Potentials and Parameters: Student Writing as Classroom Text

As an undergraduate in English Lit, I enjoyed the reading and writing, but sometimes dozed off during lectures. Of course, at the time, the curricula were all centered on teachers, not students. So long as professors were capable speakers, they held our attention; if not, we counted every minute on that ticking clock. Because I'm not a fan of teacher-centered teaching, I was excited when I began the very student-centered Comp MA at SFSU. One of my favorite models for a student-centered curriculum is Facts, Artifacts and Counterfacts' (1986), to which I was introduced in my fall 2013 English 709 class. Like many writing workshops, the Bartholomae and Petrosky course centered on student writing but, unlike any pedagogy I'd known, it took student writers seriously as “experts” whose opinions were valued beyond the typical classroom “performance for evaluation,” as Bruce Horner (as cited in Harris et al., 2010) puts it. (p.11) FA&C did this, in part, by making the centerpiece of their curriculum the published anthology of a class full of student autobiographies, a publication which was then studied in class as an “expert” document on adolescence. For the purpose of this course, student writers were elevated virtually to the level of professional authors featured in the course, such as Margaret Meade. In part, I suppose I was excited by this approach because, having been a freelance journalist myself, I know how validating it feels to have your writing circulated and appreciated by a broad and discerning readership. Compared to being published, typical classroom writing, though it may come with the best intentions of teaching students to write for an audience, inevitably only asks students to write for the teacher. Reading FA&C, I was fascinated, furthermore, by the idea of a course where student writing drove the whole pedagogy, freeing teachers from lecturing. Throughout the term, students in the Bartholomae and Petrosky course would write several papers (on top of the autobiography project), 2-3 selections of which were discussed whole-class each week as works in progress. Student writings became the stimulus for class discussions, which covered the essentials of writing, absent any overt lessons on audience and purpose, for example. Students would learn “what passes as an idea and what does not, what forms of argument work and what don't.” (30) Finally, I was intrigued by the FA&C approach because, while valuing student work, it also asked student writers to be brave in their writing and in their in-class criticism of a peer's work, all of which would seem to boost student interest levels dramatically. After all, it stands to reason that, when students know they’re about to come under whole-class inspection, their focus and interest is heightened dramatically.  Higher stakes add to the excitement of the class, which leads to increased student engagement, and this engagement gives rise to students acquiring the elements of good writing – without a teacher ever dictating “the rules.”

      My enthusiasm for the potential in this pedagogy inspired my current research on student writing as classroom text (SWACT), revealing several new applications barely hinted at by Bartholomae and Petrosky, including some healthy considerations for parameters to protect students from unintended ill effects of a curriculum that clearly takes risks. My inquiry began by asking What variations are there on the whole-class analysis model? What other applications are there for SWACT beyond the whole-class model? This paper will address several approaches, most of which come from the excellent anthology Teaching with Student Texts. As I see it, these pedagogies fall into two main categories: potentials – classroom applications with great promise, and parameters – limits and cautions in using SWACT. 

Potentials

Like Bartholomae and Petrosky, Patrick Bruch and Thomas Reynolds use SWACT in whole-class discussions. Though they sometimes work with full drafts, they tend to excerpt specific parts of papers in order to focus on key rhetorical moves (introduction, claims, support, conclusion). Bruch and Reynolds (as cited in Harris et al., 2010) offer key questions to guide discussion might include: “How effective does this work address the assignment? How might this student build on this particular 'microtask?' What other approaches could have been taken? What might the consequences of those moves be?” (p. 82) If writing students don't always value revision the way Comp teachers do, Bruch and Reynolds say SWACT provides students a clear understanding for it. Applying SWACT in peer review and whole-class analysis, the authors say student writers' main benefits are “the notion that writing remains malleable” and that their drafts are experiments, rather than mistakes etched in stone. (p. 83) This point is hard to over-emphasize. As a former CMS teaching assistant, I was pained by how few students embraced their opportunity to revise their work, possibly because they felt it was already good enough, possibly because they couldn't stand to revisit their already troublesome writing. My personal experience in a UC Berkeley writing workshop showed me how a whole-class a SWACT workshop implicates every participant, so that no one is above revision, and that revision always improves student writing.

      From my research, the most common application of SWACT appears to be the time-honored technique of peer review. Bruch and Reynolds (as cited in Harris et al., 2010) found the greatest benefit to peer review was in what student reviewers – not writers – learned from the process: coming to see writing as the audience sees it. By contrast, student writers said that, while they may take student feedback with a grain of salt, they truly valued “having their peer reviewers treat them as writers whose texts were worthy of serious investigation.” (p. 80) This echoes the benefits of treating students like “experts” in FA&C.

