Postmodern Moonshine

Although MU mandates that its students enroll in and pass English 1000, the students have a small degree of latitude. They can choose between a variety of English 1000 classes that focus on a diverse number of themes such as art and society, new media, second language literacy, popular culture, and science and society. Most of these kids are neither going to take other literature classes, or be major in English, so offering a variety of “broad areas of inquiry” seems pragmatic. One result of this is that many students will pass through the academy without ever having to crack open the cover of a classic. We haven't accidentally ended up at this point either; we've been steered here by what Nan Miller calls post-modern pedagogical theorists, on whom she heaps responsibility for the unsatisfactory levels of writing proficiency in American universities.

Even though most students will never take another English class, does this really mean that they don't need to bother with literature? Miller gives several reasons why they may want to. She blames (on the theoreticians) the purging of literature from required composition classes for (what she at least claims is) a marked decline of collegiate writing (“No tent in the theorists' prescriptions for composition courses is so radical or perverse than this”). Many, such as Elbow (whom she cites) point to a connection between what students read and how they write. While canonical texts often get ripped on because they purvey oppressive Western values, Miller argues that we need to realize that these are very good models for writing. Furthermore, theorists, when they advise that students read other kinds of texts so that they may learn to write in other styles, implicitly reference this connection between reading and writing; however, these are not models worth emulating.

Obviously, her argument is a little problematic. It's not the reactionariness that I quibble with (I find it quite plausible that modern pedagogical techniques deserve at least more than partial blame for the poor state of collegiate writing), it's just that she doesn't really substantiate claims. That's ok though I guess, I don't think she's trying to be subtly persuasive in this essay; it feels more like a rhetorician's call to arms.

Miller, Nan. “Postmodern Moonshine in English 101.” Academic Questions 19.3 (2006): 6-36. SpringerLink. Web. 26 Aug 2011.

The Image as Language in the Teaching of Composition

Students born in the last two decades can identify themselves as members of the first generation fully immersed in the golden age of technology. Unlike those students, I was born before the birth of the internet and digital world. The way in which I think is fundamentally quite different from college students today because I learned composition by reading and writing long-hand. Although students still write and read in traditional ways, they now communicate primarily through numerous, highly complex, sophisticated digital outlets. In an article, "Rhetoric of the Image," 20th century French semiologist Roland Barthes analyzed how an image communicates certain messages to viewers through several essential, layered signs. Barthe ultimately argued that imagery is a real language. Just missing the digital age himself, his article foreshadowed a surge in communication through imagery. Despite this surge, the world has perhaps not quite caught up with thorough understandings of the power and newfound necessity of visual rhetoric.

As I begin thinking about how to teach composition, I wonder—How do I bridge the gap between my generation and that of my students to effectively communicate with them about how to write well? Would a keen awareness and implementation of visual rhetoric teach students to become better writers? What would visual rhetoric even look like in a composition class? Broadly, can a semiotical approach to composition pedagogy work? These were a few of my questions.

In addition to the those questions, I began my exploration of the topic of visual communication with a myriad of looming etherial thoughts, so I wanted to look first for a practical application of visual rhetoric in the teaching of composition. In her article, "From Analysis to Design: Visual Communication in the Teaching of Writing," Diana George discusses the role of visual literacy in the classroom, offers an example of a real approach, and advocates for a progressive, visual pedagogy for composition. George states that students are not more visually 'talented' than teachers, but I have to wonder if that is really true in this age (14). It is clear that students today learn how to use computers, the internet, and other technological outlets at a much younger age. Students' early understanding of visual information makes them fluent in the language of visual communication—a clear advantage over teachers who adapted to technology at a later stage in life. Is teaching students to translate their innate awareness of comprehension of visual information to actual visual rhetoric and visual argument in the classroom perhaps one of the most important goals of composition? I'm not sure, but I do tend to think that students are more visually inclined than most teachers these days.

Throughout the essay, George discusses visual communication mostly by describing the history of visual aids in pedagogical instruction manuals for writing and general books students read. In some sense, I thought her case was limiting. At the beginning of her article, she describes an assignment in which she asks students to make visual arguments by bringing actual images to class. But she presents the example and abandons it quickly. I thought she could further explain and develop her classroom application.

