creative writing school
Module 6: Worlds Beyond
structure
Introduction
Theory
Inspirations
Creative exercises
Stay grounded & motivated
Share your text with us
Theory
Inspirations
Creative exercises
Stay grounded & motivated
Share your text with us
introduction
Order is not neutral. Order is always a gesture. A decision. A violence, sometimes. A care, other times. A tension between need and obsession, desire and control. In this lesson, we explore "Order" not as a cold constraint, but as a generative tool: for writing, for living, for perceiving. We will approach order as practice—form as politics, form as memory, form as love.
We do not aim for tidy conclusions. We do not seek to praise control. Instead, we investigate the strange architectures of how we arrange the world—and what these structures reveal about who we are, what we fear, what we want to preserve.
We do not aim for tidy conclusions. We do not seek to praise control. Instead, we investigate the strange architectures of how we arrange the world—and what these structures reveal about who we are, what we fear, what we want to preserve.
theory
Order, as a philosophical concept, often appears in opposition to chaos. But that binary is simplistic. In Michel Foucault's "The Order of Things" (1966), the very act of classification is shown to be a historical construction. Systems of order are not universal, but situated, contingent, political. What is naturalized as logic in one era becomes absurd in another.
Foucault begins his book with a famous quote from Jorge Luis Borges—an imagined Chinese encyclopedia classifying animals into absurd categories: "belonging to the Emperor," "embalmed," "suckling pigs," "fabulous," "included in the present classification," and "those that from a long way off look like flies."
This surreal taxonomy undermines the idea of a singular, coherent system. Foucault uses it to show that all systems of order are built on invisible assumptions.
Order, then, is not about truth. It's about power. About framing. About who decides what belongs and what does not.
In psychological terms, order is both coping mechanism and identity performance. Think of obsessive-compulsive patterns—rituals of checking, aligning, repeating. These actions often emerge from anxiety, as an attempt to regain control in an uncontrollable world.
But order is also comforting. In Winnicott’s theory of transitional objects, the child uses repetition and object placement to create a stable sense of reality. Arranging, listing, sorting—these are practices that construct safety, predictability, meaning.
In a trauma-informed frame, these acts may be attempts to soothe the nervous system. Ordering the external world becomes a way to survive internal chaos.
Order is not always neurotic. It can also be poetic. Meditative. Political. A container for the uncontainable.
Foucault begins his book with a famous quote from Jorge Luis Borges—an imagined Chinese encyclopedia classifying animals into absurd categories: "belonging to the Emperor," "embalmed," "suckling pigs," "fabulous," "included in the present classification," and "those that from a long way off look like flies."
This surreal taxonomy undermines the idea of a singular, coherent system. Foucault uses it to show that all systems of order are built on invisible assumptions.
Order, then, is not about truth. It's about power. About framing. About who decides what belongs and what does not.
In psychological terms, order is both coping mechanism and identity performance. Think of obsessive-compulsive patterns—rituals of checking, aligning, repeating. These actions often emerge from anxiety, as an attempt to regain control in an uncontrollable world.
But order is also comforting. In Winnicott’s theory of transitional objects, the child uses repetition and object placement to create a stable sense of reality. Arranging, listing, sorting—these are practices that construct safety, predictability, meaning.
In a trauma-informed frame, these acts may be attempts to soothe the nervous system. Ordering the external world becomes a way to survive internal chaos.
Order is not always neurotic. It can also be poetic. Meditative. Political. A container for the uncontainable.
inspirations
Georges Perec
Writer, member of the Oulipo movement, collector of constraints. Perec’s Think/Classify is a reflection on the impossibility and seduction of organizing. Perec lists methods of arranging books—alphabetically, by genre, by color, by date of acquisition—each system revealing a different logic, a different obsession.
“Ways of arranging books / alphabetical order / classification by continent or country / classification by color / classification by date of acquisition / classification by date of publication / classification by format / classification by genre…”
Each method of classification is a worldview. A gesture of desire. An aesthetic. An anxiety.
“Ways of arranging books / alphabetical order / classification by continent or country / classification by color / classification by date of acquisition / classification by date of publication / classification by format / classification by genre…”
Each method of classification is a worldview. A gesture of desire. An aesthetic. An anxiety.