      As a graduate student without Comp teaching experience, I've often been troubled by the concept of peer review. So much seems to hinge on a teacher's proper modeling of peer review techniques, so that students read closely, examine fearlessly, and communicate empathically. The peer review approaches using SWACT that I found seem to succeed because teachers use whole-class analysis as a model long before ask students to review each other in small groups. Like Bruch and Reynolds, Jane Mathieson Fife (as cited in Harris et al., 2010) uses SWACT whole class to introduce students to peer review. Initially, though, Fife favors whole-class readings of student texts selected from other classes, English department websites, national journals and textbooks. She prefers the stability of known “outside” texts early on when modeling the basic moves of an academic paper. Additionally, going online also provides a rich resource for exemplary student writing that enables her to raise the bar for her students with models that are “high quality, but not unattainable.” (p. 224) This resonates with John R. Slade (2010), who favors “outside” student texts. He generally prefers student text over professional texts, too; in his research, students found the latter more intimidating by a ratio of 3 to 1. (p. 35)

      While no other pedagogy I found treats student writers as “experts” quite like Bartholomae and Petrosky, a few scholars report intriguing models likewise founded on publishing. Doug Downs, Heidi Estrem and Susan Thomas (as cited in Harris et al., 2010) decry the tendency for student texts to become “ossified, classroom-only genres,” and point out that they are typically read by peers in draft stages, but far less likely to be “valued or interrogated as highly polished, published texts.” (p. 119) To remedy this the authors recommend student writers send their essays to be published in Young Scholars in Writing (YSW), a peer-reviewed journal of undergraduate research in composition and rhetoric. For too long, they assert, FYC students have needed to be “read rather than judged, evaluated, analyzed, diagnosed, or corrected.” (p. 122) Actually, publishing offers student writers unique learning experiences, but submitting to YSW is no cake walk: to be sure, their peer review can be quite strict, insisting on repeated revisions. What separates the YSW approach from a typical writing workshop, though, is “a different yardstick” – the exhilaration of aiming for such public approval can be especially inspiring, especially for more ambitious writers. (p. 127) One drawback, technically speaking, is that the YSW doesn't quite qualify as SWACT, since YSW is an external publication and, therefore, extra-curricular. Of course, teachers could conceivably design YSW publication into the curriculum, such that it's a vital part of the pedagogy rather than an optional addendum, although this might prove intimidating for more developing writers. Still, such a goal might provide just the real-world motivation needed to energize students to reach beyond their normal limits.

      Karen McDonnell and Kevin Jefferson, like the authors touting YSW, support publishing student writing in order to give them the “expert” status they deserve, and to elevate the social value of student writing in general. McDonnell and Jefferson (as cited in Harris et al., 2010) note that even a praise-worthy publication like YSW is run by faculty, not students. Ostensibly, this subverts the intention to teach students to write for an authentic audience: “Students hoping to . . . be published write to please their teacher, and beyond that teacher is another set of teachers to please.” (p. 108-109) By contrast to YSW, McDonnell and Jefferson offer a course on publishing where every student is an editor for the online journal e-Vision. The instructors' primary contribution is to help student editors devise a basic structure for a rubric for student writing, which they base on readings of the recent volume of e-Vision. Otherwise, the teacher's role is to guide student editors toward making and defending decisions based on the texts. Mostly, the class is run by students, voting on submissions and defending their choices, with instructors involvement limited to playing devil's advocate, asking questions and encouraging explanations. These student editors, analyzing and commenting on texts of students who are not present, because of this distance, learn to write openly and honestly. Occasionally, though, this can distance can engender “sneering comments and group ridicule,” but teachers turn these into teachable moments that lead to other skills students need to learn, such as “sensitivity, maturity and responsibility.” (p. 114) Arguably, the most delicate task for these student editors is later motivating student writers, face to face, to make revisions. Presumably, this is where a teacher's guidance in soft skills make all the difference. Like the YSW model, the e-Vision approach takes peer review techniques from the writing workshop and turns them into what Krashen calls meaningful situations, which potentially provide the greatest opportunities for learning. Of course, most schools can't afford an entire course devoted to publishing a journal like e-Vision. Then again, one instructor at James Madison University wrote a unique curriculum that transforms the writing workshop into a preparatory exercise targeting e-Vision as the end goal, proving that such a real-world application can be as pragmatic as it is idealistic.

Parameters

Common sense would seem to say that applying SWACT without caution could prove problematic, particularly in respect to whole-class explication of student work. What if a student is offended by a teacher's whole-class examination of a paper? What if people outside the safety of the classroom read a paper out of context? In order to minimize discomfort and maximize ethical treatment, Paul V. Anderson and Heidi A. McKee assert that certain parameters need to be followed when sharing student work with a class. After all, young students are known for a degree of volatility; moreover, anyone might be sensitive to the vulnerability of exposing private thoughts and experiences and personal writings beyond the familiar audience of the classroom. Anderson and McKee (as cited in Harris et al., 2010) recommend certain guidelines when working with student texts: Students need to know who, other than us, as instructors, will see their texts. Teachers need to request student permission for the use of their writings; ideally, this should be in writing. Students need a choice between using their real names or pseudonyms. Even when they consent to participate, they need to know they can withdraw permission at a later date. Finally, when in doubt about sharing a student's text, the authors advise, make a substitute. (pp. 75-76) I would go so far as to add that, without respect for these parameters, teaching with SWACT would be playing with fire, especially in whole-class analysis. Careful, considered planning is vital before beginning.

