Ignite Deep Learning with Creative Writing in the Classroom

When students take a literature class, they often expect the familiar routine: read, analyze, write essays, repeat. But what happens when we shake it up and ask them to step creatively into the voices of the historical figures they’re studying? The results, as I’ve discovered in my teaching, can be transformative.

Benjamin Bloom’s 1956 taxonomy of knowledge, still considered a pedagogical standard (with some revisions), suggests that creating is the highest level of learning. When students can take apart information and put it back together again in a new way, they’ve fully integrated that knowledge into themselves. It’s not just remembering a rote list of facts (level 1) or understanding what those facts means (level 2). It’s not applying facts and ideas to real-world situations (level 3) or analyzing what different components make up ideas (level 4). Nor is it evaluating (level 5) — scrutinizing and making judgments about information and ideas.

A visual representation of Bloom's revised taxonomy, with indications of possible classroom activities associated with each level. — Bloom’s revised taxonomy organized as a pyramid of learning levels with explanations of each, created by Tidema. CC-BY-4.0, Wikimedia.

When my students turn in creative assignments, I get to see all the levels at work: have they remembered and understood what’s happening in the readings and the historical facts? Have they caught key themes and concepts? Are they able to answer questions about them? Have they correctly identified the components of the information and concepts? Can they judge what is biased versus factual, what information is reliable and what is suspect? And then finally, when they blend it all together in a creative way, I can see what they’ve truly learned. Any concepts they haven’t quite grasped stand out clearly, and we can work on those further.

While I use creative writing in a literature class—a natural fit—it can be used in any subject, in and outside of the humanities. Have your theology student write a letter to God. Have your aerospace engineering student write a story about designing a turbine blade. Have your computer science student write a haiku in binary code. This approach works for any subject matter.

And let’s not forget the importance of fun! These assignments are often far more engaging for students to write than yet another analytical research paper. And they’re more enjoyable for us professors to read too.

If you’re worried about academic rigor, don’t be: you can ask your students to include a short essay reflecting on the process of creation. What sources and research did they engage with? Why did they choose that particular diction and imagery? What parts of the class readings inspired them? (This reflection process also uses Bloom’s highest level, creating).

Reader Responses: A Simple Starting Point

Let me show you one of the simplest ways I use creative assignments: reader responses in my course “Witches, Warriors, and Wonder Women: Women, Power, and Writing in History.” It’s a second-year course that meets both Fine Arts and Literature and Writing Intensive curriculum requirements.

I present the reader responses and creative option in my syllabus this way:

Written reader responses, 15%. Let’s dive into some reader responses! You’ll need to submit 10 of these total (no more than one per module). Each response should be about one double-spaced page. Be sure to turn it in before we discuss that person in class (for example, bring your Joan of Arc response on a day we talk about her). Graded ✓+ (3 points), ✓ (2 points), ✓- (1 point), or 0 points for not turned in.

(a) Feeling creative? You can mix it up! For up to 5 of your responses, write something in the voice of the historical figure we’re studying (like Boudica or Joan of Arc). Just make sure it shows you’ve really connected with the texts.

(b) Prefer prose? Submit 5 or more responses that explore how the historical figure and the texts about her make you think about women, power, and writing. Don’t forget to back up your thoughts with quotes (include page numbers too!).

A surprising number of students choose Option A pretty frequently! (This particular class is in Medieval Studies, cross-listed with English, History, and Gender Studies. It often attracts the lit kids and poets so I know I’m going to get some fantastic creative writing—but students in all majors turn in remarkable work!

Three of my students volunteered to let me publish their writing here.

Boudica: Celtic Warrior Queen

By Paul Walter—Boudica statue, Westminster, London, England. CC BY 2.0, Wikimedia

The first piece was written by civil engineering student Kate Ancona in the voice of Boudica, Celtic warrior-queen. We had read Tacitus’s account of Boudica and the uprising she led in about 61 A.D. against the Romans occupying Britain; we had also read William Cowper’s “Boadicea, An Ode” (1782). Kate captured beautiful details from Tacitus (like her flaming hair ) and drew inspiration from Cowper’s metrics. She meditates on Boudica’s iron strength, her fierce warriorhood, her quest for revenge against the violence done to her and her daughters and to her Iceni people.

Queen of the Rebellion

By: Boudica

I stood tall against the storm,
Iron in my veins, a mother’s scorn,
For daughters shamed and lands defiled,
I raised my sword, fierce and wild.

They came with chains, with fire and lies,
But I, Boudica, would not be disguised,
By their power, by their might,
I called my people to the fight.

