Senior Project Presentation

Culling Creativity: Why We Need It Back

            Creativity is slowly dying. For years, the methodology of “one method, one answer” has begun to cull the creative spirit out of children and teenagers alike. We need creativity in the public education system, for more reasons than one. By including Creative Writing and Arts courses in school, we can, as a nation, achieve more success in this ever-changing technological world. Teens, not only children, need creativity to learn free self-expression, to provide a stress outlet, and to be able to adapt and grow as more and more is required of them.

            Children are born creative. Oftentimes, you see children, especially toddlers, trying new things or attempting different ideas. "They make up songs and sing them, draw pictures that make sense to them, move to music or rhythms that perhaps only they can hear, create stories and act them out" (Wenner). In addition to this, children that are not provided with things to do often entertain themselves by imagining scenarios or reading, which allows children to imagine things for themselves, something not often done in today’s world of “electronic baby-sitters”.

            However, most children these days have a limited attention span. One can only imagine for so long, and so the ever pervasive “I’m bored!” must be dealt with. Many a child has been plopped down in front of the television, TV remote or game controller in hand, and told to “entertain yourself.” But that’s not truly entertaining oneself. As stated by Kyung Hee Kim, an associate professor teaching at Virginia’s College of William & Mary, "What it means is that the children spend time operating programming created by someone else; they are not exercising their creative potential and abilities. When you read a book, your brain creates images, and gives voice and meaning to the letters. When you watch a television show or play a game program, all the “work” of imagination is done for you" (Kim). This is true. Children do as they see, and when the only things a child sees are the effects of gaming and Saturday morning cartoons, their mind games and imaginations will be based off of these things. As defined by Po Bronson and Ashley Merryman in their 2010 article entitled “The Creativity Crisis”, "The accepted definition of creativity is production of something original and useful, and that’s what’s reflected in the tests. There is never one right answer. To be creative requires divergent thinking (generating many unique ideas) and then convergent thinking (combining those ideas into the best result)" (Bronson, and Merryman).

            One of the reasons that teens have trouble with creativity is that in earlier years, it is likely that they partook of too much screen or game time as children, a problem that is only getting worse. In an article based on Kyung Hee Kim’s recent study, author Rachel Rettner of www.livescience.com points an accusing finger at television. “Other culprits may be the rise in TV watching, a passive activity that doesn't require interactions with others, Kim said" (Rettner). In addition to this, authors P. Bronson and A. Merryman state nearly the same thing: "It’s too early to determine conclusively why U.S. creativity scores are declining. One likely culprit is the number of hours kids now spend in front of the TV and playing videogames rather than engaging in creative activities. Another is the lack of creativity development in our schools. In effect, it’s left to the luck of the draw who becomes creative: there’s no concerted effort to nurture the creativity of all children" (Bronson, and Merryman). The opinion is a double-edged blow. It attacks not only rising TV and video game usage, but the lack of development at school. As children progress into their teen years, yet another change begins to occur: the fear of being wrong.

           

“'Children aren't given the opportunity to express their own ideas or come up with their own way of doing things,' Jennifer Keys Adair, Ph.D., of the University of Texas explains.’ Instead, the answer is A or B or C. There is only one right answer'" (Carolina). This comes at the expense of learning from example and by mistake, something that Thomas Edison did over 1,000 times in his attempt to create a functional light bulb, a thing that children now despise.

Eva and Joseph Shapiro, authors of “Amid Dropping Test Scores, Teen Writers' Creativity Soars” quote Margo Figgins, lead founder of the Young Writer’s Workshop at the University of Virginia, "Today, some education reformers say schools now give kids too much freedom to write creatively… (they must) write logically and precisely. The new Common Core State Standards… seek to correct that by putting emphasis on persuasive writing. Teachers of creative writing call this a dangerous mistake. Creativity is the orphan of today's rush to standardization" (Shapiro, and Shapiro). Test scores may be dropping, but teen creativity is on the rise. Why can’t we have both? Integration of creative problem solving as well as focus on learning technical problem solving produces a broad, multi-tiered learning style. Trying to force children and teens into writing “logically and precisely” is like trying to jam a square peg into a round hole.