While George makes a case for visual communication in the classroom, she also asks, "Are images strategies for getting students to pay attention to detail? Do they mimic the rhetoric of verbal argument? Are they a dumbing down of writing instruction making visible to nonverbal students what the verbally gifted can conceptualize? Certainly, there is the message in much of this work that images may be useful, even proper stimuli for writing, but they are no substitute for the complexity of language (22)." Perhaps the answers to all of these questions lead to both negative and positive results. Before reading the article, I really hadn't thought much about the negative aspects of using visual rhetoric in the classroom. Perhaps the visual communication actually does "dumb down" compositional material. These questions and discussion in George's article made me address some of the negative aspects of visual communications. As I think further about teaching composition, I now realize that I will have to think carefully about what sort of visual communication is best for the students, and not use and teach visual rhetoric in a way that detracts from an understanding of verbal and written communication.

While George's article illuminated both the negative and positive results of visual communication, it leaves me pondering an ultimate question. What specific assignments can I create for students to write and convey their ideas clearly and verbally in a new and rapidly changing visual age.

Works Cited:

Barthes, Roland. "Rhetoric of the Image." Image, Music, Text. Ed. and trans. Stephen Heath. New York: Hill and Wang, 1977. 32-51.

George, Diana. "From Analysis to Design: Visual Communication in the Teaching of Writing." College Composition and Communication, Vol. 54, No. 1 (Sep., 2002), pp. 11-39

A Mixed Composition Class?

In America, undergraduates are required to take an English composition class in their first year. At MU, first-year international students can choose to go to the regular section or international section of English1000. This inspires me to ask a question: Should we separate international students from native English speakers (NES) in composition classes? Can students (both groups) benefit from a mixed composition class?

Nizar Ibrahim and Susan Penfield address this question in “Dynamic Diversity: New Dimensions in Mixed Composition Classes.” In a class that contains 15 international students and 10 American students, they find that the diversity of students’ cultural backgrounds is conducive to both ESL and NES students. They admit that in the beginning they do encounter challenges because of students’ different levels of language skills. Therefore, they emphasize the importance of developing personal relationships with students to know individual needs and help students to communicate with each other. In this regard, I am not sure to what degree should teachers develop personal relationships with students.

Also, is the enhancement of the interaction and mutual understanding conducive to their writing? The authors’ answer is yes. They argue that students utilize cultural diversity as important resources to choose their topics and develop their arguments in compositions. For example, a Singaporean student examines gun control in her writing because one of her American colleagues gives her food for thought. In terms of grammar, they give students editing exercises and grammatical feedback. They discover that ESL students and NES students can help each other when they do editing exercises because NES students may have a feel for the language but they do not know the rules while ESL students know the rules but they don’t have a feel for language. I have reservations about this argument because I heard that sometimes essays by ESL students can be entirely incomprehensible, which will make mutual editing impossible.

Finally, they argue that a mixed composition class helps to prepare students for other classes during their academic career where ESL and NES students are not separated. I agree that students can benefit from cultural diversity, but I have a question about assessment and evaluation in a mixed composition class. I assume that teachers should use the same standards to evaluate both ESL and NES students in a mixed composition class. But I am not sure if this thought is fair to ESL students who just start to learn the very basic notion of writing.

Works Cited:

Ibrahim, Nizar, and Susan Perifield. “Dynamic Diversity: New Dimensions in Mixed Composition Classess.” ELT Journal 59.3 (2005): 217-225

Creative monsters

My quest for wanting to get students to think creatively about writing was a difficult one. Much of the scholarship on creativity and writing was only connected to creative writing--rather than writing creatively. The article I found was from the Writing Lab Newsletter, written by a former tutor from MU. She acknowledges the ideas students hold toward writing, that formal, technical language is the only way to write, and that they hate it. She addresses this concern by pushing for inventive, sensational language over technical (5). In addition to the usage of creative language, she suggests that students include a personal narratuve, write a few lines of poetry or connect the topic to pop culture when writing (6).

