A Page of Some Very Mundane Inner Thoughts

    Why are there so many godforsaken classes in Eddy? All I want to do is check the technology in my classroom so that I don’t look like a fool tomorrow, and every single time I’ve checked, I’ve looked like a fool for stepping into a class that isn’t mine. I dragged Brave Heart to Eddy for absolutely no purpose, and I’m probably going to flail teaching CO150 tomorrow because I can’t be a person in the 21st century who can make technology work.

    It’s aggravating because I already have problems with establishing authority, so I’m gonna be all “hey students, I’m gonna tell you what to do all semester, but hey, I don’t know how to turn on a goddamn projector.” And they’ll laugh and laugh and will probably walk all over me for the remainder of the year.

    Okay I’ve found something that will help me figure out, so that’s good I suppose. I’m not sure if this assignment was supposed to be a freewrite, but that’s what it ended up being. I don’t have the most exciting internal thoughts, but it’s better than inappropriate thoughts. All that’s going through my head is “AHHHHHHHH TEACHING!”, even though I thought I would be old hat at this whole thing after a semester under my belt. Huh, I’m really liking the clothing metaphors today. “Old hat” really is an odd saying, isn’t it? Like, is being an old hat really being an expert? Maybe if the topic was historical fashion. But like, would an old hat be good at technology? It would probably be less anxious about classroom technology than me. Because hats don’t have feelings.

Writing Theories: A Summary

In her 1971 book, The Composing Process of Twelfth Graders, Janet Emig makes groundbreaking revelations in introducing rhetoricians not only to the fact that the act of writing was a process, but also that depending on the stage and genre of the draft, the theory behind these processes would change. Since then, hundreds of rhetoricians have taken it upon themselves to delve deeper into the world of compositional theory and attempt to provide a theoretical explanation behind the practice. These theories, presented in various forms, shape how we categorize writing today. Through the lens of expressivism, social constructionism, and cognitivist theory, we can start to understand how various scholars both view and teach writing.

Expressivism, the theory that purports writing as the discovery of the author's truth, is largely explained and illustrated through the work of Donald Murray and Peter Elbow. Both scholars are of the camp that writing is self-sponsored, and as such, an awareness of external forces in unnecessary at best, distracting at worst. Writing, to the expressivist scholar, is about the self, and, more importantly, the process of discovery.

Peter Elbow illustrates a compositional practice directly related to expressivism by discussing the notion of "free writing." Free writing, as elbow explains it, allows the writer to simply express his unfiltered, uncensored thoughts, and more freely allows an untainted truth. That if you write without considering how someone may read your thoughts, you will discover something real.

While Murray doesn't explicitly cover the art of free writing, he does emphasize, in his piece titled "Teach Writing as a Process Not Product" that writing is "the process of discovery through language. It is the process of exploration of what we know and what we feel about what we know. It is the process of using language to learn about our world, to evaluate what we learn about our world, to communicate what we learn about our world” (4). It's evident that the expressivists believe writing to be a form of exploration and discovery.

Expressionism has long been contested by cognitivists, who take a scientific approach to the writing process. While expressionism is largely presented as meaning discovery, a cognitivist would would argue that writing is comprised of mechanical meaning-making. As demonstrated in Linda Flower's work, the cognitivist associates quality writing with quality thinking. The cognitivist emphasizes writing as mentation, rather that something along the lines of meditation.

The cognitivist very much thinks like the formalist in believing that meaning is an inner-textual activity. As long as the writing is clear, there is no need to consider an intended audience. The cognitivist camp thinks very little about the slipperiness of language and the community difference of discourse--rather, it takes a narrow look at the written product itself, as well as the meaning that has been made within only the context of the product.

As expressed by James Berlin, social constructionism emphasizes the various ideologies both the author and the reader hold going into a text. As the theory that promotes the writing process as knowledge and conversation, social constructionism is less internal than the two others. The social constructionist, unlike the cognitivist, views writing as a social activity that is largely motivated by social change. The driving force behind social constructionism is the rhetorical situation, and as such, writing to a specific audience is an essential aspect of this "camp" of writing.

