Kathleen

Can writing change the world?

 Post-class Discussion Reflection  No Responses »
Dec 082015
 

During the first week of class, I cynically read Bizzell’s “Composition Studies Saves the World!” in response to Fish’s “What Should Colleges Teach?” I remember thinking, “Writing. We should teach writing. Leave the rest alone.” I was surprised that this was even a debated topic. I didn’t encounter ideological debates in the classrooms of my undergraduate career – not in philosophy, journalism or composition courses – and didn’t expect to. Now that the semester is ending, I wish these debates had occurred. Bizzell wasn’t suggesting indoctrinating students, but simply encouraging them to question the rational behind rhetoric that surrounds us, so they can eventually interpret the world on their own well-reasoned terms.

In the beginning of the semester, I saw class discussions as a way for students to understand the text and prepare for their essay. I remember covering our first reading, Restak. from a comprehensive perspective instead of rhetorical. During class, I assigned groups to dissect different pieces of the text and create an outline. While this may have been useful for developing a close reading, we didn’t move to a critical analysis. By the end of class, discussions were our main activity. In one of my classes, students readily engaged with one another and challenged them on their beliefs. Students began to see that this rational, argumentative discussion was an extension of what they should be attempting in their writing.

I also began to see that beliefs form in the act of writing. Until an idea is articulated, it only exists as a thin, vague possibility. Students agreed, saying they often didn’t realize they believed something until the pen began to move. Through these individual perspective evaluations, hopefully people begin to critically evaluate their own beliefs and the arguments surrounding them. So yes – writing changes the world, and this can start in composition classrooms.

On being more of a teaching person

 Classroom Praxis  No Responses »
Dec 082015
 

This summer, I was weirdly excited to teach composition. I had visions of wearing tweed jackets, smoking a pipe, and putting my feet on my desk (in my own office) while writing lesson plans in a leather bound notebook. In reality, I discovered much of teaching was resisting the urge to be snarky or passive aggressive when responding to student emails begging for an excused absence because:

  • Grandma died
  • Their car was stolen
  • Their dog was in a coma
  • They celebrated the Feast of the Flying Spaghetti Monster

… the list goes on.

And oddly enough, the gig doesn’t come with an office, or even a tweed jacket. Mostly I devised lesson plans the night before class while wearing my favorite penguin pajamas. But I learned a few things along the way.

  1. Fake enthusiasm. If I’m not interested in what we’re doing, the students definitely won’t be. I learned to either muster some sincere excitement, fake my enthusiasm, or sympathize with my students. Sarcasm sometimes works here.
  2. Students have no idea how unprepared we are. Much like grades, students seem to believe that lesson plans are handed down from the Composition Gods that Be. I realized I didn’t have to defend my lesson plans or force students to work. Well sometimes I had to coerce them. But mostly, they did what I asked them to in class. It shouldn’t have surprised me that they went along with my plans so readily, but I learned to take ownership of my authority as a teacher.
  3. You can’t force a student to care. I half-assed a few classes during my undergraduate career. I didn’t care at all about college algebra or my introductory psychology studies class. So I shouldn’t have been surprised that so many of my students did not care for writing, and I learned not to take this personally. Some students just want to get through the class, and as teachers we can’t do much to change that.

I could list a few more teaching revelations, but in general I learned to prepare, relax, and be sincere as a teacher. And to find a tweed jacket.

 

Why “Is this right?” makes me want to smack my head against a brick

 Classroom Praxis  No Responses »
Dec 082015
 

My main office hours visitor this semester was an insecure freshman – a nursing major – with very low confidence in her writing abilities, a strong work ethic, and a desperate drive to earn an “A.” After each rough draft was due, she would visit me to discuss how to revise her work. I would hand back her paper with edits and suggestions. Many comments were abstract, such as “This needs more explanation,” or “Why is this claim relevant?” that I hoped would prompt some reflection and meditation on her paper before diving back in.

But students don’t want abstract advice. They want concrete tips and assurance that a specific edit will fulfill the requirements of “good writing.” So in response to my suggestion that the student explain the connection between a certain paragraph and her thesis, my students asked, “So I could just add a sentence here explaining that having a target audience is related to social campaigns because campaigns use advertising?” (or something of the sort).