I cannot, in good conscience, ask my composition class to write poetry on rhetoric. Nor will I ever ask them to use sensational language in a paper and expect my assignments to be taken seriously. I hope to run with the idea that students will become engaged in their writing through creativity (5). Stimulation in the writing process leads to more focused, concise writing, which is the eventual goal for the course.

I'm not sure if Howard's methods are the way to do so. I was drawn to the article because I am currently a writing tutor, but I would like to see what the views of a teacher are on the writing creative subject, rather than a tutor's perspective. So how exactly to I get students to unleash their creative beasts without a rebellion?

Howard, Jennifer. "Unleashing the Beast: Creativity in Academic Writing." Writing Lab Newsletter 31.5 (2007): 5-7. http://www.writinglabnewsletter.org/archives/v31/31.5.pdf.

Reading: How much is too much?

My question actually (and conveniently) relates to several questions that have already been considered. How much reading should we assign? When you realize (via Josh's response) the prevalence of watching television versus reading books in an average American home, it seems almost impossible to get students to read more than the minimum amount. On the other hand, it is essential (as Alex states) that students understand why a given work must be a certain length, regardless of page requirements. Assigning longer texts seems like the logical way to show students the advantages of longer forms, even if they only write shorter papers.

I began researching by looking at Patricia Harkin's essay "The Reception of Reader-Response Theory." This essay traces the decline of reader-response theory in literary theory (it is too easily applied to literary texts to bestow any amount of prestige on those who adhere to it, professionally speaking) and composition studies (it is too "theoretical" to practice in writing classes, where teachers are often too eager to teach literature instead of writing anyway). Because I am interested in reader-response theorists like Stanley Fish and Wolfgang Iser as well as this tendency for theories to fall out of fashion, I found this discussion pretty illuminating. However, it was difficult to find practical applications for it aside from a few mentions of textbooks written with reader-response in mind. It even comes to the rather depressing conclusion that "a pedagogical or curricular decision not to teach literary texts in writing courses became or entailed a decision not to teach reading" (Harkin 421).

I then found an article by Richard Fulkerson, "Using Full-Length Books in Freshman English," that provided more practical advice. Although he is writing in 1973, in the middle of the theory boom that saw the ascendance of reader-response theory, he gives promising anecdotal evidence of his decision to assign full-length books to his freshman writing classes--evidence, I hope, that will still hold true today. He argues that the form of the essay that is usually assigned in composition classes is necessarily flawed. Such essays are too short to make a comprehensive argument, and therefore assume knowledge that freshman are unlikely to have. A selection of essays over the course of the semester, each of which assumes different sets of knowledge, will therefore lead to a frustrated classroom. Full-length books, on the other hand, are designed to give the reader all the information necessary for a thorough understanding of the topic. He found that his students responded better to longer works, and remembered them better during classroom discussions. In addition, he argues that students "abstract a writer's techniques and reapply them with the necessary modifications in their own work." He found his students "nearly as unable, in a theme of five hundred to a thousand words, to imitate a professional essay several times that long as they are to imitate a book" (Fulkerson 220).

If, then, students enjoy longer works more than essays, retain more information from them, and imitate them just as well, it seems that there is nothing lost in choosing longer works over shorter ones. There is still the nagging question, of course, of how to make sure students actually do the reading they are assigned. I would like to continue my research by finding studies as to the efficacy of various pedagogical tactics (reading quizzes, etc.) toward this end. More recent evidence of Fulkerson's conclusion and dissenting opinions would also be helpful.

Works Cited:

Harkin, Patricia. "The Reception of Reader-Response Theory." College Composition and Communication 56.3 (2005): 410-425. Print.

Fulkerson, Richard P. "Using Full-Length Books in Freshman English." College Composition and Communication 24.2 (1973): 218-220. Print.

Battle of Selfs in Writing and Teaching

With the question of how to engage students in writing, I find an article by Ryan Ireland, “Talking to One’s Selfs,” relevant to my concerns. Ireland proposes that by helping students become more aware of their different selfs, or voices, a teacher can bring out interesting conflicts in their writing. According to his teaching experience of freshman composition, many students write to appease their teacher, using the 5-paragraph essay template learned from high school, and even though they meet all the requirements, their papers often fall flat. He believes it’s his job to “de-program the students” (Ireland, 64).

