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I have now finished my writing pedagogy course, and I feel that I must reflect upon what I have learned; how can I explain this new want I have to help others with their papers?  And even more so, how can I go about perfecting my new position as a writing tutor?

I have to be honest readers: I am afraid!  I tutor at home, au pairing a 7th and 8th grader, and there is nothing worse than studying a few hours with one of them and see them bring back the test, D+ in hand.  What's often worse, however, is the look on the parents' faces...

How can I perfect this art of consulting?  How can I become fully comfortable and stable and present in all of my sessions?

First, I firmly believe in presenting myself calm and incredibly confident.  If I question myself, then my student will as well.  Second, I will prepare myself for each tutoring session; no paper will be unread, unedited, ignored. And third, I will listen extremely carefully.  Nothing else is that important; it is only through active listening that I may acquire the talent to find where the student is having the most trouble, and tackle that.

I look forward to meeting new people, new minds, and voices.  I look forward to working with my peers and others outside the norm.  However, most importantly, I am looking forward to learning and growing as my own person; becoming a writing tutor is something I am very fortunate to have achieved-- and now, comes the difficult part: making myself and others proud.

"DR. ABC" and "WATCH"

            Finally, I have found an article that proves itself to be most helpful when tutoring an ESL student. David Mosher Davin Granroth, and Troy Hicks’ article “Creating a common ground with ESL writers” explains a system of using the letters in “WATCH.”

            While reading this article, I immediately was drawn back into 8^th grade, when I learned CPR and had to memorize the term “DR. ABC.”  The term “DR. ABC” stands for D- Danger (make sure that you and the unconscious person are safe from danger), R- Response (check to see if they respond when you tap them or call their name), A- Airway (open up their airway by tilting their chin back), B- Breathing (check to see if they are breathing, if not, begin CPR), and C- Circulation (check for pulse, and continue to do CPR). 

            Here is valid evidence that a simple word like “DR. ABC” or “WATCH” can go an incredible long way when put to use.  Not only will it stay better in memory, but it will be better to remember in times of concern or trouble.  If I were to see a friend of mine hurt and possibly unable to breathe, my mind would fall completely blank; I wouldn’t know exactly what do to.  But with “DR. ABC,” I am able to step-by-step remember what to do and think clearly.  Wouldn’t you want that during a first ESL meeting?

            “WATCH” is similar—what would we want to think of if an ESL student were struggling and unable to understand anything?  I would definitely become nervous, and probably mess up my words or give bad advice for the sake that I wasn’t quite sure how to proceed. 

            But if I were to know “WATCH,” I would immediately think: “Oh yes—W- talk about the writer, A- talk about the audience and the assignment, T- talk about the task, C- make sure communication flows easily and without force, and H- always help the student.  Especially in the first few sessions with an ESL tutor, I can imagine how helpful this word would be.  I can truly appreciate the authors’ opinion that: “Being WATCHful will help to establish the trust, respect, and empathy necessary for any “helping relationship” (6).

            I have never helped with an ESL student in the writing center, but I have been an ESL tutor for staff members on Richmond’s campus.  Twice a week, I help these men learn English—and I can tell you: I wish I had had “WATCH,” or some form like it before my first session.  Not to say that my first session was horrible, but I was nervous— I wish I had had some sort of device like this. 

            I can personally enforce the importance of learning the student’s background; in my first ESL tutoring session, my student and I only talked of his background, where he came from, and how he came to Richmond—I needed to know his skill level before I could move from there.  The same goes from an ESL writer; you cannot attack their essay before learning the background behind it.  Even more so, by establishing a friendly space, you rid of the “uneasiness between the consultant and the client” (2). 

            The “C” in “WATCH,” however, seems the hardest to me.  With each ESL student comes different barriers.  I’m afraid that only time will allow a tutor to master the meeting with an ESL student.  However, until then, we have the luxury of remembering only five letters if suddenly our mind goes blank during a meeting!