Sei Shōnagon
Japanese court lady of the Heian period, author of The Pillow Book. Her text is a collection of lists, notes, impressions—sensory, emotional, poetic.
"Things that quicken the heart
Sparrows feeding their young.
Walking past a place where children are playing.
Sleeping alone in a room filled with a delicate fragrance.
Finding that one’s mirror from China has grown slightly dim.
Washing one’s hair, bathing, and putting on scented clothes. Even if no one sees you, you feel happy deep inside.
A night when one is waiting for someone. Suddenly, you are startled by the sound of rain thrown against the house by the wind."
"Things that bring a gentle memory of the past
Withered hollyhocks.
Objects once used for the Doll Festival.
On a rainy day, feeling bored, one finds the letters of a man once loved.
A night when the moon is clear."
"Things that fill one with anxiety
Watching horse races.
Twisting a paper cord to tie one’s hair.
Having parents or friends who are ill and finding them changed. Even more so when an epidemic is raging; one is so worried that nothing else matters.
Or when a small child, still unable to speak, begins to cry, refuses to drink milk, and cries for a long time, without stopping, even when the nurse holds them in her arms.
When someone one hates approaches, one feels, in the same way, an indescribable distress."
"Things that are no longer of use, but that evoke the past
A floral mat, old, with its frayed edges in tatters.
A screen whose paper, decorated with a Chinese painting, is damaged.
A withered pine tree entwined with wisteria.
A ceremonial white skirt whose dark blue printed designs have faded.
A painter whose sight is growing dim.
In the garden of a lovely house, a fire has burned the trees. The pond at first kept its original appearance, but it has since been overrun by duckweed and aquatic plants."
Shōnagon turns the ephemeral into structure. Her form is not linear. It’s intuitive, precise, sensorial. A taxonomy of feelings. A poetics of intimacy.
"Things that quicken the heart
Sparrows feeding their young.
Walking past a place where children are playing.
Sleeping alone in a room filled with a delicate fragrance.
Finding that one’s mirror from China has grown slightly dim.
Washing one’s hair, bathing, and putting on scented clothes. Even if no one sees you, you feel happy deep inside.
A night when one is waiting for someone. Suddenly, you are startled by the sound of rain thrown against the house by the wind."
"Things that bring a gentle memory of the past
Withered hollyhocks.
Objects once used for the Doll Festival.
On a rainy day, feeling bored, one finds the letters of a man once loved.
A night when the moon is clear."
"Things that fill one with anxiety
Watching horse races.
Twisting a paper cord to tie one’s hair.
Having parents or friends who are ill and finding them changed. Even more so when an epidemic is raging; one is so worried that nothing else matters.
Or when a small child, still unable to speak, begins to cry, refuses to drink milk, and cries for a long time, without stopping, even when the nurse holds them in her arms.
When someone one hates approaches, one feels, in the same way, an indescribable distress."
"Things that are no longer of use, but that evoke the past
A floral mat, old, with its frayed edges in tatters.
A screen whose paper, decorated with a Chinese painting, is damaged.
A withered pine tree entwined with wisteria.
A ceremonial white skirt whose dark blue printed designs have faded.
A painter whose sight is growing dim.
In the garden of a lovely house, a fire has burned the trees. The pond at first kept its original appearance, but it has since been overrun by duckweed and aquatic plants."
Shōnagon turns the ephemeral into structure. Her form is not linear. It’s intuitive, precise, sensorial. A taxonomy of feelings. A poetics of intimacy.
Christophe Tarkos
French poet of repetition and accumulation. In poems like "The Boiler", Tarkos piles up nouns, objects, tools, architectural fragments.
"The boiler, the burners, the radiations, the radiators, the stocks, the storage tanks, the reserves, the heating systems, the heating engineers, the emissions, the corridors, the ceiling heights, the volumes, the transports, the walls, the wall panels, the attachment points, the drums, the tanks, the accumulators, the accumulations, the cumulus, the bathtubs, the sinks, the combustion, the cylinders, the brakes, the chairs, the benches, the interior benches, the exterior benches, the meal trays, the carafes, the tables, the connections, the swellings, the seats, the sensations, the pipes, the radiator pipes, the copper pipes, the hot water pipes, the fire doors, the double doors, the electrified, the electrification, the lighting, the lights, the neon lights, the lamps, the ignitions, the interruptions, the switches, the […] the refrigerations, the refrigerators, the freezers, the cold blocks, the cold rooms, the ovens, the gas ovens, the microwaves, the towels, the plates, the carafes, the glasses, the trays, the bowls, the bathtubs, the sinks, the stainless steel sinks.”
