Academic Plagiarism

Lately I've been thinking a lot about the definition of academic plagiarism and how it cannot be accurately applied to technical writing courses. Our university definition is as follows:

Plagiarism: The term “plagiarism” includes, but is not limited to, the use, by paraphrase or direct quotation, of the published or unpublished work or sections of a work of another person without full and clear acknowledgment. This includes any material copied directly or paraphrased from the Internet. The unacknowledged use of materials prepared by another person or agency engaged in the selling of term papers or other academic materials, including material taken from or ordered through the Internet and constitutes plagiarism. (Missouri State University’s Academic Policies and Procedures, accessed May, 2008)

Problems arise because, in various forms, copying, restructuring, and repurposing professional material is one of the essential skills in technical writing. Using boilerplates and templates, relying on existing material for designs and layouts, and single sourcing are all, by current definition, plagiarism.

Dr. Jessica Reyman has written a great article called "Rethinking Plagiarism for Technical Communicators" in the recent 55th volume of Technical Communication, the premier scholarly journal for technical writing. I would recommend it to anyone who wishes to find out more about the gray areas of academic plagiarism.

E.E. Cummings (because I can)

[somewhere i have never travelled]

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me,i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain, has such small hands

Assigning the “F” Course Grade

Last semester I gave four Fs. I didn’t feel bad about it, sans one, because they were all directly related to poor attendance. The worst writer in my class was no overachiever by any means, but she never missed a day or an assignment, and she finished the class with a respectable 80/B, which is no different on a grade card than an 89/B. She earned and deserved it, and the students who received Fs earned their grades, as well.

I’ve heard a teacher in the department say, “In all my years of teaching, I’ve never given a D or an F,” and I wonder how that is possible. In a graduate class, I can understand; the students are in school for a different reason and have different approaches to assignments and actually attaining course objectives, but that is not the case in our general education classes. I would have been doing those students a grave disservice had I not given them the grade they earned, much like if I would have given a student who had earned a 93/A a B because I didn’t think he or she deserved it. Show me the difference. If a student does not apply him or herself to the course, the failing grade is on his or her shoulders. Fully.

Also last semester, one of my Fs was a junior with great writing skills who stopped coming to class after the Research Paper Unit. Later, toward the end of the semester, she told me she was doing her research on Bipolar Disorder because her aunt suffered from it, and as she was doing her research, she discovered that she, too, had the incurable disorder, became depressed, and stopped coming to class. She also told me that if she received an F for the class, she would lose her scholarship and be booted from the university. Now, as a first-semester GA, I was a bit in over my head; this girl had just given me an unfortunate sob story and basically put her future (if she was telling the truth) into my hands. What was I to do?

On Dead Day, I was fortunate enough to have lunch with the head of the Music Department. I hadn’t told him the story about the student, but we somehow got on the subject of what it’s like seeing old students, sometimes years after they’ve left your classroom. He said, “You know, it’s funny to run into an old student, because even after years and years—even after they’ve changed from kids to adults—you can immediately see that they’re still having the same problems in their personal or professional lives as they did in your classroom.” He explained that after talking with them for a bit—catching up—it was easy to see that they still had attendance or lateness problems at work or problems in spousal relations that were similar, in some ways, to the problems they once had in the classroom. It was then that I told him about my student, and he gave me some good advice that I’ll keep with me. “You can’t think that giving a student a passing grade will tip the scales and be the one thing that’s going to give them that push that’s going to help them get their life back together. It just doesn’t work that way, and giving them an easy out is just delaying their ability to grow up and become responsible citizens.”

I’m assigning at least three Fs this semester; it would have been five, but two dropped on the final drop day, thankfully. I hope you all expect as much out of your students as other professors will in their future courses. Get them used to being responsible.

Pen Theft in Pummill 203 (and Almost Murder)

I recently had a situation in my class like none I'd ever expected. During a workshop session, I was hurriedly making last-minute comments on a few papers I wanted to hand back before class was out. I was using a green pen, and when one of my students asked for an assignment handout, I had to quickly run upstairs to the GA office to retrieve one for her. As I made it back downstairs, I was feeling very rushed--I wasn't sure if I'd have sufficient time to give quality comments on the papers and return them.

As I sat down, I couldn't find my green pen. I moved my chair and looked under the table. It wasn't there. Audibly, I said,"I can't find my pen," and a few students laughed and crooked their necks to look around on the floor to assist me in my search. I didn't have time for this. Luckily, a student let me borrow a pencil, so I wiped the sweat from my brow and starting marking.

A few minutes later, I was stressing hardcore. I happened to look around the room to make sure groups were successfully talking and staying on topic, and out of the corner of my eye, I spotted one of my laziest students (poor work, poor attendance, poor work ethic) writing with my pen. I almost freaked.

"John (fake name), is that my pen?" I was standing now, and the class had hushed. Never had they heard my voice so emotional and panicked or my face so "pissy." He looked down at his hand, as if to remind himself.