He designed a two-part exercise to make them recognize that there’re different selfs at work when they write. First he asked his students to read an essay, pick one point they liked best, and describe why they liked it to someone they felt comfortable with. The goal was to lead them to their comfort zone and let their dominant voice take control. Then he asked them to analyze their writing. The students would locate words or phrases they had crossed out and ask themselves what the censoring voices are. Through the exercise, Ireland wants his students to gain an awareness of “not only the voices composing their writing, but also the voices stifling the writing” (71), so that they can utilize the conflicts between the voices to fuel their work.

Ireland didn’t describe the outcome of the exercise, since he recognizes that the battle between one’s selfs is an ongoing one and may not produce result at once. But whether his students are writing better papers or not, I think Ireland’s exercise is worth trying. Actually I think his wish to make a change itself is appreciable. It seems that teaching, like writing, is also a battle between one’s many selfs. In my own case, my creative writer self, my autistic self, my wanting-to-communicate self, my hoping-to-share self and many other selfs, will all conflict, reconcile, and conflict again. Being aware of that and being able to “wallow in complexities” is probably the first step on my part to engage the students.

Work Cited:

Ireland, Ryan. “Talking to One Selfs.” Writing on the Edge 21. 2 (2011): 64-72

Are you having fun yet? Or are you poor?

Pardon my blunt title, but it's functional. The question assumes that if you aren't having fun, you're poor.

And that's exactly what Bronwyn T. Williams (a Scandinavian Elf, I'm assuming) asserts.

The function of basic level composition classes is to teach students the compositions skills needed for success. Pleasure in the classroom is not a concern of the professor - Bronwyn (I'm sticking to the first name because it's more fun and memorable) has in the past studied the disassociation between pedagogy and fun.

In many universities students who display proficiency can test out of this required composition class, and are free to move on to more stimulating classes that allow for creativity and pleasure. Guess who is most likely to test out?

Yup, the rich kids. Students who are from a higher income family typically display better composition skills.

Likewise, Honors and Creative Writing classes are typically filled with higher income students. These classes are more focused on creativity and seminar-style discussion, welcoming the pleasure of the texts into the classroom.

But in composition, we focus on the skills necessary to achieve success. This isn't bad itself - this itself helps low-income students obtain the skills they need to climb the socioeconomic ladder and better provide for themselves in the future.

But why is it only the Honors and Creative Writing classes that welcome creativity and pleasure? Why not the basic composition courses?

Bronwyn stresses that composition instructors have a responsibility to bring 'fun' into the classroom. To better bridge the gap between low-income and high-income students by welcoming creativity to students in all classes.

How? Bronwyn notes three things inherent to a pleasurable activity: competence, control, and challenge (Hey, look! Alliteration!) These three things are inherently linked to experience.

At one point, Bronwyn thinks from a students point of view: imagine a task with which you have no real experience. If it isn't writing (it's not, you're an English student, so think of something else), then perhaps car mechanics, or painting, or something of the sort. How would you feel about engaging in a critical study of the task which included a grading of your performance?

Bronwyn suggests that we bring in texts that are familiar to students in order to allow their experience to play a role. He predominately suggests television and movies: 96% of American families own a television. Only half (brace yourself) of American families purchased A book last year. Half. And that half was predominately the upper class families.

If we are to bridge the gap and allow everyone to have fun (not just rich kids) then we must look at other texts.

Movies (The Big Lebowski, anyone?). Or even crazier: perhaps allow the students to consider their own text.

What if a student studied the rhetoric of a car manual? What would be wrong with that? If he/she is interested in car mechanics and they study a mechanic text, how will this not help their writing? Especially if they are going into car mechanics, but even if they don't - they have engaged with a text and, because they are in control, competent, and yet challenged, they have a higher likelihood of finding the activity pleasurable.

Hopefully this was fun to read. If not, go do something you have fun, and then talk about it.

jds

PS - Here's the citation.

