space, pal!"

We proceeded to, for the first few weeks do exercizes to "find our inspiration words." Thankfully, the professor calmed down considerably after the first few lessons -- and it was proven that he wasn't going to shake anyone who was left -- and I began to find the brainstoming amusing. I apparently wasn't quite subscribing to the religion, as I didn't see many of them to be relevant, but I did, slowly, understand a new appreciation for words. Some words are visually pretty, others sound cool, and some, for some reason, I just liked. These thoughts were cool, and I probably wouldn't have thought them if I were not in this crazy, crazy man's class.

And then, it was time to submit our first story. I came up with something I liked, and then proceeded to be absolutely terrified. Because, despite my resounding cry, I am not an out-there writer. I prefer to think of my creative efforts as subtle and relatable. I couldn't write in his word-obssesed style. I like characters too much to throw them under the train of poetic experimentation. So my efforts may not be high art or groundbreaking, that's just how I am. This story, though it was more experimental than most, was also fairly subtle. And I thought, what if he fails me for not being covered in the dirt of a million rabbit holes?

However, I discovered that the whack-a-doo was actually really great at giving feedback while respecting my style (and others', as several classmates shared my fears). He kept pushing, but he did so in balance. And now, when I read "out-there" stuff, I have a lot more respect for it.

And I think every creative needs a whack-a-doo to show them the other side. One doesn't need to drink the metaphorical Kool-Aid to find some enlightenment. I produced some really interesting things outside of my comfort box, and I'll never forget that.

Gold Star to anyone who can tell me what movie the Kool-Aid line comes from (though I'd like to claim it as my own...)