Seen from the Scenes of Writing

I remember writing before learning to write. I was obviously taught alphabetic literacy before I could transcribe my thoughts and feelings onto a page, but I was fascinated by the writing process long before I began formal composition instruction. While I had a natural penchant for writing, being in a classroom environment that facilitated creative expression through writing helped me sustain my love of the written word.

I don't remember many of my specific formative writing experiences in early education; rather, I simply remember that I wrote a lot. My classes were structured around writing. In fourth grade, we were given "writer's notebooks," and each hour, our instructor would highlight a goal point on the page for us to reach. I recall being shocked when my teacher made me write a page and a half of my fiction piece, and astonished more still when I accomplished the task. I still have the final product of that story. I had written a piece about an elementary school student named "Kita." Hmmm, I wonder what my inspiration possibly could have been.

Much of my writing came alive, when, in elementary school, I was taught mimicry. I already had a wild enough imagination to compose a million stories, but with the added task to pull references and styles from other authors, I had a new skill I was driven to incorporate into my writing. Two of my favorite authors--J.K. Rowling and Lemony Snicket--were huge influences on my childhood, and I was ecstatic by the notion of threading those influences into an activity I loved so dearly. My second-grade self soon found out it was difficult to reference an author's style without stealing their direct words, but in being tasked with this difficult process, I learned a great deal about successful nods to other writers, as well as the importance of obtaining that unique "writer's voice." I was better able to appreciate Lemony Snicket's voice, but more important still was the fact that I was able to pinpoint exactly what could make my writing stylistically unique and engaging, both for myself and for my audience (who were, as always, an enthusiastic set of parents and teachers).

Through most of my middle school and high school education, I closely followed the writing instruction I got early on: find your unique voice, be creative, and always, always read successful authors' work. This technique served me well then, but by the time I got to college, I was in for a shocking surprise. I had a professor who instructed us to analyze Lolita. At the time I was thinking "alright. I liked Lolita, and I can analyze the shit out of anything. I got this." My professor then went on to note that we had to pick one word in the text, find all instances of that word, and compose an argument based on said word.

I was furious. All of a sudden, my previously celebrated creative expression had been squashed. I couldn't comprehend that my professor even dare provide us with a formula for writing, much less grade us on that formula. I didn't want to spend my precious writing time searching for a word--it felt like I had signed myself up for a scavenger hunt, rather than a writing class. I was so angry, I vented to my roommate for an hour, then composed a blog post titled "Imprisoned by an Essay." My much younger, much more naive self, claimed that I had no freedom in my education, and that "in attempts to break us outside of the box, we're shoved back in it." I was so bold (oh, freshmen self) to ask "does she [my professor] think we're easily brainwashed enough to believe we're free because we're told there's no other way to write?"

I begrudgingly wrote the essay. I chose a topic I was excited to explore and wrote that in a way that made sense to me, but come time for revision, but I felt imprisoned by the formula. At first, I was adamantly against having fun with it. Then, something happened. I began noticing connections and patterns among the words I was forced to find. I ended up, ironically enough, writing about imprisonment, and Lolita's surreptitious subversion of power dynamics with Humbert Humbert. I was able to start a seemingly meaningless point, and bridge connections and arguments I never would have noticed if I had "started big" and only made surface arguments. It was one of the best essays I wrote as an undergrad, and I seriously considered sending it in as my CSU writing sample.

Through this formative writing experience, I realized that my professor was giving us a helpful starting point for creative expression. What seemed like strict guidelines were actually successful prompts in getting college freshmen to think beyond the obvious "rape is bad" argument. Only then did I realize that allowing a more formulaic approach to the beginning stages of writing allowed for more nuanced expression of argument throughout the paper. I have followed this "formula" of my own volition in subsequent essays, and I plan on doing the same during my time as a graduate student.

While a majority of my formative writing memories come from school-sponsored writing, my personal composition process has shaped my own theories behind writing. For the most part, I wasn't aware that there even was a theory behind my writing, I just wrote in a way that I felt would most benefit me and my readers. As I've previously mentioned, I have kept a journal since age 6, though my consistent journaling didn't start until I was in high school. I have also kept a blog titled Coffee, Yoga, and Life's Other Necessities since my senior year of high school. My journal and blogging practices are always interwoven. When I feel inspired to blog, it is often because I've worked out an idea in my journal. My entries often begin as rants, but there is usually some seed of insight in the midst of the whining. When I start to compose a blog entry, I take that element of insight from my journal, flesh it out, and write it in a way that will be appropriate for a public audience (although no one except my mom--and now you guys--reads my blog. Hi mom!). I have been working through this writing process ever since I kept a blog, and it has shaped a large portion of my writing identity and experience.