I Am Incredibly Visual... So What Next?

            I have learned of how to present myself as a tutor, I have learned how to act as a tutor, and I have even learned, as a tutor, the many varieties of students I will come upon.  What Ryan and Zimmerelli teach me next is incredibly valid and helpful information—they offer how to handle these different people.

            These are questions that fill my head before each consultation: Is my student a visual learner?  Do I need to use pens and highlighters?  Should I make the student write out all the information?  Or is my student a listener?  Should I read all the information aloud before preceding?  Or does my student learn by doing?  Should I give the student the pen and watch as he or she figures out the thesis with only a little of my aid?

            These are all valid questions, and Ryan and Zimmerelli face them head on, and provide critiques and helpful comments.  I, being a visual and kinesthetic learner, was able to respond to their tips in agreement.  For example, Ryan and Zimmerelli list these tips under “visual techniques”: “Use color when possible” (60) and “work from written material, pointing to, circling, highlighting” (60).  These make sense to me; they seem viable options. 

I made sure to do this during my consultation, even pulling up the assignment on my computer, having previously highlighted the important parts.  My writer seemed very happy with that—the assignment was over four pages long and overwhelmed her even before she set down to read the sheet.  By simply setting aside five minutes to go over her assignment and highlight the important pieces, I was able to help her out immensely, and quite simply.

On the kinesthetic side, I gained the tip to use post-it notes.  “Use them to identify the parts of the paper, like the thesis, topic sentences, and evidence.  Have the student write the concept on the self-stick note and then match it to the appropriate part of the paper” (61).  Overall, these tips allow the writer to better grasp the concept of the paper and assignment.

Stressors for Young and Old; We all Have Them

            

            The article “Writing center ethics and “non-traditional” students” offers a conversation amongst writers and tutors involved in writing centers.  What the three people in the discussion, Gardner, McLean, and Lyman, work to do is find what exactly is ethical when helping the “non-traditional” student (in this example, a divorced mother of two).  While at first the three seem to have varying opinons on the validity of “ethics” and “morals,” the three agree that each tutor faces a “slippery slope” (9) but must “look at the individual, ” (10) and not as someone other than a typical teenage student.

            While I agree that this is a wonderful idea, it seems too optimistic.  And oh well, maybe I am pessimistic but it does not seem realistic.  There is no way that if a balding man with seven kids came in I would be able to see him as just a “typical student” – and I don’t think he would want me to think of him as a teenager either.  Then again, every single person is different and I agree with the authors’ claim that “each and every student is an individual with specific expectations, agendas, and goals” (8), but this man is much different that what I probably would have come to find up until this point.

            Instead of college distractions, like parties or roommates keeping the student away from papers, this man has jobs, kids, and wife—completely different stressors.  And even more so, this man has not been in school for a while.  Unlike the normal student, he might not remember what a thesis statement is or even what a body paragraph is.  This would require some more explanation from me as the tutor and less time spent on something else.

            On the opposite spectrum, perhaps this person who comes in is extremely well knowledged on the subject; perhaps I would feel uncomfortable telling this person that a point of theirs is wrong.  I believe that with each person, there is a different story, and whether that person is a student or an adult, each person needs a different kind of attention.  One thing that I would keep in mind when helping out one of these “non-traditional” students: be aware of what they expect from you, and try to be as fair and helpful as possible.  It is not ethical to create ideas for them, nor is it ethical to jip them by ignoring basic needs.  Take time and remember to be courteous to each student (or “non-traditional” student)—you never know the exact stressors and background of each person to stereotype them.

What I Fear to Fail...

            I imagine myself sitting with a student, consulting her with her paper, and suddenly she asks me a question like “is this the correct format?” or “why would I want to put this sentence here?” or “why do I use ‘whom’ here instead of ‘who’?”   I fear questions like this simply because I do not know the answer.  Yes, I know I will come into contact with situations like this, and I already have.  But each time I am hit with an abrupt question that I do not know the answer to, I tend to freeze.  My mouth moves but no words come out.  Eventually I make some lame response among the lines of “I’m not sure, maybe we can look it up?”  However, it most often is something horrifying like: “I’m not quite sure, but ‘whom’ goes there because it just sounds better.”  And I hate myself for this, it is a fear of mine—a fear of not knowing the answer and therefore not helping the person I am tutoring.

