Oct 142015
 

Elbow opens his essay with an anecdote: when he can’t find words or thoughts in a social setting, he closes his eyes to ignore his audience. Often, when I am speaking or listening to people––whether it be professionally or casually––I find my eyes constantly wandering with the occasional glue of eye contact taking place just to reassure that I am in fact still listening. A lack of eye contact is often interpreted as a sign of insecurity, and while this might be true in some of my own cases, I find that I am also able to listen and piece a narrative together more clearly when I am not directly staring into a person’s soul. By shutting off or tuning out one sense another grows more strongly. My ears get bigger.

When a student is writing, his/her eyes are virtually closed to their audience––it is them, their computer screen, a deadline, and a grade. Elbow writes that “…we are liable to neglect audience because we write in solitude…young people often need more practice in taking into account points of view different from their own; and that students often have an improverished sense of writing as communication…” (50-51). Constantly, I stress to my class that what they write is part of a larger conversation. A lot of student often make pop culture references, or name check social applications, that would fall deaf upon any other generation. I try to help them understand that those they are conversing with sometimes need some explanatory detail.

Oct 022015
 

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: I really dislike grading. While I understand the point of grading (because they pay us to do it, right?), I have this awful feeling that a “C-” will cause a student to shut down, as opposed to desiring to improve. While there were vast improvements between the two essays, most of those improvements happened to students who had a grade that was originally within the high-C to mid-B range. I had one student who went from a “C-” to a “B+” (out of the more than 15 “C-” grades given), because she actually brought her second essay to me during office hours and worked on it with me. However, 1 out of 15 doesn’t seem all that promising.

To combat this fear, I’ve decided to allow students the ability to “revise” their essays during the conference. While the prompt allows for a student to argue that they deserve a better grade, to be their own “defense lawyer”  against my status of “judge”(Elbow 332), I felt that they would be better served by being allowed to use my comments as a means of training. While the possibility of arguing for a higher grade is still available to all of my students, I’ve offered them the ability to move up 1/3rd of a letter grade (say, from a “C-” to a “C”) by briefly explaining how they would change one problem area in their essay.

My hope is that by allowing them to raise their grades slightly, the students will come to see me as less of an enemy. Additionally, I hope that this will get my students into the habit of revising their writing (which they swear they do, but… yeah, right). Depending on how well this works out, I may get in the habit of allowing minimal revisions after a grade is posted.

Oct 022015
 

The advertising anecdote that Murray used in his essay reminded me of something similar that I faced. For the first TV commercial I wrote, my boss kept asking me to ‘clean up the script’. After the sixth revision, I got really annoyed and I handed him a blank sheet of paper, “Is this clean enough?” He looked at it and then told me what he thought should be changed.

It makes for a funny story but I feel that those revisions where I didn’t know what needed to be changed/removed/added just frustrated me and made me doubt my creative process. And that brings me back to what we discussed last week; about writing being one’s baby. Criticism directed towards the piece of writing seems to be then targeted at the person who wrote it, not the piece itself.  I mean sure, I did revise it to what I thought was wrong but I never really knew what was wrong till my boss sat down with me.

But Murray lets the students arrive at their own conclusions!

Murray’s style of teaching sounds highly appealing and somehow like a utopian concept. One-on-one writing advice? Hell yeah, I’d take some of that please and add fries to that. But, his students display the desire to learn, the desire to correct themselves. Sure, I had it the first time I was revising and maybe the second time but after that, I was just pulling my hair out and dreaming of the weekend.

I don’t see that desire to revise in my ENC 1101 students. They don’t want to do this. They don’t care about conferences or pre-draft workshops. Maybe Murray’s students do exist, but certainly not in freshmen composition classes. It sounds like an urban college myth, the perfect class where each student is curious enough to explore on their own and only use the teacher as a sounding board.

Thus endeth the rambling session.

 Posted by at 3:25 pm
Oct 022015
 

I found the concept of “teaching” (of course he claims to not be teaching very often) entirely through conferences to be a very compelling concept. Would it be feasible in a large, public university such as FAU to teach ENC 1101 entirely through conferences? Simply for the sake of time – 22 students with 3 hours a week of classes – it doesn’t seem possible. In an ideal world, these time structures wouldn’t matter, but due to the concerns surrounding metrics that seem to run this university, I can’t imagine that this type of structure would ever be universally adopted at FAU.