     Still, despite the risks, the potential in SWACT is enormous, both for building student confidence and building a sense of community. Though he acknowledges that workshop discussion can expose flaws in student writing and thinking, Rolf Norgaard points out that, as they confront their assumptions, they're also exposed to “intellectual and emotional resources within themselves . . . that they otherwise might not have found.” Norgaard (as cited in Harris et al., 2010) writes of a certain student in his class who was “terrified” to of share her work. By semester's end, though, the weeks of challenging one another brought the group closer:

. . . as we were saying our good-byes and inquiring about summer plans, this student turned to the class and in a moving expression of gratitude and solidarity, said she had never felt so supported – intellectually and emotionally – as in this writing class. That support came not from superficial praise but from a deep critical engagement with each other's ideas as thinkers and with each other's challenges as serious writers. (pp. 236-237) I think most teachers might agree that this is exactly the kind of experience many of us go into teaching in hopes of generating, even if they're far and few between. It appears such great results only come from taking great chances.

     Admittedly, SWACT carries risks. The editors (as cited in Harris et al., 2010) of Teaching with Student Texts suggest that the most significant danger is that, in critiquing student papers, we might inadvertently emphasize product over process, “eradicating errors and legislating forms and genres.” (p. 3) In implementing SWACT, it would be critical, therefore, to emphasize, not the “right” answers, but how to discover and justify answers. From what I know of SWACT, I tend to side with Rolf Norgaard (as cited in Harris et al., 2010), who holds that the benefits outweigh the risks. What at first appears to be SWACT's greatest drawback might be its greatest advantage:

As we work with student texts in the classroom, . . . they see us sharing in their inquiry, encouraging intellectual risk taking . . . Our approach to drafts can send a message that all writing worth reading grows from a willingness to take risks. (p. 231)

      If we're sincere in asking students to take risks in their writing, to dig deeper, to really find out what they believe and what needs to be said, then we have to be willing to face the chaos that can come with a SWACT classroom, even if some students – like the one Norgaard describes – are “terrified”.

     Even if the most terrified person in the room is the teacher.

References

Anderson, P. V. and McKee, H. A. (2010) Ethics, student writers, and the use of student texts to teach.

     Harris, J., Miles, J.D., Paine, Charles, P. (Eds.) Teaching with Student Texts: Utah State

     University Press. 60-77.

Bartholomae, D. and Petrosky, A. (1986) Facts, Artifacts and Counterfacts. Boynton/Cook     /Heinemann

Bruch, P. and Reynolds, T. (2010) Reframing student writing in writing studies composition classes.

Harris, J., Miles, J.D., Paine, Charles, P. (Eds.) Teaching with Student Texts: Utah State

     University Press. 78-87.


Downs, D., Estrem, H. and Thomas, S. (2010) Students' texts beyond the classroom: young scholars

     in writing's challenges to college writing instruction. Harris, J., Miles, J.D., Paine, Charles, P.

    (Eds.) Teaching with Student Texts: Utah State University Press. 118-128.

Fife, J. M. Bringing outside texts in and inside texts out. (2010) Harris, J., Miles, J.D., Paine, Charles,

      P. (Eds.) Teaching with Student Texts: Utah State University Press. 220-228.


Horner, B. Re-valuing student writing. (2010) Harris, J., Miles, J.D., Paine, Charles, P. (Eds.)  

     Teaching with Student Texts: Utah State University Press. 9-23.


McDonnell, K. and Jefferson, K. (2010) Products as process: teaching publication to students. Harris,

     J., Miles, J.D., Paine, Charles, P. (Eds.) Teaching with Student Texts: Utah State University

     Press. 108-117.


Norgaard, R. Embracing uncertainty: the kairos of teaching with student texts. (2010) Harris, J.,

     Miles, J.D., Paine, Charles, P. (Eds.) Teaching with Student Texts: Utah State University Press.

     229-242.


Salvatori, M. Conversations with texts: reading in the teaching of composition. College English. 58

     (4), 440-454.

Slade, J. R., Jr. The student-authored essay as a teaching tool. Journal of the Scholarship of Teaching 

     and Learning. 10 (3), 31-40.

Prose That Beats the Pros: Student Writing as Classroom Text

Slade, John R., Jr. (2010) The student-authored essay as a teaching tool. Journal of the Scholarship of Teaching and Learning, 10 (3) (Nov.), 31-40.

       How do students feel about reading student-authored essays, as opposed to professional essays, in the writing class?  