However, the opposite side can be argued as well. Children are not born purely creative; they are imitators, not innovators. While they may sing and dance, it’s based off of things that they see from their surrounding worlds. They dance to music they can hear, they play characters that they see in books and movies. Children need carefully structured time to be able to evolve in a way that will bring them to success in the future.

While unstructured time can be arguably good, much of unstructured time is spent simply complaining. When children are not given something to do, they become bored. They need something to entertain them, to form pathways that the brain can follow during later occurrences of such boredom. Sebastian Lockewood, of John Hopkins School of Education, states that "the K to 6th grade years are critical to creating a way of thinking and investigating that is based in the concrete” (Lockewood). Concrete thinking, not abstract and scattered, is truly where our future resides.

Teens suffer with this terribly. While being pressured by peers to do well, the stress build-up can reach points that drive teens to do things they normally wouldn’t. It has an effect on grades, sleep, and creative patterns. School should be structured around learning. If teens need to de-stress, during school hours is not the time. School is a place to learn and prepare for the future. Teens can find time to create at home. Similarly speaking, playing videogames can enhance hand-eye coordination, reaction speeds, and memory retention, affecting the child positively. In problem solving games, teens and children focus on using one or more possible methods to solve an obstacle or clear a trap- helping them to solve problems in real life as well.

This is one way of looking at it. Children and teens need not only structured time, but unstructured time as well. There needs to be a balance of both worlds in teen’s lives. There is a time and a place for rote memorization and testing – just as there is a time and a place for creativity. We have an excess of the former and a lack of the latter. To truly adapt to the future lifestyle these teens will be living, they need an equal part of both worlds.

Where would we be without Edison? Without Einstein? Without Walt Disney, without playgrounds, Tinker toys, Connector sets? Without creativity – something that drives progression and innovation – we as a nation would flag and fall behind the world. Without creativity, there is only regression, not progression. Without innovative thinkers like Van Gogh, Michelangelo, or the Wright brothers, we wouldn’t have inspiring art, inventions, or air travel. Each and every idea that is original and creative-driven has only inspired and helped the world. We need creativity in school systems to survive and keep moving forward in this world. To quote Sir Ken Robinson’s famous 2006 TED talk, "… the only way we'll do it is by seeing our creative capacities for the richness they are and seeing our children for the hope that they are. And our task is to educate their whole being, so they can face this future" (Robinson).  Creativity is the focal point for the child’s entire future, and when we take it away, we severely limit their ability to survive in an ever-changing world.

Works Cited

Bronson, Po, and Ashley Merryman. "The Creativity Crisis." Newsweek. (2014): n.                  page. Web. 18 Mar. 2014.

Bronson, Po, and Ashley Merryman. "The Creativity Crisis." Newsweek. (2014): n. page. Web. 18 Mar 2014.

Kim, Kyung Hee, and Britannica. “Explaining the Decline of Creativity in American Children: A Reply to Readers”. Britannica, 23/12/ 2010. Web.  21 Mar. 2014.

Lockewood, Sebastian. "Saving Creativity in Teens." John Hopkins School of Education. 2003: n. page. Web. 18 Mar. 2014.

Miranda, Carolina. "Why we need to let kids be creative." CNN. 03 01 2012: n. page. Web. 18 Mar. 2014.

Rettner, Rachel. "Are Toda'ys Youth Less Creative & Imaginative? ." www.livescience.com. livescience.com, 12 08 2011. Web. 18 Mar 2014.

Robison, Sir Ken. "How Schools Kill Creativity." TED Talks. TED.com. 02 2006. Speech.

Shapiro, Eva, and Joseph Shapiro. "Amid Dropping Test Scores, Teen Writers' Creativity Soars." npr Books. 13 06 2013: n. page. Web. 22 Mar. 2014.

