Dear student writers,
You may already be rolling your eyes at yet another "older, wiser" adult trying to give you advice. I understand because that's what I would have done at your age. The reason I write to you now, however, really is important. It's about your voice and your writing style. First, let me tell you a story.
When I was a sophomore in high school, my English teacher handed back one of my essays with a D on it. As a strong writer from a young age, I was angry. I approached my teacher and asked her why she graded my work with a D? She explained that I wrote the essay wrong, in the wrong tone, in the wrong voice. But I write in my voice, I said, and I included everything you asked for. She shook her head and said, you wrote the wrong way. I advocated for my own voice and was told that I was wrong.
I took the essay to my parents and explained what had happened. To their credit, they have always encouraged my creative expression and individuality in all forms, especially writing, so they set up a meeting with my teacher. The principal attended. I was not present, but they advocated for my voice and because they were adults who knew the words to use, I ended up with a B and a raft of dirty looks from that teacher for the rest of the school year.
That was the moment I understood that there would always be people who disliked my writing voice. But I am stubborn enough to use it anyway. And decades later, when I decided to become a writing professor, that moment rushed back into my mind and I was angry all over again. Never would I make any of my students feel that their writing voices, styles, and choices were wrong.
So that's the takeaway for you. I'm sure you've been told by one or more teachers that you are writing something wrong. If we're talking grammar and spelling and punctuation - easily discovered and fixed errors - that's different. I'm willing to bet that you've heard a teacher tell you that you are writing something the wrong way simply because you chose a different path, a different subject, or a different tone or approach. Perhaps you were trying to infuse a boring litany of facts with some life with an anecdote of personal experience and ended up with a D because you strayed too far outside the rubric's boundaries.
Sometimes, the consequences of advocating for your own voice will be bad grades. In my Master's program, I took a hideous course on James Joyce. I can hear the reverberations of complaints as academics and writers read that phrase "hideous course on James Joyce" because for some reason people love him. Fine. I don't. I'm not a particular fan of Faulkner either. So there. Back to my story. I took this course because I needed a course and that was the only one available, so I struggled through and tried very hard to learn something. Sadly, I suffered then and suffer to this day from Eyerollitis, a low Bullshit tolerance, and Whisperedasideaxis, which means I wasn't the professor's favorite. My final research project was A-level work, but earned a B because he didn't like my attitude. Fair enough. So much for a perfect 4.0. Sometimes you gladly take the consequences just to be yourself.
When it comes to writing, no one has the right to dictate the terms of your creativity, or contain the exuberance of your voice. We get this so wrong in education. What we need in this world is more voices, different voices, unique perspectives, not more of the same, cookie-cutter writers writing the same way about the same subjects ad nauseam.
Please remember this. Remember that whether you are 13 or 16 or 18 or 22, your voice is your own, your style is your own, and your voice is valuable and right just the way it is, as it is. Make sure you hit all of the grammatical correctness issues - proofread carefully and construct confidently - but we need more writers to break down the barriers and push through the boundaries. And although I am loathe to admit it, James Joyce broke those barriers with aplomb, and so did Faulkner. I admire those writers for their willingness to take chances, leap into the unknown with vigor, and flout conventionality. I strive to do the same with my own work and try very hard to help my students see the value of their own words.
Write from your soul. Write what is true and real. Write fearlessly. And don't be afraid when someone, a teacher, a parent, a friend, doesn't like what you've written - it's too unsettling, it's too sad, it's too angry, it's too unfamiliar. Good. Make people uncomfortable. Make us think. Make us wonder. Make those people who say you aren't writing right sit back in wonder as you start to succeed.
Don't let anyone else dictate your voice and you will go far.
- Dr. M.
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Thursday, April 10, 2014
Monday, May 13, 2013
What it means to be a writer
Writers feel deeply. We listen, absorb, observe, learn, watch, and feel. We feel when our friends suffer. We feel when our families hurt us. We feel pain, joy, ecstasy, and rejection organ-deep, soul-deep, bone-deep. We feel.
And when we feel, we write. We write, and we revise, and we re-write, and we consider as we feel. We think about larger implications and small moments of significance. When friends, family, acquaintances, colleagues, and random strangers relate their stories, their experiences, their pain, and their joys, we listen, absorb, observe, learn, watch, and feel.
And when we listen and absorb, we relate these moments to other moments, making connections (always making connections), considering how one moment or idea relates to another, sometimes seemingly unrelated, sometimes painfully and directly related. Ideas. Moments. Experiences. Stories. Felt stories.
Felt stories become part of our fabric, challenge what we think we know, push us to question what is right and wrong, unrelentingly demand to be acknowledged and used for a greater purpose than a singular, individual, selfish one. Great stories deserve to be heard, told, repeated, and shared. Small stories deserve to be heard, told, repeated, and shared. Because there is always a lesson.
And when there is a lesson embedded in a story or experience (and there always is), writers ruminate and mull and question and feel and often take that story or experience and find a way to work it in to their writings.
Because that is what writers do. We feel. We respond. We question. We challenge. We write.
If you want to be a writer, this is the only path. If you are afraid to challenge, to question, to listen and absorb and observe and hear stories and then share those stories for a purpose beyond yourself, then you will never be a writer.
If you fear censure, shaming, embarrassment, job loss, death threats, shunning, others' moral high ground, and negative opinions of your character, then you will never write anything of interest or import. You will not be a writer.
When you are a writer, you must take risks. And knowing that everything you write for public consumption might be shunned or cause heated response is essential to your survival as a writer. To be safe, and write easy, friendly, happy things is not to be a writer.
Writers push boundaries. Writers make moves, tiny to massive, in order to influence what other people think, to challenge conventions, to require of our fellow citizens a greater questioning of everything we accept and consider sacred. For a writer, there is no such thing as a sacred cow. All subjects must be open for exploration and use. If they are not, then you are not a writer.
To be a writer means sticking your chin out to the world, your spirit quaking with resolve, feeling the icy wind of disapproval, and writing anyway. To do anything less means you are not a writer.
And when we feel, we write. We write, and we revise, and we re-write, and we consider as we feel. We think about larger implications and small moments of significance. When friends, family, acquaintances, colleagues, and random strangers relate their stories, their experiences, their pain, and their joys, we listen, absorb, observe, learn, watch, and feel.
And when we listen and absorb, we relate these moments to other moments, making connections (always making connections), considering how one moment or idea relates to another, sometimes seemingly unrelated, sometimes painfully and directly related. Ideas. Moments. Experiences. Stories. Felt stories.
Felt stories become part of our fabric, challenge what we think we know, push us to question what is right and wrong, unrelentingly demand to be acknowledged and used for a greater purpose than a singular, individual, selfish one. Great stories deserve to be heard, told, repeated, and shared. Small stories deserve to be heard, told, repeated, and shared. Because there is always a lesson.
And when there is a lesson embedded in a story or experience (and there always is), writers ruminate and mull and question and feel and often take that story or experience and find a way to work it in to their writings.
Because that is what writers do. We feel. We respond. We question. We challenge. We write.
If you want to be a writer, this is the only path. If you are afraid to challenge, to question, to listen and absorb and observe and hear stories and then share those stories for a purpose beyond yourself, then you will never be a writer.