      This is the question driving this research article by John R. Slade, a professor at North Carolina A&T State University. To find out, he surveyed 84 FYC students in five Critical Writing classes over two semesters from fall 2008 and spring 2009. The class of freshmen in these classes came from a broad range of backgrounds, educationally speaking: 45% ranked in the top two-fifths of their high school class and 47% in the bottom three-fifths. If these students' training left them ill-prepared for university, this was reflected in their self-confidence in academia. For example, when Wabash College did a study of 27 institutions on student attitudes, NC A&T students ranked 26^th when asked if they were willing to work hard to earn superior grades.  
      The article's thesis is “to measure how students perceive two types of writing models in a foundation-writing course,” either professional or student-written essays.  Slade's argument says students prefer student writing because they can relate to it and because they can understand it better than professional writing, all of which builds their self-confidence as writers. Evidence for this article comes primarily from the survey, and partly from sundry student replies to more open-ended questions, the details of which are not clear. The survey, derived from students' replies to three key survey questions, addresses essays – both professional and student-authored – from the classroom text, Critical Thinking, Reading and Writing by Sylvan Barnett and Hugo Bedau. 
      Respondents were asked a) if they preferred student or professional essays, b) which sort they “referenced” more frequently in their own writing, and c) which type of essay they would recommend to a colleague in a Critical Writing course.  Most notably, Slade's research found that, compared to professional essays, students preferred student-authored texts by nearly 3 to 1. Less clear was what they meant when they said they “referenced” student essays more than professional essays (51% vs 45%; 3% were neutral). The writer admits that the respondents were likely confused about the verb “reference” in this context. (Some considered “referencing” to be any time the teacher himself called a student text to their attention, which was often, according to Slade, since they appeared to avoid professional essays, except for homework.) When asked which variety of essay students would recommend to a colleague, professional essays received zero votes, while student-authored essays got only 13%; the most popular response was “both professional and student essays,” with 83%.

       Though he offers no detailed student responses to more open-ended questions, Slade seems moved by what he found. “Students writers,” he says, “long for instruction and instructional tools that emphasize immediate and practical uses.” (37)  Such replies led the author to conclude that students prefer student-authored essays because they provide simple models that follow the espoused mechanical parameters of composition, contrasted to professional essays, which more frequently break the rules that composition classes uphold. Slade uses this information, ancillary though it may be to the primary interests of the survey, to support an extended defense of “formula” essays – that is, simple rule-based models with strong topic sentences – for the FYC classroom. 
     The article concludes that student-authored essays bear the best fruit in foundational writing courses, especially for marginal writers, since “professional writers often stylize their prose with techniques too advanced for the average. . . writer to imitate.” The paper's strongest point, though, is that student writing is less intimidating and; young writers' confidence “seems to receive a boost from exposure to writing by their peers.” (39)

       Slade's argument is generally strong and, for the most part, it holds water. Certainly, for struggling writers who are admittedly poor or reluctant readers, it's not surprising that they lean toward student-essays. After all, they can't seem to relate to anything they deem professional. In fact, Slade at some point experimented with student texts from his own class, and the general response was even more positive than when using student-authored essays from the course textbook. Clearly, students felt that anything published professionally was a sign of perfection – a perfection that they couldn't hope to achieve in their own writing.

       If there's a weak spot in to Slade's article – aside from the fact that the replies to his third question are far from conclusive (see above) – it comes from his conclusion, drawn less from the survey than from replies to ancillary notes students included, that students prefer student essays because they embody the compositional structure promoted in class better. If the author found such information so impressive, then why not detail them? For example, how many students remarked that they were “longing” for practical models? Why not supply a quote or two? Personally, I wonder how much of Slade's defense of simple, rule-bound essay models was derived from student survey responses and how much was derived from hunches based on anecdotal remarks from personal encounters with an unspecified group of students. Not that hunches are invalid; they have their place. But I think we can agree that they need to be made explicit in a research paper.

       Of course, in his efforts to teach writing, Slade seems to have overlooked an important and very relevant point. Research shows that students who read better write better, which lends support for integrated reading and writing, and for the notion of exposing them to more complex readings by accomplished writers. Slade's conclusion holds little quarter for challenging students as readers, only as writers; in fact at no point does he mention the power of integrating reading and writing. I would submit that an apt scaffolding is needed for such marginal writers. Like Bartholomae and Petrosky in Facts, Artifacts and Counterfacts, Slade might do well to work with student texts exclusively early on, especially with writings of his own students, then later bring students to challenge themselves with more difficult readings by professionals, if it comes to that.

