Tag Archives: ENG5020 Blog Posts

Student Blogs

The Preaching, Practicing, and Strategies of Revision

Before I dive into the more analytical thought that blossomed from reading the assigned articles, I feel that I must reflect on my revising processes as a writer. With this, I choose to be honest and reveal that I do not revise very much. I hate it. When I sit down and write something, I never force myself to. When I write, I have carefully constructed plan in my head after taking time to consider all of the information at hand and what my options are to do with said information. Thus, when I am done, I feel confident about it because I have rendered a careful response – I don’t. need to revise because I have thought about all the mistakes I could have made and did not make them. Here is the problem: I am not omnipotent (this is a huge problem). As I begin to write more than I ever have, I find that sometimes I do need to revise, and it is fine. But why do I not want to do it? Maybe I will stumble upon the answer here…

From Witte’s Preaching What We Practice: A Study of Revision (2013), a high school history teacher who participated in the study stated, “My seniors are very much caught up in editing mechanics and grammar, as opposed to really rethinking a piece of writing or thinking about what that vision for that piece of writing is,” (42). This very much stood out to me, and closely relates to what I will be discussing in a couple of weeks. Student gets caught up in the surface level issues like spelling or using the wrong form of there, their, or they’re. They fix the issue so the paper looks a bit better aesthetically, but they sometimes do not understand the larger issues that may be at hand, such as organization or clarity. Thus, I think the issue that this article points out is that we have to teach the students how to identify these bigger problems (not to be interpreted that mechanical issues are not big issues, because they can be sometimes) within their own writing before teacher after teacher points it out and the student is left with red all over not knowing how to fix it (though I will present on ways on how we can encourage how to fix these problems efficiently soon!). Does this all relate back to the letter grade we all anticipate when receiving an assignment back? Or is this discomfort and lack of wanting to revise simply because we do not do enough?

Not only do we not do it enough, the medium in which our writing is communicated matters, too. The conversation of the growing importance of digital environments really interested me. Specifically, that many of the teachers that participated in the study felt that students would more likely revise if their writing were to appear in a digital space. Not only does the chance that their writing will be viewed by someone other than their teacher or even their peers be a different yet efficient form of motivation, but also the factor of interest, too. Students’ worlds today are based largely online and what they watch, post, hear, and learn from the communities they are building. They want their work to be out there. It no longer becomes a quick communication between teacher (the higher power, so to speak) and student, but rather a more equal environment where the student takes their learning into their own hands… it becomes more than just an assignment that only one person reads – it will now live somewhere intangible, unlike the papers students are used to handing in printed and stapled, to forever inspire so long as the internet lives!

Interestingly, Sommers points out that revision is a word that teachers use, and they reference to their own editing by other means, such as “reviewing”, ‘scratch out and do over again”, or “redoing” – and most of these refer to surface level changes, with the most referenced change being word choice. Further, these changes are only made because that’s how far they feel they are able to go when revising a paper; they are not comfortable scraping the whole paper and rethinking it to better assert their ideas. They are restrained to only fix syntactical errors, and anything larger will be subsequently left to fester simply because it goes beyond better wording. Here, it is understood that the student process is linear, a line that comes from the student and follows to an assignment to be handed it. Though, experienced writers see the beyond – the beyond that holds the realization that the overall vision can, and will, change.

Where have we, as teachers, misstepped? Sommers discusses the difference between the student writers and the experienced writers by experience, but not all students will reach this level if they do not continue to write. How can we show them how to realize their bigger picture? If we show students how to flip between writer-view and reader-view, will this allow them to be able to revise efficiently? If we have more than just a teacher reading their work, will they forget about mandatory criteria, to an extent, and play with their ideas? It does not always have to be point A moving directly to point B, but maybe point A sidesteps to a point A2, and then to point B, and maybe even a point B2. Why is writing only x, y, and z? What about all the space in between?

Student Blogs

Comments & The Process

As a student given the privileges of a teacher, I find myself in an odd position; one where I understand the uncertainty that comes with reading evaluating comments from a teacher while also sometimes wearing the hat of the teacher that writes the comments. With this, I have come to realize that pedagogy, in a way, is a double-edged sword (literally): either you are being stabbed with it, or you are the one doing the stabbing (even if inadvertently).

To begin, Elbow brings the student perspective into view. He describes the weariness students have of high stakes writing (pieces that are graded and have an immense weight on overall grade in a class), and validates the fear that seems to be imbedded in many pupils. With this, he pushes the idea of frequent low stakes writing (writing that is not graded as harshly, or at all). It is argued that this low stakes writing will not only have the students practice more, but will allow them to prove to themselves they are capable of writing clear thoughts down. By taking away the weight of a number or letter being assigned to what they write down, the student is able to immerse themself in what they write and ultimately showcase their true, unfiltered thoughts.

