Sep 182015
 

Murray asserts that process should be taught over product as it is through the writing process that we discover language, the world, and ourselves. While the ideas presented in “Teaching Writing as a Process” are interesting and compelling, I am not sure how well they would work with our first year composition sequence. It seems, in many ways, incompatible. He states, “This is not a question of correct or incorrect, of etiquette or custom. This is a matter of far higher importance.” While this point is well taken, in our ENC1101 courses we do not have this luxury. When we grade our papers with the rubric provided, we are essentially saying there is a “correct” and “incorrect” way of writing. Further, he also advises that in order for students to seek and find the truth we must avoid giving them assignments as doing so “cheat[s] your student of the opportunity to learn the process of discovery.” Again, another incompatibility. Our sequence (at least for first year GTAs) comes with standard prompts and standard readings which will, for the most part, produce essays following the same lines of thinking. We know what kind of essay we want to be produced. We know what kind of “truth” we want them to find. So, can Murray’s ideas meet the goals of first year composition? We cannot answer that question until we determine what the goals are for first year composition, bringing us back to the discussion we had during our first class.

Sep 172015
 

“But I believe that in most every intellectual endeavor, the extremes of its work come from an unteachable dark.” -Galchen

In an attempt to explain how writing can/cannot be taught, Galchen introduces this idea of the “unteachable dark” in reference to what we might consider natural talent. The idea intrigues me because the suggestion is that in order to reach “the extremes” (i.e. success/fame) one must tap into this unknown realm of greatness.

It seems that the conversation is always driven to the extremes. As if a simple understanding of how to write will never be sufficient through the eyes of the successful. As writers, we hold ourselves in such high regard. We talk about “the craft” and “the art of writing” like our shit doesn’t stink. But it does. It smells like shit.

I guess what I’m getting at is that the idea of teaching writing and the idea of teaching greatness are often blurred. Students who HAVE to learn to write are completely uninterested in “the unteachable dark”. We (teachers of writing and creative writers) look at writing under a microscope and often forget to take our eyes off the lens and adjust back to the world around us. I think that often we become part of the problem in allowing students of writing to tap into their own “darkness.”

INFORMATION OVERLOAD!!! Focus on your thesis! What’s with all the comma splices? Did you address the prompt? Dude, this isn’t 5-6 pages…

What I’m getting at is I don’t think we allow ourselves, at times, to step back and observe “the process.” Part of me (perhaps the cynical man I’ve become over the years) feels that the quality of writing will inevitably improve/diminish regardless of how much attention/feedback I give to the individual student. The other part of me (perhaps the writer that holds “the craft” in such high regard) wants to coddle each student and show them the intricacies of what they are doing right/wrong. But, either way, it is not within my power to access the “darkness” within them, if it exists at all.

 

Still not sure I’m doing this right…

Sep 172015
 

The “felt sense” as something that is somehow tied into the physical sensation of a writer, a “bodily awareness” of some kind, doesn’t make intelligible sense to me.  In short, I can’t feel it in the way that it’s described in the Perl piece.  I can, however, reason with the ideas that drive the “felt sense” concept when they are contextualized as part of the vision and revision aspect of composition—something akin to intention.

“What is ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ corresponds to our sense of our intention. We intend to write something, words come, and now we assess if those words adequately capture our intended meaning.”

Beyond who we are as writers, we should be able to relate to this sentiment because of who we are as conscious beings.  Intention—not a formulated plan, but an inborn drive or motive—feels like a pivotal and unavoidable step in the process of consciously, perhaps even unconsciously, communicating ideas.

If this is as close as I can get to the “felt sense” concept, I’ll take it, and I’ll run with the idea that intention is a vital aspect of the composition process for any writer.

Can intention, in this sense, be taught?  In simplest terms, no, I don’t think so.  But, I also don’t think it exists in such abstract terms as “body and mind before they are split apart.”

If we can experience intention and communication, then revisit the latter to “adequately capture” the former, are we not fundamentally moving toward sensational composition?

Sep 162015
 

I loved our reading last week on the banking theory of education.  South Korea has the ultimate CHASE bank monopoly in their form of education.  Corporal punishment was still widely practiced during my tenure at two different high schools in Daejeon.  Teachers literally beat their students with 2×4 wooden boards that had holes drilled into them.  One time I was lecturing in the middle of the day–regular, routine day, just like any other.  A male student began talking to his neighbor and sorta tickling him in his sides.  My co-teacher pulled this student out of my class without saying anything.  Ten minutes later he and the student came back in the classroom and took their seats.  My co-teacher’s face was bright red and he was breathing heavily.  The student’s face was also bright red, not breathing heavily, and he was crying.  I also noticed that the teacher had broken the 2×4 that he had used to beat this students backside.  His name was Park Tae Won and he held these broken boards in his hands with a perfectly complacent expression and listened to me finish my lecture.  Later, after class was over, he came up to me and explained that he had beaten the student “like a man” because he had been messing around in the previous class too.