Williams, Bronwyn T. Are we having fun yet? Students, social class, and the pleasures of literacy. Journal of Adolescent and Adult Literacy Vol 48: 4, 2004. Web.

Not a Science Fiction Story: Multiple Intelligences in the Composition Classroom

When I started searching for articles to help answer my questions about how to address different learning styles in the composition classroom, I found one whose title, at any rate, seemed like the perfect answer to my query: “Using Multiple Intelligences to Create Better (Teachers of) Writers: A Guide to MI Theory for the Composition Teacher.” Intrigued, I began reading.

The article begins with a helpful discussion of what multiple intelligences (MI) are, listing and briefly describing the eight MIs (linguistic, logical/mathematical, visual-spatial, bodily-kinesthetic, musical, interpersonal, intrapersonal, and naturalist). Next, it discusses the misconceptions and difficulties many educators feel about adjusting their classroom plans to incorporate MIs, highlighting a spectrum of unease that ranges from outright contempt for the “edutainment” teaching model some feel the theory establishes to a simple reluctance to embrace teaching methods outside instructors’ comfort zones. The article goes on to showcase how some instructors have successfully implemented MI-directed learning strategies in the composition classroom—from outlining with TinkerToys to pacing out paper ideas—and introduces some resources which may be useful for interested comp. teachers. Finally, the author concludes, composition instructors have a responsibility to engage MIs in teaching composition; as long as they “[keep] an eye on results,” they can provide students with important learning tools which will remain useful even after the class ends.

While I found the illumination of the MI theory very helpful—I’d previously been confusing MIs with the visual/auditory/kinesthetic learning styles—and thought its discussion of misconceptions about the MI theory and misgivings about its implementation in the classroom were illuminating, I have to confess that I was disappointed with the practical examples the article provided. Constructing paper organization using TinkerToys seemed similar to concept mapping, and most of the ideas seemed to focus on individual instances of MI implementation rather than learning activities or assignments that might benefit the entire class. I’ll certainly keep this author’s insistence of focusing on the end goal—teaching students to become better writers—in mind, but I know I still have some searching to do in my quest to find out how I can better implement MI learning into my own composition classes.

Size does matter: longer is better for incoming freshmen

In an article I found in the Eureka Review, one college writing professor decries the direct correlation he found between essay length and score on the new version of the SAT. Because many incoming freshmen view the SAT model as objectively “good writing” and because those who did well on the test are exactly those students who wrote high-scoring, wordy essays, an English comp teacher faces a classroom that is at least somewhat obsessed with the length of each essay.

“It’s exactly what we don’t want to teach our kids,” says Les Perelman, an MIT writing instructor. I agree.

I think we send mixed messages when we tell our students to avoid padding their papers with extra words in a system that not only rewards--but demands--sheer page length. Shouldn’t writing be genuinely inspired, sung by angels on high and simply transcribed by eager freshmen?

It’s a delicate balancing act. We ought to teach our students to become acquainted with their free and reflective inner writers, but we must also remember that part of our job is undeniably practical: our students will inevitably face demands of word length, and it’s our job to help them develop strategies for working within those boundaries.

Also, I understand that there’s a very obvious reason for the connection between word length and the success of a piece of writing. In most cases, good thinking requires a significant amount of verbage.

So, looking forward, I’m left with a big question: Is it possible to encourage writers to develop both an organic view on word count and the skills to knowledgably work within the construct of page requirements?

Adaptation: Teaching Composition from a New, Visual Perspective

In some ways, Boice's description of the exploratory essay is truly the opposite of what I've always understood about about the construction of an essay. Boice recommends that we resist writing a thesis at the beginning of the essay. He also advises us to begin after an introduction, in the middle. He asks us to consider and explore two or more perspectives or arguments. All of these ideas are contrary to my deep-rooted thoughts about writing an essay. I think it will be an interesting detour for me to take as I approach my own essay. . . .

