Peter Elbow talks about private language as a way in which children can “[build] sandcastles or draw pictures” (58), either for themselves or to be shown to others. The relation between these two ideas, private work versus public work, seems to be extremely important. While many of my students are used to writing for a grade, few of them seem to actually write to develop or express ideas. In many of my students papers, they seem to be unwilling to take the risk of letting me view their “experience[s] and material[s]” (57).

I believe this to be because, while getting a low grade is unpleasant, getting a “subpar” grade on something that you care about is truly painful. There is a difference between getting an “F” on a generic paper about technology and getting an “F” on a paper dealing with something you truly love. However, because there is nothing of themselves in the paper, or because they honestly don’t believe what it is that they’re writing, the generic technology paper lacks purpose.

Instead of trying to convince their reader, they present information in a way that, while technically completing the task, makes me wonder: “What the hell is the point of this?!”

The worst attempts happen when it is obvious that the student doesn’t even believe what he/she is writing. As they are unable to “initiate” the argument, they are forced to “reply” to general classroom discussions instead of focusing on how to develop and “sustain” (57) their argument. When this happens, but I am able to see tiny glimpses of the student’s inner-feelings peeking through generic support, I want to hurl my laptop across my room. It shows that there is something there. It acknowledges the fact that the student is not hopeless. However, it shows the problem that comes with the teacher-student power dynamic.

The student is scared of me. I am not a friend. I am the enemy. I offer nothing except big words meant to confuse. I offer crushed dreams. So instead of presenting themselves to me, they present what they believe it is that I want to see.

Damn it, all I want to see is an essay that contains a hint of who they are. And a Works Cited page.

I may have to settle for only the Works Cited page.

In his conclusion to “Writing with Teachers: A Conversation with Peter Elbow,” Bartholomae is reluctant to formally conclude his argument, because his conversation with Elbow continues. This got me thinking about the open-endedness of the idea of discussion and dialogue, and how this open-endedness is perhaps antithetical to the idea of writing a conclusion-driven argumentative paper.  If we are encouraging students to recognize their place in the conversation—that is, to situate themselves “in time” and “inside a practice” (65)—then how can we ask them to, in a way, conclude that conversation with their own, albeit hopefully thoughtful, argument? Our interest in well-considered thesis statements does not necessarily have to suggest this, of course, but for many of my students the idea that they are suggesting something potentially useful in an effort to merely join in the dialogue is completely foreign to their already developed sense of the “purpose” of writing. I am constantly reminding my students to avoid absolutes, to think critically, to avoid reducing issues to an either/or, black/white dichotomy; this is because I see real use for this skills in the “real world”, and not just while composing a piece of academic writing. But this focus I think at times confuses the issue. What am I asking them to do, if not to conclude something? And if they vacillate between two sides of an issue, claiming both are correct (a good practice) I tell them they must find an argument, a stance, a debatable position from which to operate. To most of my students, these two positions are contradictory. Just like Bartholomae is reluctant to conclude while his discussion is ongoing, my students find themselves reluctant to conclude in a misguided effort to avoid absolutism. I’m not sure how to demonstrate to them the usefulness of the thesis-guided essay in a way that helps them see themselves as part of the dialogue.

I removed the section on audience from my Rubric, because I had no idea how to properly grade it. I mean… Okay, don’t use slang. Be respectful. Provide context. Great, you’ve got it… Now what?

…Audience is a weird thing for me in general. On one hand, it’s been a constant problem among my students. I have one student who relies very heavily on pop culture references, but assumes that the reader will obviously know what she’s talking about. How could you NOT know about Kylie and Tyga? They’re all over Instagram. Don’t you use Instagram, Mr. Lang?

…So, on that angle, yes. Audience is important. The idea of removing audience from writing (like Bartholomae and Elbow discuss) is risky.

Yet, I just recently helped a recent graduate with her first paper: a personal reflection written in APA. It was a very weird assignment; asking the student to be simultaneously professional and intimate. Like cuddling up to someone during a Job Interview.

I was able to figure out the instructor’s intent (drilling the student on APA via a low stakes paper), but she was so caught up in what she thought the “tone” for APA was supposed to be that she completely forgot her rhetorical purpose. The paper reeked of Engfish. She was trying to write about herself without actually being present. This perceived academic audience sucked the life out of her paper.

So what I ended up doing recently was to tell students to just… be themselves. But I’m really not sure how to approach this. Audience is important, but… Little confused.