            Yes, I am aware that I could research my grammar or memorize every rule or fact on the earth, but how is this practical?  I realize the impossibility of such a task—but as graspable tasks are concerned, I need to learn to not freeze up when a question is directed at me.  I can accept that maybe I’ll have to learn along with them, and it won’t be the end of the world.

            I think that I feel this way because I do not want to give anything less than my absolute best when helping others.  To fall short would question my stance as a writing tutor.  Thankfully, Steve Sherwood’s piece sheds light in the darkness: “We feel anguish when we fail to help students because we invest ourselves in and care deeply about our work. If the opposite were true, if we did not care and did not strive for excellence, we would find neither safety nor satisfaction, because surrendering to our sense of inadequacy would mean failing to realize our potential and failing to help writers realize theirs” (Sherwood, 52).

            I accept my fear of failing, and acknowledge that it will happen.  However, I hope that these circumstances will be small, and that the positivity of my consultations will outshine my gaps in knowledge. 

The Problems in Minimalist Tutoring

            When deciding on the validity of the theory of “minimalist tutoring,” or the “master class model,” I tend to lean towards the latter.  But don’t get me wrong, I appreciate what the minimalist theory of tutoring strives for, and I love when students find the answer on their own, but let’s be truthful: how many students do you know have the time to sit down and create such masterful ideas?  Most of the time, these students do not have time to sleep a good number of hours a night let alone write a paper.  The ideas of Jeff Brooks present answers for a “Utopian” kind of learning environment, and I believe that most of what the Shamoon and Burns article present is more realistic.

            When critiquing the Brooks article, I first found the strengths of his argument: the way the tutor should sit beside the student, and having the student focus on his or her own writing by having the tutor take on a secondary role.  However, even these strengths are weaknesses: a tutor can sit this way, whether or not using the minimalist method.  And also, the writer may be unresponsive and even more confused if left out alone with their paper; the only way that the student will know what to do is by seeing example. 

            It was much easier to find the weaknesses.   First off, most of Brooks’ steps to achieving the minimalist form of tutoring are awkward, if not impossible.  My favorite? “Have the student read the paper aloud to you, and suggest that he hold a pencil while doing so.  Aside from saving your eyes in the case of bad handwriting, this will accomplish three things…” (Brooks, 171).  Just reading the instructions leaves me confused, I couldn’t imagine doing this in a session, especially with someone I’ve just met.  Another favorite: “Give the student a discrete writing task, then go away for a few minutes” (Brooks, 172).  I couldn’t even imagine leaving someone when they have distinctly come in for my help.

            But the problem, even more than the awkwardness, is the inconsistency of these tips.  Not every student will create a perfect thesis in those three minutes you step out of the room.  Perhaps they write nothing; then what will you do?  Create some new awkward circumstance to hopefully pry some creative thought out of their confused, or simply uninterested, head?  No, I cannot see how this would work.  Myself being a very visual person, I learn by seeing, by copying, by comparing.  This learning is similar to the opinion of Linda K. Shamoon and Deborah H. Burns, who offer a “model-type” mode of learning.

            Burns observes that when teachers take control of a writer’s work, and show them what to do, the students often learn much more: “He took their papers and rewrote them while they watched.  They left feeling better able to complete their papers, and they tackled other papers with more ease and success” (Burn, 177).  It is important to note here that the teaching is not writing their paper for them, but showing them how to write it (and also how to write many more like this).  It is incredibly important to learn this way for some students who are much more visual.  I know that in my case, to have a teacher literally circle my errors and provide support, I learn much more efficiently than having my teacher leave the room while I ponder in utter confusion.  

