Response to

Composing as a Woman

by Elizabeth A. Flynn

Is writing recognizably gendered? Do you think the following text is male or female authored?

“Ever had a boss tell you to keep talking while she checked her Blackberry? How about a team leader who pronounces your name wrong? Such slights may not mean much individually, but added up they can lead-at least in terms of employee retention- to death by a thousand paper cuts.”

Response to

Decisions and Revisions: The Planning Strategies of a Publishing Writer

by Carol Berkenkotter

Finding the study that will tell us what we want know about the writing process seems like an impossible task. There are far too many variables for any one researcher to truly measure, define, observe, report, and transcribe a writer’s complete thought process. Not to say that attempts should not be made or studies not performed. My point is that how one writes and/or becomes a good writer may lie outside of process analysis. What about those who are simply gifted? While reading about Donald M. Murray’s writing process, I thought: here is a man with a “gift” for language and composition.

Now I am as practical as anyone else, and I certainly believe in the impact of education, reading, social class, gender, race, etc., on one’s writing. And yes, in theory, we can all become skilled writers given the opportunity- or so they say. But what if that’s not true? What if we need “the gift,” the writer’s ear? Can we all write like the masters if we master their writing processes? Something has to be said of nature.

Murray, though not as eloquent when removed from his usual environment, and though he was at a loss for words when given an unfamiliar topic to write on: explain death to ten-twelve year old girls- in his “natural state” he produces great work. And it is no wonder, for throughout his writing process, he asks the right questions. He is so conscious of rhetoric, and form, and audience, and of his own goals, that it is not the shell of his process that I find interesting but, rather the meat of the process. How do I (or others) learn to think in those terms, to ask those kinds of questions? And if I did, would my work improve? Are some us just meant to be more skilled at some things than others?

I think the biggest obstacle for process research is this: “There is considerable cognitive activity that writers cannot report because they are unable to compose and monitor their processes simultaneously” (128). And our class assignment only made this point more visible. I had such difficulty voicing and writing, or making rhetorical choices “out loud,” while I was putting them on paper. I found myself reading silently, typing silently, and thinking and doing faster than I could verbalize my plans. I had no intentions of “writing in my head” but it seemed, at times, that it was impossible to do otherwise. How do students and most certainly researchers overcome this obstacle? Can we?

When Berkenkotter offered an example of Murray’s text in the “preconceiving mode,” I thought: “I wonder what my papers would look like if I never deleted my re-conceptions. What if I added sentences or changed existing ones without deleting the originals?” In the end, though I might have an extremely messy piece of writing, I would also have a wealth of rhetorical choices.

Response to

“The Intelligent Eye and the Thinking Hand”

by Anne E. Berthoff

Ann Bertoff writes: “To think of perception as visual thinking helps make the case for observation in the composition classroom, not for the sake of manufacturing spurious “specifics” and vivid detail about nothing much, but because perception is the mind in action. Thinking begins with perception…”

My response to this is two fold. 1.) If we think of composition in terms of “Visual thinking” than we have to think of composition in terms of multimodality. That is, if we are to define the creation and interpretation of compositions by a visual framework or idiom, than shouldn’t our compositions be conscious of visual (and other) stimuli? Shouldn’t attention be made to the font, the size, the color, and the form of text? In other words, should standard formats for papers, novels, etc. be reexamined and/or altered to add to a specific work’s rhetorical value, especially if “perception is the mind in action?” I think the following quote of Anne’s further exemplifies how composition could be enriched by attentions to form and more: “Shaping is as important an emblem as visualizing of that forming which is the work of an active mind. The artist at work-especially the sculptor- is surely the very image of imagination [composition] as the creation of form…” 2.) I am not entirely sure what is meant by “spurious specifics” and vivid detail about nothing much.” If composing is about perceiving than who is to say what details are “spurious.” As Anne refers to our ideal consciousness’ as being that of a “dynamic relationship of the what and the how” and of “looking and looking again,” how do educators then define what must be looked at and what is vivid detail about nothing much? Visual thinking, like vision, is highly personal and contextual, so how do we then “shape vision” so that the perceiver perceives what is desired for success in academia or in composition?