If you fear censure, shaming, embarrassment, job loss, death threats, shunning, others' moral high ground, and negative opinions of your character, then you will never write anything of interest or import. You will not be a writer.
When you are a writer, you must take risks. And knowing that everything you write for public consumption might be shunned or cause heated response is essential to your survival as a writer. To be safe, and write easy, friendly, happy things is not to be a writer.
Writers push boundaries. Writers make moves, tiny to massive, in order to influence what other people think, to challenge conventions, to require of our fellow citizens a greater questioning of everything we accept and consider sacred. For a writer, there is no such thing as a sacred cow. All subjects must be open for exploration and use. If they are not, then you are not a writer.
To be a writer means sticking your chin out to the world, your spirit quaking with resolve, feeling the icy wind of disapproval, and writing anyway. To do anything less means you are not a writer.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
The Most Awesome In-Class Writing Exercise Ever
Tonight, I presented my Advanced Comp students with a writing exercise inspired by one of our readings, with an imaginative twist. I wrote it myself this semester. And I am blown away by their creativity. Following the assignment directions (feel free to use this with your own students and share the results!) is the list of diseases my students developed. Enjoy!
Writing Prompt: Self-Diagnosis
Diagnose yourself with a disease. Not just ANY disease - not one that already exists in reality. Use your imagination and consider your character flaws, quirks, habits, and behaviors that you know you could work on and turn one of those elements into a disease.
Make up a name for your disease and be consistent when you refer to it.
Write a diagnosis for yourself in third person (you are the doctor AND the patient). Include a brief history of the disease in your patient's life (when was the first onset? What are the triggers that bring on flare-ups? Etc.), list out some symptoms and behaviors or medications taken or tried in order to correct the problem (that have, thus far, proven unequal to the task), and recommend a course of action and treatment to help your patient (you) overcome and beat this terrible affliction. (Bonus points for the wildest, funniest disease.) Have fun!
As an added incentive, I also offered small packets of "Crazy Cores" Skittles (TM) to the five most creative diseases - suggested by the class after I wrote them all on the board. Definitely one of the most fun and satisfying (and hysterical) writing prompts I've created. The students also seemed to enjoy it, which is the ultimate point - getting students to think of writing as FUN. ;)
Here are their diseases:
Shitfurbrain (Alternate Spelling: Shytfurbrain)
Gingervirus
Bratabiphita
Hypofoodisplatiatransformatia
Textitis
Patriowlism
Blurtitis
Hearteevious
Cerphileriosis
Miseraphobia
Apologetic Disorder
Tallskinnyasskidneosis
Nagatosis
Alien Ghost Poop Disorder (AGPD)
Writing Prompt: Self-Diagnosis
Diagnose yourself with a disease. Not just ANY disease - not one that already exists in reality. Use your imagination and consider your character flaws, quirks, habits, and behaviors that you know you could work on and turn one of those elements into a disease.
Make up a name for your disease and be consistent when you refer to it.
Write a diagnosis for yourself in third person (you are the doctor AND the patient). Include a brief history of the disease in your patient's life (when was the first onset? What are the triggers that bring on flare-ups? Etc.), list out some symptoms and behaviors or medications taken or tried in order to correct the problem (that have, thus far, proven unequal to the task), and recommend a course of action and treatment to help your patient (you) overcome and beat this terrible affliction. (Bonus points for the wildest, funniest disease.) Have fun!
As an added incentive, I also offered small packets of "Crazy Cores" Skittles (TM) to the five most creative diseases - suggested by the class after I wrote them all on the board. Definitely one of the most fun and satisfying (and hysterical) writing prompts I've created. The students also seemed to enjoy it, which is the ultimate point - getting students to think of writing as FUN. ;)
Here are their diseases:
Shitfurbrain (Alternate Spelling: Shytfurbrain)
Gingervirus
Bratabiphita
Hypofoodisplatiatransformatia
Textitis
Patriowlism
Blurtitis
Hearteevious
Cerphileriosis
Miseraphobia
Apologetic Disorder
Tallskinnyasskidneosis
Nagatosis
Alien Ghost Poop Disorder (AGPD)
Friday, February 4, 2011
I, (ex)posed
On page 120 of Kathryn Harrison's novel, Exposure, the narrator asks, "What words could have exposed her more than the photographs themselves?" The question disconnected itself from the plot of the story and in my mind started rotating as a compelling question in general, as I am both a writer and a photographer. As a writer, I write about ideas, situations, the world, and myself; as a photographer, I capture...shoot...compose...photograph the essence...the whisper...the suggestion of people, places, pets, objects.
To me, photography is infinitely more complex an art form than writing, possibly because I've been writing in general and writing more professionally longer and so have more comfort and experience with the craft, the art, the science, the skill of connecting words together to form meaning about ideas, situations, the world, and myself. Also, I find the art of photography to be a medium that requires a true partnership between the camera, the photographer, and the photographed. Whereas writing is a mechanical skill partnered with one's own imagination and depth of knowledge - a truly solitary pursuit. Composing an image requires numerous instantaneous decisions, each falling over the other as they combine to form the idea about what the image should and could look like, and then the photographer tries to (but doesn't always) achieve. But when I consider the question that the novel's narrator raises, whether words or photographs expose an individual more, I find myself caught between two dangerous loves, both seductive in their ability to expose, or pose, our "true" natures.
When you look at a photograph of yourself (probably taken by someone like me), what do you see? Do you see your true self, your soul, your spirit, your essence, the truth of who you are? Or do you see what I see? My truth about who you are. Compare a photograph of your face to something you've written about yourself. Which one is more posed? Which one exposes more of who you truly are? Do we EVER expose ourselves fully in either medium, despite our confessional yearnings?
Having exposed my fears, concerns, and escapades pretty thoroughly in writing (if sometimes anonymously) over the years, and having taken photographs of myself recently for various purposes (publicity shots, online dating site images, Facebook photos), I would have to say that my writings expose more of me than the captured images. However, I might be blind to what the camera sees with its unrelenting, unblinking shutter-vision...the man I'm currently dating says that he can see my soul through my photos. Now, this might have just been a line, which I initially took it to be, until he started talking about what else he sees based on the photos. And what he said took me aback. How could he possibly perceive those notions...through a photograph? And a digital one, to boot!
It is a powerful medium, to be sure, but even as I attempt to capture the truth of what I'm seeing, I'm still aware that it is ME seeing - my lens, my perception, my interpretation of whatever is in front of me. And because of that separation between the truth and my interpretation, the photograph can't possibly contain vital information that essentially exposes the captured person beyond the surface pose.
Or does it?
I have always thought that our own writings, particularly public writings, say more about us than any photograph could. But both mediums require us to both pose and expose to some degree, and whether we are entering the enterprise with the intention of exposing our truth or hiding it, is it possible that a photograph of our essence, captured in a moment, even manipulated by software and a soft touch, can reveal more about who we truly are than our own written expressions? By which medium do we truly know ourselves? By which medium can others truly know us?
What do you think? Which medium exposes you more - a photograph or your own writings?