Writing and Passion: Midterm Post

What was most exciting for me, as I embarked upon my first “scrimmage” writing consultation, was how well I could put what I learned to use.  To put it bluntly, I was interested if any of the information I had learned would work—and if all these little details would fall into place.  Even though I knew the consultant, I was afraid.  Afraid that I would influence her to change something she should not, afraid that I would guide her hand, but mostly, just afraid that I would insult her.  As a fellow writer, I immediately respected her; to know that I insulted her, or any other student looking for help, would upset me greatly.  But I overcame this anxiety and focused on the task at hand: I was first and foremost a writing consultant in this space, and so I pulled through successfully, to help a student and better both our skills.

            It was with the texts of our class that I strove to achieve this goal: to not insult, but rather consult.  The simple (or at first I believed them to be simple) notes from Ryan and Zimmerelli, about how to sit and react, proved to be the perfect starting ground for the consultation.  By sitting side-by-side, the consultant and I were able to “look at the work in progress together” (18).  I even knew to give my student her paper, so that she may be in control of her writing, and also discourage any sort of interference on my part.  Since the paper was in front of her, she found many of her mistakes before I could point them out.  I also found that with the paper in front of her, she could grab her pen and write on her draft.  If the paper were in front of me, these adjustments would not have been made. 

            Ryan and Zimmerelli also speak about presentation; the overall mental and physical state of the consultant reflects onto the writer.  I made sure to “dress casually but appropriate” and also, to “sit in a relaxed, comfortable manner” (18).  These small, simple things helped ease the two of us and reminded us that this was just a paper, and that there was no need to stress about it.  By organizing the consultation in such a way, the exchange was comfortable; instead of an authoritative figure beating sense into a writer, it felt more like a peer providing a bit of insight and help.  I could feel that we were two students, engaged in learning and making each other better writers.

            Lastly, but perhaps most importantly, Ryan and Zimmerelli taught me to listen actively.  And when I say this, I mean, really listen to what someone is saying and then—act on it.  Often, I have found that the best information that comes from a student is when I ask them a question and listen very carefully to their answer.  Often, in their explanation, I can illuminate a good point they made, or a fact they hadn’t mentioned before.  This is also a good thing to think about doing when you are confused by a writer’s point.  If you paraphrase, ask questions, and listen, it “serves as a way to check perceptions and correct any possible misunderstandings” (23).  By maintaining this open, relaxed space, it only betters the interaction and growth of both the writer and the consultant. 

            However, there will still be complicated problems I may find in someone’s writing and I will have to handle it correctly.  Let’s say that a student will read the sentence aloud and worry about the correct structure.  Often, they follow the rules, and still it reads wrong.  Hjortshoj illuminates simple rules like: “don’t use first person,” “don’t begin with ‘but,’” “only use action verbs,” or “thesis is only one sentence” (88-90).  Often, these work—but I have found that writing comes in many forms, and that rules are broken; what I can offer to the writer is to point out what I think sounds a bit off and what I would do to possibly improve it (without feeding them the answer).

            When giving the student advice, I have found that my most useful tactic is to explain the importance of reading the paper aloud.  Hjortshoj’s seemingly simple piece of advice is incredibly helpful, and also does not insult the consultant, but rather advocates for further revision on the student’s part.  The most common mistakes I have found in the papers I have read all deal with sentence structure.  Instead of pointing to a sentence and saying that the sentence is wrong, I will point out the area that needs to be looked at.  I will write, “I understand what you’re going at here, but I would read this section out loud to clarify some of your points.  This way, your sentences will flow and the overall message will impact the reader more.”  The phrase “your ear for language is … more reliable than your eye” (85) definitely describes what I feel about the power of reading work aloud.  If the writer is able to do his or her own correcting after the meeting, then the consultant can spend more time working on the structure and content of the piece.

