So, I just finished teaching my 5 week summer class–hence my temporary disappearance from this blog. I don’t normally teach anymore in my current role (just one class in the summer) and I find that teaching, while exhilarating on one level, works a part of my mind that leaves me emotionally exhausted at the end of the day. I am out of practice, I suppose. Or maybe, because I am not in the trenches every day, not teaching a several-course load anymore, I am even more aware of the challenge I face as an instructor–hyper-aware of the difficulty of reaching students who, largely, don’t want to write, don’t care about writing, and don’t see it as relevant. Many of them feel that writing is only for budding English majors and for “arty” people, but the rest of the world needs “real” subjects such as math and science.
So, with that in mind, I always begin the term by letting them know that the ability to write–just on a competent level–is relevant to them. I explain why: No one in the work place can escape writing a competent email, for one. Even now, in our video world, we will largely deal with people via the written word. I explain how I come from a family of business folks and all of them write more than I do (a slight exaggeration, but I will say they write almost as much as I do). I get some nods after this sales pitch and once I feel I’ve gotten some buy-in from at least a few folks, I move on. Yes, world, you have to know how to write. It’s not just for us English-y peeps.
The other half of the class, however, doesn’t believe that writing is irrelevant, though. No, these folks feel it is very relevant and hence, they are terrified to do it because they don’t believe they do it well. They don’t believe they can do it well. That’s the other part of the sales pitch. I have to reach those folks as well. They feel they are “not good writers,” and therefore, they have a deep fear of being in freshman composition, which they have to have to move on with their goals in life. And yes, some of them are NOT good writers, for whatever reason, mainly a complete lack of practice and training over their entire K-12 educational experience. They CAN be good writers, but they are going to have to work at it and put in some hard work to make up for the fact that they haven’t written an entire paper in years prior to college. Yet, practice is everything! I once told my older son, when trying to explain to him the importance of writing when he was in high school that just as when he stopped swimming for a few weeks, he gained time and lost the edge, what did he think would happen if he stopped reading and writing often? All skills take practice, including writing. Especially writing, given the complexity of the skill. How on earth can you get better at something if you don’t do it? I try to sell this concept to the terrified students. You absolutely CAN write, I tell them. You are just as smart as anyone else here, but writing can be difficult and like anything difficult, you have to practice it.
They haven’t practiced when they get to me. I’m not blaming anyone, mind you. I am simply noting my experience from what I see as a professor and a mother, both. Even at the high school where my kids went (a good one, too. We moved to his location because of this school), there is a huge differential between the Pre-AP and AP English classes–where they write essays now and then, although still not enough, in my opinion–and the “Regular” English classes where they hardly read a book and never write one single essay over the course of the semester. I’m not exaggerating–I saw it first hand. I see it with students who, when writing the very first “diagnostic” essay (and don’t know me yet), will write at the end, “I am sure you aren’t reading this anymore, but if you are….” because they are certain no one actually is reading their work. Someone in their past didn’t read their work–it’s obvious. And as a parent, I know that it was only once my dyslexic kid (who took “regular” English classes) got into college did he learn how to really write with any kind of compentency, only because he had to write tons of papers and expend a lot of effort doing it. Shocker.
I can tell the students who have a mastery of writing because they are comfortable with their voice. They may make mistakes, but they are calm, relaxed, familiar with writing.
New writers posture. They pretend to sound writerly because they view writing as something foreign, something they can’t claim for themselves. I see this all the time in students who write essays in a stilted voice. Or they can write a fairly-competent essay in first person, but when asked to change the tone to third, they clam up because they have no experience doing this–a skill they will need to finish a college degree. They talk circles around a subject because they are scared of language and because they are scared of language, they are scared to explore and play around in a way that allows them to learn.
My job is to talk them out of doing that. I will meet with them in my office and ask, “What did you mean here?” and point to a convoluted sentence that makes zero sense. The students will hem and haw and then I’ll say, “Just tell me in your own words what you meant.” They will do this and I’ll say, “Write that down.”
“Write that down?” They are distrustful. They don’t want a bad grade.
“Yes, write it down. Use your own words.”
“I can do that?”
I tell them yes, they can. They not only can, they should. Write it in your own words. Use your own voice, just like you speak. Then, if you have to, you can neaten it up later and fix general grammar errors, but over all, your writing needs to be your voice.
I never fail to see relief on their faces when I say this. When I tell them that they can be themselves on paper, with their own ideas, their own words. Writing IS for them.
With luck, they will even write more often, even after they leave Freshman Composition.