Temporary Leave

This will likely be my last post for a short while, and so I wanted to leave off on a bit of a hopeful note, related to the tried and true nature of certain methodological approaches in writing instruction. In the latter half of my World Rhetorics seminar paper, which will ultimately be my doctoral writing sample, I used a piece by David Rothgery, in which he seeks to answer a tough question related to student writing that can be deemed offensive.

The piece, ‘”So What Do We Do Now?”‘ Necessary Directionality as the Writing Teacher’s Response to Racist, Sexist, Homophobic Papers,” starts with a scenario where Rothgery asks a high school English teacher what she would do when reading a paper that was blatantly racist (241). It is a situation that no writing tutor or instructor wants to be in, however, it is an important one to know how to navigate. Do we impose our own perceived, universal truths and morality upon students who write these pieces, or do we seek to justify this rhetoric according to situational ethics. While the value of situational ethics is undoubtedly important, Rothgery states that in some cases both approaches cannot coexist. In other words, he suggests that there are some universal truths that are so “fundamental,” they no longer fit within the idea of situatedness. He specifically lists rather extreme issues like forced domesticity for women, lynching for miscegenation, etc., (243) in order to illustrate that there are some opinions that are beyond a doubt, morally reprehensible and need to be treated as such when seen in student writing, if not with the purpose of changing the student attitudes, then with the purpose of making students more aware of the academic and social implications of such backwards, terrible rhetoric.

Rothgery seems to suggest that the best way to go about challenging situational approaches to “Transcendent Truths” is to open up a dialogic exchange of sorts with the students, one that does not impose values, but rather gets the students thinking about alternative ways of thought, thus allowing the possibility of gradual change. I realized that I had been following a similar strategy in these scenarios during tutoring sessions. What struck me the most was that this piece was published in 1993, and so it did not address greater issues at hand like the academic requirement for students to be aware of globalization and transnational changes. However, the piece suggested a very reasonable approach to rather unpleasant situations, one that can easily be applied to class room and writing center settings today, 20 years later.

I realized that despite the vast changes that have fairly recently occurred in pedagogical discourse and theory, certain methodological strategies are timeless. The piece reaffirmed my belief that the best way to see improvement in a student’s writing, other than adequate, valid praise, is to simply have a guided conversation with them, a Socratic exchange of sorts where we ask him or her to deconstruct their own logic and rhetoric and then help them tailor it according to their rhetorical situation. Perhaps this strategy is among those “fundamentals” that Rothgery argues for.

A Humbling Realization

In the light of my recent doctoral endeavors, I thought I’d shed some light on the writing elements of the application process. There’s no need for me to point out the extraordinarily stressful nature of any graduate program applications, however, I see that there is a distinct challenge in applying to Composition and Rhetoric PhD programs that I did not notice while applying to English MA programs. Obviously some standards hold true in terms of navigating within the system: weighty recommendations, solid GPA, high GRE scores, etc. But the writing sample standards seem to be very different. As I’ve spent several hours with my mentor, tweaking my piece, trying to fulfill length requirements, making sure that I carry out my argument well, I have noticed some unique requirements that perhaps aren’t of concern in MA applications. I have noticed that radicalism, for lack of a better term, of any sort, is frowned upon. In a field that is relatively new, considering how it used to be lumped together with English, it is quite easy to step on toes and challenges, proposed dichotomies, etc. may count against an applicant. As a writing tutor, this issue might be especially relevant for me as I have been known to favor tutor input over instructor input in student writing. My eyes were also opened to a whole other element of the application process that I had not even considered, the admissions board. My mentor recently informed me that even in writing programs, the majority of an admissions board might consist of literature instructors. This knowledge was quite alarming as I realized just how important a heightened awareness of audience is. I not only have to appeal to specialists in composition and rhetoric, I have to make sure that my subject and argument holds value for literature specialists as well. It was interesting to consider that despite the separation between literature and rhet/comp studies, we are still lumped together in unexpected contexts. As I spent my Thanksgiving weekend carefully reading my writing sample, checking for continuity errors and loose argument progression, I employed a strategy I had never thought of doing. I physically cut up my paper and rearranged the paragraphs to improve cohesion. My point in relaying all this information is primarily reflective. I realized that as tutors, instructors, etc. we impart wisdom upon our students and occasionally find ourselves not following our own strategies. We stress things like audience and higher order concerns in one on one appointments and as I consider my own struggles in polishing my paper, I realize that I’ve barely been practicing what I’ve been preaching for several years. I always encourage my students to read and re-read their work before making alterations or edits, and yet since I started writing my sample, I did not read it from start to finish until very recently. I didn’t consider the issue of sensitivity to a varied audience, assuming that my readers would understand my subject matter. It was a humbling moment and as I continue to trudge through the process I have to reevaluate and ultimately change my own personal methodology. But the greater point I’m trying to make is that I feel that we all fall into this practice at some point, novice writers and experts alike, (to borrow Canagarajah’s terms). And this is where collaborative instruction becomes so valuable because when you are immersed in your work, you might not notice things a second reader would. It goes to show that there no such thing as perfection in composition and that writers of any stage can continue to evolve and improve.