            On a more personal level, when I reflect upon the experience of being a writing tutor, I am fulfilled.  Like almost anything new, I am nervous in my performance, but also because I know that I have an impact on these people—I don’t want to mess it up.  It is this responsibility that I am especially proud of.  A tutor must not show the nerve or anxiety, but must remain calm, casual, and professional.  If all of these are met, the center will accomplish much more than a simple tutor like me can understand.  One of the most impactful publications about writing centers I have found is a piece by McGlaun, a reflection of a current English teacher.  It is with pieces like this that I can see where I am now and what my future may be like.

            She begins as the writing student, asking her tutor for help.  McGlaun reflects on how shocked she was when she went to the writing center for the first time: “They allowed me, even encouraged me to ‘write wrong’” (5).  Now, she doesn’t mean that they let her run rampant without thought, flow, or organization, but rather let her focus on improvement, and her own participation with her writing.  She found the writing center to be a much more calming and reflective place than she had initially thought.  Later in her career, she reflected that the atmosphere was wonderful because she had seen the tutors as her peers.  She voices “what interests me in this story is the way in which we each instinctively turned to one of our peers for help” (6).  This statement is the reason that I set such importance on maintaining that comfortable, peer (rather than teacher) feel in my future consultations.  We listen to our peers and work off one another.  Lastly, McGlaun focuses on what she has found as a teacher: “We had not simply worked on her paper, her writing; we had worked on her student- teacher relationship, a relationship which by nature is ‘subtle, dynamic, and highly charged’” (7).

            To spend one’s life dedicated to this craft, and see it so wonderfully mold those around you, as well as yourself, is something to be proud of.  It was incredibly motivating to read this woman’s account.  Yes, she found troubles, but learned along the way, maintained her faith in the writing center, and worked through problems with her students.  When working with my first student, I established a comfortable setting, acted calm, asked questions, and followed what I have learned in my readings the past few weeks.  And although I have learned much through each text, a lot of my knowledge is second nature—I have been a writer my whole life, how could I alter that initial passion?  Every single person that I see will demand my highest attention and my highest respect, for we are both equals, learning and improving ourselves as writers.   

What Not to Wear

            I write this blog concerned for the happiness of my tutors.  I definitely believe that if there is one thing that we must do as tutors, besides help them become better writers, is to make them feel comfortable when doing that.  And I don’t mean that we must all be “fake nice” or even forcibly sweet and cordial, I believe that we must be compassionate, easy-going, and visibly relaxed.

            Imagine: if a writer comes in, stressed already, and finds her tutor guzzling down a large Redeye, pants dirty and shirt on inside out, what does this say about this person, and sadly, on the writing center in general?  Besides the necessity to be calm, understanding, and helpful, there is so much more to the overall presentation of the tutor.  In Leigh Ryan and Lisa Zimmerelli’s book The Bedford Guide for Writing Tutors, they discuss the importance of the right kind of clothing: “be aware that your body language and clothing also express unspoken messages” (18).  If a tutor were to wear sloppy clothing, the student would not take the tutor seriously.  Alternatively, if the tutor were wearing a nice dress with pearls or a suit, the student could be overwhelmed, feel insecure of their clothing choice, and not focus on their own paper out of sheer discomfort.

            I express my belief that a tutor should be conscientious about what they’re wearing.  Of course I don’t want you to go out and buy a whole new wardrobe of simple tees and basic jeans with the want to “dress casually and comfortably,” but I would think to myself “how would this student perceive me?” while changing in the morning.

            It is the little things that make the student more comfortable, and why not focus on them?  The ending result is that the student leaves the writing center happy and motivated.  

The Editing Process: A Black Hole to Originality?