"Yeah." He didn't move.

I shook my head in disbelief. "Why did you take my pen?"

"Because I forgot mine," he said. But he didn't move. It was obvious that I was upset and that I wanted my green pen back, but the kid just sat there staring at me. I didn't blink. I was like a wild-west gunslinger with my hand on my holster. The next words came out slowly and were cynical, much like the opening of Kill Bill.

"Give me my pen, and don't you ever touch my stuff, again."

He stood and handed me the pen, and I wanted to take him by the throat and toss him through the glass window. But I didn't. My students could tell I was really upset--baffled, really--and they went back to work quickly.

The thing that gets to me most about this story is the lack of respect that the student had for me and my personal belongings. I could even understand if he would have taken my pen, irresponsibly, and forgotten to give it back when I walked into the room, but it was the look in his beady little insect eyes when asked if he had my pen, and he responded, "Yeah," making no motion to willfully give it back. I seriously wanted to punch this dude in the face.

I finished commenting on the papers, and the student still sucks.

Philosophy of Teaching, Robot Style, v. 2.1

Teaching is like living life: everybody does it differently, and some do it better than others, but nobody does it exactly right. I’ve always liked science-fiction writing, and although my own attempts at writing literary fiction often end up with characters in worlds where I’ve molded a few of the rules of their being (though always for their own good), it is my goal to consciously never change my students: I offer them my knowledge, but whether or not they choose to accept it and apply it to their personal writing is ultimately their choice. It is my hope that they receive my limited knowledge of writing and use it to form their own opinions of the craft. My students are not my robot characters of whom I have control over what they know and learn; my students are individuals—human beings—all unique in their own perfectly imperfect humanistic ways. I do not teach them to write in the same way I do; I do not duplicate them in assembly-line fashion and force them all to generate the same product as I might write. I lead my students to explore new ideas and different ways of looking at all things. I encourage authoritative voice, critical perspective, and audience emphasis, because I want them to believe in the words they write down—notebook scribbles or Times New Roman, everything they write is a direct reflection and representation of their beliefs. Ultimately, I challenge my students to understand and acknowledge but not reproduce my passion for writing. I do this in hopes that they might dare to care so much about their own writing that they, too, find it is one of the few ways to investigate and discover who they really are.

Six Words to Rule Them All

Here are a few feeble attempts to summarize my life in six words (or just sound cool):

--I am. Myself. [see me here?]

--Brides marry, roads tarry, "Hello, Larry."

--Meet me in the morning, barefoot.

--Turn me on, turn on me!

--Spin. Get dizzy. DIE, BITCH, DIE!

These are sort of silly, but as I commented on Adam's blog, I like how this little fad has initiated a small spark of creativity in a lot of people who don't usually exert themselves to writing. There are many video posts of this same six-word exercise documented on YouTube if anyone is interested.

What to DO During a Final Exam Period?

As the semester is winding down, I have been thinking about what exactly I should do during the final exam period. Because a written exam wouldn't be appropriate for most English composition courses, I'm basically unsure of what could make good use of the exam time. I am currently assigning a basic feedback prompt to better understand what students liked, disliked, thought was fun and/or helpful, and what seemed like a waste of time. Of course, much of this information might be disregarded, such as comments like, "Grammar sucks," but even negative comments can tell me a lot about what information students don't like learning the way I've taught it. This information will be helpful when planning future lectures and classroom activities.

Many of the GAs--myself included--have opted for the "fun final" where the class might bring food, watch a movie, or play a joyous game of Jeopardy. Even though the writing prompt is included in this, I'm not sure if this is an acceptable way to spend the hour.

Any input or advice would be appreciated!

Bridging the Gap Between Composition and Technical Writing

My saving grace in regard to the English Department is that I can be accepted and thrive in multiple academic environments, simultaneously. I have never been one to be pinned down to the sole constructs of any area of focus--I have dipped my pen in literature, rhetoric, composition, creative writing (short-fiction emphasis was my undergrad minor), and technical writing, of which I have an undergraduate degree. What I have to show for my roundedness other than a motley jacket of modern English nerdery is that the areas are all very similar--I dare not say "the same." With minor (if any) modifications, many of the same writing and critical thinking exercises applied in creative writing, tech writing, or academic composition could be used interchangeably. All focus is this: whatever is written (by you or someone else) will be read, therefore, you (or someone else) writes for a reason, and it is learning to see through these creative language usages that readers evolve into thinkers, thinkers into proponents of knowledge. Critical analysis of my own writing or someone else's has been the mainstay of my English education, and it is what I teach: Understand what you are reading, and you will be able to understand your own writing, and, therefore, yourself.

