9. School Is Hell: The Search for New Metaphors

Writing Is Whatever You Think It Is, and that Might Be the Problem

[Previously]

(From School Is Hell, by Matt Groening)

[The way the world is right now makes most things feel insignificant, including this. There may be some relevance, however. These times call for rethinking some of the concepts we hold. I have to confess, though, I’m struggling big time. All I can do is keep writing.]

“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.” —Ernest Hemmingway

“I hate writing; I love having written.” —Dorothy Parker

“Further, writing sentences is difficult whatever the subject. It is no less difficult to write sentences in a recipe than sentences in Moby-Dick. So you might as well write Moby-Dick.” —Annie Dillard

Many people don’t like writing. Even if you’d like to write more, you may feel intimidated. Some feel hopeless at it and try to avoid it at all costs. Given the above quotations, it’s clear that even some who write for a living find it painful and tend to bellyache about it. How, then, can a student stand a chance to enjoy it? I won’t argue that you should enjoy it, though I do. I want to talk about what we learn about writing and how it affects the ways we think about it.

One cause of writer’s block may be our ideas about writing. What’s hindering our progress might not be our talent level but the metaphors we hold (likely without knowing) about what it is and what it involves.

Simile and metaphor, if taught at all in composition, are often taught as mere literary devices, ways to give your writing some pizzazz (which can easily backfire). A simile is saying something is like something else (Run Like the Wind) and a metaphor is saying something is something else (Time Is Money). Yet the two sometimes bleed into one another, making it difficult to see a big difference over what role each serves. Some argue that simile is weaker and metaphor more forceful, but my rule of thumb is that context and feel determine which to use.

A simile is like a metaphor—they both compare. We, however, use them almost interchangeably, so much so that we hardly notice (as I have done in this piece so far without trying). When examined, our offhand use of such figures of speech is often revealing.

Some linguists argue that these devices are not just for fancy writing. It’s much more basic or conceptual, as George Lakoff and Mark Johnson say in Metaphors We Live By. Whether you buy into what they say about this or not, their ideas can be used as thought experiments in class, which can lead to productive discussions about the nature of writing.

Here’s a rundown of their position: Metaphors connect with how we think and, in some ways, they make us tick. They say if one of your “metaphorical concepts” is Time Is Money, you will see things in a certain way and live accordingly. If your concept is Time Is Gold, you will make other life choices. One person might choose a career based mainly on salary, lifestyle, or status, while the other may choose a career based on interest or even love. One may live a fast-paced, outsourced life while the other is more DIY. As you’ve surely guessed, I’m firmly in the Time Is Gold camp. (That’s probably because I was in the School Is Hell camp first.)

In a later book, Philosophy in the Flesh, Lakoff and Johnson argue that it’s not just that these are concepts we hold, rather, they are a part of us. They are written into our neural pathways. They say, “We have seen that our conceptual system is grounded in our experiences in the world.” Because of this, such concepts, through evolution and environmental conditioning, have become hardwired into the brain. We are what we say and think. Many have never thought of it this way. We don’t see ourselves as subconsciously going along for the ride. We believe we are steering the ship.

Whether it’s Life Is a Journey or Love Is Madness or Love Is Fate or Argument Is War, we carry many such concepts within us. What happens, though, when you recognize one of your metaphorical concepts, decide it’s not working for you, and wish to change it? In Metaphors We Live By, Lakoff and Johnson ask, what if instead of Madness, Love Is a Collaborative Work of Art?

If love is madness, I do not concentrate on what I need to do to maintain it. But if it is work, then it requires activity, and if it is a work of art, it requires a very special kind of activity, and if it is collaborative, then it is even further restricted and specified.

This metaphor is rich with implications. How is love as art different from love as need or love as fate or something written in the stars? Depending upon the concept, your role changes.

Now apply this to writing. Playing with metaphors about writing is a fun activity to engage in with students. What if Writing Is Homework or Communication? How would that compare with Writing Is Inquiry or Exploration? How will you act under the influence of each concept?

Identifying your metaphors helps you see that things may not be what you thought they were—which is good to know. Things may not even be as they now seem. Perhaps concepts I’m not aware I hold have shaped my thinking in ways I haven’t noticed. Maybe this has left me trapped, unable to see a way out or even to recognize that I’m caught in a trap. Changing concepts changes perception. Different thoughts and actions become possible. Lakoff and Johnson say, “New metaphors have the power to create a new reality.” On a larger scale, they say, “Much of cultural change arises from the introduction of new metaphorical concepts and the loss of old ones.”

My metaphor throughout my time as a student was School Is Hell, and it didn’t serve me well. If I didn’t like the teacher, I coasted and did just enough to get by. What I needed was a conceptual overhaul. I told the story of how revenge motivated me to buckle down for a time. Still, my concept of school being hell didn’t change; rather, it was reinforced. (Yes, school is hell, and for those who make it so, I’m determined to give them hell.) Once the focus of my revenge was gone, so was my motivation. My cultural shift came later with the help of a few teachers. Study then became a key. That key could open doors to different worlds. And boy, did I need a different world.