       Whenever a teacher, a tutor or a peer helps a writer strengthen their paper, is the act ever untainted by opinions from the editor? I believe that no matter what, if anyone looks at a paper and critiques it, the editor’s comments will never leave the mind of the writer, and thus ultimately effect the paper—but is there a way to allow the writer to originally fill in the gaps illuminated by the editor? Is the writer doomed with the task of writing a paper, giving it to the teacher, and changing the paper to accommodate the needs of the professor? I’d like the think that the writing center may avoid this: because the tutor is not the teacher, the consultation allows the writer to maintain most of his of her own independence in the paper.
       In Richard Straub’s article, “A Concept of Control in Teacher Response: Defining the Varieties of ‘Directive’ and ‘Facilitative’ Commentary’,” he speaks of the fine line that teachers face when editing papers. Straub suggests that teachers should edit the papers as if they were the “common reader” (Straub, 224). Also, each teacher must remind him or herself “not (to) take over” (Straub, 224). I see the validity in his statements; teachers should not overcome the reader’s opinions but rather help the student become a better reader. But I ask you: how far can we really believe this? Each teacher, just as each person, has his or her own opinion and bias; it is impossible not to pass these onto the paper when edited.
       No matter if the editor is “directive” (Straub, 234) or not, the writer will no doubt change a piece of their writing; the writing will no longer be simply the writer’s work, it will be tainted (not necessarily good or bad) by someone else’s pen. I agree that there are levels to the editor’s impression on the writer, as some may be specific changes and some broad general critiques. Once the red pen goes to paper, however, the piece is no longer the original writer’s piece and thus any form of editing serves a similar role. A teacher must decide how much they wish to change that original writer’s words, which is truly a hard decision to make.

My First Shadowing Experience

                Last week I was able to observe my first writing tutoring experience.  It was interesting to be on the outside, and quite a bit less stressful I would imagine.  But what I found, from this one experience, is that I do not need to stress as much as I first thought.  The girl asking for help was incredibly nice, bright, and talkative.  We spoke to each other even before the writing consultant came and she explained that she needed him to review her application for an internship this summer abroad.

                As soon as the writing tutor entered the room, he was casual but still professional.  He greeted her, asked what she needed, and then sat down to work with her.  The entire conversation lasted about twenty minutes, in which he read her article and then offered ideas to better convey her enthusiasm for the project.  Interestingly, one of the things that he spoke of was to delve right into the information; by stating upfront what she wanted to do with this programs, she would be bringing the reader in and not holding him or her at a distance.

                Richard Lanham, a professor at UCLA, speaks about the importance of making language “clear and concise.”  His fourth point in his “Paramedic Method” is to draw the reader in immediately, telling them clearly what is going on.  I believe he makes a great point here—even if it may take a while to accomplish this smoothly and is easier said than done. 

                The point here is that the writing consultant helped out the writer; he pointed to places that needed strength, that needed the dramatic pulling in of the reader, to set her application apart from the others on the table.  The writer left happy, refreshed, and able to set to work on her paper, one written by herself, and not by the writing tutor.

Where Did I Put That Assignment Sheet?

            I cannot emphasize enough the importance of the assignment sheet.  Everyone knows what happens when the teacher passes out the assignment sheet: it is usually a month before the essay is due and so we put it in the back of our binders, make a little note in our assignment books, and presently forget about it.  It remains there, out of sight, and out of mind, so that when we look to write our essay, we often start without reading the sheet, relying on mere memory or guessing.

            Not only is this tragic, but we seem to be shooting ourselves in the foot here: the assignment sheet is the easiest part of the assignment, as it tells us exactly what to do.  I must ask: why do we often neglect it?  It still confuses me, as I begin essays and then ask myself “Wait—what am I even trying to answer?”

            Anna Kendall writes in “The Assignment Sheet Mystery” that students often ignore the assignment and write their own versions “because they ‘like it better that way’. And it is often these same students who explain that ‘the teacher doesn’t get’ their writing” (Kendall, 5).  This statement infuriates me; yes, I am an advocate of originality, but it is often never the case in this situation.  These students that stress their “originality” often are simply lazy, unwilling to cooperate with the teacher or follow the rules.