That being said, I think that a sort of hybrid form of this process could be extremely useful. As a UCEW consultant, I find that most interactions are too fleeting to do a great deal of change in student writing, and it is only the students who return on a regular basis to the same consultant that improve as writers. When students develop a relationship with a consultant, it seems that they are able to make realizations about their own writing, because the “teaching” is directly applicable to the content of their own individual paper. On the other hand, as a GTA, I think there can be value to the traditional classroom structure. At a minimum, MLA, grammar, the “basics” of writing, and classroom discussions are things all students need to experience; therefore, why can’t they all experiences this at the same time in the same room?

Like I mentioned above, perhaps a hybrid of this conference system would be most beneficial for student writing. If we met as a class for one week, and then the next week met in conferences to discuss drafts, they could have the best of both worlds.  Murray paints a very pretty picture of his abilities, claiming that his students continue to do more and more of the teaching themselves. I wish I could talk to him, because I can’t fully understand what this means or how it can be possible. If his students teach themselves, and have only conference experiences, how do they learn the norms of the discipline? An easy example being MLA. Of course students have a handbook, but I don’t believe that they can simply pick something like this up and then magically understand everything about it. It takes time, much longer than a 25 minute conference that should focus on larger concerns. Finally, how does he make sure that students maintain an intrinistic motivation to learn and improve, when Murray provides such little guidance?

Oct 012015
 

Bartholomae talks about “a necessary and enabling fiction at work” in student writing.  Brilliant.  That phrase puts words to an observation I’ve been making over and over again during this last month.  I just haven’t been able to sit with it, to think on why all of the papers I’ve been reading sound disingenuous, overdramatic, or, more to the point, fictitious.  What mindset are these students adopting that limits their use of genuine examples and authoritative tone?

Could it be that my students are writing to me, to a fictionalized version of me—some amalgam of all the voices they hear when they think of the sound of an instructor, an authority figure?

“When students are writing for a teacher… students, in effect, have to assume privilege without having any.”

I can’t remember asking for this kind of simulation, this parody of authority.  But this is what I get.  I can hear this assumption, this gesture toward the vague sound of academic discourse, in too many of my students’ essays.  Who demands this of my students?  How has this fantasy taken hold of their minds—that they cannot, as Bartholomae might suggest, “extend themselves” into their respective subject matters to explore and discover, that they must, instead, struggle outside of their means to take command, to instruct?

Oct 012015
 

I am desperately trying to determine a way to spend less time grading essays. I average 10-40 minutes per paper (really bad ones take even longer). I can’t help but ask myself if I’m trying too hard.

frustrated-teacher

Donald Murray says, “I gave my students their papers, unmarked, and said, make them better.” Seriously? I can imagine that, for some students, this is a strategy that would work great. But I have far more students who (I feel) need more guidance.
One grading expert says “don’t comment so much; let them take responsibility for finding the solution to the (fill in the problem here),” while another says “leave more concrete comments; tell them exactly how to fix (fill in the problem here).
So which is it? Comment more, comment less, or don’t comment at all? If students are saying, “I wish he would listen better to what we need to know,” then how do I go about doing that? It just seems unrealistic to me when I am dealing with 22-44 students at a time.
So, I come back to the question, “Are we trying too hard?” Composition theorists have great intentions. They want to find that perfect way to teach composition. But the student population is so diverse and shouldn’t we be finding a way to reach all of those different levels of students as possible? It seems to me that locking into one mode of teaching composition will ultimately lock out many students from the joys of writing.

 Posted by at 12:36 pm
Oct 012015
 

Anyone else envious of Murray?

In his article “The Listening Eye: Reflections on the Writing Conference,” Murray reflects that each year he teaches less and less, yet, his student seem to learn more and more.

His teaching strategies within (and outside) the classroom remind me of the practices we adopt at the UCEW. He notes: “I am critical and I certainly can be directive but I listen before I speak.” Like Murray, writing center consultants are taught to be attentive listeners, allowing the client to find their own voice, rather than offering up our own words. This way, they become writers that are more self-sufficient. Murray also lists the questions he asks his students when they come in to see him, labeling them as the “right” questions. They are thoughtful, probing questions that allow the student to draw forth what they really want to say (instead of what they think the teacher wants to hear). For students who come in to the UCEW quiet and reserved, consultants ask these kinds of questions to get at the heart of what the student thinks and wants to write about.

