As a potential writing consultant who has observed very few consultations in the past month, I have attempted to practice through holding informal consultations with friends. S is a biology major who arrived at the writing center with a bedraggled-looking copy of Jane Eyre, a prompt from her first college English class and little confidence in her own ability. Tutoring S was a unique experience for me because I was able to help her through all the stages of her writing. She explained to me that her usual method when beginning a paper was to sit and write down every quote applicable to her prompt. As we continued talking, she also admitted that it could take her a week to write a short paper, because she would be unsatisfied and would start over several times. At this point, I realized that S was so intimidated by what the professor was asking her to do that she was afraid to write what she really thought about the book.
With a bit of coaxing, I encouraged S to free-write for twenty minutes. When we compared what she had written previously, and what she wrote during her prewriting session. While her formal writing had been unengaging and rigid, her prewriting was clear, impassioned and highly insightful. When I pointed out the strengths of her prewriting, S said that she had discovered knowledge of Jane Eyre with her prewriting that she was unable to reconcile with the current argument of her paper. Although I did not see the problem of this, S was clearly torn. She had an argument that she believed "fit" the prompt of her professor, but that she clearly did not find interesting. As we discussed this, she admitted to me that she was most discouraged by her paper because she could not come up with a complete argument. While some aspects of her paper supported the fact that Jane Eyre was a passive object, others did not. She spoke so articulately about the inconsistencies and their purpose that I got a much clearer sense of her knowledge than what was contained in her first draft.
"You know," I told her tentatively, "sometimes, you can't make a conclusion that is free from all weaknesses. Sometimes the best thing to do is to acknowledge that you recognize them." From her expression, it was clear that she had not expected this answer. However, by allowing her the freedom to really think critically about her argument without pretending to be unaware of potential contradictions, I think she felt more confident in what she was doing. By discussing the plot and the characters in depth, S and I were able to focus on the text itself, and not on creating the foolproof argument she assumed her professor wanted. She evidently became more excited about what she was writing about, and when she believed in what she was saying, she took ownership of the paper. I simply was a sounding-board for her ideas.
Although I was happy for the fact she later got an A and was referred to study as a writing consultant herself, in the end, it was most rewarding to see her renewed interest in the subject and in writing. The informal session, she said, was "fun," and later added that we should "talk about things like that more often." I, as a representative of peer tutoring, had formalized a discussion about Jane Eyre. Tutoring was not simply sitting down at a desk and making judgments of her work, but helping her to access her own knowledge in a way that she found empowering. To me, this is clear proof of the Writing Center promoting a culture of academic seriousness and engagement.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Minimal Assistance and Maximum Frustration
It is rare occurrence when I step away from an article with a sense of complete annoyance. In general, I am cursed with a propensity to be swayed by most arguments. I have opinions, but they are generally influenced by a well-crafted argument or two. When reading Jeff Brooks' article Minimalist Tutoring, this was not the case. After putting down my book, I found that I was completely nonplussed and slightly disgusted. This is a reaction that is deeply instinctual, one that comes from emotions and experiences as both a tutor, but especially as a tutee. Although minimalist tutoring can be stimulating, I can also remember times where I asked questions of a professor and left 15 minutes later, with a muddled feeling of being more confused than when I entered. When a student knows there are answers, but is unable to access them, it can be an overwhelmingly frustrating experience.
While certain aspects of Brooks' argument are logical, even valuable, including the idea to treat student writing as texts, a process where "students learn to write, not craft perfect papers," (170) I find his guidelines for minimalist tutoring frustratingly limiting. At some level, the specific logistics of where to sit and how to write are useful for creating a comfortable atmosphere for consultants and students, I am highly skeptical of the claim that "if you follow these four steps, even if you will do nothing else, you will have served the student better than you would if you 'edited' his paper" (171). I find it interesting that "editing" seems to be a pejorative term in Brooks' eyes; while I do not approve of simply correcting a paper for a student, I think that it is a little excessive to dismiss editing as a tool that is inherently less helpful than positioning yourself to the right or left of the student.