The whole experience was so surreal.  I didn’t say anything in disagreement–I had to work with him on a daily basis and this wasn’t my country or culture–but my immediate reaction was to think, “how is beating a student’s backside with a board” manly?  Then I thought that if he had really wanted to “beat the student like a man” he should have given the student a board so that they were both equally armed.

It wasn’t just men that got beat there either.  Girls got beaten, though not with 2×4’s, not on their backsides, and I don’t recall ever seeing a male teacher beating a female student.  It was strictly female teachers beating female students.  The teachers used cylindrical rods about the size of a forearm in length and a finger in girth.  The girls would kneel on top of a chair with their feet tilted up toward the ceiling, and the teachers would beat the bottoms of their feet.  Or, if not their feet, the teachers would have the girls hold their hands out, palms up, and beat the interior of their hands.

Students were beaten for all manner of misbehavior, but the most common was for tardiness.  Every day I went to school, I’d walk past a line of students in the parking lot waiting to go to the gymnasium where they would be beaten and then dismissed to first period class.  It was always the same students, always the same infractions.  Other reasons beating the students included: not having the right uniform, talking, not doing homework, being disrespectful to a teacher, and getting into fights with other students.

The most unfair reason for getting a beating was not having the proper uniform.  Both of the high schools I taught at were in low-income areas of a mid-size city.  Many had single parent homes and did not have much money for food, let alone the proper uniform.  So they got beat.  As I passed these students in the mornings, eager to get there a bit early and down a cup of coffee before first period, I’d think to myself, “What sense does it make to keep beating a student when they will never have the money to buy the proper uniform?”

Tradition and conformity are strong in South Korea, sometimes for the good, sometimes not.

 Posted by at 6:47 pm
Sep 162015
 

For the purposes of teaching ENC 1101, I think us, as Instructors or GTAs, face the biggest challenge to the writing process: how do we get our students to give a damn? Sure, you can threaten them with the fact that their work will be graded, and that they need a C or above to pass the course otherwise they will be forced to sit through this “hell” again next semester. But what are we actually accomplishing in doing so? Are we inspiring them to consider and think about the issues that are important to them? Or are we simply forcing them to follow a formulaic method for writing an analytical paper?

I have to agree with Natalie in her discussion post, and Murray’s concept of 85% pre-writing. For beginning writers, the ART of writing must be explored, as well as the “formula.” On Monday I attempted to hold a class discussion on this very concept, in a field which I thought was applicable to my students: social media. However, rather than let themselves truly think about the topic at hand, they all tried to give me answers that they thought I would want to hear, which was, to say the least, counterproductive. In their minds, they are not writing these papers for themselves, or to reach some deeper level of meaning, but rather they are writing them for me, the “all-knowing authority figure.” And to be quite honest, I wouldn’t even know how to properly grade a paper with completely original thought yet riddled with structural, grammatical, and gasp! MLA errors. (Flashback to GTA orientation when a paper that was grammatically/structurally sound, yet not thought provoking received a higher grade than one with creative thought).

We can say we want papers with this type of originality, and that we should strive to teach our students this, but what rubric exists for grading an innovative thought process?

Sep 162015
 

Prewriting is everything that takes place before the first draft.

Prewriting usually takes about 85 percent of the writer’s time…

Pre-writing may include research and daydreaming, note-making and

outlining, title-writing and lead-writing.

(From Murray’s “Teaching Writing as a Process Not Product”, pp. 2-3)

I am impressed and surprised to find these words in Murray’s article. This is often my biggest beef with writing instructors; I have rarely encountered any instructor who taught this concept to his/her students. So often the focus is on the act of writing–the act of typing words into the big blank white square of Microsoft Word. So often I’ve heard teachers say things like, “Start writing your introduction… just get your ideas on the page.” Or, “As you write, your ideas will come to the surface.” And on the listening end, students who are already hellbent on meeting the required page length start typing and writing hysterically, without ANY IDEA of what they want to say. Et voila! Le terrible paper.

As instructors we are so often focused on the 15 percent — the writing and the rewriting. “This is how to avoid a comma splice”; “You didn’t write in MLA format”; “Go back and make these edits”; “Work on your rough draft and we’ll go from there”.