To me, photography is infinitely more complex an art form than writing, possibly because I've been writing in general and writing more professionally longer and so have more comfort and experience with the craft, the art, the science, the skill of connecting words together to form meaning about ideas, situations, the world, and myself. Also, I find the art of photography to be a medium that requires a true partnership between the camera, the photographer, and the photographed. Whereas writing is a mechanical skill partnered with one's own imagination and depth of knowledge - a truly solitary pursuit. Composing an image requires numerous instantaneous decisions, each falling over the other as they combine to form the idea about what the image should and could look like, and then the photographer tries to (but doesn't always) achieve. But when I consider the question that the novel's narrator raises, whether words or photographs expose an individual more, I find myself caught between two dangerous loves, both seductive in their ability to expose, or pose, our "true" natures.
When you look at a photograph of yourself (probably taken by someone like me), what do you see? Do you see your true self, your soul, your spirit, your essence, the truth of who you are? Or do you see what I see? My truth about who you are. Compare a photograph of your face to something you've written about yourself. Which one is more posed? Which one exposes more of who you truly are? Do we EVER expose ourselves fully in either medium, despite our confessional yearnings?
Having exposed my fears, concerns, and escapades pretty thoroughly in writing (if sometimes anonymously) over the years, and having taken photographs of myself recently for various purposes (publicity shots, online dating site images, Facebook photos), I would have to say that my writings expose more of me than the captured images. However, I might be blind to what the camera sees with its unrelenting, unblinking shutter-vision...the man I'm currently dating says that he can see my soul through my photos. Now, this might have just been a line, which I initially took it to be, until he started talking about what else he sees based on the photos. And what he said took me aback. How could he possibly perceive those notions...through a photograph? And a digital one, to boot!
It is a powerful medium, to be sure, but even as I attempt to capture the truth of what I'm seeing, I'm still aware that it is ME seeing - my lens, my perception, my interpretation of whatever is in front of me. And because of that separation between the truth and my interpretation, the photograph can't possibly contain vital information that essentially exposes the captured person beyond the surface pose.
Or does it?
I have always thought that our own writings, particularly public writings, say more about us than any photograph could. But both mediums require us to both pose and expose to some degree, and whether we are entering the enterprise with the intention of exposing our truth or hiding it, is it possible that a photograph of our essence, captured in a moment, even manipulated by software and a soft touch, can reveal more about who we truly are than our own written expressions? By which medium do we truly know ourselves? By which medium can others truly know us?
What do you think? Which medium exposes you more - a photograph or your own writings?
Monday, September 13, 2010
Death in education
Within a week of each other, the following three articles were published in three different publications:
Chronicle of Higher Education: "10 Tips on How to Write Less Badly"
New York Times: "Forget What You Know About Good Study Habits"
Philadephia Inquirer: "The Lecture is Dead"
What these articles have in common thematically is death: death of diligence, perseverance, and work ethic even at the highest levels of the education community; death of attention-span, common-sense, and structure of any kind for students; and these articles also lay the foundation for what seems to be coming faster than some of us would like: the death of the traditional college classroom where we interact face-to-face two-three times per week with our students, getting to know them and their personalities, quirks, and strengths. At worst, taken together, these articles announce the result of decades of growing laziness, convenience-addictions, and computer-assisted-dependence. At best, these articles are identifying serious and fundamental problems in the education system for the participants.
When it comes to academics writing "less badly," which my students just loved as a title (oh yes, I made my college composition students read that article for information and perhaps some relief that none of us writers are perfect), the biggest problem seems to be an over-abundance of self-importance and a lack of gritty work-ethic. Especially in grad school when it comes to finishing projects like dissertations on time. And everyone in the academy knows someone who fits Munger's "poseur writer" description, right down to the hipster skinny jeans and too-cool-for-school scarf or jaunty hat on a head so filled with ego that no real (and useful) ideas may penetrate.
For most of us, Munger's assessment is not shocking or even remotely surprising, but for those outside the ivory tower, his pronouncements may be unsettling. After all, aren't we supposed be advanced and hard-working idea people and wordsmiths cranking out publications for our own and our home universities' glory? Well, yes, but have you seen the average teaching/service workload for a tenure-track professor recently? This is something I'm recently discovering, although only three weeks into it and I did manage to find time to complete a book review. But maybe I'm just the weird, old-school one who works too hard and believes in deadlines? (And I also don't spend 4.5 hours per day on Facebook.)
As for the death of study habits, well, no shit. Hell, in 1987 when I was in high school, you could count my study habits with one fist. Namely, I had none. And certainly, secluding myself away in a little corner with a desk, a lamp, a hard chair, and no noise would have driven my teenage mind bonkers. Only later, after a career in advertising and one in journalism, when I returned for my advanced degrees did I discover the need and joy for silence when I studied. And usually in a soft, comfy chair with a cup of tea or Diet Coke or water and with my cat, Lucy, climbing all over me.
But the problem isn't when and where and how students study, it's that they don't study. And they don't care enough to retain new information. Well, many of them. Admittedly, I've only taught 400 students (not including my current 90) over the short four years I've been teaching in the university setting, but many of my students were so tightly and narrowly focused on one particular career goal (engineer, accountant, "business"...whatever the hell that means anymore) that they resisted giving thought-space to subjects that the university deemed valuable such as world literature and writing. Mostly, my students were swell but were more interested in just getting through those classes than in actually LEARNING and RETAINING anything. So in today's university setting, which is becoming more and more consumer-oriented with outcomes and goals that read like a fact sheet for the Widget Factory, with every piece in its narrow place, the value of studying subjects outside one's specialty/major may be in danger of being de-valued.
Thinking about devaluation, that last article is both true and a little scary. On one hand, I agree that lectures don't really work - students fall asleep, have the attention-span of a gnat (when it's not something they are already interested in), and are easily distracted by other more exciting tasks like texting, doodling, making paper footballs, and staring slack-jawed into space. I've seen it happen, which is why I chose to conduct my world lit survey classes without one lecture from me. I made the students present and lead class discussion (with me chiming in to add details, ask questions, and provide background when appropriate). Every day. And despite some hearty fear and resistance at first, they delivered tremendously and did (imho) get more out of those discussions than they ever would have by me just talking at them for an hour a day. So yes, I agree the lecture is dead, but my concern is what university administrations are doing with this type of information.
If the classroom is no longer a place where students are lectured at by brilliant PhDs, why have a classroom at all? Why not go online? In fact, why hire PhDs to teach those online courses? Why not hire Tony Robbins-esque type public speaking dynamos and give them a pre-crafted syllabus and readings and let them loose to dazzle the students via video-pod?
I'll be honest. This unnerves me because I did not become a professor to teach solely online, but I do see that's the direction of most universities because online education is a solid money-maker. And considering the speed at which things change nowadays, I'm wondering how long I have to create interesting, discussion-based, classroom-grounded environments in which my students can get to know me, each other, and some new useful material. Five years? Ten? More? Less?
I'm not averse to hybrid courses where students come to class once a week and then are responsible for a vast amount of work on their own time. That seems a smart compromise. But going online 100%? I'm not convinced that is the right direction to educate vast numbers of young people (undergraduates) who already spend too much time in front of their computer and TV screens.
Although, that would create the perfect workers who are content to sit for 10-12 hours a day at a computer screen in their pajamas...who would fit cog-like into the Widget Factory's concept of uncomplaining and controllable worker productivity at low cost, would it not?
