Myths about college writing instruction

I thought I'd start writing some thoughts about things we frequently hear said about writing classes in college that I just don't quite find to be true. Most of these statements have some truth to them, but most of the time I think they're uttered by teachers or printed in textbooks without any real foundation.

Let's start with this one:

"Students should write about what they want because students write best when they care deeply about the subjects on which they're writing."

Again, this has some truth to it, I think, but not nearly as much as one would think, at least in my experience. Let me talk about several problems with this unexamined statement.

1. Some students don't care enough about any topic to want to write about it. That is, their dislike of writing, especially for class, is so intense that writing about something they care about may actually spoil that subject for them.

2. Students in fact often write very poorly on subjects about which they care. My experience has more often been that students who "care deeply" about the subjects of their writing cannot achieve critical distance on their work and think they already are experts when in fact they've only briefly looked into the subject. Often these papers come out scattered and lacking in depth, or the student cares in vague or unfocused ways about some subject.

3. It is risky business to grade a student for writing about something very close to him or her, as doing so makes the student feel as if his or her soul or emotions are being graded, making the process of evaluation complex and dangerous at the very least.

4. Even if students do care intensely about some subject and as a result write well about that subject, often that subject is not one appropriate for or relevant to a college education. Many students frequently wish to write about subjects that do not stretch their thinking or help them write about the kinds of subjects their academic careers and adult lives will require them to (i. t., texts, ideas, issues). One sure way to keep composition courses outside of the more "serious" curriculum is to allow students NOT to write about serious academic subjects they may not care about NOW. Richard Marius writes some very interesting thoughts on this subject in his essay in Redrawing the Boundaries, though he goes much farther than I would in dismissing certain genres of writing (e. g., autobiography).

5. Excessive emphasis on the student's personal preference can lead to some questionable political practices. Students from privileged backgrounds may feel that their sometimes problematical perspectives should not be challenged or redirected because they are "writing what they care about." This is vague, and I need to develop it more. I recommend Susan Jarrett's feminist reconsideration of the potential dangers of otherwise liberatory expressivist teaching practices. She shows how a more rhetoric-based pedagogy that does not place the student's voice exclusively at the center can alleviate some of these problems.

6. One purpose of college is to stretch one's thinking and challenge one's preconceptions and habits. Not requiring students to explore texts and issues in which they claim not to be interested can defeat this purpose.

Other seemingly self-evident truths I'd like to question in future posts may include the following:

1) Reading in the composition classroom diverts focus from the teaching of writing.
2) The five-paragraph essay is an unmitigated evil. (It's a problem, but not an unmitigated evil.)
3) Students write best when they know they are writing for something real (many problems with this one, including the assumption that schoolwork is somehow not "real").

the composition teacher's quandary

I'd like to talk about a couple of moments in my teaching life that illustrate succinctly one of the key frustrations involved in teaching college writing. Let me be clear that I blame none of the figures mentioned in these anecdotes; I just think it's a difficult situation.

To start, in a recent discussion with colleagues from a social science discipline (great colleagues, who really want to help students write well and teach them to write -- not just complain and rely upon comp staff to teach the so-called "basics"), I got the clear message that what professors in most fields want is students to write clear thesis-driven papers, academic argumetns that make a clear claim and develop it logically and with substantial evidence in a clear, organized manner. That makes sense to me; that's pretty much what I try to teach, without being reductive and allowing for some different writerly approaches to argument.

In a recent first-semester freshman comp class, one of my brightest and most engaged students, in a discussion of her ethics class, remarked that her instructor had assigned an essay, telling them "just to give their thoughts and not to bother with boiling things down to a thesis." Now, I can see the purpose of such a guideline. Indeed, an instructor may want a more exploratory discussion (perhaps one later to be developed into something more focused and argumentative?). However, one has to sympathize with the student who is trying to figure out "how to write" in college. It can be difficult when such opposing expectations are presented (or -- worse -- concealed but in operation).

It also is, I think, cause for sympathy for the comp teacher who is trying to prepare students for the range of writing tasks they are to face in college. Of course, many in composition studies reject the notion that this in fact is our role -- that we are there to provide "service" to other disciplines. I'm not sure where I stand on the latter issue. Our field was largely born out of this perceived need for service, and I do think we introduce students to civic rhetoric and academic discourse, an introduction which SHOULD prepare them for academic writing. It seems, though, at some times we're forced to choose between being reductive (tell them all the time to write with a hammer-like thesis) or being vague and unhelpful ("Well, every writing situation demands something different... know your audience ... assess the situation... and other such abstract and largely meaningless -- because decontextualized -- advice).

