Reformulating the Questions of Composition
So stop me if you've heard this one before.... A student walks into a composition class and is told how to write in concise paragraphs. They are told of the relationship between topic sentences and supporting sentences. They are taught that it all flows in a logical and coherent way. They are told how to craft a good thesis sentence and that everything in a paper should cohere to that one sentence. They are taught the idea of the '5 paragraph argumentative essay.' They are shown....what? You say you've heard this before? That this is pretty much every composition class? Well, I guess that really isn't funny then, huh?
There has always been something wrong with composition. Even from the start, there has never been any "right" answers to how to go about doing this. Theories would be borne out of theories and scaffolded on assumptions and traditions that are now so old that they are hard to untangle from the entire endeavor. Is there nothing new, then? Maybe. Maybe not.
The study of the history of composition and writing instruction has traditionally been the study of various theories of how writing happens. If you look through various textbooks dealing with composition, ideas such as the paragraph as the main unit, the idea of "themes" to write on, the notion of expository writing as the main domain of writing...all these ideas have had their time on the chopping block.
But what is curious is that this question, the question of how writing happens and its related question how do we teach how writing happens? is only one of three questions we can be looking at. The other two, in many regards, may be far more interesting and important to be looking at.
These two questions are why does writing happen and where does writing happen. When I ask why does writing happen, I do not mean the whole issue of communication and the history of literacy. I mean something much more immediate and under our noses. What I mean when I ask the question why does writing happen is what conditions and circumstances give cause for an individual to begin arranging words into meaningful ideas. That is, what causes us to write? What is the impetus for our desire to communicate?
This notion struck me today as I was looking through many old composition text books. One thing was the same in every single textbook: writing prompts. The only thing that changed was the nature of these prompts. Some were more conventional. Some where downright culturally leveling. Some were wacky. But they all revolved around this one idea: for students to write you must tell them to write and provide the inspiration for that writing.
This is a folk pedagogy. This assumes that writing does not or cannot happen on its own. Writing requires the instructor's approval and direction to happen. To answer the question of why does writing happen, comp theory simply tells us "writing happens because we say so."
But there is a great danger in this. By placing the cause or impetus to write within the instructor's structure of authority, all writing that is done in a class becomes external to students. They are not writing for their own reasons; they are writing because an instructor has given them a prompt that either invites them to write or forces them to write for a grade. This simple fact remains the same no matter how hip, cool, or sexy your writing prompt may be. They belong to the instructor, not the students.
But why are we assuming there is only one way to answer why does writing happen? Obviously, this assumption serves the traditional grade as product, education as cultural leveling mentality. It promotes and reinforces the traditional notion of instructor/student. It makes "grading" easy. Every student is assumed to be at the same starting line when the prompt is given, and the instructor need only to measure how far they have gone from this starting point to determine a grade. Some will go far and receive good marks. Others will not.
But the problem with asking a student to write about Kurt Cobain is not every student feels a connection to his music or his words. By asking someone to analyze his lyrics, a student may get the impression that Cobain is a major figure that smart people like. Further, if this student doesn't feel a personal connection to Nirvana's music, they may feel alienated and outside the classroom culture of those who do connect with Cobain.
To return to the question, we have to treat it as a question. Why does writing happen? Maybe there are other ways to make writing happen. Maybe writing happens due to deep personal connection to ideas. Maybe writing happens as a way to realize knowledge. Maybe writing happens to express a personal idea or to share a passion with others.
These are concepts that are not new to any writing classroom. However, the traditional assumption has always been that these concepts cannot be approached unless the instructor forces students to work through them. But this is the assumption that I question. Must we force students to write for them to write?
We know that learning, in a larger sense, does not necessarily occur because an instructor forces it to happen. In fact, we know this is a very inefficient way to go about producing learning. We know that certain situations, certain environments, certain conditions can be conducive to learning happening simply due to the nature of these situations, environments, and conditions. Why must writing be any different?
What we need is a discussion on why people write when they are not in the classroom, and then find ways to replicate or mimic these real-world situations in our classrooms. The notion that writing happens because someone says to write is not a concept that holds any sort of validity in the real world and in the personal lives of students.
This brings me to the other question, where does writing occur? Far too often only a very specific, narrow, and naive idea of writing passes the test for what qualifies as writing. This, of course, is the traditional expository essay that can be graded in a class. However, for those who have been asleep for the past 10 years, we are turning into a society that relies heavily on written communication. Writing happens all over the place, from cell phones to profiles on TheFacebook.com. And this is writing that happens with no authoritarian instruction at all. It happens organically and authentically for intrinsic reasons on the part of the person who writes.
It begs the question, who is to say this writing is of no value? A great deal is being accomplished in these "fringe" forms of composition. However, students are being told time and time again that this sort of writing holds no value to anyone simply because it does not superficially look like what composition instructors have been drilling into the heads of students for the past 100 years.
To start to understand why writing happens, we have to start finding where writing happens in the real world under no external pressure. If we can understand why people spend hours posting responses on message boards or taking hours to craft a simple "profile," we can begin to understand what motivates people to write in an organic and authentic fashion. It is only then that we can begin to use these concepts in the classroom, and to return the value of writing to the student.
Comments
Hi Matthew,
I teach secondary school students, but when it comes to the questions you raise here about teaching writing I think the similarities between secondary teaching and university teaching are stronger than the differences.
I begin with the assumption that school is an artificial environment. One can bring authentic elements into the classroom, but it is futile to hope that school itself can become entirely authentic. I am old enough to have survived several rounds of school reform theory, and while the best schools today are better places than the best schools 40 years ago, they remain artificial places in which young people are required to do things that almost no one does in real life by their own choice. I don’t expect this to change. I do try, within those constraints, to make my classes as good an experience as possible for my students.
In my literature classes, this means that I try to choose readings that have real literary merit. Readings that say something significant about who we are, where we are, and what we are doing, or should be doing. And then, yes, students have to learn to respond to those readings in essays and oral commentaries. This is artificial in that almost no one, without the requirements of school, responds to literature in this way. But it’s what they need to learn to succeed in school, it does force them to think more deeply and analytically about what they have read, and it does sometimes increase their understanding and appreciation.
In more skills-based classes, the topics of writing assignments vary in their relevance to students’ own lives and concerns. It’s a bit like teaching bicycling: the route you choose for a cycling trip can be better or worse, but either way the pedals keep turning. Obviously the trip is more pleasant if the route is interesting and enjoyable. I encourage students to generate lists of topics they care about, and to choose writing topics from those lists. But sometimes, too, they benefit from having to write on a topic or in a form (restaurant review?) that would never occur to them on their own. This is education, too—introducing young people to what they would never encounter in their lives outside school.
The modest hope is that a few of my students will integrate into their own lives and their personal writing some of the lessons learned in my classes. Beyond that they, like everyone else, are on their own. And most of them will find other things to do.
Thanks for your thought-provoking post.
Cheers,
Eric MacKnight
EricMacKnight.com
The Good Habits Blog
Posted by: Eric MacKnight | September 9, 2006 1:40 PM