Tools for Rethinking the World

As I was preparing to teach this year’s Soul of Summer writing intensive with Teachers & Writers Collaborative, I found myself drawn to surrealism and science fiction—two genres that push us to think beyond conventional boundaries. It was my hope that working in these genres would spark unexpected ideas and images for my students, while also challenging our understanding of reality. Both surrealism and science fiction came into being in response to the unease generated by periods of social and political turmoil and rapid technological advancement. Surrealism invites us to challenge conventional reality by delving into the space below consciousness, while science fiction asks us to stretch beyond it, pushing us to reconsider what is possible. These genres offer ways to navigate the subconscious and the speculative, providing tools for rethinking how we experience and interpret the world.

Surrealism invites us to challenge conventional reality by delving into the space below consciousness, while science fiction asks us to stretch beyond it, pushing us to reconsider what is possible.

This notion of boundaries between worlds, both real and imagined, echoes what I’ve observed when teaching children. Ask a five-year-old to draw a landscape, and they often leave a gap between the ground and sky, a place where people dwell. It’s a rational view of our environment—the ground beneath us, the sky above. Yet this gap also reflects the limits of how we’re taught to see the world. As we grow, the separation between reality and imagination often widens. In classrooms where I teach, the shift from imagination to logic is unmistakable. Second graders effortlessly invent fantastical creatures with wings, fur, scales, and tails. By eighth grade, however, I often hear, “I can’t think of anything.” What stifles this creative spark over time? 

This isn’t just a personal observation, I believe, but a symptom of broader societal forces. Our culture prioritizes practicality over whimsy and realism over imagination. As children, we embrace the space between the ground and sky, but as we age, that imaginative zone shrinks, bound by logic, practicality, and the demands of modern life.

Our culture prioritizes practicality over whimsy and realism over imagination.

In this writing intensive, I aimed to help adults rediscover that lost space. I wondered how they would respond to the unconventional exercises I had planned—activities designed to disrupt logical thinking and invite them back into the realm of possibility. We began by discussing dreams and their relationship to the waking world. 

For the surrealists, dreams were a gateway to alternative visions of reality. Surrealism’s dream-like juxtapositions invite us to break free from rational thought. Science fiction, by envisioning alternative futures, likewise expands our understanding of what the world can be. Both genres offer tools to question and reshape the known world—exactly what I hoped would reignite the creative spark in my students.

To introduce these ideas, I began with André Breton’s “Manifesto of Surrealism,” which calls for the subversion of Western rationalism and an embrace of dreams as a source of inspiration. Surrealism was not just an artistic movement but a revolutionary one, aimed at liberating the mind from the constraints of reality. Aimé Césaire, a Martinican poet and politician, used surrealism as a tool for liberation from colonialism, while his partner, Suzanne Césaire, a writer and feminist activist, expanded its use to resist oppressive structures. The French photographer Claude Cahun applied surrealist techniques to examine gender and identity, showing how the movement could challenge personal and societal norms.

I wanted my students to see surrealism not just as an artistic method but as a framework for questioning the constraints of their creativity. To make these abstract ideas tangible, I introduced them to the surrealist cut-up method, a technique famously used by artists, poets, and musicians to create unusual and unique lines. The core idea behind the method is that language and meaning are plastic, capable of being molded into new configurations. It challenges the notion that words must conform to rigid, pre-existing structures.

I wanted my students to see surrealism not just as an artistic method but as a framework for questioning the constraints of their creativity.

For the exercise, I asked students to bring materials containing text—newspapers, magazines, product labels, anything they could cut up—and a pair of scissors. Once their materials were gathered, I instructed them to cut out random sections of text, individual words, and lines. The goal was to accumulate a pile of clippings without overthinking or editing. Next they were to arrange these words and phrases into a new piece of writing, with no pressure to make logical sense or create traditional meaning.

This exercise was a significant challenge for some, as many students felt the need to perfect their work and meet conventional expectations of what a “good” poem or story should be. I reassured them that the value of this exercise lies in the process itself, allowing randomness to generate fresh connections and insights.

Building on this surrealist exercise, we transitioned into exploring speculative and science fiction. I provided prompts like “After the ______ everything changed” or “Imagine traveling to a world where you don’t know the name of anything,” and encouraged the students to continue using the surrealist techniques they’d experimented with earlier to think beyond the familiar as they speculated about future possibilities. 

Some students chose to continue using the cut-up technique, while others explored random line generators such as The Cut Up Machine on languageisavirus.com. This blending of surrealism’s subconscious exploration with science fiction’s speculative energy acted as a bridge between these creative worlds.

The following are excerpts from two writers who attended the intensive:

What kind of future, you ask,*
By Kathleen McCoy

would I will into being, and I
catch my breath at thoughts of dark-boned
apocalypse or rains of fire. That root-

rock tornado split our lovely maple
into shards when all I wanted was
an orchid under glass. This world vibrates 

intensely, the next will too though the stars
look very different today. Take your
protein pills and put your helmet on. I 

believe in filling black holes with our
treasures, sending off dearest memories
to the abyss in case their opal fires 

might escape to other lands that need them.
I’m happy now, wherever future takes me,
knowing these arteries don’t end

in this body. All earth’s lush muck
attests that joy lurks everywhere, so
I wish for a world where, when

the sky washes her hair, we catch each drop
and poems form on our fingertips like pearls
or proverbs as rain paints our hair.

*With lines from “Space Oddity” by David Bowie.

Poem 
By Lesley Young 

Tonight (is it night?) it is so cold and I forget the name for  xxxxx  .  They told me when I first got here but the letters were not letters and the sounds not sounds, the thing not what I needed so I forgot. Tonight I feel so cold and need a xxxxxx  but if I ask for a “blanket’ they will not know what I mean or how to hear me and anyways they don’t use blankets and they don’t feel cold. Actually, they don’t feel anything at all and they are not a they. When we used to play Space Invaders as children, running away from each other among the sharp blade grass and lightning bugs, we imagined strange legs and strange arms and strange mouths and teeth and strange eyes, always eyes, but after The Taking changed everything, it turned out eyes are not important after all, especially here where there is nothing to see. Here it is like if the fungus between your toes kept growing and instead of killing it with creams and pills you let it take over and fill your toes and cover your hands and your mouth and your eyes. Dark does not describe it because that would mean there had been light, that light was a word that meant had ever meant something but here there is no word for light no word for dark no word for see no eyes and nothing to stop the cold. 

Throughout this intensive, the students and I attempted to reconcile the rational with the imaginative. The gap between the horizon and the sky—the separation between logic and creativity—is not as rigid as we often believe. Instead it can be a space of infinite possibility, a liminal zone where new ideas emerge. By embracing the interplay between surrealism and science fiction, my students were able to reclaim some of the imaginative space that is too often atrophied by the demands of daily life. Blurring the boundary between reality and imagination gave us the space to shape new worlds, languages, and possibilities.

Featured photo by Gelatin.