I suppose that my main problem with "minimalist tutoring" concerns the relationship between the tutor and the tutee. While Brooks' claims that by following his guidelines, the tutor will be a source of "support and encouragement" (169), his process of "defensive minimalist tutoring" seems to contradict this immediately. He seems to set up an antagonistic relationship between the tutor and the tutee. He implies that when students ask questions about what they should do in a section of the paper, the response should be either mocking, dismissive, or both. "I have found," he says, " this approach doesn't upset students as it might seem it would; they know what they are doing, and when you show that you know too, they accept this" (172). Uh, right. I'm not sure what type of students Jeff Brooks tutors, but I certainly would not be one of them.
I think that when students come asking for help at the writing center, most are not simply trying to get the consultant to write the paper for them. Asking questions like "what should I do here?" should not be a cause for hostility. Students come to writing centers to ask questions that they may be uncomfortable asking a professor, and they do not deserve to be shot down or mocked for asking them. I think that these broad questions from students stem from a sense of confusion about perhaps a specific aspect of their writing that they are not yet conscious of or unable to verbalize. It is our job as consultants to tease out what this specific issue is by asking targeted questions in return.
Overall, I think that students come to the writing center looking for clarification, and by participating in this type of highly minimalist (and sometimes defensive) tutoring can sometimes leave the student feeling more confused than they did before. While some students with a strong sense of the goal of the assignment and of their own ideas may benefit from a minimalist tutor, others need more direction. Brooks creates a list of guidelines that appear to be overarching and universal. To never engage in any type of directive tutoring is a mistake, just as to edit a paper for a student is a mistake. How the two styles of tutoring balance in a specific session must be based on the needs of the student being tutored. Minimalist tutoring should not imply minimal help.
While certain aspects of Brooks' argument are logical, even valuable, including the idea to treat student writing as texts, a process where "students learn to write, not craft perfect papers," (170) I find his guidelines for minimalist tutoring frustratingly limiting. At some level, the specific logistics of where to sit and how to write are useful for creating a comfortable atmosphere for consultants and students, I am highly skeptical of the claim that "if you follow these four steps, even if you will do nothing else, you will have served the student better than you would if you 'edited' his paper" (171). I find it interesting that "editing" seems to be a pejorative term in Brooks' eyes; while I do not approve of simply correcting a paper for a student, I think that it is a little excessive to dismiss editing as a tool that is inherently less helpful than positioning yourself to the right or left of the student.
I suppose that my main problem with "minimalist tutoring" concerns the relationship between the tutor and the tutee. While Brooks' claims that by following his guidelines, the tutor will be a source of "support and encouragement" (169), his process of "defensive minimalist tutoring" seems to contradict this immediately. He seems to set up an antagonistic relationship between the tutor and the tutee. He implies that when students ask questions about what they should do in a section of the paper, the response should be either mocking, dismissive, or both. "I have found," he says, " this approach doesn't upset students as it might seem it would; they know what they are doing, and when you show that you know too, they accept this" (172). Uh, right. I'm not sure what type of students Jeff Brooks tutors, but I certainly would not be one of them.
I think that when students come asking for help at the writing center, most are not simply trying to get the consultant to write the paper for them. Asking questions like "what should I do here?" should not be a cause for hostility. Students come to writing centers to ask questions that they may be uncomfortable asking a professor, and they do not deserve to be shot down or mocked for asking them. I think that these broad questions from students stem from a sense of confusion about perhaps a specific aspect of their writing that they are not yet conscious of or unable to verbalize. It is our job as consultants to tease out what this specific issue is by asking targeted questions in return.
Overall, I think that students come to the writing center looking for clarification, and by participating in this type of highly minimalist (and sometimes defensive) tutoring can sometimes leave the student feeling more confused than they did before. While some students with a strong sense of the goal of the assignment and of their own ideas may benefit from a minimalist tutor, others need more direction. Brooks creates a list of guidelines that appear to be overarching and universal. To never engage in any type of directive tutoring is a mistake, just as to edit a paper for a student is a mistake. How the two styles of tutoring balance in a specific session must be based on the needs of the student being tutored. Minimalist tutoring should not imply minimal help.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Midterm
When I took my classmate's draft out of my bag, I felt an intense wave of apprehension crash over me. I had guarded it for the past days as if it was a precious jewel not to be misplaced or stained, and now as I looked down at its neatly ordered pages, my head was swimming. All the theories I had read during the semester were filed away in the recesses of my mind, and I worked frantically to find some sort of advice to help me through the session. My writer had told me that he had already met with his professor to discuss his ideas, that he had already had an appointment with his class consultant, and that he had already done some self-editing. In a moment of panic, I wondered if I was looking at the rare, nearly perfect paper that required my role to be one of an ultra-perfectionist, looking to make a tiny, nonessential suggestion here or there. While the principle that every paper can be improved nagged me, I skeptically wondered if this could be an exception. Perhaps as a novice consultant I wouldn't be able to pick up the improvements that those with more experience had not. What would I do?