Response to

“The Winds of Change: Thomas Kuhn and the Revolution in the Teaching Writing”

by Maxine Hairston

Maxine Harrison writes: “I believe that external conditions which have hastened the crisis in the teaching of writing are open admissions policies, the return to school of veterans and other groups of old students who are less docile and rule-bound than traditional freshmen, the national decline in conventional verbal skills, and the ever larger number of high school graduates going on to college as our society demands more and more credentials for economic citizenship. Any instructional system would collapse under such strain….” I can’t even begin to know what Ms. Harrison thinks about the state of the education today. Not only does academia have great diversity in student bodies, but it has great diversity in available technologies. I suppose that by Harrison’s definition of crisis, we are still headed for ruin. Just as in the past, academia today is facing a paradigm shift. As a student, I am certain change is lurking around the corner. I see education and composition being constantly redefined in teaching methods as well as in practice and application. But as I am still a student, I feel as though I am looking in from the outside- watching professors change and fight for change around me as I am caught between knowing whether I learned sufficiently from traditional methods or whether I wish I could begin my education again, after the current shift in paradigm settles and new curriculums are espoused. (I am leaning more towards the latter.)

Response to

“Writing and Knowing: Toward Redefining the Writing Process”

by James A. Reither

As Reither examines “what it takes” for students/individuals to gain access into academic discourse communities, I absolutely agree that “we need to extend our understanding of writing so that it will include not only experience- and memory-probing activities, but also inquiry strategies and techniques that will enable students to search beyond their own limited present experience and knowledge.” However, I do feel that students should be able to use their personal experiences to understand their writing and the writing of others. Forming a relationship with the text is often times crucial to understanding its argument. For example, I am using my personal experiences to formulate this very response. This blog absolutely helps me to understand the articles I read, mostly because it allows me to synthesize both my personal relationship with the text as well as my academic “knowledge” of the text and how it interacts with/relates to others in its field. With that said, academia is founded on its discourse communities and failure to learn the idiom(s) means one will remain an outsider. In this way, discourse should be addressed as long as teachers recognize that learning it is a lengthy process. Academic discourse grows over time and with experience, and therefore cannot be something that is taught only in the composition classroom but is something that is learned through ongoing education in multiple disciplines with a focus on one’s own.

Response to: “Understanding Composing” by Sondra Perl

Response to:

“Understanding Composing”

by Sondra Perl

Speaking of “felt sense,” can I get a better one? Perl writes: “When writers are given a topic, the topic itself evokes a felt sense in them. This topic calls forth images, words, ideas, and vague fuzzy feelings that are anchored in the writer’s body. What is elicited, then, is not solely the product of a mind but of a mind alive in a living, sensing body.”

I have, on occasion, experienced this sensation. When I do, my writing improves. However there are many times when I write ( or am forced to write) without that sensation. I am left staring at a blank page- writing then deleting, writing then deleting. Is there a way to train yourself not only to recognize and follow your felt sense (as Perl notes), but to jump start it? Unlike how I imagine the writing processes of experts, I don’t have a formula for success. I don’t have a muse. I don’t sip on a cup of tea, or go to that special place, or pick up that special pen. I just sit in front of my computer screen and think and hope and reread, and think and hope and reread. And what is a writer to do when their felt sense escapes them? What do I do when my sense feels faster than my fingers can type; when I’ve lost the words in my head before I can get them on to the page; when one idea collides with another and I am left clearing the rubble of what promised to be the most perfect brainstorm and, instead, ended up a massive flood? “Have patience” is Perl’s answer (in short.) What a difficult virtue to attain!

This next quote of Perl’s really spoke to me as well: “When writers pause, when they go back and repeat key words, what they seem to be doing is waiting, paying attention to what is still vague and unclear….Usually, when they make the decision to write, it is after they have a dawning awareness that something has clicked, that they have enough of a sense that if they begin with a few words heading in a certain direction, words will continue to come which will allow them to flesh out the sense they have.”

The right words always seem elusive, yet getting started, heading in any direction, requires that one capture them. When I write, I am always on the hunt for words- the words that will fall in line and make out of my thoughts a clear, profound statement. But I feel like I am always on the hunt, walking the line of satisfactory. Until I become more aware of my felt sense, perhaps more patient, more learned, I will continue to struggle to find the synthesis of body and mind that will make my writing exactly what I want it to be.