As a student, I thank Elbow for his thoughts concerning this. When I engage in low stakes writing, and I do not expect anything particularly great to come out of it, there always seems to be one good idea that I can take and create something more out of. If we ask students to sit down and write something with strong ideas and clear language, something overall fantastic, the overwhelming duty to perform hinders the otherwise “mundane” thoughts that could turn into something great.

As a teacher-in-training, so to speak, I find that Elbow’s ideas are certainly helpful, and allow me to sympathize with the student more (which is an odd observation for me; you would think I would already be sympathetic being a student too, but I find myself to be quite the harsh grader). For example, I helped my professor grade what she described to me as a writing sample, something that seems to lean towards the low stake scale, but did not advertise this to the students. Thus, we got a mix of informal responses with very formal ones. This created quite the jump while grading, and I found myself writing comments on the more informal ones about being lost in a run-on or overall organization. Though, these were the ones that had the most personal feel to them: they used voice. The more formal ones, though littered with strong evidence and great sentence variety, seemed dull. This makes me wonder if we had told the students that it was a writing sample, just to see how each student operates, would the responses have been different? None were perfect, but with the ease of knowing that it was low stakes, would the student be more confident in composing it? Elbow thinks yes, and I am leaning that way too.

Murray emphasized the idea that writing is a process and not a product. Meaning, writing is not an act in which you start and you finish. There is a finish line at some point, whether it be end of the semester or publication, but the writing itself continues to live, and the thinking, done by the writer, does not concede.

As a student who was taught the prewrite, write, rewrite method from early on, I find that I tend to skip over the first step and greatly rely on the second and third steps (prewriting occurs in my head, so maybe I do not really skip it?). Though, I think that with any writing, as Murray explains, there is exploration. Unless the piece one is writing is personal, then one is more than likely not an expert (yet). Not only does the student explore the topic in which the content will reflect, they are exploring the way in which the writing will come about. This is one of the more important aspects to remember, as the whole point of writing is to learn and share what you learned about yourself, others, the world in general. Writing does not call for a certain mastery, only mere thoughts can blossom within other minds to become something more, and more, and more.

Student Blogs

An Introduction to the Discipline(s)

Interestingly, I thought a class about the history of rhetoric and composition was a core section every English major who came before me in all walks of life had taken. I never once thought during my time learning about the Sophists that the discipline was fairly new. Though, as I write my thoughts out now, I realize that research had to be completed to bring all the details of rhetoric together to come to one conclusion that should be taught to the up-and-coming English scholars of the world: there are many ways in which rhetoric bares itself.

The idea that caught my attention while reading this week was the “current-traditional paradigm”: one that I feel somewhat victim to. The current-traditional paradigm is the “assigned – turned in – graded” schedule most schools and universities follow. This was argued to not allow for students to truly investigate the processes needed to compose a piece of writing – the process is simply writing for your teacher in response to something read or taught during class. What occurs between the “assigned” and “turned in” parts of the model? Is it the “prewrite – write – rewrite” schedule, or something else entirely?

If we give students something to read, such as an essay, chapter, etc., and they have to respond to it by using a predetermined model, such as essay, prose, etc., then they are only working towards the standards of that specific model. Thus, this poses a significant lack of invention within student writing. If the student does not attempt to invent, or even realize that they have the option to invent, then they are unprepared for the world of writing outside of the school setting.

Thus, there are issues within the pedagogy that we still rely on today. We give students an example of writing, tell them it’s good and sufficient, then they try to mimic that exact goodness, rather than embellish it to be their own great. How must we present new knowledge if students today are only writing because they were asked to, and in a certain way. This makes me wonder about Ken Macrocie’s idea of “Engfish”, or the artificial language of academic writing that strips the writer of their voice to use the fancy language they think they must present. We know that when presenting new findings of research, we must, to some level, be professional, but where did this certain vocabulary stem from? Lack of invention with a twist? Our, now, innate sense to mimic that we have seemed to be taught when we were children?

As I compose this, I find that my pedagogical standpoints fall right into the preying hands of this paradigm. Earlier this week when grading an undergraduate student paper, I highlighted each fragment and advised them to turn each one into a complete sentence. and gave them a B. Though, I just wrote two fragments in the previous paragraph. Is that invention, or just a plain reveal that I have not reached a level of mastery? As I write a response that should be, to some extent, professional, why do I not follow my personal Engfish vocabulary, but advise other students to do so?

As I operate at the graduate level, I know that my writing is not assessed by the letter grade system, but rather by effort. If the student that wrote in fragments considers that essay their best work, and I slapped a B on it, what does that tell them about their effort? That it is only average? Though when I write in fragments, I get an A, so to speak, for being experimental.