“There are many different ways you could create the connection. An extra sentence is an option.”

“Well do you think it would work?”

“Probably, depending on how you word it.”

“What about this sentence? Is this right?”

“Sure.” Sigh.

“Is this right?” is one of the most frustrating questions in writing, because it elicits the (likely equally frustrating to students) response “There is no ‘right’ way to do this. Figure out what works for you.”

Students are used to their writing being objectively evaluated by teachers and standardized testing. From their perspective, grades are handed down from an all-knowing writing deity, and not on any subjective basis. Therefore, they begin to see writing as falling into “right” and “wrong” categories. But we know that grades and even general opinions on writing ability are highly subjective. Keats, Whitman and Bronte received scathing reviews in their time, and are now celebrated as “classic” writers. On some level, grading is doing a disservice to students by quantifying the possibilities of “good writing.” Beyond the ability to compose a decent thesis statement, I hope my students become self-aware writers, and this is something that can only be taught so much in the classroom.

I can’t tell how many students will carry their newly acquired writing skills with them, or if they’ll drop them the second they pick up their grade. But as long as a grade is at stake, I’m certain “Is this right?” will stick around.

 

The benefits of artificial communication

 Pre-class Reading Response  No Responses »
Oct 282015
 

By seeing writing as artificial, we can treat it as unrelated to natural processes, which means it is a skill that’s possible to hone. This extends to general communication. Although Emig describes talking as an “irrespressible behavior,” it’s a behavior that can be improved. We can learn to be more eloquent and organized in our speech, just as in writing. Seeing communication as artificial can also prompt students to question what’s normally accepted as truth. When knowledge is viewed as subjective instead of inherent, it can be commented on and subjected to debate. Prompting this kind of critical thinking relative to natural assumptions is the ultimate goal of education.

 

Words define reality

 Pre-class Reading Response  No Responses »
Oct 202015
 

In listening to the Radiolab episode “A Word Without Words,” I was intrigued by the story of the man who lived 27 years without any concept or use of language. Once he learned to sign, he felt his world take shape. He was finally able to connect his visual and physical perceptions of reality with an inner dialogue, which gave the world significance. He began to form ideas.

The power of words in shaping perception is fascinating. It speaks to the power of stories – that an idea or a memory doesn’t exist until we can put it into a language. Margaret Atwood has a beautiful quote about this concept:

“When you are in the middle of a story it isn’t a story at all, but only a confusion; a dark roaring, a blindness, a wreckage of shattered glass and splintered wood; like a house in a whirlwind, or else a boat crushed by the icebergs or swept over the rapids, and all aboard powerless to stop it. It’s only afterwards that it becomes anything like a story at all. When you are telling it, to yourself or to someone else.”

Radiolab’s episode, “Colors,” also speaks to words’ ability to shape perception. There’s no evidence to suggest that humans could see the color blue before 4,500 years ago. Homer uses many colors in The Odyssey, but never blue. He says the sea is “wine-dark.” When analyzing ancient Icelandic, Hindu, Chinese, Arabic and Hebrew texts, the color blue isn’t mentioned. And since the sky is one of the only natural occurrences of blue, it’s natural that no one came up with a word for it. It just wasn’t necessary. So while people could see the color, they didn’t notice it because they didn’t have the right word.

Words shape our realities on a primal level, which means learning happens through the writing process. This makes a strong case for teaching persuasive writing over informative – students discover ideas through writing, provided they’re interested in their topic.

Taking risks and moving beyond ‘fixed’ mindsets

 News Item  No Responses »
Oct 062015
 

In conferences this week, I found myself repeating to students, “Don’t be afraid to speak up.”

I find this tendency to stay quiet in the classroom comes from a student feeling inadequate, or nervous that they don’t know the “right” answer. I explained that in class discussions, there is no “right” answer, and that we need everyone’s voice to be present in order to take part in our conversation. But upon reading their reflections, I found many had labeled themselves as poor writers when the course started. Thankfully, the students recognized their growth throughout the semester, but this initial self-classification can be dangerous. It can hold up a student’s confidence early in the writing process, before they even put pencil to page.