Chronicle of Higher Education: "10 Tips on How to Write Less Badly"
New York Times: "Forget What You Know About Good Study Habits"
Philadephia Inquirer: "The Lecture is Dead"
What these articles have in common thematically is death: death of diligence, perseverance, and work ethic even at the highest levels of the education community; death of attention-span, common-sense, and structure of any kind for students; and these articles also lay the foundation for what seems to be coming faster than some of us would like: the death of the traditional college classroom where we interact face-to-face two-three times per week with our students, getting to know them and their personalities, quirks, and strengths. At worst, taken together, these articles announce the result of decades of growing laziness, convenience-addictions, and computer-assisted-dependence. At best, these articles are identifying serious and fundamental problems in the education system for the participants.
When it comes to academics writing "less badly," which my students just loved as a title (oh yes, I made my college composition students read that article for information and perhaps some relief that none of us writers are perfect), the biggest problem seems to be an over-abundance of self-importance and a lack of gritty work-ethic. Especially in grad school when it comes to finishing projects like dissertations on time. And everyone in the academy knows someone who fits Munger's "poseur writer" description, right down to the hipster skinny jeans and too-cool-for-school scarf or jaunty hat on a head so filled with ego that no real (and useful) ideas may penetrate.
For most of us, Munger's assessment is not shocking or even remotely surprising, but for those outside the ivory tower, his pronouncements may be unsettling. After all, aren't we supposed be advanced and hard-working idea people and wordsmiths cranking out publications for our own and our home universities' glory? Well, yes, but have you seen the average teaching/service workload for a tenure-track professor recently? This is something I'm recently discovering, although only three weeks into it and I did manage to find time to complete a book review. But maybe I'm just the weird, old-school one who works too hard and believes in deadlines? (And I also don't spend 4.5 hours per day on Facebook.)
As for the death of study habits, well, no shit. Hell, in 1987 when I was in high school, you could count my study habits with one fist. Namely, I had none. And certainly, secluding myself away in a little corner with a desk, a lamp, a hard chair, and no noise would have driven my teenage mind bonkers. Only later, after a career in advertising and one in journalism, when I returned for my advanced degrees did I discover the need and joy for silence when I studied. And usually in a soft, comfy chair with a cup of tea or Diet Coke or water and with my cat, Lucy, climbing all over me.
But the problem isn't when and where and how students study, it's that they don't study. And they don't care enough to retain new information. Well, many of them. Admittedly, I've only taught 400 students (not including my current 90) over the short four years I've been teaching in the university setting, but many of my students were so tightly and narrowly focused on one particular career goal (engineer, accountant, "business"...whatever the hell that means anymore) that they resisted giving thought-space to subjects that the university deemed valuable such as world literature and writing. Mostly, my students were swell but were more interested in just getting through those classes than in actually LEARNING and RETAINING anything. So in today's university setting, which is becoming more and more consumer-oriented with outcomes and goals that read like a fact sheet for the Widget Factory, with every piece in its narrow place, the value of studying subjects outside one's specialty/major may be in danger of being de-valued.
Thinking about devaluation, that last article is both true and a little scary. On one hand, I agree that lectures don't really work - students fall asleep, have the attention-span of a gnat (when it's not something they are already interested in), and are easily distracted by other more exciting tasks like texting, doodling, making paper footballs, and staring slack-jawed into space. I've seen it happen, which is why I chose to conduct my world lit survey classes without one lecture from me. I made the students present and lead class discussion (with me chiming in to add details, ask questions, and provide background when appropriate). Every day. And despite some hearty fear and resistance at first, they delivered tremendously and did (imho) get more out of those discussions than they ever would have by me just talking at them for an hour a day. So yes, I agree the lecture is dead, but my concern is what university administrations are doing with this type of information.
If the classroom is no longer a place where students are lectured at by brilliant PhDs, why have a classroom at all? Why not go online? In fact, why hire PhDs to teach those online courses? Why not hire Tony Robbins-esque type public speaking dynamos and give them a pre-crafted syllabus and readings and let them loose to dazzle the students via video-pod?
I'll be honest. This unnerves me because I did not become a professor to teach solely online, but I do see that's the direction of most universities because online education is a solid money-maker. And considering the speed at which things change nowadays, I'm wondering how long I have to create interesting, discussion-based, classroom-grounded environments in which my students can get to know me, each other, and some new useful material. Five years? Ten? More? Less?
I'm not averse to hybrid courses where students come to class once a week and then are responsible for a vast amount of work on their own time. That seems a smart compromise. But going online 100%? I'm not convinced that is the right direction to educate vast numbers of young people (undergraduates) who already spend too much time in front of their computer and TV screens.
Although, that would create the perfect workers who are content to sit for 10-12 hours a day at a computer screen in their pajamas...who would fit cog-like into the Widget Factory's concept of uncomplaining and controllable worker productivity at low cost, would it not?
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Goals and expectations of new college writers
When you were in college, did you ever ignore assignments that were either being graded directly or were being included in your overall grade? My four composition classes had a blog post due this Monday by midnight. Both sections of College Comp have 25 students - in one section, 22 students posted, in the other, 17 posted. In my Advanced Comp class, only three students haven't posted and two were because I had to re-submit their invitations, so they will likely post before Wed. In my Intro to College Comp course, I have 19 students...only four posted a blog entry. Even after my emailed reminder last night at 8pm. In fact, about four students didn't even respond to the blog invitation email.
I admit, I'm confused by this. The class blog is part of the participation grade, which is 20% of the overall course grade (and this is not only listed in the syllabus, we also went over this in class). And I see the students' names - they accepted the invite and started a profile. My goals and expectations for this semester include helping students improve and expand their writing skills and abilities by blogging (a great idea that my friend, AHab, successfully used in her World Lit class this past summer - and she inspired me to give blogging a try with my students). So far, I count the blogs a success in three of the classes...and I can't wait to find out why so many students in the Intro class set up their accounts and then promptly didn't do the assigned post listed on the class schedule. I can honestly say that once I got to college, I never just blew off an assignment that my professors gave me, especially those that were included in my grade. To me, this indicates high school thinking where homework is quickly becoming extinct (according to my friend, Mo, whose stepson's school has stopped providing any homework).
The upside to the blogs and the students who ARE participating is the opportunity to express themselves in a different type of environment that is so prevalent in contemporary society. Many of them have never blogged and are excited to get some practice. The first prompt was simply a reflection on where they are as writers and what goals and expectations they have for the class. Not surprisingly, many of them share similar concerns such as wanting to increase their creativity with writing, improve their overall confidence as writers, and put more of their individual voices or personalities into their writing (especially in more formal and "academic" writing assignments).
One student wrote that he has trouble starting and wants to know how good writers get started. This prompted a lengthy in-class discussion today about what students mean when they say "good" writers. This transitioned to a related issue - what they define as "the wrong way" (don't use "that," "like," any contractions, "I" or anything creative) and "the right way" to write academic papers. As it turns out, they define "good" writers as successful, memorable, experienced, published writers. When I asked them if they thought that was a realistic goal for a 15 week composition course, many of them nodded yes. I shook my head no, prompting some nervous giggles. I explained that writers who fit that description have been writing for years and that's the only way to get "good." So we discussed more realistic goals - striving to improve in specific areas, but leaving the idea of perfection out of it.