Back to the bridge of pedagogy, I infuse a proposal assignment, which is usually categorized as a component of technical writing, for the research paper. I have students analyze their topics and write a small, one-page explanation of what it is, why they are doing it, who will read it, and how they will go about their research. This allows students to enter the mind of a reader or audience member and see whether or not the topic is a worthwhile one and how it will be accepted. Oftentimes, students will try to answer these simple questions, see that their topic would not be a successful one, and ask for an extension to think of another topic. I grant this permission enthusiastically.

Writing What You [I] Yeach

I chose to write my textual analysis on "Shooting an Elephant," a popular essay written by George Orwell. I chose to write about this essay rather than anything from the Lunsford text because it deals with issues more deeply rooted in biased political viewpoints and the destruction of personal/private identity. I thought these issues went a little beyond some of the Lunsford pieces and would generate better, more fulfilling class discussion. I also had my class read the article before I presented my example/model of the often misunderstood assignment, so they would have a better understanding what I was talking about in the discussion--they needed to understand the connection between the essay's subject matter and the points I was making.

I'm an outliner, and I always have been. I read tables of content for fun. Therefore, I offer my experience in this particular drafting method to my students in hopes that it will at least help them generate and structure their papers with a little more ease. As many of you know, I also work at the MSU Writing Center, and of all the problems I come across, the most consistent is probably paragraphs that really have no meaning; students view writing a five-page paper as one whole, nearly-impossible task, which is much harder than logically breaking it down into predetermined points and sub points. Students have a very difficult time making concrete transitions from one topic to another if they view the paper as one whole chunk of information; this makes their research findings and criticisms harder to wade through, and nothing--from beginning to end--seems to connect. So, in my textual analysis, I made an outline: I said what I wanted to include in the intro, I included a concrete thesis statement that prompted the four points I wanted to make in my body (excluding a paragraph for summary), and I included room for a conclusion. I asked the students, after having read the article, to help me think of main ideas that should be addressed, and they had some great ideas that I had already included in my own outline and also some that I had looked over. Together, we created a great outline for the textual analysis, then I took that outline and wrote a draft.

Actually, I wrote three drafts, the second and third with only minor revisions necessary. The class was comforted by this project that we all "did together," and I think it gave them a sense of accomplishment and more self confidence.

Commenting on Drafts--OMGDEATHKILL@#!

Greetings, all.

I passed back class's memoir rough drafts last week after spending a very long time reading and writing lots of comments on them. I've always admired and appreciated teachers who take the time to really let me know what they think about my work and who really try to offer helpful, detailed feedback for revision, so I try my best to devote myself in this way to my students. It takes lots of extra time, but in the end, I think it's worth it--they find out you really do care about their work, and due to the additional criticism, students often put forth more effort to improve upon the draft. I let my students know that my proper feedback for them is important to me, and I let them know I spend lots of time thinking about ways they can improve as writers. I believe this subconsciously binds them to a work-ethic contract with me, because they hear about me staying up late and spending lots of extra time working on their drafts, so to speak, and in turn, they feel that they owe the same amount of hard work back to me.

The class period after I returned the drafts, I began the day by asking if there were any illegible comments or questions concerning my feedback. One student, who I thought during the first week might turn into a behavioral problem throughout the semester, raised his hand. I could see he was holding the draft in his hand.

"I just want you to know that I think what you wrote on the back of my draft was actually a lot better than my actual memoir," he said. He is a funny guy, and all the students in the class chuckled. "I've never had a teacher write this much on one of my papers, and I want you to know I really appreciate it. It's really helpful."

Often when I comment on papers, I find myself spending more time than I know I should. Usually it makes not a difference that I can trace, but sometimes, the revised version is much, much better because of my extra time and a student's extra effort. I think if I show that I truly care about their writing, they will, in turn, begin to care, too.

First Things First

Yesterday was my greatest English 110 teaching experience to date. I presented the Memoir assignment, led a helpful, healthy discussion over three readings (Sedaris, "Cyclops"; Lodall, "Saying Goodbye to a Father I Thought I Never Knew"; Lunsford (pp. 18-19), "Generating Ideas"), and I let the class suggest a topic for a fake memoir (oxymoron?) and created a brainstorming web on the board to begin discussing the importance of prewriting. As I created bubbles/webs/branches on board, I wrote anything and everything that came into my mind concerning the pretend topic (a young hunter's first kill), even writing about details that I knew would/should never be put into the memoir. I purposely did this to try and convey to my students that every detail they can remember, as well as every idea or discussion topic they may present in class, is justifiable and has worth. I want them to feel comfortable enough in my class to speak out freely about anything and everything they don't agree with, understand, or even have the courage to say "I like this, this is helping me," which is sometimes the hardest thing to freely admit.

If every teaching day was as yesterday was, I would feel much more at ease about my future teaching plans in life. I think it's, inevitably, a growing and learning process for me, so I hope this feeling finds its way into my classes more and more often throughout the semester--this feeling being, of course, that I helped my students see a few of the great things writing can do.