We lit the night with Roman fear,
For every tear, for every year,
I became the roar of ancient land,
A queen who’d die, but never stand.

In history’s grip, I’ll hold my name,
A woman’s strength, forever flame,
Beneath the earth, my heart may rest,
But my spirit rides, the warrior’s quest.

Lady Brilliana Harley

By Unknown author. DOI. Public Domain, Wikimedia.

This second piece was written by psychology student Anastasia Tejeda about a lesser-known aristocratic British woman who perished in the English Civil War while defending her family home. Notice how Anastasia approached the assignment thoughtfully, presenting contextual details about Lady Brilliana and assembling many pieces of information to imagine the rallying speech she might have given before battle. We have diary entries from Lady Brilliana but no account from her during her final siege. We rely instead on the account of an observer, Captain Davies. Anastasia masterfully captures the rallying rhetoric of the battlefield, drawing on Queen Elizabeth’s Speech to the Troops at Tilbury, which we’d read shortly before Lady Brilliana.

Anastasia’s Introduction

Like Joan of Arc and Queen Elizabeth I before her, Lady Brilliana Harley held military command and power during a time of war. Defender of her family’s castle in her husband’s absence during the English Civil War, she endured and emerged victorious as a Parliamentarian in a seven-week-long siege of the estate. Captain Priamus Davies, in his account of the siege, writes of the “honorable and gallant” Lady Harley and her confident, wise, and authoritative leadership (Hudson, The Grand Quarrel, 85). On August 22, 1643, the besieged received intelligence of the “low condition the Parliament party [was in] throughout the kingdom,” encouraging Harley to surrender (Hudson, 88). Yet far from despairing, Davies writes that “the noble lady protested that she would rather choose an honourable death, for she was confident that God would own His cause both in the public and private. We needed no better an encouragement” (Hudson, 89). This is the encouragement I imagine Harley would have given her troops on that night:

The Brampton Bryan Castle Address

My people, we have defended our home well thus far, and by the grace and care of God have proven ourselves brave and steadfast. I pledge to you, my loyal household, that as God has entrusted this estate to me to protect and preserve, He shall not abandon us now. So long as we stand here alive, so too is our cause alive, whatever news we hear from the outside. I urge you to remain firm and fight on against those who dare to make war against God and the sacred institution of Parliament. I will not abandon our commission for reason of fear. We shall fight, and fight nobly, certain of our favor with the Almighty, for should we perish, we shall perish nobly as well, preferring death to cowardice. I am confident in our imminent victory, and the glory and courage with which we will continue to fight until it is ours.

Anastastia’s Reflection on Creative Assignments

In composing a speech in the voice of Lady Harley, I was able to step inside her world, catching a glimpse of her convictions, passions, desires, and dreams, or what they might have been. When writing in prose on a historical figure, I am an outsider, evaluating and interpreting their life, drawing comparisons and conclusions about them. Speaking from the perspective of Lady Harley, I began to ask questions I never had before. What was she feeling at that moment? What were the words she would have said? Why would she choose these words and not others? I stepped into the voice of Lady Harley and learned who she was, not simply what she did.

Joan of Arc

The third piece was written by Megan Ferrello, a history student, about Joan of Arc. Notice how Megan selected key details from Joan’s trials and stories written about her to get into Joan’s inner world. The only compositions we have directly from Joan—and even these are not certain—are a few letters written from the battlefield to rulers and to French cities. Megan pulled together details from various sources written about Joan, including her trial testimony, to weave a beautiful picture. Megan’s deliberate punctuation choices also reveal much about how she imagines Joan’s voice.

Joan of Arc: Reader Response—Poem

I led men into combat
And it’s true I dressed as them
But I battled under God’s order
So why see me and condemn?

I have been beaten and battered and bruised
But those were physical attacks
I fear this quarrel you’ve brought me to
Is something that from which I cannot come back

My only desire was to serve Him
And perhaps in the end I did
Yet the words of earthly men scream louder
My actions they forbid

Like my holy Mother
I remain untouched
Though fire and flame consume me
My purity I still clutch

I cry for Michael, for Catherine, for Margaret
For they have never led me wrong
I remain steadfast in my devotion
So, to Heaven’s arms I now belong

They labeled me a heretic and an idolater
But history will know the truth
Of a girl who fought for God and Country
Who was taken down in her youth

While my end was unjust, you must remember
How the story did actually end
Not of the flames, and the tears, and the dread
But of the maiden who refused to bend

Megan’s Reflection on Creative Assignments

I really enjoyed having the creative options for reader responses, as I loved to write poetry when I was young, and these assignments have gotten me back into it! It even enabled me to choose creative alternatives in other classes, which is unusual for me, since the feedback I received from completing poems in Witches, Warriors, and Wonder Women helped me grow in my confidence! I loved putting myself in the mind of the historical woman, and I think it allowed me to read the primary sources at a deeper level.