Vocabulary was another big issue that many students raised. They want to know more words so that when they write they aren't repeating the same ones over and over; they want to get away from simple words and become more adept with complex and advanced words so they can "sound smart." Although I hated to burst their bubbles of expectation, I had to inform them that the only way to expand and improve their vocabularies is to read more frequently and more varied materials. In my 10am class, when I asked for a show of hands of how many read a newspaper once a week, only two hands went up. When I asked how many read blogs or online news sites, no hands went up. When I asked how many read a novel or some short fiction each week, about four hands went up. When I asked how many read magazines of some kind weekly, about 2/3 of the class raised their hands. This prompted my explanation that in order to improve vocabulary and acuity with language, they need to pick another type of writing and read it regularly. Relying on a thesaurus is an adequate quick-fix, but doesn't solve the problem. The danger is that they won't understand the nuanced meaning of the word and end up sounding confused and unclear in their meaning. The more diverse their reading, the more skills they will pick up for their writing. No magic bullet there. Some seemed genuinely disappointed.
My favorite is the five paragraph essay complaint, or what one student lamented as wanting to "break out of the high school writing shell." Almost every student raised this issue as a style they would like to get away from and fortunately, I agree. Nothing they will read is in this restricted and confined format and hopefully, they will become more comfortable breaking themselves of this high school habit. This format certainly helps as a foundation for organization and structure, but is really limited as far as helping anyone develop more advanced writing skills.
Finally, the most interesting goal that many students shared was a desire to stop procrastinating. They were very honest about being heavy procrastinators and how much that has hurt their grades and performance in the past. They realize that writing takes time and doesn't just happen, but admit how much they struggle to start projects early and not wait until the last minute. I hope they achieve this goal most of all because if they start early, they will have the opportunity to get substantive feedback from me and their peers on drafts and pieces of projects well before the due dates.
Having goals and expectations at the start of the semester is one thing, but working to achieve those goals requires commitment, sustained diligence, and a strong work ethic. Hopefully my students, particularly the Intro class, will embrace these characteristics or at least try them on and take them for a test drive in order to bring their goals to fruition.
I admit, I'm confused by this. The class blog is part of the participation grade, which is 20% of the overall course grade (and this is not only listed in the syllabus, we also went over this in class). And I see the students' names - they accepted the invite and started a profile. My goals and expectations for this semester include helping students improve and expand their writing skills and abilities by blogging (a great idea that my friend, AHab, successfully used in her World Lit class this past summer - and she inspired me to give blogging a try with my students). So far, I count the blogs a success in three of the classes...and I can't wait to find out why so many students in the Intro class set up their accounts and then promptly didn't do the assigned post listed on the class schedule. I can honestly say that once I got to college, I never just blew off an assignment that my professors gave me, especially those that were included in my grade. To me, this indicates high school thinking where homework is quickly becoming extinct (according to my friend, Mo, whose stepson's school has stopped providing any homework).
The upside to the blogs and the students who ARE participating is the opportunity to express themselves in a different type of environment that is so prevalent in contemporary society. Many of them have never blogged and are excited to get some practice. The first prompt was simply a reflection on where they are as writers and what goals and expectations they have for the class. Not surprisingly, many of them share similar concerns such as wanting to increase their creativity with writing, improve their overall confidence as writers, and put more of their individual voices or personalities into their writing (especially in more formal and "academic" writing assignments).
One student wrote that he has trouble starting and wants to know how good writers get started. This prompted a lengthy in-class discussion today about what students mean when they say "good" writers. This transitioned to a related issue - what they define as "the wrong way" (don't use "that," "like," any contractions, "I" or anything creative) and "the right way" to write academic papers. As it turns out, they define "good" writers as successful, memorable, experienced, published writers. When I asked them if they thought that was a realistic goal for a 15 week composition course, many of them nodded yes. I shook my head no, prompting some nervous giggles. I explained that writers who fit that description have been writing for years and that's the only way to get "good." So we discussed more realistic goals - striving to improve in specific areas, but leaving the idea of perfection out of it.
Vocabulary was another big issue that many students raised. They want to know more words so that when they write they aren't repeating the same ones over and over; they want to get away from simple words and become more adept with complex and advanced words so they can "sound smart." Although I hated to burst their bubbles of expectation, I had to inform them that the only way to expand and improve their vocabularies is to read more frequently and more varied materials. In my 10am class, when I asked for a show of hands of how many read a newspaper once a week, only two hands went up. When I asked how many read blogs or online news sites, no hands went up. When I asked how many read a novel or some short fiction each week, about four hands went up. When I asked how many read magazines of some kind weekly, about 2/3 of the class raised their hands. This prompted my explanation that in order to improve vocabulary and acuity with language, they need to pick another type of writing and read it regularly. Relying on a thesaurus is an adequate quick-fix, but doesn't solve the problem. The danger is that they won't understand the nuanced meaning of the word and end up sounding confused and unclear in their meaning. The more diverse their reading, the more skills they will pick up for their writing. No magic bullet there. Some seemed genuinely disappointed.
My favorite is the five paragraph essay complaint, or what one student lamented as wanting to "break out of the high school writing shell." Almost every student raised this issue as a style they would like to get away from and fortunately, I agree. Nothing they will read is in this restricted and confined format and hopefully, they will become more comfortable breaking themselves of this high school habit. This format certainly helps as a foundation for organization and structure, but is really limited as far as helping anyone develop more advanced writing skills.
Finally, the most interesting goal that many students shared was a desire to stop procrastinating. They were very honest about being heavy procrastinators and how much that has hurt their grades and performance in the past. They realize that writing takes time and doesn't just happen, but admit how much they struggle to start projects early and not wait until the last minute. I hope they achieve this goal most of all because if they start early, they will have the opportunity to get substantive feedback from me and their peers on drafts and pieces of projects well before the due dates.
Having goals and expectations at the start of the semester is one thing, but working to achieve those goals requires commitment, sustained diligence, and a strong work ethic. Hopefully my students, particularly the Intro class, will embrace these characteristics or at least try them on and take them for a test drive in order to bring their goals to fruition.
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Empowering students to join the conversation
One of my students, a young African-American woman (I’ll call her “Liz”) from an inner-city childhood and substandard schools, told me yesterday about her experiences and passionate commitment to improving conditions in VA hospitals. She has volunteered in a particular VA hospital since she was 12 years old and at age 16, had some truly life-changing and eye-opening experiences including vets being turned away, uncaring high-salaried administrators, and witnessing the physical therapy department lack the funds and equipment to help vets in pain. She now wants to be in the physical/rehabilitative therapy field as a result, but her anger about the government’s lack of financial attention to veterans’ care lends a sharp edge to her words and presentation of her thoughts. And yet she considers herself a terrible writer. She utterly lacks confidence in her ability to convey her thoughts and ideas in writing.
She received a 99 out of 100 on her first major essay for me. When she saw her score, she was visibly shocked and said in a quiet, shaky whisper, “I’ve never gotten an A on a paper before.” Then she cried.
