by Robin Rivers, author of Woman On The Wall

I never, ever considered teaching writing—not once. The mere chance of being forced to re-read Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness gave me everything I needed to choose journalism, and then publishing, over the classroom. So, twenty-five years into my career, when my manager at an education company asked if I could teach creative writing to high schoolers, I shook my head.  She finally convinced me that it would never involve Conrad’s novel. That’s when I began to see that guiding teens in discovering their writing voices would educate me in more ways than I could ever teach them.

Let’s face it, even as professional writers, many of us don’t spend significant amounts of time breaking down the foundations of the craft. The act of understanding and then implementing story structure, try/fail cycles, situational irony, or juxtaposition is reserved for those deep in an MFA program or finishing up an English degree. Much of what we do in the process of storytelling is pantsing it. We put words down on paper and hope that typing “The End” after 394 pages means that the story is finally finished.

There is no pantsing it when it comes to teaching. In fact, if you sat in on a class of mine this afternoon, you would hear these very words, “There are no pantsers here, only plotters.” The kids hate it, but they know I am right. Without the understanding of story structure, of how to lay down a path to create situational irony, of how a piece of literature is transformed by the choice of narrative point of view and a dozen other structural choices along the way, you cannot write well.

Teaching forced me, in many ways, to become a better writer. I could no longer singularly rely on instinct or hunch, what felt right, to tell stories. That allowed me to develop a deep respect for the process and the people it NEEDS to involve—developmental and copy editors who see flaws a writer is too close to notice. That is what transformed me, I believe, into a published novelist. 

As I continue to interweave those paths of educator and storyteller in my life, I find myself deeply engaged in a constant learning process. My students challenge me to empower them with diverse and complete toolboxes. They teach me patience and humility. My writing challenges me to lay down the foundations of a good book before indulging in the research and imagination that define my storytelling voice. That combination, for me, is gold. It brings with it a deep respect for student and professional. While there is a structural foundation for storytelling, it is that freshness of ideas and interpretation that keeps the formulas from becoming cliché. To stop learning is to stop creating. As for Conrad, well, he and I have made our peace with the literary wounds he inflicted on me thirty years ago, sort of.

Novelist Robin Rivers obsesses over stories of lost times and nerds out in the realm of all things historical, fantastical, female, and mythological. She spends her days in a literary universe best described as slipstream — a mix of historical, magical realism, and haunting romance.  When not writing, she helps young writers learn the craft as the CEO of Quill Academy of Creative Writing. Her wee family and Hypatia, their sphynx cat, tolerate her most of the time. She lives and writes on the unceded territory of the Coast Salish Peoples in Vancouver, Canada. Find her on Facebook, Instagram, TikTok, and Twitter.