Murray puts it nicely when he notes “They follow language where it will lead them, and I follow them following language.” In an ideal world, I would follow my students’ language, taking the position of peer rather than apprentice. But as Murray notes, his style of teaching requires a certain climate, and that climate is not possible with our FYC course.

I can only parallel Murray’s teaching strategies as a consultant at the UCEW. This is probably (most likely) the reason I enjoy working there more than my time in the classroom.

I am envious of Murray.

But, then again, he does average seventy-five conferences a week.

So maybe my shade of green is not so dark.

Sep 252015
 

So I’ve read a little bit from Peter Elbow before and I’m often torn about his ideas. The big issue I have with this particular article is the assumption that having each reader/teacher interpret grades differently is a fault of the reader/teacher as opposed to the inability of the student to write for a particular audience.

When we teach aloud (in my opinion) we should give our students an understanding of who we are: our attitudes toward certain subjects/topics; our personality type; our history with writing; etc. I would argue that an extremely important take-away for young writers is how to write to a specific audience. IF they are writing to me, they should be aware of who I am.

This is why I believe in an extremely important bridge between in-class discussions and commenting on papers. If we depersonalize the audience, we depersonalize the writer. By keeping those two things very specific, we can help mold the writer’s ability to write toward specific audiences.

Elbow (as well as some of the other authors we’ve read for today) think that a variety of grading philosophies is somehow a detriment to the student. I think that it CAN be a detriment, but we have the power to utilize that as an opportunity for teaching how to write toward a specific audience.

Sep 252015
 

While, for the most part, I enjoy reading my students essays, I find myself constantly wanting to comment about “what I would have done” when reading a section that doesn’t work (because either it doesn’t relate to the thesis or the misplacement of [relevant] support interrupts a decent organizational scheme). I have tried to keep these comments to a minimum, they mostly only appear when I can see that a connection could be created between the support and the thesis (especially if the support is extremely unique). However, the thought of removing the voice of my students and replacing it with my own voice makes me cringe.

The fact that many of my students really do seem to be “writing for a grade” (I’m pretty sure this appears somewhere in Lynn V. Bloom’s “Why I (Used to) Hate to Give Grades,” but I cannot find exactly where) makes this fear a possible reality. There have been far too many, “I don’t know what to do, how should I do this?” conversations between myself and my students during class for me to feel comfortable.

While I enjoy writing and revising my own work, I’m fairly certain that having to read 44 of my own essays would make me smash my face into a wall. Literally. In the correct sense. Don’t question my habits.

However, there are also those students (in my case, the singular form is more accurate) whose desire to improve their grade causes them to actually write something that is both well-written and enjoyable (I’ve found that these two terms are not synonymous). In these cases (or, well, “this case”), explaining how I would handle a piece of support to better connect to their thesis sometimes leads them to other avenues of exploration.

Of course, that fear is still there.

Due to this fear, I’ve found that implementing multiple group based pre-drafting exercises is highly beneficial. By limiting the amount of time I can speak with an individual student, the students have come to rely upon themselves and their peers. While I still get the occasional question about “what I would do,” this question doesn’t come up as often as it did three weeks ago.

Of course, that fear is still there.

Sep 252015
 

In the Writing Center, we’re given a huge amount of instruction on how to critique papers, but we’re told (almost explicitly) never to grade or edit. It’s not considered helpful to give someone a grade; partially because every professor grades differently, but also because the way we grade thing tends to be too structured for the general touchy-feeliness that the Writing Center employs. “Don’t focus on fixing the document, focus on improving the students skill as a writer!”

In the writing center, that really works. We only ever work with one paper in a given session, and the student is always physically present. We can point at specific things, offer suggestions… there’s constructive criticism here.

In a classroom setting, though, things are very… faceless. Even though we have these much lauded small class sizes, things are detached. I found Faigley’s discussion of different kinds of papers here to be really telling. All of these individualized “autobiographical” essays actually have a profound psychological effect: they make you actually consider the student as human being, rather than the student as faceless writer.

Our current model; the one where we give students a single topic to write about, inevitably results in a homogeneous wall of papers. Students don’t know how to deviate from a prompt yet, which means that the majority of papers hit the same notes, quote the same sound bites, and use very similar language. If all the papers seem the same, it’s no wonder that all of the responses seem the same. I’m not sure if this is a flaw in our pedagogy, or a flaw in how we look at grading.

In a perfect world, I would love to take the UCEW’s approach of working one on one with people. There’s just not enough time. 

 

 Posted by at 2:31 pm
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