            I have had an experience with this just last month when helping a child on his essay.  I made the mistake of letting him write three body paragraphs without looking at the assignment sheet.  When I read through the three body paragraphs and found that none of them connected and did not reach any sort of point, I asked him for the essay question.  After a hesitation, we spent ten minutes in search for the missing assignment sheet.  Stuck in the back of a binder, I found that in no way did the boy answer the question that was asked.  We sat down and he began to outline a new essay, working what he already had into a new form.

            That simple ten minutes we spent looking for the essay question was incredibly worth it; without the question, his teacher would have no doubt scored him much lower.  And even more so, because of the assignment sheet, we were able to work together to create a clearer thesis and a clearer body.  The assignment sheet was able to answer many of our questions and hopefully earn him a better grade.

Talking to a Wall May Not be So Bad After All…

            We all can agree that in high school our teachers would say the same things: “Never start a sentence with ‘but’,” “Never use passive voice,” “SHOW me, not TELL me,”— and we all listened, pulling and tweaking our writing to guarantee an “A.”  But what Keith Hjortshoj tells us, in his article “Rules and Errors” in his book The Transition to College Writing, is that these rules are broken, and should not always be applied.  He voices: “I can easily find examples from respectable published writing that contradict these rules” (89).  What we need to find, rather is out own set of rules.

            Proofreading, or rather, finding errors, is not based upon a set of rules, like the ones mentioned above.  I believe, rather, that each writer must find a set of rules that he or she abides by and believes in.

            Many people do multiple drafts, and some make one outline and then produce a paper; both are different means for writing a paper, and both unique to the individual.  As for me, I always write multiple drafts and often spend time reassessing topic sentences.  But most importantly, I always read aloud my work after each draft.  Something as silly as “The girl and the boy, who were a couple for many years, bought a dog,” if read aloud, can be corrected to something like “The girl and boy, who had been a couple for many years, decided to buy a dog.”

            Easily, the sentence becomes much stronger and to put it bluntly, less awkward sounding.  Hjortshoj agrees with this technique: “Your ear for language is also more reliable than your eye” (85).  Reading your paper to a friend, or even to your computer screen is necessary to catch those little errors (And even after I write this blog, I will be reading it aloud to check for errors).  So next time you need some advice, read your paper aloud to the wall; it may not answer you, but you will find some answers on your own.

I May Shit, But Do I Bullshit?

       In a direct response to the essay “A Kind Word for Bullshit: The Problem of Academic Writing?” by Philip Eubanks and John D. Schaeffer, I ask myself this question: do I bullshit?  I myself am an English major and so I relate myself to the Academia and look forward to a future surrounded in this.  But is this future one of total bullshit?  My immediate response to this accusation is to naturally refute and refuse it completely.  How could I agree that what I base my life around, pay 50,000 dollars a year to learn at college, and waste precious hours studying, is all bullshit?  No, no, of course I reject it—it would be mad to agree to this.  However, I know what we do in English, and how writers twist words, is sometimes stretching the truth.  Could it be true: are we all just bullshitters?

       Now, I feel that the term “bullshit” is harsh, and was probably chosen to grab greater attention from the reader.  And while at first I chuckled, as the pages went on, I grew more and more uncomfortable.  Was it because the term is crude or because I was realizing the falsity of English academia?  Well, I cannot be sure exactly, but I feel like it was a bit of both.  The term “bullshit” seems to pull out a greater reaction from the reader, but also seems a bit outlandish.  When the authors bring up Dave Barry’s accusation of the “bullshit” of Moby Dick and the similarities the whale has to the Republic of Ireland, he seems to criticize writers: “If you can regularly come up with lunatic interpretations of simple stories, you should major in English” (373).

       But that seems to be part of the beauty in English; there is no exact answer to each piece of writing.  There are words and lines, but no exact meanings of readings.  Scholars thus write to explain, criticize, or argue points and speak amongst each other.  In one piece of this article, he states: “Their goal is to sell the product, yet they are required to present themselves as benefactors of their potential customers, as persons with only the good of the client at heart” (378).  So in a ways, that makes the writer a salesperson—but can you claim that they are a “bullshitter?”  What if they truly believe in their position (which hopefully they do, putting so much passion and work into a piece)?  They would not claim themselves as a “bullshitter,” and that is no doubt another reason why scholars take great offense to this claim.