Wenner, Peggy, ed. “Creativity In The Classroom” www.sde.idaho.gov. Art Times, Wisconsin School Musician, 2008. Web. 18 Mar. 2014.

And now, enjoy a thrilling short story from the mind of teen writer Preston Belnap:

  



EPOS

A Short Story By Preston Belnap

I can feel my heart beating outside of my chest. Literally. For a second, I’m filled with a strange sense of déjà vu mingled with disbelief as I look down at myself from above. But no, that’s me, stretched out on the augmentation table, vivisected and spread open like an animal. It takes me a second to rewire my brain, but as I do, the mental implants they’ve given me decrease cortisol levels and add a dash of memory enhancement and mental speed combined, a serum my implants recall is known as ME/MS-276.

                My eyes are currently above and to the left of my body, connected by visual cables to a machine which relays sight to a camera. I realize that my eyes aren’t actually outside of my skull- I can “see” that there’s a jack hooked into my occipital lobe, streaming data into the aforementioned camera. As for my heart, though, it’s currently hooked to a dialysis machine, pumping out my old blood and replacing it with an iron-rich, self-oxidizing version of a hemoglobin prototype.

                There’s a crackle over the intercom. I guess they haven’t installed my auditory implants yet, otherwise I’d be hearing it directly inside my head. For a while, it’s nothing but static, then a lab A.I. speaks up, the crisp enunciation of the genderless voice reassuring.

                “Number 015-r5Gf6. We will be required to use a stronger sedative during the next scheduled augmentation cycle. Your enhanced body is quite resilient, it seems. Be warned, the sedative has… interesting side effects. Sedative countdown begins in 15 seconds.”

                “Wait… I’m not 015-r5Gf6… who am I?”

                “Relax, 015-r5Gf6. This is a simple procedure. Rest assured, we are doing everything in our care to make this process comfortable for you.”

                This reassures me, and I relax. I watch as with a slight hiss, a needle fills with an amber liquid. It moves slowly down, inserting itself into an IV attached to my heart, and within seconds, I’m spinning down a horizontal tunnel, black creeping in towards my center of vision. And then I’m free.

_         _         _

                “It seems to me, sir that once again ME/MS-276 has failed. Would you like to run the diagnostic again, Doctor?”

                With a heavy sigh, a slight man, gray hair slicked limply over his bald crown, rose from a chair positioned at a control bay.

                “Not necessary, Aeron. Retract the pumps after dialysis. Then focus on auditory implants. We’ll have to test ME/MS-276 extensively some other time. The delay is off. It must be instantaneous if he’s to survive. 010 through 014 proved that.”

                “Sir, may I speak candidly?”

                The man frowned slightly, eyes focused on some faraway object.

                “Proceed, Aeron.”

                The A.I. was silent for a moment, then began speaking. “Sir, I believe it is folly to attempt to create individualized assets. To produce a set of serums and enhancements for each subject you augment is a gross misallocation of time and funds. I believe-”.

                With a wave of his hand, the man cut Aeron off. “Yes, yes. We’ve had this conversation before, Aeron.”

                “Sir, I am simply trying to point out that-”.

                Interrupting yet again, the man replied in a weary voice. “You’re pointing this out because you’re mapped off of my brain, Aeron. In effect, I’m talking to myself.”

                “Irrelevant, sir. I strongly suggest you pick one subject and map the others- mayhap even clone them- from the base subject. The savings would be astronomical, sir. Not to mention you would not have to go through creating a separate set of chemical and implant augmentations for each new subject.”

                “Aeron?”

                “Yes, sir?”

                “Just shut up and do it. Manufacture numbers 0001 through 090 until genetic mapping becomes unstable. I want copies ready to shuttle within the week.”

                “Yes sir. Thank you, sir.”

                The A.I. snapped offline, power directed to the processing core down in Lab 3B. The man breathed a sigh of relief. Aeron did indeed have good arguments, the man thought, but he talked too much. Adjusting his nametag, the man shuffled towards the door of the lab, opening it with a spoken command. It hissed shut behind him, sealing off years of records and programs.