I recently read an NPR article, “Never Too Late: Creating a Climate for Adults to Learn New Skills,” which discusses creating a growth mindset in the classroom. This moves students beyond self-labelling based on perceived skill level towards considering initiative and effort as the materials for growth. It’s a simple concept, but worth repeating.

The article also discusses taking risks as a teacher. It’s easy to get caught in routines, and to (one day) claim we know what works and what doesn’t in the classroom. Even after half a semester, I can feel myself adopting a specific teaching style and persona, and enacting similar drills and discussion activities. But like my students, I need to continue trying new approaches and taking risks.

Why comment rants happen, and other misplaced grading techniques

 Pre-class Reading Response  1 Response »
Sep 232015
 

It’s tempting to get into a punitive mindset while grading papers. For example, although we went over proper MLA citations in class, students were given additional resources on where to find citation information, and no one asked questions about this, it is still incorrect. Or even though we spent an entire class discussing organization, paragraphs wander from their original focus, and it’s difficult to find an overall structure in the paper.

The plus side to grading papers

The plus side to grading papers

We feel ignored and unheard. There is a strong urge to use comments to show what students failed to do, rather than demonstrate how they can improve.  Sommers emphasizes this “hostility and meanspiretedness” as opposed to the computer system’s “calm, reasonable language,” which is more helpful in opening a dialogue with students.

In addition to keeping language objective, we have to be careful our comments are encouraging students to take ownership over their writing. This is difficult to accomplish while giving specific suggestions, and I’m not sure I’ve mastered the craft. One student last week complained about his low essay grade, saying “but I fixed everything you told me to.” There must be a disconnect here. Comments aren’t meant to give students a “fix-it” list, but rather to help them become a better reader for their writing. Until we master this in our commenting, we’ll continue to bang our heads against brick walls and hope for the best.

Teaching writing as a science

 Pre-class Reading Response, Uncategorized  No Responses »
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.

Can we get a shift for this paradigm?

 Pre-class Reading Response  2 Responses »
Sep 022015
 

Perhaps composition is in a paradigm shift. Personally, I’m basing the frameworks of my teaching philosophy on how I was taught composition. I don’t have any other model. As Hairston says in “The Winds of Change: Thomas Kuhn and the Revolution in Teaching Writing,” we teach “systematically from prewriting to writing to rewriting.” We teach that each paragraph should be able to be neatly summarized in a topic sentence, and we teach editing as writing. But staying within a standard mode of teaching because it’s comfortable and familiar may not be a strong defense.

Hairston cites an increase in nontraditional students as the cause for this paradigm shift to process-based learning. It’s clear that the needs of college students are changing. Many are older, many have jobs or families, many are first-generation college students, and many don’t speak English as their first language. A Bachelor’s degree is becoming the baseline requirement for a large majority of careers, encouraging a new kind of student population with different needs.

The text’s encouragement to “intervene during the act of writing if we want to affect its outcome,” and focus on process is well taken. It makes sense to focus on the sources of problems instead of proscribing fixes. Encouraging process over product and writing to discover purpose would encourage student engagement and a movement to discussion and involvement. What does this look like in a classroom level? I’d like to be part of this paradigm shift, but I need a model.

Barbeque or crab cakes?

 introduction (test post)  2 Responses »
Aug 252015
 

I’m Kathleen. I write poems, among other things. I’m from Kansas – the cool part, not the wheat fields. If you flew above Kansas and scraped through the many layers of cloud, you would see hundreds of miles of wheat fields, occasionally speckled with white windmills. You would remember the wheat fields best. They take up space.

But if at night you looked out the window over the northeastern corner, you would see a cluster of illuminated freckles below. That’s Kansas City. We have great barbeque. I wish I liked barbeque. Someone remarked last week that I must miss Kansas City barbeque, and I felt disloyal because I said, “I’m OK with crab cakes.”

me

Not to reinforce the Kansas stereotype. At least these are hills, not plains.

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