I hope I know L.L. well enough to pick on her in my title. I love her post about conformity.
Here’s a different thought. (Does that make me a non-conformist?)
I heard this on a podcast from Stanford. (Either I’m a geek or these podcasts are so good everyone should buy an Ipod just to hear them. Or maybe both.) Robert Sutton talks about creativity and innovation. And he talks about the importance of conformity. Let me distill those thoughts down to two platitudes (but don’t conform to them!):
Creativity leads to growth, but tends to be unstable.
Conformity provides stabilization, but can lead to stagnation.
Sometimes conformity is good, he said. If I’m going in for surgery, I don’t want a creative surgeon. I want him to conform to the same procedure every other doctor does.
Of course, there is a certain element of creativity involved in every situation. I’m told our organs all look different. My brother is a doctor, and he said the biggest surprise in gross anatomy was that people’s organs aren’t even located in the same places from, um, corpse to corpse.
Still, I don’t want a doctor experimenting on me. I want him to conform to the procedure.
Similarly, as an editor I fight this battle all the time. Sometimes when I tweak a writer’s prose to make it conform to standard English, she will get upset. Usually with a little bit of grumbling and flipping through the Chicago Manual of Style, I can win them over. They’ll usually capitulate.
But what about when I’m asking them to conform to our audience? The works I edit are meant to appeal to a specific demographic. In a sense, we need the articles to look a little different on the outside, but to conform to our same basic set of architectural designs.
It’s the reason I love forms in poetry. The form makes a lot of decisions for the writer. But this isn’t a bad thing. In fact, it creates innovation by imposing arbitrary randomness into a writer’s work. If I need a word to rhyme with “sleep,” my limited options are going to force me to be creative in the way I get from one rhyme word to the next.
If you’ve ever written a sonnet or a villanelle, you know what I mean.
Certainly, the Oulipo group understood the power of randomness in generating new ideas. They were a group of mathematicians and physicists and poets who thought up some new forms for poetry.
Like their N + 7 poems. I won’t explain it here, but you should go check it out. A lot of my creative writing assignments as a teacher came from this book. The students thought I was nuts. I was. Am.
Conforming to the rules is part of the fun of writing. Sure we need creativity. Sure we need innovation. But if a book is too creative, it may have trouble finding an audience. If a book is too innovative, how will your publisher market it?
I like what Nick Hornby said about this. I heard him speak on CSPAN II. You know, BookTV? (OK, I really am a geek. But at least I’m happy.) This is a paraphrase, now. He said that he hates it when a novelist says, I just write for myself. On the one hand, Nick Hornby understood what writers mean when they say that. They need to write with integrity. They need to let their personality come out in their writing. Every writer is a part of his or her implied audience.
But no writer writers for himself or herself. Even Emily Dickinson didn’t do it. Or else why did she keep all the poems in a trunk? She secretly hoped they would be read by others.
Nick Hornby went on to say, don’t write a book that conforms to all of the conventions of a novel in 100,000-130,000 words and say, “I wrote it for myself.” That’s bull. You wrote it with the market in mind. You conformed your creativity to the model required.
And that’s okay.
Sometimes conformity is okay.
Here’s the problem: too often we pervert conformity by turning it into a simple formula or recipe that has no wiggle room. We institutionalize conformity through an oppressive government system or a legalistic church system or an inadequate standardized testing system.
What do you think? When does conformity go beyond a helpful kind of standardization to something more sinister and repressive and fearful?
(L.L., thanks for helping me get back into blogging, today! You’re the best. I hope you don’t mind the friendly jab.)


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