Helping Students Write Literary Analyses

I found the piece Helping Students Write Literary Analyses very insightful. I was required in high school to write one literary analysis a month my senior year and the practice really helped me understand the skill. In fact, I vaguely remember being stumped a few times on how to approach an analysis, but towards the end of the year I believe that I had perfected the skill.

However, I think that I am not like most students in this regard. Dr. Essid has mentioned that in his 216 class, students struggle with close readings and understanding motifs and themes in close readings, the heart of an analysis. In my experience, practice and continuing to grow and understanding what one is doing wrong when writing an analysis is how one perfects the art of a proper literary analysis.

But where does that leave a writing consultant? Especially one that has a first time literary analysis writer? Well, I believe that Yothers means well, but his ideas of how consultations should be handled are flawed. Yothers outlines exactly how these consultations should happen and what each consultant should do for each individual case, but I think the most important part of a writing consultant is treating each case individually. Grouping students by how they seem or what their needs are by a formula of ideas really limits what the consultant can accomplish as a mentor for students in writing. However, the ideas that Yothers has for these students in these specific cases, while not universally applicable, can help a writing consultant with a few tough students and give the consultant a idea of where they can start.

The one other issue that I felt with Yothers was that he put too much emphasis on the importance of having graduate students be the writing consultants. I understand how he feels about having someone that is older and has more ethos to say that this is how things should be done and students would be more receptive to their advice. But I believe that students would actually be more open to meeting with a fellow undergraduate because they have more automatically in common. Graduate students are more intimidating to undergraduates and graduate students may not be as attentive to undergraduates. I believe that even the idea that you could run into your consultant at a football game or the dining hall immediately adds a greater connection than someone who is four years older who may have had a completely different college experience and a completely different set of expectations. Yes, graduate students do have more experience in academic writing, so I believe that graduate students should be available to undergraduates (especially for seniors working on theses) but first year students should have an older upperclassman undergraduate who still has experience in writing, but also can mentor the student through the rest of their undergraduate experience.

Learning to Argue Fruitfully

            The idea that peer writing criticism can involve students “learning to argue fruitfully” (390) appeals to me immensely. Holt’s emphasis on teaching discourse skills in conjunction with the content of classes is refreshing, as I can recall numerous courses in which these lessons were overlooked, even when the approach was touted as “discussion-based.” It has become a large part of the way I justify studying literature—the better we are at telling stories eloquently and arguing persuasively, the more impactful we can be. It excites me to realize that helping to foster fruitful arguments will be part of our role as writing consultants. In fact, Holt’s model strikes me as cumbersome for the classroom, with intended results perhaps better achieved in a writing consultation.

            The process Holt suggests makes sense in theory. Students engage in written dialogue, with each step of the process documented for reflection and for the instructor’s observation. In practice, though, I’m skeptical about its efficacy. In my experience, students tend to run for cover when they hear the phrase “small groups” during class. Particularly in an introductory class, when a professor instructs students to engage in a written dialogue, I would expect few of them to take the conversation seriously. The dilemma here echoes that of Perry’s “My Teacher Hates Me!”—students engaging in a forced, insincere dialogue because their professor will assign them a grade for it. I do not mean to suggest that some students will not be genuinely engaged, but it seems naïve to expect that simply assigning and grading a conversation will be enough to facilitate a genuine one. Holt’s approach seems particularly convoluted, her six-step method coming off more as numbing busy work than an effective classroom strategy.

            One professor who I think handles this extremely well is Dr. Outka, in the English Department. In a 300-level class last semester, she had a draft due for every paper and encouraged us to revise thoroughly before turning in the final version. For each paper, she assigned us to peer critique groups. We wrote commentaries similar to those we provide as writing consultants, then we met outside of class to discuss our reactions. This meeting was crucial to the assignment’s success. Rather than forcing us into an awkward written dialogue, Dr. Outka allowed us to hold a genuine discussion, on our own time and on our own terms. As Holt suggests, such an approach would not succeed in an introductory classroom. For a more advanced setting, though, Dr. Outka’s approach seems ideal. She read and graded our written commentaries, but left it to our revisions to reflect the feedback’s effectiveness and the depth of our discussion. If we had gone through Holt’s entire process, I think most of us would have felt stifled, underestimated, and thus less motivated to exchange our genuine thoughts.