Student Writing as Classroom Text (SWACT) in Application

    The truth is that using student writing as classroom text (SWACT) is nothing new.  Sure, Bartholomae and Petroksy highlight it in Fact, Artifacts and Counterfacts by featuring in a published anthology of student autobiographies, and William Coles, in The Plural I, designs his entire curriculum on whole-class readings of weekly compositions, but this is nothing particularly novel.  After all, we’ve all had experiences with this methodology in more modest forms beginning with reading book reports aloud in fourth grade, for example. 
    What’s different and, I think, truly empowering is the integrated reading/writing approach to SWACT.  Reading Sally Smith’s book report of Mike Mulligan’s Steam Shovel offered few of the same benefits of such a program because the writing was not used to consciously model the advantages and/or disadvantages of such a text as exemplary to that genre.  In the B & P or Coles models, by contrast, the SWACT is included within a writing workshop context; the result is a meaningful motivation to revise, as well as a deeper grasp of audience, purpose and style because of the benefits of immediate feedback.  At the same time, readers hone their critical analysis, which contributes immediately to their own writing.
    By not discussing or writing Sally Smith’s book report, we miss a valuable opportunity to inspire an entire class through what Krashen calls a “meaningful” environment.  Krashen, quoted by Gee, explains that the best acquisition “happens in natural setting which are meaningful and functional . . .” (Gee, 539)  Thus, compared to the sometimes weak impact of the cold page of a book, a class full of your peers responding to your writing could impact a reader exponentially greater.  In fact, it might be argued that hearing, say, ten positive responses and ten negative freeform responses might feel like a more fair consensus than single peer response or even a teacher’s solitary commentary. 
    The meaningful aspect of SWACT cannot be over emphasized.  When students know they’re about to come under whole-class inspection, or that one day their “number” will come up, their focus and interest is heightened dramatically.  While this adds to the “fun” aspect of the class, ultimately this leads to increased student engagement.  And this engagement gives rise to a desire to succeed, paying attention, then, to elements that constitute good writing without ever being dictated from the teacher “the rules” of good writing.  As B & P write: “They begin to make decisions about what is interesting and what is banal, what passes as an idea and what does not, what forms of an argument work and what don’t.”  The social impact can be potentially electrifying because the stakes are high for avoiding disappointment, and for gaining positive “strokes”:  B & P point out that “the phrase makers and the idea people soon become centers of interest in each class.” (30)  SWACT makes the lesson “real” in a way that few other lessons can, outside of a workshop or laboratory setting.  By comparison, as Kutz et al point out, traditional writing instruction presents writing as as “an assemblage of structures and removes it from a socially constructed context.” (Kutz, Groden and Zamel, 30)   
    In terms of writing skills, SWACT pays off in spades.  As students learn to express their ideas and make their points through this process of public trial and error, they benefit chiefly because of their immediate comprehension of audience.  B & P note that students in a SWACT class learn how to “become (and imagine) both audience and participants in such a discussion.”  As critiqued writers gain instant understanding of the people they want to reach, those listening also develop as readers, sharpening their mental and oral skills of critique, moving beyond “yeah” toward “yeah” with substantial justification, using cues in the text. (31)  In this way, SWACT augments what Louise Rosenblatt calls “authorial writing,” that is, re-thinking a writing with the “virtual audience” in mind -- except that, in the case of SWACT, students are increasingly familiar with their audience, which helps them more precisely custom-fit their thoughts.
    A few possible obstacles might arise in implementing SWACT.  Some students, especially FYC students, could be intimidated by such a potentially embarrassing process.  Some deft maneuvering is in order if sensitive students’ feelings are to be spared.  While some students might be paralyzed by a whole-class critique, observers might fall silent, fearing that they might incur any harsh critiques themselves. How, then, to placate such fears and motivate discussion?
    In What Is “College-Level” Writing?, Sheridan Blau offers some ideas that might help.  He points out that, in our endeavor to initiate young writers to academic discourse, we might do more harm than good unless we take great care.   Ironically, he notes, where writers of academic articles already know their audience pretty well -- some of the audience personally, in fact -- FYC students usually have no such connection to audience.  Clearly, as we’ve seen, teaching SWACT is an ideal approach to overcoming this problem.  Still, in critiquing student papers, how do we avoid alienating people?  Blau’s suggestion is to read a model paper with an eye toward defining this genre first.  That is, imagining that we’re teaching a class of confused students, we imagine their questions.  For example, one might be, What’s an essay?  What are its parts?  What are its goals?  I would posit that using Blau’s “definition” discussion might be the ideal kick-off for a new SWACT writing classroom, putting many nerves at ease, beginning with a model and free discussion, then introducing critiques of student papers afterward.
    .
   

Student Writing as Classroom Text

      Few Composition methodologies have impressed me like the concept of using student writing as classroom texts. I love the organic, stripped-down, boot camp feeling I get from William Coles' The Plural I or Bartholomae and Petrosky's Facts, Artifacts and Counterfacts. In the former, Coles uses no other outside texts, and chooses student papers from the previous week for whole-class case studies for what works, what doesn't, and for fuel for the revision factory, since all students are reminded through reading colleagues' papers of the need to revise to improve.

       In Bartholomae and Petrosky's model, student autobiographies are revised, edited, compiled and actually published in a hardcopy volume; this anthology of autobiographies, then, becomes the classroom text for the ensuing unit, as students read and write about student writing, student thinking and student lives. I suspect the student-text-as-publication resonates with me especially because I first learned to love writing through my contributions to my school newspapers.  Tough though it may be, students gain a great sense of identity knowing their work is being read, critiqued and possibly admired.
      More important, this raises the potential for students to take their own work more seriously both in style and content; the group reading and assessment provides powerful whole-group reflection that, conceivably, can be received as more palatable and informative than, say, a single student's feedback during peer review, or than even a teacher's solitary response. Nowadays, many colleges benefit from campus websites like iLearn, and most students have some access to the Internet, so blogs can simplify the process of publishing student work for the benefit of the writing class. 

