Welcome back to The Little Room! I’m speaking to my long-term readers, the new readers who have recently joined us, and to myself. It’s been several months since I’ve been able to spend my mornings here, at my desk, with my books and my manuscripts and my mess around me. It feels good to be back.
I also want to look forward, because during the next few months, some different things will be happening in the little room. Instead of my usual consideration of short stories, I’ll be considering video games, interactive fictions, and other forms of reader-participation/player-based texts. That’s because this fall semester, two of three classes I’m teaching are considering—you guessed it—video games, interactive fictions, and reader-participation/player-based texts. The course entitled Video Games as Literature takes a critical approach to games, while Interactive Fiction Workshop takes a creative approach. In the former, my students and I will be playing games with an eye toward recognizing literary devices, storytelling weight, social commentary, and so on, while in the latter, our focus will be on making our own interactive texts. And that means, to a great extent, these weekly essays will be about those things, too.
John Carr Walker Sitting In His Little Room has always had diary-like tendencies. If the things I’m teaching aren’t providing me with the questions that fuel this work, then more than likely, my successes and my struggles at the writing desk are fueling the work, or what I’m reading fuels the work, or the walk I took yesterday evening...you see where I’m going. In fact, I normally wouldn’t mention such a shift in consideration, since I’m constantly making slight shifts, but I’m honestly a bit nervous.
I am not a games expert. I’m not even the most expert in my house when it comes to games. I don’t make Interactive Fictions with any kind of regularity. I haven’t internalized the patterns and pitfalls of writing IF; I’m still very much at the study level, if you take my meaning. I’m outside the practice, looking in, trying to understand something that others have worked hard to make seem natural, easy. That, to me, feels strange. I can claim some degree of expertise as a writer and reader of stories. I’ve been writing for two decades. I’ve been reading stories for longer. I have a Bachelors Degree in English, and an MFA in Writing Fiction, and I’m published, a professor, etc. I’ve got credentials, and experience, and a leg to stand on. When it comes to video games and Interactive Fiction, I’ve a healthy curiosity, and (I hope) a chance to draw comparisons to, and make connections with, more familiar storytelling forms and creative practices.
I feel like it’s important to voice these doubts for a couple reasons. On one hand, perhaps I can talk away some of my imposter syndrome. More importantly, however, is acknowledging the position of privilege I hold that allows me to make this sideways step into another field. I’m far less likely to get pushback because I am a white man. I’m also more likely to overestimate the value of my opinions, or to confuse my opinions with facts, and to present them with the full force of white male privilege bloviating behind me. The danger is real. And while there will always be opportunities to acknowledge mistakes in hindsight, (correction: there will always be opportunities to make myself feel better about the damage I’ve caused), I only get once chance to forefront this issue. Doing so doesn’t confer immunity—I may still royally fuck this up.
If nothing else, I’ve written a long note to self, which I’ll close with this. Be careful. Don’t claim authority you don’t have. Be honest about the relationships between curiosity, ignorance, and learning. Remember how slowly you learn, and how quickly you can talk, and work to keep the two in balance. Listen to your students—they probably have more cultural capital in this realm than you. Recognize that the expertise and experience you do bring to the discussion, while borrowed from another field, is still worthwhile—don’t present it as worth more or less. Finally, learning is fun, so have fun. Perhaps your role as teacher the rest of the year is to help others have fun, too.
I love this teaching advice! Freeing and inspiring!
I've done my best teaching when I was learning right along with the students. I didn't know that until I was finished and could look back at the results.