The Impact: What Creative Writing Reveals

See what happens when students move beyond traditional analysis into creativity? Each student discovered something different through the creative process—not just about their historical subjects, but about their own capacity for empathy, research, and synthesis. They weren’t just analyzing these women’s experiences; they were wrestling with the same questions of power, identity, and purpose that their subjects faced.

Creative writing assignments don’t replace rigorous analysis; they enhance it. When students create an imagined narrative or commentary, they engage more deeply with primary sources, consider multiple perspectives, and grapple with ambiguity in ways that traditional essays sometimes miss. They move from studying history to experiencing it, from analyzing literature to creating it.

Whatever you teach, consider how creative assignments might transform your students’ relationship with your subject matter. The results might surprise you—and them.

Megan J. Hall, Ph.D.
Associate Director
Medieval Institute
University of Notre Dame

March 13, 2024March 13, 2024

Learning about Learned Medieval Women with Dr. Megan J. Hall

This week, we’re looking back at an earlier episode of “Meeting in the Middle Ages.” In late 2022, we chatted with Dr. Megan J. Hall, Assistant Director of the Medieval Institute at the University of Notre Dame. We spoke with her about women’s literacy and learning in medieval England, the trials and tribulations of writing an academic article, and why impromptu bell-ringing can reveal the true value of scholarship.

Studying history can show us the bigger picture. It can help to explain why nation states behave as they do, why complex geopolitical situations emerge, and how entire landscapes have been shaped over time. But it also allows us to connect with the past on a local level. It can show us where we come from. Speaking with Dr. Hall, we were reminded several times that through historical research, people can identify with those who came before. Moments of identity like that can drastically reshape our relationship with the past. Dr. Hall’s meeting with a group of bellringers in rural England is a perfect example. During this surprise encounter, she was able to share her own work with the group and participate in a tradition of bell ringing which has centuries of history. Her work prompted one of the group to ask ‘so, could women read in the Middle Ages?’ Dr. Hall was able to correct a common misconception of women and the possibilities open to them in medieval England. Yes, some women could read! Some books were written specifically for women! This revelation changed the questioner’s view of medieval women, and was a triumphant ‘I knew we could!’ she experienced a moment of solidarity with them.

Dr. Hall’s story, as has been the case for so many of the conversations we’ve had on Meeting on the Middle Ages, is also a reminder of the privilege that medievalists have. We are able to visit museums, archives, libraries, and go beyond the public spaces. We can consult ancient materials. We don’t have to rely on facsimiles (well, sometimes we do). We can work with the original, turning it over in our hands and connecting with its creator. In doing so, we become another link in a chain that has been forged over centuries. With the Ancrenne Wisse it begins with the object’s creator, perhaps the scribe or composer of a manuscript. It binds together dozens of men and women who received the text and used it in their lives. Dr. Hall is part of that chain. And in telling her story, we all become a part of it too.

Thanks for listening. See you next time in the Middle Ages.

Will Beattie & Ben Pykare
Medieval Institute
University of Notre Dame

Hall-Transcript Download

September 20, 2023May 23, 2025

Gendering the Harpy: Mythology, Medievalism, and Macabre Femininity

I have a fascination with the strange and obscure, and if I find oddities and curiosities during my travels that intersect with my medieval interests, even better. On a recent trip to Italy, I encountered a creature from both Greek mythology and medieval bestiaries at one of the most wonderfully macabre sites I’ve explored.

While on vacation in Rome this summer, I visited the Capuchin Crypt, an underground mausoleum containing an elaborate arrangement of human bones – lots and lots of bones. No one knows who designed the beautiful and haunting configurations comprised from the bones of approximately 3,700 bodies, presumably those belonging to Capuchin monks who sought refuge from religious persecution in France and perished while in Rome.

Unfortunately, photos are not allowed, and efforts to describe the intricacies and expanse of the design prove rather futile. Skulls and pelvic bones combine to create sculptures reminiscent of butterflies in the arches of doorways. Vertebrae dot and line the ceilings of the chambers like so many fresco tiles. Massive piles of assorted bones have been shaped into seats for carefully posed skeletons. Reviewing his experience, the Marquis de Sade rated the exhibit five stars by modern standards.