I was stunned and moved both by Liz’s reaction to her outstanding performance on paper and angry at an education system and English teachers before me in Liz’s life who were either unwilling or unable to recognize her passionate commitment and quality thinking. And then I realized that perhaps Liz’s ability to thrive had something to do with the subject matter of our composition class and my teaching strategy that combines expressivism with critical pedagogy and an awareness that perfect grammar does not make a perfect writer. Some of my best thinkers have imperfect grammar and sentence structures – but their ideas are creative and compelling and usually well-organized with a passionate focus. I also offer as much encouragement as I can to students like Liz, especially when they so clearly care about doing well and are so evidently terrified of the task at hand. How did our educational system get to this point where fear and dislike of writing is so deeply ingrained that too many students tell me regularly, “I’m so bad at English,” “I’m a terrible writer,” “I’m just not good at writing.” I counter these statements with my own: “You know more than you think you do,” “Give yourself more credit, these are good ideas,” “You’re not a terrible writer, you’re a good thinker and that leads to good writing, I’ll help you.” Although I am new to teaching in academia, I am not new to teaching. I’ve been a mentor in varying capacities since my mid-20s, I’ve taught at numerous writers’ conferences helping other (newer) writers develop the skills and confidence to start a freelance writing career, and I’ve directed community theatre, which requires all sorts of teaching and mentoring skills with all ages. Encouragement, support, and compassion are at the root of every teaching moment I encounter…and it boggles my mind that all other teachers don’t approach teaching with the same attitude. But then, I’m starting to realize that in academia – at the university level – teaching is often a side dish, not the main course. And unfortunately for students like Liz, this means they become relegated to dishwashing duty instead of learning how to become first-class chefs. Part of my composition/rhetoric reading list for my upcoming exams includes Min-Zhan Lu’s “Conflict and Struggle: Enemies or Preconditions of Basic Writing” from a 1992 College English issue. Lu cites Ann Murphy’s essay, “Transference and Resistance” that “draws on her knowledge of the Lacanian notion of the decentered and destabilized subject.” Murphy argues that Basic Writers “may need centering rather than decentering and cognitive skills rather than self-exploration…being taken seriously as adults with something of value to say can, for many Basic Writers, be a traumatic and disorienting experience.” I have to wonder – in the case of a student like Liz, would this also be liberating and empowering as well? By giving students a sense of control and ownership of their own experiences and place in the world – or at least opening the door and inviting them to feel this – wouldn’t this also be a positive growth experience?
In addition to Murphy, Lu also cites Peter Rondinone, who maintains that “learning involves shifting social allegiances,” and asserts that “conflict can only impede one’s learning.” Lu is alarmed by this and so am I. Conflict, struggle, difficulties – these are a natural part of life, in or out of the college writing classroom. Conflict and coping with struggles can create some of the most memorable and lasting learning moments – sometimes life-changing, but ultimately positive, even if the conflict moment itself is painful in the short term. The long-term gains from learning how to cope with and articulate struggle can be extremely beneficial in very tangible ways. Last night, Liz emailed me that she couldn’t locate her finished paper on her computer – she didn’t save it correctly, spent two hours looking for it, and couldn’t find it. So she wrote to say she’d take a zero on the assignment.I got her email this morning, wrote back instantly and told her no, that she shouldn’t give up that easily. I emailed her the two page draft she’d sent me and told her to use that as the base of the new re-written paper. She came to see me this morning and we talked extensively – many things seem to be going ‘wrong’ for her right now, and this lost paper combined with a failing math test were the so-called final straws. We talked about the need to learn how to cope with obstacles and how common problems like this really are – that instead of giving up and giving in to the urge to withdraw from the semester entirely, she should take a moment to be angry, and cry, and lament how unfair life is…then get back on the computer and re-write the paper. Basically, I tried to encourage her not to give up because she has a modest and completely attainable goal – to graduate and help people (in some capacity). She also has never experienced teachers like myself and her math teacher – apparently, we are the only two teachers she has encountered in college thus far who truly seem interested in helping her succeed.Apparently, when she has approached other teachers for help, the result is a rather disengaged rote repetition of common assistive advice – not truly personal help.
Some may argue that a big research university isn’t the place for students to receive personal help from over-taxed professors. Sink or swim. Survival of the fittest. But what if by helping Liz, she realizes her own capacity to overcome adversity and does graduate, then goes on to become a public advocate for improving VA hospitals? Perhaps these learning moments that are fraught with conflict, difficulty, and discomfort are the moments she will absorb and then, years later, benefit a community of people in need because of her willingness to bravely and substantially face the difficulties of life head on.
Don’t we owe it to our students to empower them to learn from conflict and struggle, no matter how small or how large the issue, and to fearlessly join the human conversation? Isn’t that why we’re teaching? Or shouldn’t that at least be part of it?
She received a 99 out of 100 on her first major essay for me. When she saw her score, she was visibly shocked and said in a quiet, shaky whisper, “I’ve never gotten an A on a paper before.” Then she cried.
I was stunned and moved both by Liz’s reaction to her outstanding performance on paper and angry at an education system and English teachers before me in Liz’s life who were either unwilling or unable to recognize her passionate commitment and quality thinking. And then I realized that perhaps Liz’s ability to thrive had something to do with the subject matter of our composition class and my teaching strategy that combines expressivism with critical pedagogy and an awareness that perfect grammar does not make a perfect writer. Some of my best thinkers have imperfect grammar and sentence structures – but their ideas are creative and compelling and usually well-organized with a passionate focus. I also offer as much encouragement as I can to students like Liz, especially when they so clearly care about doing well and are so evidently terrified of the task at hand. How did our educational system get to this point where fear and dislike of writing is so deeply ingrained that too many students tell me regularly, “I’m so bad at English,” “I’m a terrible writer,” “I’m just not good at writing.” I counter these statements with my own: “You know more than you think you do,” “Give yourself more credit, these are good ideas,” “You’re not a terrible writer, you’re a good thinker and that leads to good writing, I’ll help you.” Although I am new to teaching in academia, I am not new to teaching. I’ve been a mentor in varying capacities since my mid-20s, I’ve taught at numerous writers’ conferences helping other (newer) writers develop the skills and confidence to start a freelance writing career, and I’ve directed community theatre, which requires all sorts of teaching and mentoring skills with all ages. Encouragement, support, and compassion are at the root of every teaching moment I encounter…and it boggles my mind that all other teachers don’t approach teaching with the same attitude. But then, I’m starting to realize that in academia – at the university level – teaching is often a side dish, not the main course. And unfortunately for students like Liz, this means they become relegated to dishwashing duty instead of learning how to become first-class chefs. Part of my composition/rhetoric reading list for my upcoming exams includes Min-Zhan Lu’s “Conflict and Struggle: Enemies or Preconditions of Basic Writing” from a 1992 College English issue. Lu cites Ann Murphy’s essay, “Transference and Resistance” that “draws on her knowledge of the Lacanian notion of the decentered and destabilized subject.” Murphy argues that Basic Writers “may need centering rather than decentering and cognitive skills rather than self-exploration…being taken seriously as adults with something of value to say can, for many Basic Writers, be a traumatic and disorienting experience.” I have to wonder – in the case of a student like Liz, would this also be liberating and empowering as well? By giving students a sense of control and ownership of their own experiences and place in the world – or at least opening the door and inviting them to feel this – wouldn’t this also be a positive growth experience?