      As exciting as this teaching method is, since I've never taught such a class myself, I'm curious What does it look like?, that is, beyond Coles, Bartholomae and Petrosky. What kinds sorts of writing themes work best? Are there any applications beside Coles' model of reading and discussing, or B & P's publication, or this class' blogs?
      My initial reading list is:

The Plural I, William Coles

Facts, Artifacts and Counterfacts, Bartholomae,David and Petrosky, Anthony

"STUDENTS’ TEXTS BEYOND THE CLASSROOM:Young Scholars in Writing’s Challenges to College Writing Instruction" (pp. 118-128) From:Teaching With Student Texts
Doug Downs
University Press of Colorado, Utah State University Press (December 2010)


INQUIRY, COLLABORATION, AND REFLECTION IN THE STUDENT (TEXT)-CENTERED MULTIMODAL WRITING COURSE" (pp. 200-209)
From:Teaching With Student Texts
Scott L. Rogers
University Press of Colorado, Utah State University Press (December 2010)


"EMBRACING UNCERTAINTY:The Kairos of Teaching with Student Texts" (pp. 229-242)
From:Teaching With Student Texts
Rolf Norgaard
University Press of Colorado, Utah State University Press (December 2010)


"STUDENTS WRITE TO STUDENTS ABOUT WRITING" (pp. 88-95)
From:Teaching With Student Texts
Laurie McMillan
University Press of Colorado, Utah State University Press (December 2010)

The Pleasure Principle

    Revisiting Marguerite Helmers’ introduction to her Intexts compendium of reading pedagogy, I’m reminded of the separate, but unequal, approach so many English departments share for Comp vs. Lit., and the need to consider both sides of the divide in order to serve our students best.  Traditionally, our educational methodology teaches reading and writing separately, as Bleich notes, which treats reading as “overdetermined and pedestrian.” (5)  The chief question, as Young and Fulwiler posit, is whether we focus on the text or on the reader. (7)  This discussion gave rise to Lindemann and Tate’s debates, where the former argued that there was “no place for literature in first-year composition,” while the latter bemoaned curricula deprived of reading “an entire body of excellent writing,” along with the implied writing benefits this cultivates in first-year readers. (7-8)
    After nearly two years of immersion in SFSU’s largely Lindemannian perspective, it’s not difficult to support it.  Emphasizing the reader generally means reading shorter works by authors in the field -- or, like William Coles, ignoring all such works and favoring the reading of student work as class text.  This is because, given the limited time for homework and class discussion, reading longer works usually means less time to study critical aspects of writing.  By contrast, in a class focusing on students, student attitude and technique are the primary concern.  Unlike many students in literature courses, these writing students, it’s hoped, develop a consciousness for purpose, audience, genre and stance, and they become cognizant of the transactional triad of the reader, the writer and the text.  The student-centered classroom teaches students explicitly authorial reading (Rosenblatt) and social-justice reading or reading the world (Freire).  In addition to creating an arguably more relevant and, therefore, interesting learning environment, this approach actually offers the perspective of reading and writing as tools of empowerment to re-think, if not revolutionize, the world.  All of this develops agency in student reading, which strengthens student writing; at the same time, an emphasis on writing develops strong reading skills, as Rosenblatt asserts.
    By contrast, the Tatian view, where classroom focus is on the text, can be seen to offer crucial benefits that the other approach omits.  Chief among these is the pleasure that can come from reading literature; even Freire says that a good reading includes strong emotions.  If, like Freire, we sincerely want to help students read the world, and if such a reading is “full of feelings, of emotions, of tastes,” (Helmers) then at some point we need to help ensure that our students truly connect with their reading. (10)  Unfortunately, composition studies, with its movement away from expressivism toward what Helmers calls a “Marxist-based cultural criticism,” has provided little or no consideration for the importance of reading for enjoyment, since this is considered “soft.” (14)  For teachers moving in the opposite direction, the classroom can be an unfortunate “contact zone” where students think of reading as pleasurable, while instructors “expect interrogation.” (18)  Lynn Schwartz laments that books, in the context of the classroom, lose their “magic” when they become texts, and what was always fun becomes drudgery.  (19)
    In my teaching, I will definitely try to make reading enjoyable for my students.  Tate and others maintain this is next to impossible when students read only short works, but I’m not convinced; nor am I certain that reading entire bodies of longer works is, in itself, enjoyable since so much depends on the quality of the writing, the degree to which it activates student schema, the atmosphere of the classroom and the enthusiasm and skill of the instructor to make the reading come alive.  Even, with all this, so much hinges on the students individually and the schemata they bring to the work. 
    At some point in the term, I would love to have students read some piece of aesthetic literature, even if it’s only a poem or a short story.  Call it a personal bias -- I love fiction because, at its most powerful, it can ignite emotions in ways that the most brilliant intellectual work cannot.  Sure, some might say that, as we move closer toward the affective, even if some students connect very deeply, other students may not relate at all.  Therefore, choosing such materials requires extreme care and thoughtfulness.  Most important for me, however, is not that my students enjoy themselves per se, though that would be great, but that their joy could lead to increased engagement, and this engagement to increased agency and commitment to learn.

Acquisition, Learning and Empathy

Meaningful Learning

        Louise Rosenblatt’s (1988) “Writing and Reading: The Transactional Theory” covers a wide swathe, yet all of her ideas spring from the triadic transactional model, that is, the writer, the reader and the text.  It behooves us as reading/writing teachers to understand this critical connection, since it has major implications for the FYC classroom.  First, it’s vital that we understand how meaning making is generated, namely, that the reader, with her socially-saturated schema as a filter, interacts with the text to construct a text of her own interpretation; it’s this interpretation that counts as “meaning” for readers, and not the text itself, as Rosenblatt emphasized in a previous paper (1978).  To fail to understand the highly subjective meaning each reader constructs is to misconstrue the reading process and to presume some mythical “correct” meaning of a text, placing false expectations on our students while ignoring the rich schema each brings to the reading process.  Second, the transactional model can help us instruct students as they develop writing skills, including critical “authorial” reading of their own texts while simultaneously keeping their readers’ interests in mind when they write.   