Inside one of the chambers of the Capuchin Crypt in Rome, Italy, courtesy of the Liturgical Arts Journal.

But the crypt is a 17^th-century construction. It’s the museum that contains the medieval bits, and that’s where I noticed an early print book, dated to the 15^th or 16^th century, that clearly depicted a cockatrice and that the museum had identified as a harpy.[1] To be fair, the label included a question mark, indicating that the curator was unsure as to what kind of creature was on display.

Far less familiar than the harpy, the cockatrice is a legendary creature with a dragon’s body and a rooster’s head. The beast was believed to be hatched from a rooster’s egg incubated by either a serpent or a toad. Its first recorded mention in English appears in a Wycliffite bible dated 1382.[2]

Labeled as a *koketrice* in this medieval bestiary from England circa 1500, the creature combines a rooster’s head and feet with a dragon’s wings and tail. (Yale Center for British Art, Helmingham Herbal and Bestiary, folio 18v).

The cockatrice seems to have become synonymous with the basilisk in medieval bestiaries. [3] Most often, basilisks are depicted as a bird, typically a rooster, with a snake’s take. In some illustrations, the basilisk is all snake in terms of physical characteristics, though often with a crest reminiscent of a rooster’s head. The mythologies of the cockatrice and basilisk also share similar elements. As with the basilisk, it is fatal for a person to look the cockatrice in the eyes. Both creatures’ breath can also cause death according to folklore.

This medieval bestiary dated 1225-50 and produced in England portrays the basilisk as the king of serpents with lesser snakes paying homage. The creature exhibits mostly serpent features but retains the wings, legs, and crown of a cock. (Bodleian Library, MS Bodley 764, folio 93v).

A harpy, in contrast to the cockatrice, has a bird’s body with a human head and no serpent components. When I mentioned the mislabeling to the front desk staff, I was told that a historian had recently visited the museum and indicated the reverse but without additional explanation. I assured them that the rooster-headed serpent was—hands down—a cockatrice. Harpies have bird bodies, human heads, and zero snake parts. As imperatively, harpies are depicted as female.

Illustration of a harpy from Ulisse Aldrovandi’s *Monstrorum Historia*, Bologna, 1642, via *World History Encyclopedia*.

According to Greek mythology, harpyiai were winged female spirits thought to be embodied in sharp gusts of wind, and while certainly fearsome, they were not always so bestial. Known as the “hounds of Zeus,” the female entities were sent from Olympus to snatch people or objects from the earth. Sudden disappearances were, as a result, often attributed to the harpies.

In their earliest representations, harpies appeared as winged women, sometimes with the lower bodies of birds. They were vengeful creatures but not hideous in appearance. Writing between 750 and 650 BC, Hesiod describes harpies as winged maidens with beautiful hair, whom he praises for swiftness in flight that exceeds the speed of storms and birds. Homer, writing roughly around the same time, mentions a female harpy but says nothing derogatory about her looks.

By the end of the classical period, harpies had become monstrous portraits of femininity. They were birds with the heads of maidens, their faces visibly hungry, and had long claws extending from their hands. In the writings of Aeschylus around 500 BC, they are described as disgusting creatures with weeping eyes and foul breath. Virgil, in his Aeneid dated 30-19 BC, refers to them as bird-bodied and female-faced with talons for hands, whose faces reflect insatiable hunger and whose droppings are notably vile. These grotesque portrayals of the harpy—half woman, half monster—are the most well-known from classical mythology.

Harpies depicted as winged women take food from the table of the blind king Phineus on an Athenian vase from 480 BC housed at the J. Paul Getty Museum.

Interestingly, one mythographer did stick a rooster’s head on the otherwise female body of a harpy. Writing in Rome during the 1st century AD, Hyginus describes harpies as having feathered bodies, wings, and cocks’ heads and the arms, bellies, breasts, and genitals of a human woman.[4] Still, there are no serpent parts here to suggest that a medieval image of a cockatrice might instead be a harpy based on Hyginus’s design.

During the Middle Ages, harpies may not have been so distinctly gendered, at least in their encyclopedic cataloguing. Most representations in medieval bestiaries depict the creatures with bird bodies and female faces, but several manuscript illustrations appear androgynous and some even portray the harpy with a beard. The beard, however, may not be indicative of a male beast but instead emphasize the beastliness of the female creature.