In addition to Murphy, Lu also cites Peter Rondinone, who maintains that “learning involves shifting social allegiances,” and asserts that “conflict can only impede one’s learning.” Lu is alarmed by this and so am I. Conflict, struggle, difficulties – these are a natural part of life, in or out of the college writing classroom. Conflict and coping with struggles can create some of the most memorable and lasting learning moments – sometimes life-changing, but ultimately positive, even if the conflict moment itself is painful in the short term. The long-term gains from learning how to cope with and articulate struggle can be extremely beneficial in very tangible ways. Last night, Liz emailed me that she couldn’t locate her finished paper on her computer – she didn’t save it correctly, spent two hours looking for it, and couldn’t find it. So she wrote to say she’d take a zero on the assignment.I got her email this morning, wrote back instantly and told her no, that she shouldn’t give up that easily. I emailed her the two page draft she’d sent me and told her to use that as the base of the new re-written paper. She came to see me this morning and we talked extensively – many things seem to be going ‘wrong’ for her right now, and this lost paper combined with a failing math test were the so-called final straws. We talked about the need to learn how to cope with obstacles and how common problems like this really are – that instead of giving up and giving in to the urge to withdraw from the semester entirely, she should take a moment to be angry, and cry, and lament how unfair life is…then get back on the computer and re-write the paper. Basically, I tried to encourage her not to give up because she has a modest and completely attainable goal – to graduate and help people (in some capacity). She also has never experienced teachers like myself and her math teacher – apparently, we are the only two teachers she has encountered in college thus far who truly seem interested in helping her succeed.Apparently, when she has approached other teachers for help, the result is a rather disengaged rote repetition of common assistive advice – not truly personal help.
Some may argue that a big research university isn’t the place for students to receive personal help from over-taxed professors. Sink or swim. Survival of the fittest. But what if by helping Liz, she realizes her own capacity to overcome adversity and does graduate, then goes on to become a public advocate for improving VA hospitals? Perhaps these learning moments that are fraught with conflict, difficulty, and discomfort are the moments she will absorb and then, years later, benefit a community of people in need because of her willingness to bravely and substantially face the difficulties of life head on.
Don’t we owe it to our students to empower them to learn from conflict and struggle, no matter how small or how large the issue, and to fearlessly join the human conversation? Isn’t that why we’re teaching? Or shouldn’t that at least be part of it?
Monday, June 16, 2008
The power and volatility of language
Funny thing about language. Once you say something, it’s out there. It can’t be taken back or reversed. The direct or indirect implications of a statement can’t be fixed or corrected or even amended. Once a thought, spoken with words, is verbalized, it becomes powerful and potentially volatile.
Consider a situation in which a person you are dating tells you they love you. For most people, this is a pivotal moment in the relationship, loaded with all sorts of emotional, spiritual, intellectual, and physical implications. And usually, it is a joyous moment.
My experience as a writer, a writing teacher, and an analytic engager with culture, has taught me that a person’s language and spoken utterances should be weighed and considered carefully. Therefore, it takes me awhile to process something that was said – I consider how the statement was said, when it was said, in what context it was spoken, and why that statement might have seemed appropriate to the other person at that time. I also weigh my own reaction to that statement – how and why I reacted a certain way externally and internally, whether my reaction was rational or extreme.
All of this careful consideration of spoken language has a purpose – to help me grow as a person, understand more about human nature and myself, and to guarantee that I don’t make snap judgments about people and situations. This tactic has served me well over the past decade, protected me from questionable situations, and helped me give good people more of a chance to enter and become part of my life.
Back to “I love you.” The timing of this particularly loaded phrase is crucial to its success or failure. For example, after dating for several months, and developing a progressively stronger bond with someone that begins to transcend physical desire, one person feels comfortable enough to utter this pivotal phrase, thus exposing the rawest and most vulnerable part of themselves to scrutiny (and worse, rejection); the response from the other party is telling. If the other person instantly responds sincerely with “I love you, too,” then much rejoicing results and the relationship enters a new and glorious phase. If, however, the response is silence, or confusion, or “How could you love me, you don’t really know me,” then the negative and volatile impact of that single utterance becomes a barrier to progress. Because now imbalance and the awareness of that imbalance takes center stage and can become an insurmountable obstacle.
Now consider what might happen if, for example, the man tells the woman he loves her and is sure of it…on the second date. (I’ll wait for you to stop hyperventilating.)…..
And starts talking about marriage and moving in and the future during the first week of dating….
This is the situation I recently found myself in. So while some women might run screaming in the other direction, I paused for thought. I verbally (and gently) rebuffed, directly established my boundaries and comfort zone, and gave him a chance to live in the moment and not bring it up again.
He did bring it up again – differently, but obviously. So I thought some more and re-established my boundaries and reiterated my aversion to implied references to the future. And to every verbal exchange, he would agree, and then proceed to bring it up again and again in direct and indirect ways that became so persistent that I realized his emotional attachment to me was unhealthily strong for being such a new relationship (three weeks). What to do, what to do.
I looked it up…in a book. Of course. Books have provided so much guidance to me that I have come to rely on them for answers or help with thinking through problems. And it turns out, this intense and fast emotional attachment is a psychological condition that has been studied – it’s called Anxious Romantic Attachment. And the 33 question test for it (in a scholarly psychological book, not on some web site) revealed to me almost everything this very nice and well-meaning guy had done to a very high level…within three weeks. A high score on this test indicates or reinforces that the person has a “tendency toward anxious romantic attachments.” And every scrap of affection given reinforces the person’s already elevated sense of attachment…and they are very hard to dissuade.
Armed with my own discomfort and this information, I thought some more and reflected on this man’s words and actions over the past three weeks, in hopes that I would discover a point of misunderstanding – meaning, perhaps I misunderstood something or misinterpreted a statement or situation. But the more I thought and considered, the more I realized that this wasn’t a scenario I wanted to participate in.
Language in relationships is so important, reinforced by actions. So I’m not really a believer in that old stand-by phrase, “Actions speak louder than words.” Very often, I find that words scream a mouthful of intention that can’t be ignored or corrected by the sweetest actions. Sometimes when someone you care about says something at the wrong time, in the wrong context, even with the most honorable and honest intentions, the power of language renders the situation irredeemable, completely cut short of its potential had those words not been uttered.
Consider a situation in which a person you are dating tells you they love you. For most people, this is a pivotal moment in the relationship, loaded with all sorts of emotional, spiritual, intellectual, and physical implications. And usually, it is a joyous moment.
My experience as a writer, a writing teacher, and an analytic engager with culture, has taught me that a person’s language and spoken utterances should be weighed and considered carefully. Therefore, it takes me awhile to process something that was said – I consider how the statement was said, when it was said, in what context it was spoken, and why that statement might have seemed appropriate to the other person at that time. I also weigh my own reaction to that statement – how and why I reacted a certain way externally and internally, whether my reaction was rational or extreme.
All of this careful consideration of spoken language has a purpose – to help me grow as a person, understand more about human nature and myself, and to guarantee that I don’t make snap judgments about people and situations. This tactic has served me well over the past decade, protected me from questionable situations, and helped me give good people more of a chance to enter and become part of my life.