Thank you for listening...

Ronald Lunsford on "attitude"

I've been making my way through the essays in NCTE's newly published What is "College-Level" Writing? It's an interesting book (some essays rehearse some standard issues, though even these are solid). I've been perhaps most encouraged by reading Ronald Lunsford's selection (sorry not to give the title -- I don't have the book with me), in which he argues that much of what we teach is "attitude" or "orientation" to intellectual inquiry. He seems to move in the direction of arguing that what makes writing "college" level is this disposition to deal rigorously with ideas, arguments, and texts -- to stretch and interrogate one's own thinking. While this is not a new idea, I think it takes on added importance in climates oriented towards assessment, which (whatever the good intentions are) often tend to place our focus on surface features and texts as static objects rather than as dynamic representations of students' continuing work. Especially refreshing in his essay is his ability to see in a not so well edited student critique of a biology article strong evidence of an orientation to critical reading and thinking, of reflection on one's own ideas in the process of writing, and of attempts to stretch vocabulary and thinking simultaneously, or in the very same act. It's true that figures like Bartholomae and others long ago pointed out that "rough spots" in student writing can be precisely the sites of intellectual and linguistic growth we're looking for. Yet such insights bear repeating and recasting, I think, especially as one is working one's way through a stack of apprentice research-based essays. Reading essays like Lunsford's help us emphsize what students have accoplished, so that we don't focus solely on what's missing.

Raising a half-full glass to you all,
Mark

Realistic expectations for first-year writing

I read a what I think is a sane and very encouraging remark by Muriel Harris in a new book put out by NCTE, called What is "College-Level" Writing?:

As students progress through their college education, they can be expected to grow in awareness so that what is expected of a first-year college writer is less than what is expected of a graduating senior. For example, a first-year composition student who strongly defends the need to halt immigration to the United States should show some recognition of the benefits of immigration, some awareness that there are opposing views that should be accounted for. Thus, students writing argumentation papers should be learning how to seek common ground but should be excused from not envisioning all the complexities of various groups who are concerned with immigration. (131)

These remarks may smack of common sense, but it's all too easy for us to forget -- in our reasonable attempt to encourage our students to meet high standards -- what a significant achievement a solid, balanced argument of modest proportions and research is for freshmen. We also tend to forget that they will have years to hone these skills and that their early forays into civic argumentation in writing classes are best viewed as practice. I find it especially helpful right now, as I'm requiring my students in freshman writing to take on such complex and much debated issues as stem cell research and the Patriot Act. These issues are challenging for seasoned adult writers, thinkers, citizens, academics, etc. I'd like to remind myself that students who put together even somewhat substantial, well organized, and balanced arguments on these subjects are achieving much.

disingenuous?

So often students -- even students whom I view as motivated and conscientious -- boil their approach to writing down to grade issues: "What do I need to do to get an 'A'?"

Our typical response (whether speaking amongst ourselves or lecturing students) is to stress the relative insignificance of grades and the importance of learning. If we go a little deeper, we decry the influence of a capitalistic, consumerist, excessively quantifying culture upon our students -- an influence not mitigated by our adminstrations' fixations upon assessment and measurability. If only students could focus where they ought -- on their learning processes and intellectual growth.

Even at their best and most theoretically and politically informed, such critiques -- much as I sympathzie with them -- fall flat. In part this is because it's so difficult to imagine overthrowing or radically transforming the system or environment that produces such an approach to learning in students. But it is also because we as instructors are invested in the system -- but not just in this system, but the very existence of a system. In other words, it's hard to imagine just what the educational world would look like if students could or did act the way we say we want them to. In such a world, would schools even need to exist? Students would be self-motivated learners who could teach and learn from each other. In other words, the alternative that seems to be implied at the end of these critiques of "the system" is very difficult to imagine in concrete terms -- or perhaps I just need to read more about how such alternatives have been put into practice.

introduction

Hello everyone,

I'm starting this blog as a forum to share ideas about teaching reading and writing at the college level. I'm not sure this will make it out to anyone who's interested, but I'm hoping will prove to be a useful exercise at the least.