On a different note, I have been thinking about my essay and would like to explore the concept of visual learning styles in the teaching of composition. Right now, I am leaning toward the the idea that visual composition organization, rhetoric, and learning styles are imperative for effectively teaching students after our recent technological renaissance. When I tutor at the Writing Center, I find that the students are often unable to organize their thoughts. When we draw up a visual aid, however, their writing appears to improve immediately. I now have a hunch that students view information in clusters and as visual elements. Perhaps they think this way because they are confronted daily with technology that requires all students to think in a more visual manner. As teachers, I believe that we need to adapt to a new generation of students, even when teaching composition.

My brother is dyslexic and relies almost entirely on aural instruction. Prior to starting graduate school in English, I was a graphic designer for many years. My experience in the art world radically changed the way I view text. I mention these examples because I think that striking a balance between students who respond to traditional written instruction and aural, visual, and kinesthetic learning styles is of paramount importance. These are concepts that we have not explored in Boyce's book or the Allyn & Bacon guide.

I don't know if a new focus on visual teaching will take away valuable writing time or not. Can these alterations in teaching be successfully integrated with traditional teaching models? Are my assumptions wrong? I really don't know.

Resonance and Dissonance

    In “Writing as a Mode of Learning,” Emig argues that writing corresponds to certain learning strategies. For example, she points out that the ability to generate conceptual groupings and synthesize ideas is required in both learning and writing. I agree that both writing and learning involve the process of analysis and synthesis but one has to be careful when he or she tries to generate conceptual groupings or synthesize. Sometimes a writer tends not only to generate and synthesize ideas but also to “generalize” those ideas. This tendency to categorize and generalize differences is mentioned in Kastely’s “From Formalism to Inquiry.” In this article, he reminds us that an argument sometimes is made at the expense of differences. In order to produce a tenable argument, a student may learn to disregard conflicts and dissonance. This article reminds me of the time when I wrote my master’s thesis. I learned for the first time that writing is not imposing harmony on ambiguity and dissonance but simply presenting them.

    When I wrote my master’s thesis, I tried to explore a protagonist’s ambiguous attitude towards the night life in Paris. It turned out that I was only able to present the positive side of her attitude because I found it impossible to describe both sides without jeopardizing the integrity of my arguments. So, how to present ambiguity in an unambiguous way becomes an important issue for me. My harmonizing strategy was later challenged by the questions posed by my advisor. She pointed to the scenes in the novel where my arguments failed to explain. Through asking questions, my advisor exposed several blind spots in my seemingly incontestable arguments. The questions she asked were aimed to open up various possibilities that coexisted but at the same time contradicted each other. It was from the contents and forms of her questions that I learned how to present ambiguity without privileging either side of the arguments. I think the key resides in the power of resonance and disagreement brought up by my advisor. When she regarded my argument as “problematic,” as Kastely puts, I was forced to explore the other possibility that contained incoherence and ambiguity. 

Exploratory essay

I'm a little more excited about the prospect of an exploratory essay than I anticipated. This is, more or less, because it seems to be a pretty easy mechanism through which to bring my theoretical orientation into discussion, but without cramming it down the reader's throat. It seems, for example, much more palatable to bring theorist in to support, enhance, or change the scope of an exploratory essay than to foreground the theories. In other words, to show why theorists are relevant to the issue, rather than how issues are relevant to the theorist (which is how many paper seem).The dialectical thought process that Bacon & Co. advocate seems essential to keeping the reader's interest; this point was driven home by two essays on creativity. In one, the question was closed immediately; in the other, it was left open allowing the essay to generate a synthetic answer. I have a tendency not to write in this way. I start with the answer and try to show why it's the answer. This never works very well.Speaking of other poor writing habits, as annoyingly zen-like as Boice's advice can be, I can't help but feel that heeding his advice has the potential to let me develop a set of something that I could actually call writing habits.Now, I know that his advice of “Wait” (which I understand as actively working on the problem without an eye towards any final end) and “start before you're ready” seem kind of paradoxical (and in a way they are) but the problem I see him trying to solve is a real one, and on top of that, one that applies to me. I felt that all the examples he gave of reasons why a person's writing can get stunted or stumped apply, in some way, to me. I'm in a convenient position of entering an MA program knowing fairly specifically what I am doing. All I need to do is start, which is kind of the problem. I'm willing to give his strategies a chance.