Response to: "Fun?" by Lex Runciman

Response to:

“Fun?”
by Lex Runciman

Okay, I’m going to admit it: I am always seduced by the “emotional knock punch!” What can I say…I’m a sap! And while I marvel at the well formatted essay, and admire the thoroughly researched argument, I am a sucker for emotional writing. However I hesitate to use the term “emotional writing,” for I am certain that the following questions will arise: 1. What is emotional writing?; 2. Doesn’t every text convey and evoke emotion?; 3. How are you defining the term?; 4. What is emotion for you?; 5. Is your blog emotional? Is the back of your toothpaste emotional?; 6. Can you find an example of emotionless writing? So, in the interest of trying to remain on topic, I’ll just talk about the readings and offer, as an aside, that I love the opening paragraph of Lex Runciman’s, “Fun?” (Am I still allowed to like Faigley’s and Perl’s work too?)

Moving on…Perhaps it is because I am still a student that I completely did not get Mary Rose O’Reilly’s metaphor that the classroom is like “The Heart of Darkness.” I mean, to liken students to savages seems a little harsh. I usually don’t beat on my chest and swing from rope until I’m in the comfort of my own cage (on weekends). And if I am a savage, who are the imperial interlopers who want to rob me of my culture, my language, and my dignity? Is there a course entitled: Surviving in the Congo: 101? If so, I will need to register. Do you think I can take my make-up where I’m going?

Again, moving on…I think it is possible to love writing, while knowing that it isn’t always fun. Like most things, it’s tedious, challenging, frustrating, aggravating, and rewarding, all at the same time. Writing is a process therefore it can never remain in one emotional state. To focus only on the fun of writing, is to leave out the myriad of other emotions that occur when one writes. (Has anyone ever measured how much happiness correlates with the construction of a linear essay, a novel, poetry?) Yet I very much understand why Runciman and others want students to enjoy writing. Enjoyment breeds repetition, desire, and even tolerance- if you love it, you might work for it. But should we make such a distinction between “fun” writing and academic writing? Why can’t they exist in a continuum? Solving the problems of writing may be no less fun than “creative writing;” it depends upon one’s approach. I’m not as sure as Runciman that dislike is the major cause of poor writing. If we forget the problem solving, what do we do when “fun” fails?

Response to “An Examination of the Writing Process of Seven-Year- Old Children” and “The Composing Process of Unskilled Writers”

Response to

“An Examination of the Writing Process of Seven-Year- Old Children”

In honor of Michael, I should begin my response by drawing a picture accompanied by sounds... Because I am older, I just begin to write…

But how do we know when to exclude drawing from the prewriting process? If visuals and audio aid in the production of composition, why are they abandoned with age? Of course you’re probably thinking, “We can’t draw pictures forever; it’s childish to begin a composition that way!” But why do we think so? Who says? Plenty of images inspire written works and vice versa. Art tells a story- “A picture is worth a thousand words.” Can’t adding a visual to one’s written argument actually help to clarify it?

Selecting an image to represent/insert into a composition requires knowledge of the rhetorical devices both the image and the text employ. One must know what message they want to convey, and must hypothesize how/if others will “get” that message from the chosen image. Pictures aren’t just child’s play; they require skillful selection. Therefore, if we continued to value drawing as a part of the prewriting process, could it be to our benefit?

When looking at sex differences in writing, how powerful is socialization? Graves notes that boys enjoy writing on themes from secondary and extended territory, while girls enjoy writing on themes from primary territory. Are these preferences nurtured?

As I am taking a course in sociolinguistics, I could not help but to be drawn to these differences. In conversation, men are said to be more report prone, that is, they seek to flex their intellectual muscles as a way of gaining status. Contrarily, girls seek to gain rapport through conversation and thus often downplay what might be considered as a show of superior intelligence. Boys want to dominate in conversation; girls want to connect. Arguably, this behavior is socialized. And while these gender differences are measurable in conversation, I had no idea that they were measurable in writing.