As I closed my eyes, trying to locate any knowledge I possessed about tutoring strong writers, I was suddenly reminded of a reading from the beginning of the semester. In the article "My Teacher Hates Me," Valerie Perry refers to Kenneth Burkes' parlor metaphor. He talks about individual writing to be part of a never-ending conversation. "When you arrive," Burke says, "others have long preceded you." Yet after listening to the argument, you are able to add your input to this "interminable discussion." While Perry uses this metaphor to help students understand their role in the conversation through connecting audience, purpose, and voice (2), I think it is a applicable lesson for consultants as well. As a consultant, I am also in the parlor. I have been preceded by other writers, professors and even other consultants, but I am still a valuable part of the conversation. By simply having a different set of eyes and ideas, I represent to the the writer another potential member of the academic community. I have something to give to the writer, no matter how many others have already added to his paper.
While in theory I had understood this concept, it was not until I actually began to read over Erik's paper did I truly grasp my role as a member of the conversation. I tried to forget both my position as a consultant and my preconceived ideas of what his paper would be like and read it as who I truly am: a political science student eager to learn from an equal. After reading Straub's article, "The Concept of Control in Teacher Response," I was extremely aware of what I chose to say and in what manner I chose to say it in my commentary. Because I knew Erik was a strong writer, and he clearly had a strong understanding of his topic, I was even more careful to be non-directive in my feedback. I honestly did not think that he needed me to tell him "what is not working in the paper and what needs to be done" in his paper (Straub 226).
Instead, I tried to model Gere's style of response, one that "leaves the student room to make her own decisions and place greater responsibility on her as a writer than text-based advice" (Straub 242). I made comments that showed my own subjectivity as a reader like, "I feel" or "I'm not sure I understand" in order to distinction give the writer the OPTION of changing his work. I also tried to follow the concept of process-based response that Straub mentions. I asked Erik to consider his verb choice, to read certain sentences aloud in order to decide how to condense them. Keeping in mind my role as a reader, I asked questions about sentences I did not understand. While undeniably some of my questions were asked out of unfamiliarity with the topic, by asking them, I hoped that he would reconsider his audience and adjust the clarity of his ideas correspondingly. By being honest with my own uncertainties and thoughts about his work, I hoped to give an extremely strong writer the ability to see how his work would be perceived by an audience that included both experts and novices.
I am almost certain that I could have given Erik back his paper with absolutely no comments, and he would have received a good grade. But as a consultant-in-training, my goal is to make the student a better writer (North 38) and to make myself a better consultant. I started the consultation simply by asking Erik what aspects of the paper he was concerned about. Even after his two earlier consultations, he could identify areas that he felt may be weak. This confirmed the fact that he would be receptive to my comments, and was truly interested not only in improving his grade, but in improving his own understanding of how political science writing worked.
By taking Erik and his work seriously, I did not have to search through his paper looking for superfluous corrections as I feared. Instead, I allowed myself to completely embrace Molly Wingate's notion that writing centers are a source of shaping academic culture. I completely ignored the fact that this paper would be good enough to get the writer an A and instead thought about it solely in terms of the exchange and clarification of an idea. I wanted to understand, and I wanted Erik to communicate the ideas included in his thesis in the most clear way possible. I wanted him to show his proficiency as a writer, and I wanted the audience to appreciate his ideas. This act of mutual respect and willingness to improve is a key component of academic culture. "Writing Centers," Wingate states, "support the academic culture; at their best, they model elements of what academic culture could be" (8). I believe that both Erik and I share an interest in modeling the possibilities of peer academic discussion. By taking part in this discussion, we are reshaping, perhaps in a subtle, minute way, the overall Richmond academic culture. In the rush of day-to-day activities and pressures, rarely do students simply sit down to discuss the ideas they are writing about. I hope that the discussion we shared over this FYS essay was as exciting and beneficial for Erik as it was to me.