Portrait of a Writer: Allie Solem

This week, I have been assigned to profile graduate student extraordinaire Allie Solem as a writer. My methodology for this project was rather simple: I asked Allie to provide some (written) background information about her writing influences, experiences, and other information she feels is relevant to share. I think asked her to share a short excerpt of a piece of writing of her choice, as well as to provide commentary about why she made the choices she did, and what she would do differently.

Allie picked an excerpt from a fiction piece she composed three years ago for National Novel Writing month (or NanoWrimo for short). She included pieces from word sprints (where you have to keep writing for a certain number of minutes or reach a certain number of words as quickly as possible). This is an interesting sample to me, as the word sprints help identify who Allie is as an "unfiltered" writer, though this is especially in conjunction with the meta-commentary about how she would plan to revise.

Before I even read her piece, I was influenced by Allie's choice of genre. Because Allie picked a fantastical fantasy piece, I immediately pegged her as an expressivist writer. This can be a false assumption however, as there are some creative writers who may follow a formalist or rhetorical approach. 

Allie provided the following plot summary about her novel:

Ace of Graves is about a group of three friends who hunt ghosts for fun. They all have day jobs. But Ace, the leader, works for a television production company and he gets a deal on a television show (called Ace of Graves) that will air on the History channel if they can get interest with their pilot episode. Their first episode centers around an abandoned insane asylum, where it becomes very clear that perhaps the spirits inside don’t want their story shared. Edgar (the main character) is thrown down a flight of stairs by an unseen force and breaks his leg. Soon, he begins to have haunting dreams and seems to be haunted in his apartment. His relationship with his fiancee starts to suffer as he begins to realize, more and more, that he is the vehicle for a spirit that is malevolent and perhaps a bit misunderstood. He grows increasingly uncomfortable as the show makes it closer and closer to preimier… 

One thing that I noticed is that Allie's writing is far more influenced by other things that she reads/watches rather than her own life. This is nicely reflected in the third person narrative in which Allie chose to write. It is evident that Allie referenced other fantasy/horror works as she composed her piece. Part of this could be the fact that Allie expressed discomfort with the horror genre, and wanted to make sure she got it "right." However, judging from Allie's background, it is also clear that she gets much of her inspiration from other works of fiction.

In the case of NanoWrimo, Allie emphasized her obsession with simply writing to get words on a page. I saw a lot of similarities with the act of free writing, given the fast-paced nature of the writing project. Through Allie's comments, it became clear that she would want to do a lot of revision before sending it out into the world. So perhaps Allie had an expressivist start, but she plans to apply a more formalistic (and perhaps rhetorical) approach to her work. 

In terms of actual revision, Allie recognizes the importance of it, but admits that she does not go back and revise her work. However, she recognizes and acknowledges her room for improvement and hopes to revise in the future.

Learning "Write"

As an expressivist, I tend to write to learn about myself and the truth of the world around me. In order to truly understand the depth of a certain topic, I must write about it. As much as I encourage my students to engage in those little "WTL"s, or "write to learn," I find myself needing a similar exercise in my own understanding of the world.

I keep a journal, and have since I was five years old (I recently revisited an old entry in which my mom lost the bid for a stuffed bear I wanted at an auction, and it nearly broke my heart). While a good deal of my entries consist of "OMG this boy likes me!" or "wahhh, this boy doesn't like me" (who here remembers high school fondly? No?), I still see the value of working through the process of growing up via a written journal. I may still have my fair share of painfully "cringe-worthy" journal entries, as I've matured, I use this journal to understand myself as a teacher, a student, a daughter, a friend.