        Of course, just how we steer students toward these goals is as important as understanding the goals themselves.  Rosenblatt (1988) stresses the importance of “creating environments and activities in which students are motivated . . . to draw on their own resources to make 'live' meanings."  This resonates with Krashen’s concept of language acquisition where students interact with the target language in meaningful contexts.  Gee (1989) paraphrases Krashen’s acquisition model as “a process of acquiring something subconsciously by exposure to models and a process of trial and error, without  a process of formal teaching,” but rather in “natural settings” that are meaningful and functional. (539) 
        Learning, by comparison, comes from teaching, though “not necessarily from someone officially designated a teacher,” (539) and entails explanation and explication toward some sort of meta-knowledge.  I take “meaningful” to mean activities that are personally applicable to a student.  For example,  a student learns baseball vocabulary by trying to win in a ball game.  This develops a personal feeling of understanding for the vocabulary in a real context, of belonging and contributing to a social group, and of competing toward a shared goal, versus empty memorizing of vocabulary in a non-contextual lesson from a book with no exigence beyond a grade or fear of failing, for example.  Since we likely agree on the importance of offering meaningful learning events that help students understand the transactional triad toward enhancing their reading and writing skills, it seems appropriate to consider to what extent learning and acquisition benefit our students in meaningful ways in this regard.  

        To my mind, the delineation of learning and acquisition, as if they’re opposites, is a real mistake, especially if we accept that acquisition tends to be meaningful, while learning is -- what -- meaningless?  In general, as in the baseball case above, it makes sense that instruction of discourses tends to benefit from interaction in authentic events.  But just how authentic is still meaningful?  Rote memorization for a history exam might be seen as largely dull, artificial and meaningless, especially contrasted to lessons that students can apply to their own lives.  For example, going to a sit-in for Occupy Oakland and writing a paper on its historical implications, we might generally agree, would be far more meaningful.  But meaningful and meaningless are not absolutes.  Instead, I suggest that meaningfulness lies on a line of gradation with, perhaps, urm, fifty shades of gray in between?  We could say the same for acquisition and learning.  If this is so, then it follows that we might design activities that intermingle acquisition and learning, where even learning is deemed meaningful.  

        Which brings me back to the question of designing an activity to present the transactional reader/writer/text triad.  Say we ask students to write a paper based on a theme of their own choosing; then, to help them understand audience, we place them in small groups and ask them to try to identify their potential readers through discussion with the goal of making a class presentation on their findings.  It seems to me that, like the baseball example, such small group work is highly relevant, even meaningful, as it would inform their writing project and move them toward their goals as writers expressing themselves.  

        Is this learning or acquisition?  While there’s no overt instruction from the teacher, the group work would, according to Krashen, be categorized as learning, since it's meta-cognitive.  I don’t know about today’s K-12 instruction, but regarding student-centered classrooms emphasizing group work of this sort, it’s hard for me to agree with Gee when he says, “acquisition is good for performance, learning is good for meta-level knowledge.”  (540)  What if, as I hope, the above group leads to improved writing performance, not mere meta-cognitive thinking?  Gee seems to speak in terms of either/or, when, in fact, we need to acknowledge that some activities are hybrid insofar as they are meaningful and enhance performance.  
        When based in community-building give-and-take -- like a game of baseball -- goal-oriented group work can result in authentic ways of learning, even if they address meta-cognitive questions initially.  It appears to me that what's at issue is less the meta aspect and more the fact that the lesson can empower students with applicable skills in meaningful ways.

Leading By Example

        My first blog took issue with a slightly different aspect of Gee’s (1898) comment  -- that little acquisition goes on in the classroom.  He makes an excellent point, however: that non-mainstream students have little chance to acquire the mainstream discourse because the classroom promotes learning, not acquisition.  He holds that mainstream students acquire mainstream discourse in the home; as a result, they benefit from classroom practice of this discourse.  But, since non-mainstream students’ parents lack this discourse, when their children come to school, “they cannot practice what they haven’t yet got.” (543)  That this presents a cruel injustice can hardly be disputed.  Yet this is only one part of the problem.  Gee mentions the other part of the problem himself when he states “we all know that teaching is by no means always that good.” (543)  

        But what about when it is?  I hold that a teacher who truly walks the walk can potentially make acquiring a discourse a natural event, even if that discourse is absent from the home, simply because of a desire to emulate that teacher. Roughly speaking, I’d say that for every ten or twelve mediocre teachers I’ve had, there was one outstanding teacher who made a real difference – an unforgettable, life-altering difference.  Such a teacher -- like Mr. Fee, my tenth grade geometry teacher -- loved his students, loved his subject and, because of his expert knowledge and personal passion, imbued us with the feeling that his subject was both exciting and useful.  Have I ever actually used geometry in real life?  Never.  Still, I venture to say that I acquired invaluable discourse from Mr. Fee: a love for solving mysteries, a belief in the benefits of hard work, and a confidence that schooling could make a real difference in my life overall.  