As I closed my eyes, trying to locate any knowledge I possessed about tutoring strong writers, I was suddenly reminded of a reading from the beginning of the semester. In the article "My Teacher Hates Me," Valerie Perry refers to Kenneth Burkes' parlor metaphor. He talks about individual writing to be part of a never-ending conversation. "When you arrive," Burke says, "others have long preceded you." Yet after listening to the argument, you are able to add your input to this "interminable discussion." While Perry uses this metaphor to help students understand their role in the conversation through connecting audience, purpose, and voice (2), I think it is a applicable lesson for consultants as well. As a consultant, I am also in the parlor. I have been preceded by other writers, professors and even other consultants, but I am still a valuable part of the conversation. By simply having a different set of eyes and ideas, I represent to the the writer another potential member of the academic community. I have something to give to the writer, no matter how many others have already added to his paper.
While in theory I had understood this concept, it was not until I actually began to read over Erik's paper did I truly grasp my role as a member of the conversation. I tried to forget both my position as a consultant and my preconceived ideas of what his paper would be like and read it as who I truly am: a political science student eager to learn from an equal. After reading Straub's article, "The Concept of Control in Teacher Response," I was extremely aware of what I chose to say and in what manner I chose to say it in my commentary. Because I knew Erik was a strong writer, and he clearly had a strong understanding of his topic, I was even more careful to be non-directive in my feedback. I honestly did not think that he needed me to tell him "what is not working in the paper and what needs to be done" in his paper (Straub 226).
Instead, I tried to model Gere's style of response, one that "leaves the student room to make her own decisions and place greater responsibility on her as a writer than text-based advice" (Straub 242). I made comments that showed my own subjectivity as a reader like, "I feel" or "I'm not sure I understand" in order to distinction give the writer the OPTION of changing his work. I also tried to follow the concept of process-based response that Straub mentions. I asked Erik to consider his verb choice, to read certain sentences aloud in order to decide how to condense them. Keeping in mind my role as a reader, I asked questions about sentences I did not understand. While undeniably some of my questions were asked out of unfamiliarity with the topic, by asking them, I hoped that he would reconsider his audience and adjust the clarity of his ideas correspondingly. By being honest with my own uncertainties and thoughts about his work, I hoped to give an extremely strong writer the ability to see how his work would be perceived by an audience that included both experts and novices.
I am almost certain that I could have given Erik back his paper with absolutely no comments, and he would have received a good grade. But as a consultant-in-training, my goal is to make the student a better writer (North 38) and to make myself a better consultant. I started the consultation simply by asking Erik what aspects of the paper he was concerned about. Even after his two earlier consultations, he could identify areas that he felt may be weak. This confirmed the fact that he would be receptive to my comments, and was truly interested not only in improving his grade, but in improving his own understanding of how political science writing worked.
By taking Erik and his work seriously, I did not have to search through his paper looking for superfluous corrections as I feared. Instead, I allowed myself to completely embrace Molly Wingate's notion that writing centers are a source of shaping academic culture. I completely ignored the fact that this paper would be good enough to get the writer an A and instead thought about it solely in terms of the exchange and clarification of an idea. I wanted to understand, and I wanted Erik to communicate the ideas included in his thesis in the most clear way possible. I wanted him to show his proficiency as a writer, and I wanted the audience to appreciate his ideas. This act of mutual respect and willingness to improve is a key component of academic culture. "Writing Centers," Wingate states, "support the academic culture; at their best, they model elements of what academic culture could be" (8). I believe that both Erik and I share an interest in modeling the possibilities of peer academic discussion. By taking part in this discussion, we are reshaping, perhaps in a subtle, minute way, the overall Richmond academic culture. In the rush of day-to-day activities and pressures, rarely do students simply sit down to discuss the ideas they are writing about. I hope that the discussion we shared over this FYS essay was as exciting and beneficial for Erik as it was to me.
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