Upon exiting that lovely adolescent stage of narcissism, I have also used these informal journal entries to understand those around me. In CO150, we encourage writing as a collaborative process, yet I haven't realized until now that I extend that same mindset to a seemingly solitary activity. I have used the space of my journal to understand and communicate with my boyfriend--as he is Native American, we run into a lot of unintentional instances of cultural insensitivity, and rather than turn into the raging, domineering white person I was many moons ago, I simply write out how my behaviors could be interpreted the way they were, and what I may do to remedy the situation.

From a more academic standpoint, I still find that writing to understand myself and the world around me enriches my education. In both my tutoring class and my Rhetorical Traditions class, I was assigned to construct an "I-Search paper." Essentially, I was to search for the answer to any burning question I had about life, the universe, and beyond, and I was to tell the story of my search. To an expressivist, this assignment is an absolute dream. I was ecstatic to write about my search for proper meditation techniques and what feminism means to me, in this current day and age.

Through the I-Search paper, not only did I learn how to successfully craft a longer paper, but I learned how to research, how to engage both myself and an audience, and how to remain genuinely curious.

In viewing writing as learning, I think that's what successful writing really boils down to: curiosity. Curiosity lends itself to that spark--you know the one that leaps off the page--that you see in good writing.  Curiosity gives us the drive to become engaged and courageous thinkers. Curiosity is what makes our writing go from bland, tasteless companions to the red pen, to a real, lively conversation.

Janet Emig: The Composing Process of Twelfth Graders

8/29/16
Kira Marshall-McKelvey 

I have this annoying tendency to bring everything back to the writing center. I hadn't even stopped to consider how much I loved the writing center, how much I learned from it, until I left that position upon graduating. Because writing (usually) comes so easily to me (until it's mid-April and the weather starts to get nice, and I'm all "academic essay? What's that?"), I never recognized the importance of keeping a conscious and consistent awareness of the writing process throughout my own secondary and early undergraduate work. I just kinda hoped inspiration would appear somewhere, maybe on a mountain or a nearby lake (alternatively, five shots of espresso), would write some shit, and call it a day.

HOWEVER. Kudos to Jon Olson of the Pennsylvania State University writing center, I quickly gained an understanding that writing is all about the process. I had students come in to the writing center at every stage of the process--from brainstorming to final edits. This understanding of other students' writing processes led to the recognition that my own work did actually have a process, I was just too ignorant (naive? Dumb?) to pay attention to it.

Now, after reading Janet Emig's The Composing Process of Twelfth Graders, I have an even richer understanding of writing as a process, and I dearly wish I had read it before I applied to become a writing tutor. After seeing the way Emig breaks down certain categories of writing, I knew that I had an unconscious understanding of said categories, but I never understood the importance of articulating and really spending time on them.

The most important categories that stood out to me were reflexive versus extensive writing. While the shift between the two can sometimes be subtle, it was enlightening to me how different students view the processes between the two categories. More astonishing still was the fact that high school students actually spend more time on their pre-planning and writing process when their work is self-sponsored rather than school-sponsored. Reflexive writing, even when not for a grade, actually lends itself to more thorough revision processes among high school seniors.

This information is actually comforting to me, as it demonstrates a sort of self-motivation to both write and write well. When I think back to my own high school experiences, I was very much driven by external approval, most often via high marks on a paper. Yet in Emig's case, students found more of a reason to care about their writing when the subject was meaningful to them. When facing school sponsored assignments, students were more likely to say things like "sooo, there it is. Done." It seemed that the students viewed their writing process for extensive writing as a means to an end, as a goal to exert the least amount of effort possible.

So what does that mean for my own work as a composition instructor? This dilemma is something I've struggled with for the week that I've been teaching (though it feels like I've been teaching for an eternity--only 14 more eternities to go). A couple of students have implied that they are not interested in reading or writing about food (our course theme), and as such, I feel like I'm going to have a difficult time getting them excited about the steps that are necessary to create a thoughtful and well-organized paper.

On a similar note, a number of my students also noted that they want to learn how to improve their grammar. This is a concept that I struggle with, as I don't want students to get caught up in the minor mechanics of their writing before they can craft a nuanced, thoughtful argument. Emig also notes that teaching grammar formally to college students does not actually help, and teachers end up wasting their time. Spelling and mechanics are important, so how can I as an educator help students through that process without feeling hopeless?