Boys might prefer writing themes from secondary and extended territories because they provide them with more opportunities to report. That is, they can show their knowledge of sports or current events, etc. They are in a position to inform- a position that generally references status. Girls may prefer writing themes from primary territories because those themes allow them to reflect (often about home or school). In this way, their writing takes the form of narratives- and narratives imply personal connection. Thus through primary writing assignments, girls focus on building rapport, as they do in conversation. Additionally, men are often teased if they become too reflective- if they feel too much. For girls, the opposite is true. Naturally, boys may avoid reflexive writing so as to avoid not being ridiculed, and girls favor it for the same reason. I know it’s a huge generalization, but it’s something to chew on. How much does society shape/dictate our writing processes? And what role does gender play in writing education? If, as educators, we are aware of the impact of socialization and/or gender, can we teach writing more effectively?

Also of note: Graves observes that boys pay more attention to spatial relationships in writing, as well as to the formation of letters. It is theorized that boys, based on development in the womb, have better spatial awareness and are more visually stimulated…

Response to

“The Composing Process of Unskilled Writers”

I want to try respond this piece by writing like Tony, I am o fascinated by his writin process. I always have trouble puttin my thoughts into words and never truly successful. I supposed that si why I relate to his struggl as a writer. To a degree, I thnik writers struggle say what they mean. I certainly have raed words into my text that havent been or thought I had suficeintly linked idaes, when I failed miserablely. (Too bad teachers’ cant’ grade intentions.) It’s interesting how Tony has few problem connecting thuoghts and convyeing idaes when they are persanol in nature. When he relates to text the reader relate to text. Yet when a formal arguement needs be made, he freeze and fail to connect with a audience. All the while, Tony has develop quite an elaboreat writin process (even though it may be to his detrimint.) He has knowledg of grammar, syntex and spellin, but he is so confuesd by the rules; as am I; that he misapplys them often makin his compositon worst. What is so heartbreaking about his sitautoin is that he want to be a good writer. Its just that “the semantic model in his head predominate[s]…even with his concern for revision and correctness, even with the enormous amount of time he invest[s] in rereading and repetition” Tony concledus the composing process with unresolved …problems.” In a purfect world, such dedicaiton wuld be rewardead. I wonder if Tony’s writin has evolvid since the study? What if the shoe was on the other feet?

Response to:The Composing Process: Review of Literature”and “Competing Theories of Process: A Critique and Proposal”

Response to:
“The Composing Process: Review of Literature”
and “Competing Theories of Process: A Critique and Proposal”

If some of the most revered writers cannot define their writing process, how can we possibly begin to know what process to teach students? If the linear outline does not always produce the most organized text, how do we teach organization? Considering all the complexities of the writing process, how does one determine the optimal method?

These are all questions I was left to ponder after reading Janet Emig’s piece. In a world that is not linear, that is ever-changing, it seems unnatural to give students a clear and steadfast directive of the steps needed to produce “good” writing. Yet many of the textbooks of adolescent schooling do just that. What are we to do?

As Emig delved further into her research of the writing processes of students and professionals, I found myself becoming fairly certain that there is no ultimate prescription for success. There is no one way to achieve the goal of “worthy” writing. With that said, what is the role of the classroom teacher if not to give students a prescription for success?
When success is variance and determination, the best option we have as future or current educators is to familiarize our students with the “traditional” writing processes as well as the “untraditional ones.” That is, we should offer formulas that have worked for others and allow students to then manipulate, adopt, alter, or reject them as they see fit. But to do this, we have to be knowledgeable of the methods that our students employ.

While Janet has dedicated herself to the research of writing processes, her quest has not yet reached enough classrooms. True, certain college courses emphasize the production process- like Shipka’s- but before college there is generally little attention paid to something that is so important. If teachers were encouraged to examine the ways in which their students produced work, they may be able to offer more sound advice as to how to make changes, for when a process is made visible, so too are the author’s thoughts, inclinations, possible weaknesses, etc. Furthermore, attention paid to the methods of writing may reveal what issues need to be addressed in education as a whole. To quote Faigley: “Process theory and pedagogy have given student writing a value and authority absent in current-traditional approaches…”

Through Faigley’s article I discovered that I have an expressionist view of writing. Though I am not entirely surprised by that; I am an idealist. In this vein, I love Rohman’s quote: “teachers must recognize and use, as the psychoanalysts do in therapy, a person’s desire to actualize himself.” This notion of aiding students’ self- actualization gets to the heart of what want do as a teacher- help students find their voice.