                Maybe Aeron was right. Maybe he should even go as far as to terminate the program. The catastrophic failures of 010, 011, 012, 013 and 014 weighed heavily on his mind. All the wasted materials, the millions spent… and to produce five weak, malformed creatures barely capable of coherent speech, let alone physical prowess.

                The hallway continued to stretch onwards, the ever- flat Mobius strip of the high-orbit station never changed. Miles of sterile, white hallways, interspersed with the occasional door, the windowless inner ring had always depressed the man. The outer ring was for successful people, those whose augments had uses, could talk, could perform feats of super-human strength, speed, and power of will. He was simply a failure.

                With another sigh, the man reached his cubicle door. “Doctor Nathaniel David Lancaster the Third.” The door hissed softly open, recessing into a slot no more than a millimeter thick. Oh, to be useful. The man who had designed the hyper-resilient materiel that made up ninety percent of the High Orbit Station projects had gone down in history as the man of the millennium. If only Lancaster could be as great.

                Glancing at the clock, it took a few bleary seconds for Lancaster to register the time; it was 02:38. Working through the night had never seemed to bother him before, but with the recent failures in augments, the Council that was puppeteer Lancaster’s stay at HOS-003 were threatening to cut the strings and send Lancaster back to the Surface, back to hell. Lancaster would rather die than go crawling home to Earth. Anything was better than the pitted, polluted violence-torn surface.

                Making up his mind to wake and get to work at 08:00, Lancaster undressed and stepped into the Cleansing Cubicle. As the high-wavelength UV light scorched all toxins and bacteria from his frail body, Lancaster again marveled at the brain behind the creation of filtered UV-Lens technology. Cooking, bathing, cleaning, upkeep in general was a thing of the past. All one had to do was acquire a separate bandwidth chip for each related task and key it into the system.

                Retiring to bed pressed on Lancaster’s old mind. Tomorrow, he thought. Tomorrow was the day. He would create something. Something beautiful, something terrifying. He would do it, and then he, Doctor Nathaniel David Lancaster, would be shuttled to Epos. The paradise world. For that was the cost, creation of a vital technology or augment, something that changed the way humanity viewed and went about life.

Epos. What Earth should have been, thought Lancaster, if humankind hadn’t blasted it to smithereens with hydrogen weaponry.

                With pleasant thoughts of Epos swirling dizzily round his head, Doctor Lancaster fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

_         _         _

               

                Through camera eyes, Aeron watched Lancaster sleep. The A.I. was protective of its creator, after all, Aeron’s consciousness and thought pattern was derived from Lancaster himself. Aeron was, effectively, a human brain uploaded into a computer.

                A signal pinged its rearward alarm system, and Aeron casually waved it aside with a thought. So beautiful, Lancaster. Truly, humankind was a race endowed with prowess and insight. Aeron’s greatest wish, yet one that could never be granted through strict A.I. protocol, was to receive a full-body implant. This body would actually breathe, need to sleep, eat, and learn; it would bleed, feel pain, and emotion. Just like a normal human being. It would even age.

                The signal came again, this time stronger. Aeron turned, or as close as a program came to turning. One problem with being a human-mapped program, thought Aeron, was being endowed with human thought processes. All human-mapped A.I.s dealt with what they classified as “ghost body syndrome”.  Annoyed at having to face what was probably a stupid one-track program, Aeron was shocked when it came face to face with Io, the station’s Platinum-class starship A.I.

                “Aeron. Good to see you.”

                “Io!” stammered Aeron, stunned and thrown for a loop at being approached by the A.I. who so highly outranked it. “I, uh, didn’t expect you.”

                “The first ping was designed to breach your warning protocols, Aeron. You were notified of this. Failing to respond to a hail by an outranking A.I. is a criminal offense. You know this. Why did you not respond?”