Through excess, the list becomes a texture. A rhythm. A system of its own. Meaning emerges not from narrative, but from mass. From structure without explanation.
"The boiler, the burners, the radiations, the radiators, the stocks, the storage tanks, the reserves, the heating systems, the heating engineers, the emissions, the corridors, the ceiling heights, the volumes, the transports, the walls, the wall panels, the attachment points, the drums, the tanks, the accumulators, the accumulations, the cumulus, the bathtubs, the sinks, the combustion, the cylinders, the brakes, the chairs, the benches, the interior benches, the exterior benches, the meal trays, the carafes, the tables, the connections, the swellings, the seats, the sensations, the pipes, the radiator pipes, the copper pipes, the hot water pipes, the fire doors, the double doors, the electrified, the electrification, the lighting, the lights, the neon lights, the lamps, the ignitions, the interruptions, the switches, the […] the refrigerations, the refrigerators, the freezers, the cold blocks, the cold rooms, the ovens, the gas ovens, the microwaves, the towels, the plates, the carafes, the glasses, the trays, the bowls, the bathtubs, the sinks, the stainless steel sinks.”
Through excess, the list becomes a texture. A rhythm. A system of its own. Meaning emerges not from narrative, but from mass. From structure without explanation.
creative exercises
Exercise 1: Classify your life (after Perec)
Write a short piece in which you classify and arrange an aspect of your life—your memories, your fears, your desires—as if it were a library. Describe the categories you use, the logic behind them, and what they reveal about you.
Do you sort your childhood memories by geography or by emotional weight? Do you organize your regrets chronologically, or by intensity? Play with the tension between order and disorder, necessity and obsession.
Exercise 2: Inventories of emotion (after Shōnagon)
Write your own inventory of emotions, following Shōnagon’s structure. Create your own four lists.
Example:
Exercise 3: Material overload (after Tarkos)
Write a list of objects in a space you know well—a kitchen, a train station, a childhood bedroom. Begin with concrete, visible things. Then, allow the list to expand beyond what is physically present. Let it include sounds, memories, unspoken rules, expectations. Push the list to excess, until the objects start shaping an invisible narrative, a social structure, a feeling of presence or absence.
Write a short piece in which you classify and arrange an aspect of your life—your memories, your fears, your desires—as if it were a library. Describe the categories you use, the logic behind them, and what they reveal about you.
Do you sort your childhood memories by geography or by emotional weight? Do you organize your regrets chronologically, or by intensity? Play with the tension between order and disorder, necessity and obsession.
Exercise 2: Inventories of emotion (after Shōnagon)
Write your own inventory of emotions, following Shōnagon’s structure. Create your own four lists.
Example:
- Things that bring inexplicable joy
- Things that awaken memories of the past
- Things that cause quiet unease
- Things that no longer serve a purpose but you cannot let go of
Exercise 3: Material overload (after Tarkos)
Write a list of objects in a space you know well—a kitchen, a train station, a childhood bedroom. Begin with concrete, visible things. Then, allow the list to expand beyond what is physically present. Let it include sounds, memories, unspoken rules, expectations. Push the list to excess, until the objects start shaping an invisible narrative, a social structure, a feeling of presence or absence.
stay grounded and motivated!
"As an artist, I am drawn to the interplay between order and chaos. While chaos introduces unpredictability, it is through order that we find clarity and direction. Embrace order not as a constraint, but as a framework within which creativity can flourish. Use it to distill complexity into comprehensible forms, allowing your work to resonate deeply with your audience. For me, order is not the antithesis of creativity; it is the vessel that carries it forward."
—Anna Ádám
Founder of the School of Disobedience
—Anna Ádám
Founder of the School of Disobedience
Photo: Fortepan / Horváth Péter