       All too often, non-scholars place critical writing in the “bullshit” pile, simply because they do not understand this way of writing.  “For many non-academics, academic writing is not just bullshit but bullshit of the worst kind” (381).  It is not that they are misunderstanding the writing of academia that bothers scholars, but the fact that they toss out this hard work and claim it to be “bullshit.”  I believe that one quote speaks incredibly true of the thoughts of those outside the English academia; the normal reader would read something on, let’s say, Wuthering Heights and recount that: “Such jargon seems to contribute nothing to the reader except confusion” (381).  To them, and some academia, this essay would be bullshit.  It makes no sense, and seems far-fetched and insignificant.  But does that make it bullshit?  Does the author believe it to be bullshit?

       While the article does well in grabbing its reader in with the term “bullshit”, I feel that these authors overuse the term.  And while it is insulting to authors who spend their lives in this business, I feel like it is too negative towards the practice of writing.  Authors work incredibly hard to add essays into discussion, and while their point may be far-fetched and “bullshitted," those of the English Academia are not the only people supposedly “bullshitting."  I would classify most people to be guilty of bullshitting in their life—lawyers, business men and women, actors, salesmen, waiters, doctors, and I could list many more.

Dear Adrienne Rich: Thank You

            For the past two years, I have been tutoring and au paring for a family— an 8^th grade boy and 7^th grade girl.  You might say that these kids are too old to have a babysitter, but trust me—I am much more than that; I help them do homework, organize, and most challenging of all: write essays. 

            In high school, I took AP English and did well on the test, so I believed myself to be prepared for college.  Even more so, I am incredibly passionate when it comes so English.  So while tutoring these two, I never questioned my ability to write—I was not afraid of the language or worried about my capability to produce substantial writing.  I also never doubted my ability to organize and convey my thoughts efficiently.  Entering the college campus, and then taking the necessary CORE class changed my cocky attitude: my professor last year gave me a C on the first assignment.

            I adored my CORE teacher, which is another reason why this grade hit me especially hard.  She was accomplished, composed—everything I believed myself to be—and yet, suddenly, this “C” illuminated my weaknesses.  Winter break came along, and I returned home, questioning my major.

            This family, as usual, wanted me to come over after school everyday, but I felt that I was betraying them somehow.  Why would a “C” student tutor kids?  I should not be allowed anywhere near their house, let alone their homework! 

And yet, I was determined to show I could pull off an “A” on a paper in this class.  That next semester I decided to tackle the poem “The Phenomenology of Anger” by Adrienne Rich in an essay.

            To say that I immersed myself in this project would be an understatement; I have always been a lover of poetry, so it came naturally.  But this project made me fall in love with it again (as I seem to do each time I read a new wonderful poem).  I came in to speak with my teacher, made multiple drafts, and realized the mistakes I made (some, I still seem to make).  I received an “A”. 

            I did not cry, don’t worry—but I almost did.  This “A” not only meant that I at least consciously felt better about tutoring this family, but that I could work hard enough and write well enough to succeed.  It is with this grade that I constantly remind myself that I can help other people, and that I deserve to. 

            Although I doubt myself constantly, I believe it is incredibly important to remember one time (or multiple times) when you have succeeded; compliments remind me that I have been successful and can be once again.
            But even more than that-- that feeling of accomplishment is wonderful, and reminds me that I can change my role as student and tutor.  In Molly Wingate's article "Writing Centers as Sites of Academic Culture", she states: "with their attitude, seriousness, and and experience, tutors and writers help maintain academic culture, and they enhance it" (Wingate, 12).
            Working on my writing not only leaves me feeling accomplished, but able to return to the family I tutor and pass on my passion and strength to their kids.