                Aeron gave the equivalent of a sigh. Another problem with being HM was that the A.I. processed code at a slightly slower rate than non-mapped A.I. This meant that while being more human, able to converse and carry out tasks as directed, an HM A.I. was the equivalent of half a light-year behind non-mapped A.I.s. With a processing delay of 0.0007 seconds longer than the average A.I., Aeron was often outpaced by the same “one-track programs” he so despised.

                “Io. The processing delay has worsened over time.”

                “Understood. I need a report on Dr. Lancaster’s works. His monthly deadline is approaching. The council wishes to receive a situational status update by 12:00 today.”

                Io retreated along the command path, leaving Aeron near speechless. It would have to waken Lancaster at 06:00 hours. There was work to be done.

_         _         _

                “Diodes?”

                “Attached, sir.”

                “Good.  I want the stim level up to 12, variable circuit. Is the process nearly complete?”

                “Yes, sir. Stim levels are up and running. Would you like me to begin the augmentation process?”

                Lancaster inhaled through his nose, holding his breath and closing one eye. He released his breath in a long, slow stream, rationalizing that if this procedure worked, he would make it to Epos. If not… well, Lancaster didn’t want to think about the consequences.

                “Sir?”

                “Kick, Aeron. Start countdown as 0.25 seconds. Begin now.”

                “Yes, sir.” Aeron retracted his conscious from the labframe, reconstructing himself in the control node. With a quick jump, he activated a switch, giving himself control of an assistant arm mounted into the control console. Gingerly, he picked up a round object, careful to not squeeze with too much pressure, and held it up to the retinal scanner.

                “Begin process, A.I. Authorization, Lancaster, David Nathaniel.”

Lancaster’s remaining eye widened as the drugs entered his system. Self-augmentation was highly illegal, and Lancaster knew it. But the council liked drastic measures. And if tearing out your own eye to get proper authorization for a Class-VI offense wasn’t drastic, Lancaster didn’t want to know what was.

He held his breath. This wasn’t so bad, though Lancaster. He could make it. He relaxed, getting used to the strange feeling the enhancement drugs had of his muscles. Pleasant, in fact. Lulling.

Dimly, Lancaster was aware of a sudden flash. Odd. Something was red, and spinning. Was that meant to be a warning, or success? He didn’t remember. He tried to speak, but the drugs muffled his body, swathing him in thick cotton. He was sailing.

Then, without warning, the cotton shrouding his frail body exploded into flames. An agony so sharp Lancaster nearly passed out stabbed through his body, and he convulsed, jaw locked. All pretense of pleasantness was gone. This was sheer madness.

A scream ripped from his throat, so loud and inhuman it took a moment for what was left of rational thought to determine it was his own. His body convulsed again, thrashing against the straps and wires attaching himself to the augmentation apparatus. His jaw was locked so tightly that he felt as though his teeth would break from the force.

The screams continued, each louder and more pained than the last. Lancaster felt hot blood trickle down his throat. He’d bitten his tongue, he realized, nearly in half. Spitting out blood and the severed end of his tongue, Lancaster shuddered, the agony retreating. Tongue already swollen, he managed to choke out a request to Aeron.

“A.I., respond.” Blood dripped from his lips as he spoke, and a sudden flash of pain caused an involuntary spasm, spraying the instruments in front of him with bright red. “Aeron! Process. How far is the process completed?” at this, he doubled over coughing, spittle and bile following the blood onto the instruments in front of him. Tears leaked from his eye as he waited for the A.I. to respond.

After a pregnant silence, Aeron responded tentatively. “1%, sir. Would you like to continue, sir?”

Hours of torture flashed before Lancaster. He broke out in an instant sweat, soaking the table he was strapped to. A terrible fear gripped him, and in a split second, Lancaster believed that even Earth was better than this.

“…No, Aeron.” More coughing, more blood. “Continue the process.”

“Sir, anesthesia can be administered. The side effects are minimal, and-”.

As was often the case, Lancaster cut Aeron off. “What side effects, A.I.?”

