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.