Illumination of a harpy with facial feathers reminiscent of a beard from the medieval encyclopedia *Der Naturen Bloeme*, or *The Flower of Nature*, written in Middle Dutch and produced in Flanders circa 1350 (Koninklijke Bibliotheek, KA 16, folio 75r).

Furthermore, Ovid’s retelling of the Jason story in his Metamorphoses specifically mentions the harpies having the faces of virgin women. Written in the 9^th century, Ovid’s collection of myths served as a source text for many medieval writers, including Dante Alighieri and Geoffrey Chaucer, and his treatment of the harpies suggests that their association with female monstrosity continued to resonate soundly during the period.

Engraving of the harpies in the Forest of the Suicides in reference to Dante Alighieri’s *Inferno* by French printmaker Gustave Doré (1832-83).

Turning to the etymology of the term, the first recorded instance of harpy in English actually appears in Chaucer’s Monk’s Tale around 1405.[5] The creatures are not specifically gendered; they are simply mentioned among the monsters defeated by Hercules, at which point the text reads, “He Arpies slow, the crueel bryddes felle” [“He slew the Harpies, the fierce cruel birds”] (2100).[6] Yet one cannot help but see the feminine slippage in the spelling of “bryd,” meaning both “bird” and “bride” in Middle English.[7] Indeed, the term harpy adopts a derogatory connotation in writing by the mid- to late 15^th century.[8] The term cockatrice, too, took on a negative meaning specifically with respect to women by the mid-16^th century, at which point it referred to a prostitute or a sexually promiscuous woman.[9]

Illumination of a harpy with a female face from the medieval encyclopedia *Liber de natura rerum*, or *Book on the Nature of Things*, written in Latin and produced in France during the 13^th century (Bibliothéque Municipale de Valenciennes, MS 320, folio 86r).

While it’s possible that the harpy may have maintained some gender ambiguity during the medieval period, contemporary etymology and ideology has synonymized the harpy with femaleness but also, importantly, with power. The sheer number of times Hillary Clinton was called a “harpy” during her presidential campaign highlights how a powerful woman was characterized as not only threatening but also monstrous while pursuing a position historically deemed male domain.[10]

Harpies in medieval fantasy films are also perched at the intersection of femaleness and power, glorious in their might regardless of how monstrous their bodies may be. The Last Unicorn, a 1982 animated adaptation of Peter S. Beagle’s 1968 novel, provides a poignant example. Captured by a traveling circus, the titular character finds herself caged across from a harpy, the only authentic creature of legend in the menagerie apart from the unicorn herself.

In a magnificently ominous scene, the audience hears the harpy before they see her. A low growl grows to a raspy screech as the harpy appears on screen. She appears more bird than human, but her grotesque body is blatantly female with three elongated breasts visible beneath her beard and boar’s tusks. A knotted tree limb cracks from the strength of her talons, and her eyes glow red with rage when her captor approaches her cage. Once freed, she kills the old woman who boasted of keeping a harpy captive when no one else could.

In *The Last Unicorn*, the titular character recognizes the harpy as Celaeno, the same name given to one of the harpy sisters in the Greek story of Aeneas. The unicorn is freed from her cage under the cover of night, and she then proceeds to free her fellow immortal.

Considering the harpy’s history, it seems a shame to mistake her for any other creature from Greek mythology or medieval bestiaries. She has been such a fraught representation of both femininity and monstrosity, but she has also endured as a symbol of female ferocity. Even as her beauty eroded over the centuries, her power has not waned, and her macabre femininity has never ceased to inspire fear.

Emily McLemore, Ph.D.
Alumni Contributor, Department of English

[1] Photos are prohibited in the museum, so I have no physical record of the image. I attempted to contact the Capuchin Museum regarding the object on display to acquire additional information, including the date and location of production, but received no response.

[2] “Cockatrice,” n. Oxford English Dictionary.

[3] “Basilisk,” The Medieval Bestiary.

[4] Fabulae from The Myths of Hyginus, translated and edited by Mary Grant.

[5] “Harpy,” n., def. 1, Oxford English Dictionary.

[6] Geoffrey Chaucer, The Monk’s Tale, The Canterbury Tales, Harvard’s Geoffrey Chaucer Website.

[7] “Brid” and “Brid(e,” n., Middle English Compendium, University of Michigan.

[8] “Harpy,” n., def. 2, Oxford English Dictionary.

[9] “Cockatrice,” n. def. 3, Oxford English Dictionary.

[10] For more on Greek mythology, female monstrosity, and contemporary resonance, I recommend Jess Zimmern’s Women and Other Monsters: Building a New Mythology (Beacon Press 2022).