Yet although my lofty dreams have found a home in the expressionist view, the social view of writing is grounded in realism and thus is quite persuasive. (I now want to play on both pedagogical teams.) I can see how language, meaning, structure, theme, are all influenced by macro institutions of society. While it’s nice to believe that one can develop and own their unique voice, is it really possible? As the social view points out, we are all products of our environment and so our writing and opinions are never really new- they are formed in reference to those that came before us. Vygosky’s study of language development more succinctly states my point. He finds that language development is a historic and cultural process, “in which a child acquires not only the words of language but the intentions carried by those words and the situation implied by them” (Faigley 158). Language is never our own. Therefore, writing, which is born of thoughts articulated into words, can never be entirely personal, individually authored, or have one voice.

How Happening are "the Happenings" ?!

Comments on the Readings for 2/13/07

It seems impossible for a student to take William Lutz’s class and not fall completely in love with writing. Every exercise shows writing’s ability to create, to illustrate, to enliven, to reflect, and to imagine. Life is language; Lutz gets that, and his students do as well. Granted, his exercises feel so sixties, so “free love,” but they are progressive. Even before the internet, Lutz understands that writing involves more than a pen and paper- more than a formally structured academic argument. Communication does exist outside of academia. Writing does exist outside of perfection and grammatical rule. Through his exercises, students question the role of writing in their lives, realize the many functions it can serve, and understand that communicating something (anything) is it’s ultimate goal.

I’d like to think that Lutz’s chooses such methods in freshmen English, because he understands that a student must first enjoy writing before they can produce good writing, or at least enjoy consuming writing. I will offer an example to try to explain what I mean.

As a ballet dancer, you start training at a very young age. But before you learn proper technique, French, posture, and before you sculpt your body, perform, or dance en pointe, you fall in love with dance! You enter a ballet studio in your favorite colored leotard and you play. The teacher draws pictures of ponds on the hardwood floor with colored chalk and you leap over them. You put tutus on your head, around your waist, or wherever you see fit. You become an object printed on an index through movements- some balletic, some not. But you dance! You fall love with movement, and then you learn the hard and fast rules of game. Why can’t writing be taught in a similar manner? Why can’t students first fall in love with language, or words, or possibilities and then learn the hard and fast rules to play the game? I think Lutz discovered that it may be possible to learn a great deal through what others may consider mindless play.

As for Deemer’s piece, I love this comment: “The division [in the classroom] is as clear as stimulus and response. Lecture and note taking. Assignment and essay. Bell and saliva. Watch the class yawn for its food” (121). Think of the effects of entering the same structured space for instruction year, after year, after year. The same small desks, the same rows, the same physically rigid environments must (eventually) stifle the teacher and the student. We must ask ourselves, is this an effective way to teach or learn? Deemer says, no. And in his quest to make English composition a happening and to make education a happening exchange, he offers some very profound arguments. This one is one of my favorites: “The goal is a class of students actively aware and participant, a class that does not swallow the teacher’s remarks but considers them. One thing that needs correcting, of course, is the student’s head. But the heart (that forgotten organ) should work with the head. Correct the head and the heart and the essays take care of themselves.” Again, we see a theme of involvement and desire and a need for an environment and instruction that values more. I will not pretend to think that restructuring a university, a classroom, or our values will be easy, or even probable. But for the first time I am questioning why education is structured the way it is. If so many other things in society have under gone drastic changes over time, why not education?

Deena Metzner’s pilgrimage to silence, if you will, is quite different than Lutz’s approach, which clearly involves sound. Silence seems almost elusive in today’s world, for there are so many things that make noise. Even writing in silence (when on a laptop) can be rather noisy, an obnoxious distraction (as I have experienced.) But even though I wish for quiet, I never find myself wanting complete silence. Possibly because it seems so impossible. In turn, I have never considered the effect that silence would have on my writing until now. (After reading this article, I would like to experience writing in this way.) I would love to read the work of those students who wrote in silence (and in nature), and compare it to work that they wrote on campus or in a classroom. Would their writing styles be different? More or less descriptive? Would they be more physically or spiritually centered? Would the diction change? Would the rhythms change? Can you measure the effect of the environment on writing?