A teacher is after nothing less than a cultural shift in students’ perceptions about the subject at hand. What are students’ concepts for writing, reading, and learning? Why not ask them?

What is writing to students, anyway? Is it a burden? (If so, perhaps school has taught them that.) Is reading a chore? (To be honest, it usually is in school.) How can they find writing to be anything but a burden when they are compelled to turn in an essay of a determined length by a certain date so it can be graded? This may be related to why so many professional writers complain about writing. For them, it’s a job and like all jobs, it comes with adjacent annoyances and plenty of busywork. There are deadlines. They risk rejection and bad reviews. Some writers, professional and amateur, avoid writing to the point where they would rather do the dishes or vacuum first. (Around here, I’ve noticed a correlation between how much writing gets done and how much laundry gets done. Good news! Lately, the laundry is piled high.) For students, too, it’s a job, but, unlike with writers, it’s one they didn’t sign up for. There are so many things they’d rather do. Almost anything.

What about writer’s block? It’s a thing, right? It strikes without warning like the flu, doesn’t it? True, there are many real obstacles, not just figurative ones, that get in the way of writing and keep you from adopting new metaphors. Teachers, editors, bosses, plus daily errands and responsibilities might intrude on your ability to write with any sort of leisure.

One way around these real-life blocks is to start early. Time is key. But I don’t have time, you say. Experiment with your concept of time, then. Is it always something you have or have not? Could it be something you make? Could you reinvent it, reconfigure it? Let that laundry pile up for a while. Write something, no matter how insignificant-seeming, even if you think you can only give it twenty minutes, even if you think it can’t possibly go anywhere. Don’t think of it as a waste of time or that you need it to be productive in the usual senses—think of it as play and think of play as vital to the process, like Robert Lang with origami.

Practice “make a change; see the results” because, as Lang says in Origami Design Secrets, “Small ideas lead to big ideas; the concepts of change build upon one another.” In other words, give yourself a break and make your beginnings playful which will help you to begin your beginnings sooner. If you are one of those last-minute types who thinks, “I work best under pressure,” I have a question. Have you tried anything else? Do yourself a favor—test this. Experiment with Writing Is Play and allow yourself to take a more Lang-like approach.

Back to some of the earlier examples, if Writing Is Homework, then I’m just trying to get the right answer, and the sooner I do, the sooner I’m done. (Mission accomplished.) Under these conditions, I may reach premature closure and never discover that a better result is within my grasp. If it’s communication, then I am under the gun to have something worth communicating, something that I’m clear-minded enough about to be able to get my point across to others when I begin to write. Under these circumstances, I may feel pressure or get stressed and may have trouble sitting down to write. I may decide I need groceries first.

Are there metaphorical concepts that might release us from constricting, counterproductive ways of imagining what writing involves? If Writing Is Inquiry, then instead of feeling pressure to come up with great ideas to communicate, I’m free to experiment, ask questions, and test them, thus taking the pressure off and perhaps preparing the soil for ideas to spring forth. If Writing Is Exploration, I’m free to use writing to look around, to notice things (like Feynman or the skateboard student), and to see where they might lead. As I act out my curiosity on the page, writer’s block fades.

If Writing Is Revising, then the first drafts have the freedom to fail, and maybe then Failure Is Bad or Failure Is Frightening becomes Failure is Opportunity or Failure Is Essential, a necessary stage in the process. Instead of discouraging you, a failed draft becomes something that makes better things possible. One student who was a painter talked about the hidden layers in a painting, the parts you can’t see because you painted over them but that played an important role in producing the finished piece. Without the hidden layers, that painting couldn’t have happened. His concept of how painting works helped him to reconceptualize how writing works.

Using figurative language is not an exercise in vividness, not adding frivolous, flowery, poetic language—it’s how we are wired. Your concepts can become your prison cell if you don’t know what yours are. When you find out, it becomes possible to get out of jail free. Reading Is Boring can become Reading Is Connections or Reading Is a Window or Reading Is Translating into Some Reality like Mr. Feynman taught. Writing Is Homework or Writing Is a Burden can become Writing Is Magic.

Because it is.

Notes

• As a bonus, this kind of metaphorical thought experiment can be used for other parts of your life. What are your metaphors for the things you are preoccupied with now, for the unresolved issues you carry, for how to live in our current Dark Ages, etc.? Playing around with this could lead to an insight or even a shift in your thinking. It’s worth playing around with.

• Next, we’ll look at audience, how genre can be problematic, and learn how to [not] write like a scientist (or like AI). We might do a puzzle first, though. We’ll see.