        I suppose I’m talking about teacher persona and a commitment to serving students.  Unfortunately, we can study all the ingenious pedagogical theories and praxes available, but empathy for students -- I don’t know if that can be taught.  Still, this kind of teacher can make a difference in a student’s life, above and beyond acquiring skills or growing cognitively.  This point cannot be emphasized enough, of course: students cannot hope to acquire a discourse until they buy into its ideology, which resonates with Gee’s point, that discourses are inherently “ideological.” (538)  
        Surely our schools could benefit from increased, improved in-class activities for discourse acquisition.  But even this will be incomplete unless our teachers embody the discourse themselves.  In the case of Mr. Fee, he embodied the belief that geometry mattered, that math was empowering, and most of all, that education could help me direct my future.  And this turned my head around in spite of a very dysfunctional family that, not only didn’t emphasize the significance of education, but occasionally threw down obstacles to prevent my participation.  When Gee says teaching is “by no means always that good,” I feel he’s put his finger on the problem: not necessarily a paucity of acquisitional activities, but of empathic teachers.

Reading the World

      Reading Dana Gioia's “On the Importance of Reading,” I found myself muttering a confession – “Guilty!”
     She indicts young people (but her point could apply to my generation as well) for their obsession with entertainment and sports celebrities, and turning their backs on literature. At best, she says, they're Webmongers who “pull something from here and there,” (p. 21) a bit like people at an all-you-can-eat buffet who want a taste of everything, but never really focus on much of anything. As a culture, she laments, we've lost the ability to savor our food, so to speak, since reading for pleasure has all but bitten the dust.
      I say I'm guilty because, though I love literature and majored in it as an undergrad, my interests have been, though I can't say why, more in creative expression – songwriting, fiction writing – than in reading. When I do read, it's often psychological or spiritual self-help or a biography. Where's my thirst for the next Gatsby? I look around for someone to blame, but I come up empty-handed.
     Like Gioia, I weep for the loss of national interest in the arts. As a lover of the arts – especially songwriting and films – I've often felt a misfit in a mass of sports and reality TV devotees. As a (backsliding) lover of literature, I've often felt like a leper in a nation that seems to despise books – unless they're made into blockbuster films. Certainly this national disdain for the arts is the most significant headwind we face in helping students learn to embrace reading.
      Perhaps the NEA's pro-reading campaign, “The Big Read,” is moving in the right direction. Jolliffe and Harl's artcle, “Studying the 'Reading Transition' from High School to College” resonates with Gioia's emphasis on modeling reading for our students, as does Gee's “What is Literacy?” Gee points out that students learn valuable meta-cognitive skills from teaching, but that the most practical education comes from giving students exposure to material and letting them practice on their own.     
      According to this philosophy, reading classes, insofar as their attempts to impart reading skills, only take time away from allowing students to truly immerse themselves in reading for pleasure – the best way to promote acquisition, as opposed to learning.  Aside from guiding young primary school readers in the fundamentals, Gee makes a compelling point that such discourse is best acquired without any instruction.   Personally speaking, my love for books came from my high school's outside reading requirement. Coerced to choose books I liked, I was amazed that reading was fun.
      Jolliffe and Harl suggest a major obstacle blocking high school and college students from deeper engagement with reading, especially course texts, is their inability to see the practical benefits. Wherever possible, the authors recommend teachers make explicit the connections between course readings and future applications.  In a world where students are increasingly driven by financial concerns, these applications need to be clear. (I can relate.   Keen to understand the payoff, I was always the lone student in my algebra class asking, “But when are going to use this?”  Stumped, the teacher stalled and stammered but could only offer, “It's required for trig.”)
     As English teachers, to the extent that it's possible, we need to show students how improved reading and writing is vital to their success in the workplace, in critical thinking (to defend themselves against less than scrupulous marketeers and politicians), and to, as Gioia reminds us, pursue beauty in the arts, including literature, as a “necessary component of a life of self-realization.” (p. 19)
      In finding common ground with our students, using electronic media in the classroom seems the most obvious place to start, whether we're hoping to ignite their interest in course readings or help them develop a love for pleasure reading, much as Jolliffe and Harl posit. Blessed as we are at State with iLearn, we might assume that all colleges are on the same (web)page, but a bit of research suggests other institutions may have a ways to go.  For my money, blogging is the essential component of any course aimed at promoting an expansion of student consciousness into the realm of the academic discourse community.
      It just makes sense to meet students on their own terms – which echoes Paolo Freire's piece, “The Importance of the Act of Reading.”  He emphasizes (again and again!) the necessity of beginning instruction with students' reading of the world around them, and that the act of reading books is then just a logical expansion of that healthy curiosity.  It's essential to present reading and writing as tools for students to discover their own voices, express themselves and speak out against injustice wherever they find it.
      A question: Gee says that, generally speaking, a discourse is mastered through acquisition, not learning, and that school exposes students mostly to learning, not acquisition. How true is this?  What of the lessons students learn from teachers' own modeling of attitudes and of discourse?