Back to “I love you.” The timing of this particularly loaded phrase is crucial to its success or failure. For example, after dating for several months, and developing a progressively stronger bond with someone that begins to transcend physical desire, one person feels comfortable enough to utter this pivotal phrase, thus exposing the rawest and most vulnerable part of themselves to scrutiny (and worse, rejection); the response from the other party is telling. If the other person instantly responds sincerely with “I love you, too,” then much rejoicing results and the relationship enters a new and glorious phase. If, however, the response is silence, or confusion, or “How could you love me, you don’t really know me,” then the negative and volatile impact of that single utterance becomes a barrier to progress. Because now imbalance and the awareness of that imbalance takes center stage and can become an insurmountable obstacle.
Now consider what might happen if, for example, the man tells the woman he loves her and is sure of it…on the second date. (I’ll wait for you to stop hyperventilating.)…..
And starts talking about marriage and moving in and the future during the first week of dating….
This is the situation I recently found myself in. So while some women might run screaming in the other direction, I paused for thought. I verbally (and gently) rebuffed, directly established my boundaries and comfort zone, and gave him a chance to live in the moment and not bring it up again.
He did bring it up again – differently, but obviously. So I thought some more and re-established my boundaries and reiterated my aversion to implied references to the future. And to every verbal exchange, he would agree, and then proceed to bring it up again and again in direct and indirect ways that became so persistent that I realized his emotional attachment to me was unhealthily strong for being such a new relationship (three weeks). What to do, what to do.
I looked it up…in a book. Of course. Books have provided so much guidance to me that I have come to rely on them for answers or help with thinking through problems. And it turns out, this intense and fast emotional attachment is a psychological condition that has been studied – it’s called Anxious Romantic Attachment. And the 33 question test for it (in a scholarly psychological book, not on some web site) revealed to me almost everything this very nice and well-meaning guy had done to a very high level…within three weeks. A high score on this test indicates or reinforces that the person has a “tendency toward anxious romantic attachments.” And every scrap of affection given reinforces the person’s already elevated sense of attachment…and they are very hard to dissuade.
Armed with my own discomfort and this information, I thought some more and reflected on this man’s words and actions over the past three weeks, in hopes that I would discover a point of misunderstanding – meaning, perhaps I misunderstood something or misinterpreted a statement or situation. But the more I thought and considered, the more I realized that this wasn’t a scenario I wanted to participate in.
Language in relationships is so important, reinforced by actions. So I’m not really a believer in that old stand-by phrase, “Actions speak louder than words.” Very often, I find that words scream a mouthful of intention that can’t be ignored or corrected by the sweetest actions. Sometimes when someone you care about says something at the wrong time, in the wrong context, even with the most honorable and honest intentions, the power of language renders the situation irredeemable, completely cut short of its potential had those words not been uttered.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Daydreamer
Trying to write a blog while being a PhD student sometimes seems an exercise in futility, as evidenced by the fact that my last post was June 2007. And yet here I am again because I can’t not write. Yes, that’s right. An English PhD candidate just used a double-negative…correctly, might I add, and absolutely intentionally. I work within parameters but I love breaking the rules, especially if the desired outcome can still be achieved. Pushing the boundaries of what makes an acceptable and appropriate writing teacher is one of my current projects. So what inspired this return to the blog? A book. No surprise, really. Books have always helped me to think through problems, issues, social and family situations, personal demons. And this is no different.
The book is Mike Rose’s Lives on the Boundary and I’m reading it in service of my comprehensive exams, upcoming at the end of August (if I get my way with scheduling). Although we come from very different backgrounds, I found my own experiences mirrored somehow in his recollections of literacy, language, and education as a youngster. One phrase in particular struck me: “the abyss of paradise”…what a fabulous evocative phrase – the text so far is littered with gems like this. (I’m only on page 131) Another gem from the introduction also resonates with me: “the resilience of the imagination.” Words to live by. At least for me…and I want to find a way to help my students understand the vital importance of imagination in reading and writing and education.
As I sat outside Applebee’s last night waiting for my friend, Jessica, I ruminated on what I’d read of Rose’s text thus far. Here are some thoughts I wrote down on the back of an envelope containing a thank you card and a $10 gift certificate to Books a Million (for my participation in some friends’ graduate research project during spring 2008):
Ability and skill with language for me meant escape, acceptance, and a way to harness and use my imagination in ways that gained me recognition, which, in turn, fueled my confidence and self-esteem when more traditional sources of these failed or frustrated me (friends, parents, standard academic subjects and classroom experiences).
Important book – Mirror, Mirror – self-acceptance; Brave New World and The Third Wave – reinforced my concern about the future
Important classes – Shakespeare and Science Fiction – love of difficult language and concepts, made me feel smart and part of a community
Important phrase – “carpe diem” – at 16 gave me a motto for life that I have strived to live up to ever since
So what on earth do these shorthand ramblings mean? Well, they are very personal remembrances of literacy moments in my past; moments that somehow helped to shape who I am, how I think and relate to others, and even my very ideas about right ways of being in the world.
Take Mirror, Mirror. I don’t remember the author, but I do remember the story – about a girl struggling with weight and self-image and self-acceptance issues - read when I was 12 and at the height of physical self-esteem issues. A constant phrase in my household directed at me was, “You’d be so much prettier if you lost weight.” And permutations of the like. I read this book at the height of my despair – bought with my own babysitting money, not pre-digested by Mom – I saw the cover and read the blurb and instantly knew I wanted to read this girl’s story. It helped me understand that I not only had the right to accept myself for who I was, but that I shouldn’t allow others to tear my psychological fabric (obviously, not the words I had at the time!)…I had been a competitive swimmer from age 6 to 12, but suddenly I was a developing young woman with breasts and hips and no longer a slight, boyish figure. I also had a thing for candy. But looking back at pictures of myself, I try so hard to be objective and not see a fat little girl – the image foisted so regularly upon me by my family. If I’m being really honest and as objective as I can, I see a girl whose body is changing, who is trying so hard to be happy and positive but is unsure and worried about friends, boys, parents, school. Especially school. Those damn tests.
I was always bad at taking tests. And I have always been horrible at math. In second grade, my teacher called my folks in for a parent-teacher meeting. She walked them over to my desk and opened the lid, revealing all of my second grade math homework for that section, unfinished. My parents were not pleased, but to their credit, they came up with a creative solution to figure out if I was capable of math or not – their suspicion was that I WAS capable, just uninterested. (How prescient that prediction turned out to be.) My dad, an artist, made me a Valentine’s Day card that year with a long addition and subtraction problem gracing the entire length of the inside page. The deal? If I could figure out the problem (no calculator) on my own and get the right answer, they would give me that much in money to spend on candy at the corner store.
I got it right on the first try. This daydreamer, creative thinker, imaginative spirit just wasn’t interested in math.
Thus began a lifelong hatred of all things math – except when it relates to money. I’m very good with money. But ask me to enter the realm of abstraction and equations unrelated to anything tangible and I shut down – uninterested and annoyed. But language? What a vast difference…I thrive on language. Language, as I wrote on that envelope, provided me a method of escaping critical parents, mean classmates, my own sadness and loneliness in the dozens of books I read every summer in the library’s competition. I regularly finished 40 – 50 books well above my grade level every summer and always earned a certificate and some free ice cream at Baskin Robbins.
Mike Rose’s book reminded me of all these childhood experiences with language and literacy – and what language really means to me. And here I thought I was just reading a book for my comprehensive exams. You just never know what’s going to resonate.
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