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.