When was the last time we spent even a full CLASS period, let alone Murray’s proportional “85 percent” of our instructional time, teaching our students how to “research and daydream…”, make notes, outline, brainstorm titles or leads?

I find this whole 85/15 thing a critical element in the current debate about what we should have students write about: readings they don’t care about, or personal passion areas? The reality is the latter topics are often producing better writing in part because the students don’t need the pre-writing phase (or at least to the same extent they do for the former). I.e., you don’t need to research and daydream and brainstorm about the benefits of deep sea fishing if you naturally take an interest in it–you’ve been organically “pre-writing” in your personal life long before you entered the classroom.

I could go on about this because I think the 85/15 thing is fascinating, but consider… If pre-writing is this important (and I think it is), how do we teach it? How do we drastically alter our pedagogy and our content to address the pre-writing phase? One might also argue that if instructors are largely unconcerned with teaching pre-writing, as they seem to be, what’s stopping us from moving into this heavier focus on personal interest areas in our writing courses?

 

Sep 162015
 

The New York Times article, “Can Writing be Taught?,” should be more aptly titled: Can Talent Be Taught?

Dare I say, of course writing can be taught––I’m writing this right now, in this moment in time, and
perhaps, someone is reading it shortly thereafter (hopefully). I am able to write these words because I
was put through a grueling process: education.

As children: first, we practice letter recognition; then we practice tracing letters; then we go on to
write our own letters without the help of guided dashes; then our own words; then our own sentences; then
sooner or later we are reading comprehensively, and the basic seeds of writing and reading have been
formally sprouted.

The comprehension of the mechanical side of any procedure demands a teaching process, and on equal grounds
a learning process––the master imbues his mastery upon the apprentice and knowledge is spread. This is in
terms of the purely mechanical!

Rivka Galchen asks: “I wonder if we can really teach someone to be a biologist…will teaching really produce
the next Charles Darwin or Rachel Carson or Francis Crick?” Yes, we can force feed facts to students; and
yes, with a hard enough work ethic they can learn anything. But no, we cannot teach passion, nor can we
teach a student his/her own natural proclivities.

I consider myself a naturally gifted writer and it is a talent I have been honing since I was able to use a
pen all by my lonesome––but I can’t throw a ball to save a life, let alone my own. Now, if I was so
inclined: I could certainly learn to throw a ball in league with those who were naturally predisposed to do
so. Will I ever be as good as the naturally talented? Will I ever possess the same intensity of passion
as the naturally talented? That is another matter to weigh in another hand.

Sep 152015
 

There is no singular way to teach writing because there isn’t an objective correctness to writing itself. Instead of memorizing a bank of information, we ask students to look inside themselves and write. To a new writer, or an experienced writer who has recently developed enhanced self-awareness, this is terrifying. Without a set of objective guidelines and a lens for self-editing, it’s hard to know what’s working. Students want some set of rules to hold onto, some box to check to say they’re doing OK. They don’t realize that writing is a creative process, with as many successful strategies as there are writers.

Teaching product may be a strategy for giving that sense of security. Similar to the scientific process of hypothesizing, testing and evaluating, we also teach our writing students a formula – read, discuss, analyze, pre-write, draft, revise, rewrite – with checks and criticisms at each stage. But these checks can have a limiting effect. Writing is already an intensely vulnerable activity, and critiques after a piece is done “does little more than confirm their lack of self-respect for their work and for themselves …” according to Murray’s “Teaching Writing as a Process Not Product.” The concept of teaching process is intimidating to both student and teacher in its vagueries, but breaking out of these confining routines may be more fruitful.

Sep 152015
 

Murray’s approach to teaching writing is similar to my own. I think that we as teachers have to show our students not just how to write but how to think of writing as a process. Writing doesn’t just happen; it is an experience (arguably good or bad, depending on your viewpoint) that is underrated, under-taught, and underappreciated. I have told my students many times to plan out their essays and thesis statement before writing. I believe planning is essential and can come in many different forms. Several of my students have showed me their prewriting with bullet points and little thought bubbles and I think they are good approaches to the essays.

I think Murray is a little off the mark when it comes to his assumptions on how much time students should spend on prewriting, writing, and rewriting. He states that prewriting should take 85% of the writer’s time, while writing and rewriting should take 1% and 14%. Even as a graduate student I have never spent that amount of time prewriting my essays. I think he’s really overshooting on this point. I think that writing should take the majority of the time, with prewriting taking the least amount. It is important that writing remains the writer’s focus.

 Posted by at 10:28 pm
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