            With an approach like Dr. Outka’s working well in upper-level courses, the introductory classroom would need a method of its own. Holt’s approach would likely yield an even more inauthentic, playing-the-professor’s-game kind of dialogue here than in an advanced setting. Many students are still discovering what an engaging intellectual dialogue entails, and it does not seem that being graded on their unsatisfactory attempts is the best way to help them progress. Rather, I suggest that meetings with writing consultants might be a better setting for students to learn how to argue fruitfully than any that a professor can construct in the classroom. Writing consultants walk a thin line, of course, between presenting opposing views constructively and introducing real tension into the conversation. They can serve, though, to both model and encourage the kind of fruitful arguing Holt suggests, for students who might flounder to achieve it in a group on their own. With the conversation occurring outside of class, without a grade, students will feel more at ease, and the kind of discourse they practice will feel more fully integrated into their own real lives. Holt’s peer group model might still be valuable, but I think writing consultations are the best way for students to get their feet into the parlor door.

Cognizance and Strategies in Tutoring

            Ryan and Zimmerlli delineate many issues that writing consults must be cognizant of in this chapter.  Every student struggles with various difficulties concerning school.  Some may struggle with math, others with science, and many, many students struggle with writing.  As writing consultants, we have to make sure that we have an ample amount of tolerance for the papers that we will be working with.  As Ryan and Zimmerlli write, students struggle with problems day in and day out.  Whether it is because of family concerns, economic concerns, or other school concerns, writing a paper is not always the top priority for many students (59).

            Every student deserves our respect as writing consultants.  We have no idea what the majority of students go through.  We must be seen as allies, not as some type of pedagogue looking to attack them for each mistake.  Ryan and Zimmerlli stress the importance of starting with the good parts and ideas of papers; approval will always give students confidence (58).  This is especially important for those students with writing anxiety.  We, as tutors, have the chance to be the encouragement that these writers need.  Encouragement and sensitivity are two huge aspects of being a writing consult (59).  Ryan and Zimmerlli do a great job of stressing this to the reader.

            Many helpful strategies exist for tutoring another with his writing.  The authors write about visual, auditory, and kinesthetic strategies that can have tremendous impacts on writers (60-61).  From color-coding text to reading notes aloud, there are a bevy of strategies that we should take full advantage of.  As I read through the thirteen ideas, I found the kinesthetic strategies to be the most fascinating.  They are strategies that I simply would have never thought of.  At the same time, however, I can see how these would be effective.  The first is to have the students read through their papers and do the highlighting/underlining themselves.  This strategy reminds me of my SAT Reading tutoring.  I was told to become really involved in each passage by highlighting important facts and ideas.  As soon as I put that strategy into practice my reading scores soared.  I can see how doing something similar when reading through your own paper could have a comparable effect.  Two of the other concepts deal with the use of self-stick removable notes.  One advises tutors to have students use the notes to rearrange the paper to better organize it.  The other suggests that students should use them to identify certain parts of the paper, such as the thesis and evidence (61).  These strategies would help me immensely as a writer; I wish that I had learned them earlier in life.  They may even be enjoyable for writers.  Reorganizing self-stick notes on your paper could seem like more a game than a daunting task.  Doing this would certainly be more gratifying than copying and pasting paragraphs on Microsoft Word.

            My question reverts back to my first point about being cognizant of the fact that many students deal with issues that we will not know about.  It, however, looks at the other side of the coin in a certain way.  What if the student is just being lazy?  Do we have the right to ask students if there are hardships in their lives that are keeping them from writing a decent paper?  It may be a tad off-track, but this is the question that the reading sprung in my mind.  Is this something that we should do?

Trying to Dance to the Professor’s Tune

Let me tell you a secret: as I write this post, I am nagged by a voice that asks whether I am meeting my professor’s expectations. Am I using the right voice? What about the content? You know, the usual writing worries. Now, however, another concern occurs to me. After reading Valerie Perry’s article, “My teacher hates me!’ The writing center as locus for a rhetoric-based WAC program,” I wonder if I, too, am playing the “game” of figuring out what my professor wants in order to receive a good grade (1).

A part of me protests this image of myself trying to wheedle out each professor’s likes and dislikes. Yet every time I turn in a paper, my immediate thought is, “I hope the professor likes my paper!” For students, the professor feels like the ultimate judge of our fates—the one who gives us a grade that goes on our transcript. According to Perry, instead of learning the given disciplines of writing and thinking critically, that dangling grade at the end of the course turns writing into a task of learning to satisfy individual professors, a type of learning she suggests many professors unintentionally perpetuate (3). As much as I would like to deny that striving to get a good grade means playing to the professor, I recognize the game.

