Deconstruction Mythology and the 19 Year-Old Literary Geek
Published January 10th, 2009 | 
What is called “deconstruction”. . . has never opposed institutions as such, philosophy as such, discipline as such . . . .
— Jaques Derrida
So I got this submission the other day — an “experimental” prose piece from this young, 19 year-old kid who referred to himself as “a poststructuralist deconstructionist pontificater.” Wow! That’s a mouthful. Also, sounds like gibberish. In fact, his story/essay/prose poem/whatever was gibberish.
It occurred to me reading his writing that he was confused about the definition of the terms of post-structuralism and deconstructionism. That somehow those terms meant “lacking structure.” While I really don’t want to get into a heavy discussion about Jaques Derrida and Foucault, etc. because that shit gives me a headache, I do want to emphasize the fact that writers whose work is closely associated with deconstructionist philosophy do not abandon structure. Rather, they turn the established order on it’s ear to reconfigure it — usually to point out the absurdity of the established order. That’s not the same thing as writing a story/essay/poem/whatever, etc. that has absolute no discernable structure at all.
When I think of deconstructionist writing, the late, great Kathy Acker comes to mind and can anyone who’s ever read her work deny that she had a strong command of structure? Truly, if I’m mistaken about that, I’d really like to hear that argument. I’m mean, read Blood and Gut in High School fer Christsakes!
No. Let me see if I can come up with an analogy to explain what I’m getting at. . . let’s see. . . okay, let’s say to have a stack of fertilizer you want to store away for the season. You can store it in a building made of dry wall or you can store it in a building made of steel. Which do you choose? If you’ve ever seen what happens to dry wall in a flood, it’s an easy choice. Steel buildings will more likely than not, protect the fertilizer from the elements. A deconstructionist writer doesn’t abandon the steel — what he will do is take the building apart and redesign the building using the same steel and fashion it in such a way that it looks like drywall. Think of it as a kind of reverse engineering. In this sense, a deconstructionist actually has to understand structure very well indeed.
So, to this young man, I offer this advice:
1. Loose pieces of drywall do not a building make.
2. Drywall is a bad choice of materials anyway.
3. Learn to build with steel before you try to take it a part.
Are You Writing a Dictionary or a Short Story?
Published January 6th, 2009 | I’m a simple guy and I tend to prefer writing that is direct, economical that doesn’t require more of my attention span than writers earn by virtue of their talent.
So when I read a story in which the characters are woefully underdeveloped and the prose is wooden yet painfully overwritten with lots and lots of three-dollar words, I cringe and breakout into a cold sweat. You know what I’m talking about, don’t you? Using ten words where five will do or writing something a general audience might not understand without consulting a dictionary like “Plantar Fasciitis” instead of saying “foot inflammation” or “heel spur”.
There might actually be an occasion in a story or poem where using a big, fancy word or some jargon might work and be absolutely necessary — but the key word here is necessary. If your prose/poetry is otherwise un-engaging and is laced with cumbersome vocabulary, then you risk making your writing read like an SAT exam instead of what you intended.
The trick is to find a balance. Ask yourself why you are using so many big, fat hairy words. Is there no better word choice available or are you just insecure and trying too hard to show everyone how smart you are?
If it’s the latter, keep in mind when you submit something to a literary publication, you are not writing to impress your high school English teacher and you’re not involved in a 5th grade spelling bee (which is not to say you shouldn’t know how to spell). I’ve yet to meet an editor who’ll accept a story based on the size of a writer’s vocabulary.
Just Like the Good Old Days
Published December 24th, 2008 | Summer camp is one of those rites of passage many children go through — the subject of horror films, coming-of-age tales and humorous folk songs. I, myself, went to summer camp back in the day. My parents couldn’t afford it, but my Dad was quite the pool hustler and won the money at the billiards tables to send me for a couple of weeks each summer until I turned thirteen. Maybe it’s because of the cold weather (or despite it) but I’m finding myself feeling a little nostalgic for those good old days of swimming and canoeing in a lake and ditching arts and crafts to play card games over at the picnic pavillion (and who can forget raiding the girl’s dressing room). Yes, those were there days!
Anyway, it’s inspired me to come up with this little writing prompt for the creatively constipated:
Imagine two characters in a summer camp — one is a junior counselor and one is an older camper. One is male and one is female (it doesn’t matter which is male and which is female). Write a scene featuring these two characters. It can be about anything you want so long as these two characters are in the scene and it is set in a summer camp. Write the scene first from the male character’s point of view. Who is he? How does he feel about the young woman? Are they friends or enemies? Are they romantically involved? After you’ve written your scene, rewrite the scene from the female’s perspective. Ask yourself those same questions about her. Who is she? What kind of person is she? What does she want? How does she feel about the male? What is the nature of their relationship? Got it? Now write it. Once you’ve finished rewrite the scene again — this time from the perspective of a casual observer of the relationship between the two characters. Sound like a plan? Well, get to it . . .