Response to "Writing New Media"- pgs 1-23 and "Students Who Teach Us"

Response to
"Writing New Media"
pgs 1-23

Anne Wysocki certainly raises some interesting questions as to how composition has come to be understood, evaluated, and manipulated in today's world. Touching briefly on the evolution of language, printing, and society, Wysocki argues that the presentation of text is directly correlated with the values of society, the individual, or (more likely) both, and determines the way in which text is received. The paper, the font, and the structure, potentially inform the reader of the importance of the text as well as delineate the manner in which it should be consumed. For instance, typed linear print seems to lend itself to faster consumption because of its structure, therefore reflecting society's valuing of quickness or efficiency. Contrarily, hand written or more "stylistic" font may lend itself to a slower read, as the presentation of the text, being "unfamiliar," can draw as much attention as the substance of the work. Even the location of the text impacts its reception. Is it found in library? Is it hardcover, paperback, or leather bound? Is it in coffee shop? Does it have illustrations? In what time period was it written? Is its genre transparent? As we live in an age where technology is ever-evolving and the written word is becoming infused with art, and composition exists (in richness) without words, an understanding of text and it's relation to new media is of utmost concern. For as students (or current/aspiring teachers), it is important that we try to predict and make sense of this technological shift- how it impacts our writing, our thinking, and interacts with the social landscape.

New technological advancements available to writers and/or composers can both hinder and help divisions of class, race, and gender, as Wysocki also points out. The anonymity offered by online writing, for example, can give women and minorities a platform with which to be heard that is absent from prejudgments about their gender or race. As in the story of the student who failed at school, but succeeded on the web, technology can also allow those who "fail" at formal writing, to successfully construct identities through "non-traditional" composition. But just as technology has the power to make composition equally accessible to everyone, it also has the power to alienate. That is, how does one incorporate technology into the curriculum of students in inner city schools, for instance, who may have limited access to computers? Will technology ultimately widen the divide between the classes or bring them closer together? What effect would this have on the evolution of writing and composition?
It is certain, however, that composition is evolving and technology is the impetus for this evolution. Like Wysocki suggests, we must evaluate why we write and how we write, and the modes in which we present our information and ourselves. "New media texts ...have been made by composers who are aware of the range of immaterialities of texts and who then highlight the materiality… they design texts that [don't] function independently of how [they are] made and in what contexts."

Response to
"Students Who Teach Us"
-Cynthia Selfe

Selfe makes the case for "accessible" literacy by making literacy accessible. Her three main arguments are ascribed large numbers, and each subsequent point is in bold type. As part of this course is to examine modes of presentation, I cannot help but to find this to be an effective way of illustrating an argument. The method chosen is easier to follow and reference than a traditional linear essay. Moreover, Selfe’s decision to include a narrative in her analysis of/argument for the inclusion of "new media," creates a relatable text- it gives a human face to a concept. Rhetorically, for me, her piece was effective. (Note: I wanted David to winJ)

With that said, Selfe elaborates on the issues of class and race that were introduced in Wysocki’s piece, and further addresses the need for a “rethinking” of English composition, so that varying compositional styles, especially those centralized in technology, are introduced into English curriculum. Like her counterparts, Selfe believes that it is irresponsible for teachers not to engage with technology- not to educate students in a language, if you will, that is globally recognized. The following quote states why this is so important: “As people exchange ideas and form interest groups and coalitions online…they are involved in contesting, negotiating, and re-writing the new social codes under which society may be rethought, and re-established” (qtd. in Writing New Media 53). Not addressing the power of technology in the classroom, could deny students the power of voice.

Response to "Part 1: Thinking out of the pro-verbal box"
- Sean D. Willams

Experiment: The Power of Language and Imagery

Examine each numbered photo located to the left. How does visual media change, enhance, or deconstruct the argument raised by the quote:

"When war is declared, truth is the first casualty."
~Arthur Ponsonby

Response to

“Writing and Learning at Cross

Purposes in the Academy”

-Cheryl Geisler

1: I would like to begin by responding to Knoblauch and Brannon’s claim: “writing enables new knowledge because it involves precisely that active effort to state relationships which is at the heart of learning. Composing always entails the search for connections; its nature is to compel the writer to undertake that search.”

