Matt Bell presents a pedagogical breakthrough that challenges the gatekeeping often found in creative writing programs: the idea that a writer's most profound influences rarely come from the "canon" of required reading. Rather than demanding students mimic established literary giants, Bell argues that true artistic growth comes from articulating why a specific piece of art—whether a hip-hop album, a black-and-white television show, or a memoir—rewired their brain. This is not just a lesson in taste; it is a strategy for dismantling the impostor syndrome that plagues emerging artists.
Redefining the Workshop
Bell, a college instructor with nearly two decades of experience, admits to a personal "natural talent deficit" regarding flashy classroom innovations. He contrasts his own reliance on "grinding" and deep investment in student well-being against peers who produce complex diagrams and elaborate slideshows. Yet, from this humility emerges his most effective teaching tool: a 25-to-30-minute presentation where students analyze a work of art that is either "confounding or transformative."
The core of Bell's argument is that the primary goal of a Master of Fine Arts program is not merely to produce competent stories, but to cultivate a robust aesthetic identity. He writes, "Knowing what you like, and why you like it, is a major step toward producing your best work." This framing is crucial because it shifts the focus from technical execution to the internal compass of the artist. By ceding the floor to students for such a significant portion of class time, the instructor signals that their personal cultural history matters.
Bell defines a "transformative work" as something that "changed the way you think about what art can do, that rewired your brain in some particular irreversible way." Conversely, a "confounding work" is a respected piece the student simply does not understand, forcing them to "pinpoint why your taste diverges from the (real or imagined) consensus." This distinction is powerful; it validates both admiration and confusion as legitimate critical tools.
Critics might argue that allowing students to discuss non-literary media like music videos or films exacerbates a decline in reading habits. However, Bell anticipates this objection, noting that the moment of artistic revelation "may happen while listening to a Stevie Wonder song or watching a Terrence Malick film." As long as the student connects the experience back to their own writing, the medium is secondary to the insight.
"The point is not about trashing someone else's tastes; it's about trying to pinpoint why your taste diverges from the (real or imagined) consensus."
The Power of Permission
The most compelling evidence Bell offers is the emotional trajectory of his students. The MFA environment is often described as an "overwhelming space" filled with name-dropping and the fear of being an "uncultured fool." Bell's assignment directly counters this by creating an "ego-free atmosphere" where students can share their genuine, often unexpected, inspirations without fear of judgment.
He recounts a student who felt her writing was "too weird" until she watched The Twilight Zone with her father. The realization that "it's okay to tell weird stories" gave her the permission she needed to return to her craft. Bell notes, "This work of art gives you permission to write the way you want." This theme of permission recurs throughout his examples: a working-class student finding validation in Anthony Bourdain, a Mexican-American student discovering Sandra Cisneros, and a transgender student using William Burroughs to navigate their relationship with their body.
These anecdotes illustrate that the assignment is less about literary analysis and more about identity formation. Bell writes, "Eventually, you learn to trust your own taste. It makes you a better writer, knowing that what you're working on is valid." This is a profound shift from the traditional workshop model, which often focuses on what is wrong with a piece of writing. Instead, Bell's method focuses on what is right with the writer's vision.
The diversity of the presentations—from a tap dance performance to a discussion of a barber's storytelling—demonstrates the flexibility of the approach. Bell observes that students "never quite go where I expect them to, and that's a beautiful thing." This unpredictability suggests that the most transformative moments in education cannot be scripted; they must be allowed to emerge from the student's authentic experience.
The Instructor's Role
While the student takes center stage, Bell emphasizes that the instructor's role is to establish the conditions for this vulnerability. He admits he would have been "intensely anxious" presenting on a book he couldn't get through, such as Catch-22, or a "stereotypical" favorite like Slaughterhouse Five. The safety of the room depends on the instructor's willingness to model humility and to ensure that "nobody is performing for the others or feeling judged because their tastes aren't sophisticated enough."
This approach requires a departure from the "One True Way" mentality that Bell warns can "stunt the work." Before offering feedback, the instructor must understand the student's "ideal artistic achievements." By listening to these presentations, the teacher gains a roadmap for how to guide the student's revision, moving from generic advice to targeted, meaningful mentorship.
"I want them to think about how they can use the tools they already have to make their writing even better."
A potential limitation of this method is its applicability to undergraduate students. Bell notes that with undergraduates, he has to "keep simplifying it and building in more guardrails," as they may not yet be ready to discuss their artistic ambitions with such depth. This suggests that the assignment relies on a certain level of maturity and self-reflection that develops over time.
Bottom Line
Matt Bell's essay offers a necessary corrective to the elitism that often permeates creative writing education, proving that the path to a unique voice is paved with personal, often unconventional, influences. The argument's greatest strength lies in its humanizing effect, turning the classroom into a space of shared vulnerability rather than a hierarchy of taste. However, the method's success is heavily dependent on the instructor's ability to foster a truly safe environment, a challenge that may be difficult to replicate in larger or less intimate settings.