Am I a hypocrite?

Student Blogs

An Introduction to Me

My name is Ava J. Camargo. I am a daughter, sister, partner, friend, student, and poet.

Seeing the words on the screen makes all of my identities somehow more concrete. Of course I knew I was all of these people already, but the words physicalized make them more pronounced, heavier. It brings about an embodiment that I seem to overlook on a daily basis. The order in which I put these words are purposeful, as is all that I do.

Thus, daughter is first for a reason. The very first purpose that I had was to be one, a daughter, and I still find that to be true. The basis of everything I do comes from this identity; it gives me the motivation to execute all that I plan to in this life. I spoke upon my relationship with my last name, one that I hold so deeply to my heart, because that shows I am, first and foremost, a daughter. As a daughter to my parents, I try to do right by them – always. My choice to continue my education after completing my bachelor’s degree was in part due to them – neither of them went to college. Everyday after my classes, I tell them at least one thing that I learned that day. They helped me get to where I am today, so I must share some of the knowledge I am gaining with them, as they never got the chance to learn what I am currently learning on their own.

I am a sister. This, of course, comes to a close second to daughter. As the youngest of three, people, upon first meeting me, may believe me to be selfish, spoiled, spoon-fed. Though, upon further examination of my character, will find that I am the complete opposite (I do not want this to be interpreted as me describing myself to be the best person on the planet – I am not). Though, I think the experiences I share with my siblings are what make me, me. My brother, Marco, is autistic, and my sister, Mia, is a free-spirit. Marco likes to keep all of his things in a neat, specific order. Mia does not know where her car keys are. I am somewhere in the middle.

I am a partner. As someone who is not afraid to admit that I am still learning all there is to know about loving someone, I find that I will always be in student-mode when it comes to love. Two summers ago, I read The Magical Year of Thinking by Joan Didion, in which she describes the death of her husband and the grief that followed. I remember reading a section in which she describes her husband to also be her editor – he read everything she wrote and gave her notes, and she read everything he wrote and gave him notes. Years after reading that and letting it ruminate in the back of my head, I finally allowed my partner to read my poetry (he had also been bugging me about it for a long time). I am happy I did. I plan to do it more. This to me, is love – spilling parts of your being that you, at first, opted to keep for yourself, but upon meeting that certain someone, find that you never wanted to keep it hidden away, but that you were waiting for the right person to share it all with. Bare it all.

I am friend. This one I need serious guidance with. To put this quite plainly, I have very few friends. I have plenty of acquaintances, but my number of friends remains small. I am not sure how this came to be. I do not rue this part of myself that for some reason cannot make friends very easily, but I want to exercise this muscle within me that seems to be very, very weak. I hope that this class specifically will make my friend muscles buff.

I am a student. This one is quite obvious, and holds the bronze medal in length, standing on the lowest tier on the podium next to sister (silver) and daughter (gold). I was three years old when I first became a student (a dance student, nonetheless), and have stayed in the realm of student for 18 years and counting. And I love it. Staying with the topic of dance, one instructor addressed a modern dance class I attended by stating, “Remember how lucky you are to be here, in this dance studio. There are so many kids that would kill to be where you are. Embrace it”. Though I do not attend dance classes anymore, I find myself in remembrance of that day in classes that have nothing to do with dance, because this statement is universal. I am so very lucky to be able to learn so much in my lifetime, and I do not plan on stopping anytime soon. Learning is a blessing.

Lastly, I am a poet. Teachers and friends that know me well may be surprised to learn that I listed poet last. I was surprised too! Navigating my identity as a poet has not been easy, so in spite of that, it appears last in this post. Poet is a fairly new identity I am exploring, as I did not get serious about it until last fall. Poetry does not come easy for me, and I do not think it ever will. As I write this, I sort of feel bad that I am punishing that part of myself and banishing it to the bottom of this post because it is hard, but it will have to do for now. I am not sure why accepting this part of myself comes with great difficulty, but I continue to push through these treacherous waters. Writing it is simply fine – I write what comes to mind and that’s that (unless I am held to a deadline, then every poetic thought becomes fleeting). It is sharing it with others, the words that come from my brain, that freaks me out. Reading my poetry aloud in front of people, to me, is synonymous with being naked. Better yet, I equate it to being cut open, from the very top of my neck all the way down my torso, and everyone peeking at my organs (those of which I have not even seen myself!). Though, I am prepared to fight this lifelong battle. I understand that I may not reach a level of mastery, but at least I will be able to live hand-in-hand with Poet Ava.

Thus, that is all of me, or possibly just the surface (as I just made you all picture my organs!). I hope to become more: a beaming light that shines through perilous times, for others and for myself. That has quite a nice, optimistic ring to it, so I will stick with it for the time being.