It was brought to my attention that students learning to write are first taught to write personal narratives. Yet aside from diaries, or my space, how often does one write about themselves? If personal narratives are not functional in business, not the focus of academia, why is it important for students to master the skill? Yet in the context of Knoblach and Brannon’s theory, as well as WAC’s and GWSI’s, learning to write personal narratives may be an important stepping stone to becoming a rhetorician or a successful researcher, in that, personal narratives train students to engage with material, interpret it through their value system, and relate that material to others. I once had a professor who said, “If you can’t write about yourself, how can you write about anyone or anything else?”
In a way, all work contains personal narration. Writers always have a purpose- a message to send the reader that has been synthesized through their personal value system. Shipka’s “statements and goals” assignment exemplifies this idea that all writing, even when the focus is not on “self,” contains very real elements of self. Be it the font used, the order of listed items, or the thesis, all writers participate in a form personal narration. As composing “always entails the search for connection,” what better way to begin composing than to first begin by connecting with oneself? If an active effort to state relationships is, in fact, at the heart of learning as Brannon and Knoblauch suggest, then being able to explain how things relate to “self” is essential to composing.

2: Now to comment on what Geisler views as a hindrance to student’s writing: the failure of many students to write for an audience beyond that of the classroom.

Simply knowing that work will be graded influences the student’s/writer’s goals, for no matter who is in the audience, the professor is ultimately the only audience member that has power. As researchers noted this tendency of students to write “for the teacher,” I was reminded of a class activity that seemed to support these claims:

Students were asked to write something down about a reading assigned for homework. They were then instructed to tape their responses to the homework on the walls of the classroom, so that their classmates could walk around the room and read each reflection. Even though the audience was clearly stated to encompass the students’ peers, many students wrote their response in a way that proved they had read the material. Few opted to use the assignment as an opportunity to question or engage their peers in a discussion of the readings.

I believe that most students, including myself, opted to prove that they/I had read the material rather than to communicate with their/my peers, because it is so ingrained in students that the teacher is the ultimate authority. Class, though enhanced by student participation, is still run by the professor. But is this a bad thing? Shouldn’t hierarchies exist in the classroom? How can a teacher retain her/his deserved position of authority, yet guide students away from envisioning only them as the audience?

3: When does the shift occur from “me” to objective authority?

When Geisler addresses how and what students write in academic settings, she observes that most present their research in terms of other’s research. That is, they often summarize the work of others in a standard linear form, and the writing is most often supported by academic text and rarely supported by personal experience. What I am curious to know about Geisler’s observation is the predominate sex of the students in the various studies. As gender seems to powerfully effect the desired methods of story-telling, arguing, and problem-solving, gender could very well be one of the reasons why students write the way they write. More often than men, women synthesize facts with personal experience. In general, however, facts are thought to be formulated independent of personal experience, and therefore are viewed as more credible supports in composition and life. But how do students learn that personal experience is bad and facts are good? If we begin teaching composition with personal narratives, when does the shift occur from “me” to objective authority? And is there a way to achieve a balance between the two? When does it become okay to support an argument with personal experiences, and how are personal experiences defined?

4: Geisler writes on pg 108: “Students for the most part believe that revising means editing and seldom make changes to text that affect meaning. Teachers routinely respond to student’s texts by evaluating them against a metal template for what they expect to see. Overall, then, students appear to be remarkably unengaged in the process of reproducing knowledge.”

In response, I would like to ask these questions: Can teachers teach students how to edit for meaning? With what types of lessons? Would teaching rhetoric at earlier ages (or more continuously than is currently done) help students to understand what it means to edit for meaning?

5: So which is better, higher level processing achieved by analytical writing or higher test scores achieved by fact-finding?

According to Geisler, while students may gain a deeper understanding of the text through analytical writing, they retain much less factual information than they do when the reading is followed by study questions or an exam. The teacher is then left to decide which form of response is most beneficial to the student. Is it better to know facts than to engage with the text in an analytical way? I think this question is not answered easily, because it forces us to examine what we value. In this way, the problem of creating a good writer has come full circle. If stating relationships is at the heart of learning, as Konblauch and Brannon suggested in the opening of the piece, than analysis is the most successful way for students to reflect on work. But if the goal of academia is not so much to produce students who connect with work as it its to produce students who can quote work, then analytical writing is not the most important component of the learning process because it supports more synthesis and reflection than memorization of data. It simply comes down to the motivation for composition and the professor’s or university’s measure/definition of knowledge. I once had a professor who commented, “the university prepares students to become successful players on quiz shows,” do you find that to be true?