Believing and Doubting: Exploratory Writing

Though I’ve had a fair amount of experience constructing annotated bibliographies and other writing assignments designed to help generate further questions and insights into research papers, I’ve never before tried (or, for that matter, heard of) the exploratory essay as “an intermediate stage in the research process.” After playing Elbow’s “believing and doubting game” in class earlier this week, I’m tempted to explore this (for me, at least) new form of writing in terms of believing and doubting.

I’m intrigued by The Allen and Bacon Guide’s claim that exploratory writing is designed “to keep a problem alive through consideration of multiple solutions or points of view,” because I feel like this strategy will be particularly handy as, throughout grad school, I will need to return to previously written seminar papers as I prepare articles for publication. If I engage in exploratory writing, I will be able to revisit not only my initial notes and final draft, but also the many angles on the topic that I found interesting as I got further into my research. What an invaluable resource this could be!

I am not without reservations, though; I still find Boice’s advice to “wait” before writing challenging because it has never been a big part of my writing process before now; what if adding this additional step to my writing process ends up disrupting a process that, at least to this point, has seemed pretty effective? What if I end up devoting more time to my writing—valuable time that I could have spent preparing for other courses—without any noticeable difference in the end product? I’m hopeful that, after we experiment with exploratory writing in this class, I’ll have a better idea of how best to incorporate this new strategy into my own writing process, and will know which side of Elbow’s game I’d like to run with.

Freewriting and Chaos (in response to Hsiao-wen's post)

I think Hsiao-wen’s angle on "order out of chaos" revealed some good criticism on the concept . I also liked what she said about freewriting—that it sometimes makes essays vague.

I try to freewrite everyday. It allows me to work out a field of subconscious thoughts, but the result of that kind of writing sometimes leads me to a larger field that I can plow. Plus, I think too much freewriting can often lead the writer in the wrong direction from the topic of a paper.

I think it’s difficult to find good ideas from freewriting, and it’s even more challenging, as Hsiao-wen wrote, when we try to cull those ideas from chaos.

Tension and Rhetoric

“The key to effective exploratory writing is to create tension between alternative views.” While reading the chapter in The Allyn & Bacon Guide to Writing, about the exploratory process (p. 56), this sentence resonated with me. I think it would have been helpful if the authors discussed in more detail about this tension. Are there different kinds of tension? Are there other ways in which we can achieve tension? Clearly, in the scope of an entire essay, one kind of tension is to present various viewpoints from different sources. Following suit, our thoughts and ideas on those sources creates tension by presenting an array of, and often conflicting, viewpoints.

For example, how do we address a kind of tension through rhetoric? Should we use different rhetorical strategies throughout our essays to generate this “tension?” Should we use one rhetorical strategy throughout the essay to develop a strong, consistent, and clear voice? These are questions that I find perplexing. Although the premise of an exploratory essay is to question and “dwell” in a pool of ideas, I still think that underlying expository argumentative rhetorical strategies exist.

I will write my own expository essay in the near future, and I will have to make choices not only about how I will explore the topic of the paper, but how I will structure the essay rhetorically. My inclination is to use various strategies to reveal a more circular and thoughtful approach to the essay. Of course, while the purpose of the essay is to “explore” a question, I do believe that there are exploratory essays that use only one or two rhetorical strategies to address multiple ideas from different angles. The outcome of those essays reveals a singular voice instead of an ever-changing one.

With regard to the chapter in Boice’s book, I think there is a crossover with Ramage, Bean, and Johnson’s book with regard to how we should approach and begin exploratory essays. I gleaned from the combination of the two chapters how to begin before I’m ready to write an exploratory essay, in particular. I specifically liked the quote Boice borrowed from Sylvia Boorstein about not hurrying “to breathe the next breathe—the next breath will arise whenever it is ready (p. 126). I found her words reassuring that writing (including expository writing) is a natural process.

Both of the essays were quite interesting. The chapter in the Allyn & Bacon Guide caused me to think about tension and rhetorical strategies while the chapter in Advice for New Faculty Members revealed to me how to begin the writing process early—an how to just relax.