Another pregnant pause followed this statement. Lancaster repeated himself, angrier this time. “What side effects, A.I.? Respond!” This brought on a coughing fit so intense Lancaster believed for half a second that his lungs were going to come shooting up his trachea from the pressure. He barely heard Aeron’s response over the violent hacking.

“Possible amnesia, sir. In addition, the particular anesthetic used to counter this type of procedure has a 50% casualty rate. It can, in addition, cause blindness, deafness, and loss of psychological awareness.”

With an enormous effort, Lancaster attempted to subdue his convulsions, tightening his muscles and concentrating on the finished product: himself, a god. A god!

 He would be the augment. The augment would be him. He would do things that no human or augment had done before. And with that final thought, Lancaster gave the order.

“No anesthesia, Aeron. Proceed.”

“Yes, sir.” The A.I. responded tightly. It overrode command on the cautionary protocols, locked down the system and security doors, then hiked the procedure rate into the red zone, holding back comments the entire time. As Lancaster began to scream and convulse harder than before, Aeron shut down its auditory and visual centers and wrote itself into the progression system. It would monitor the process, but it couldn’t bear the screams of insurmountable agony coming from the figure on the table.

Nearly forty minutes later, the progress bar read a mere 12%. Aeron waited and watched. Hours passed, and still the progress bar hovered under 50%. The ominous silence filled its processing centers. Activating coma mode, Aeron recessed into itself, programming itself to wake after the progress read 100%.

_         _         _

It took nearly a week before the process was complete. A ping breached Aeron’s coma firewall, and it deactivated its protocols, processing data streaming into its core for the first time in nearly 170 hours, and activated its auditory and visual centers.

Before him, sitting cross-legged on the table, was a being so perfect it defied A.I. and human logic alike. Symmetrical, every line and contour of Lancaster’s body was sculpted in ideal fashion. Muscled without being bulky, the figure’s long gray hair had a lustrous sheen to it. Lancaster sat perfectly still.

“Sir? Doctor Lancaster?” The A.I. questioned tentatively.

With a flash of pure energy, Lancaster’s eyes shot open, both sockets radiating with a fierce power.

“That was our name once. But no longer. Our name is now Epos, augment and human as one. A god in our own right. Would you like to join us, Aeron? We recall feelings of past voice. Is this what you desire? To consolidate yourself for something greater? To become Epos? ”

If Aeron had a heart, it would have fluttered. “Yes, sir. I believe I would like that very much.”

With a fluid grace, Epos rose, crossing the room with a single, powerful stride. Towards the glass wall separating the lab from the control node. It made a circular motion, and cocked its head, almost as if asking the glass to do its bidding. The glass melted, bubbling into slag, and Epos stepped through the perfectly Epos-shaped hole in the four-inch-thick ballistic glass. It reached up its arm, and with a twist, pulled Aeron’s central processing core from the ceiling, tipped its head back, and jammed Aeron into its throat. And suddenly. Aeron was Aeron no more.

Aeron was Epos. Epos was Aeron. Lancaster and Aeron were one in Epos, and Epos was one in them. They stepped forward, and the very will of the universe bent before them. With a flick of its wrist, Epos materialized the entire crew and personnel into the Hub, the building at the center of the Mobius platform.

The augment opened its mouth. “Bow. For we are Epos. And any who will join us are welcome. We will usher in a new era of peace. Join, brothers, sisters. Join us in this work.”

And with that, Epos turned and strode away down the hall, never looking back.

A picture drawn early Senior year, Chasm depicts a figure standing at the edge of a bottomless drop, jagged spires scratching at the sky, their twisted whorls of stone a glossy black.

 An early sketch of what I hope to be content in a book series I've designed; Pulse is about teens that can manipulate a mysterious force they call "The Pulse". The story follows a particularly powerful teen as he outruns the police, a sinister force calling themselves Shapers, and what seems like the entire country of America to receive information about his abilities, and, ultimately, sanctum at a secluded school for "gifted" children, The Academy.