In spite of that recognition, I was still surprised by the perception of the students cited in Perry’s article. While I have a keen awareness of the audience, who, in my mind, is usually a professor, I nevertheless think of writing assignments as a chance to explore my own thoughts and ideas, along with what I have learned in class. To the students Perry mentions, however, writing is not an activity that is intellectually stimulating, but a dry task of simply giving the professor what he or she wants to read. Upon reading these impressions, a classmate’s recent confession to me came to mind. This student said that it seems his professor just wants the students to reiterate in their papers what he has said in class. If students carry that type of notion into a writing assignment, it is no wonder they see writing as a chore.  Their purpose of writing could easily mutate into that dreaded “writing-to-get-it-done” approach that we have discussed in class and that Perry mentions in her article (3). After all, what is intellectually stimulating about regurgitating what someone else dictates?

That is not to say that students do not fall into writing-to-get-it-done because of other factors—even students who love to write can fall victim to stress or work overload. Nevertheless, the more classmates look at me like I have willingly signed my own death warrant when I tell them I am an English major, the more I realize how many people have not experienced the joys of exploring and crafting ideas through writing. When I think about the perception of writing described in Perry’s article, I cannot help but wonder if these perceptions may alienate some students from writing who might have otherwise found it interesting.    

Which leads me to Perry’s suggestion that writing consultants channel students’ “fondness for attempting to determine the motivations and desires of their professors” into determining the purpose of specific writing assignments (3). Along with using the game to help students figure out what is being asked of them, writing consultants can play a role in redefining what it means to write. In particular, I believe prompting students to figure out what interests them within an assigned topic—a strategy that has been mentioned in class—can lead to a shift in perceptions about writing. Redirecting students’ focus with such strategies could lead to the “original ideas and critical thinking” that Perry suggests expand students’ writing beyond reiteration (3).  In addition, using these strategies has the potential to awaken a student’s interest and when personal interest enters the equation, learning becomes easier.

As we wait for a day when clear-cut standards of “stylistic and rhetorical conventions” are introduced, perhaps writing consultants cannot help but perpetuate the game, as Perry worries (3, 4). What writing consultants can do, however, is clarify that writing should be a chance to investigate and learn, even while trying to figure out what individual professors want.

Learning From the Students We Can't Help

I found Steve Sherwood's article "Apprenticed to Failure: Learning from the Students We Can't Help" very insightful, and it definitely spoke to me as I am a bit of a perfectionist. It was refreshing that Sherwood spoke on the fact that it's unrealistic to believe that writing consultants will be able to help every student that they encounter in the writing center. However, at the same time, he reinforces the point that these failures are not always entirely negative because unsuccessful consultations can strengthen a consultant's work and encourage them to see (and do) things in a different way.

Furthermore, without experiencing failure, a consultant is unable to fully understand success. As Sherwood states, "failure is a key to our growth as tutors and writing center professionals." I am a firm believer that this notion remains true in all aspects of life; failure changes an individual's perspective and allows them to gain valuable life experiences. Therefore, a writing consultant's failure allows the writing center to continue growing and developing, in order to better meet the needs of the various types of students that it serves.

While the overarching theme of eliminating the fear of failure in relation to writing (and otherwise) resonated with me, I do feel that Sherwood has unrealistic aims when it comes to students' willingness to accept academic failure and the professors' tolerance of mediocrity within the classroom. Sherwood's theory relies on these two facets being present in a university setting, but I do not believe that this is actually feasible.

Although it may be true that students will have more success if they are given an opportunity to fail, I would argue that there is very little time for true failure in academics, especially at the university-level. It appears to me that professors rarely allow time for students to complete "sloppy" first drafts with sentence-level grammatical errors and incomplete research analysis. Rather, professors emphasize that every assignment should be the students' best work, regardless if it is a paper proposal or final thesis. In my opinion, this emphasis on perfection is what causes writer's anxiety and the fear of failure to persist in academics.

Teacher Comments and Student Reaction

McGlaun’s piece on teacher comments and student reaction is very thought provoking.  The way that she presented her thoughts, which was through the use of a timeline, was different than most academic works.  The reader is able to follow McGlaun’s experiences with writing over a ten-year span.  This kept me interested in wanting to know more about what McGlaun learned throughout this time.

            McGlaun’s journey begins in 1991, when she was the “tutee.”  She recalls that a professor was worried about her first draft; she even noticed his distress on his facial expressions during their meeting.  This led her to go to the writing center at her school.  On the top floor of an academic building, she found the writing center welcoming as soon as she entered (5).  She found it even more welcoming when she began to work with the tutors.  They gave her the permission and the space to write as she wanted, and then they would work together on her ideas (5).  These ideas resonate greatly with me.  When talking to a peer or a consultant, I feel no pressure when talking about my paper.  Although I should feel comfortable when talking to my professors as well, sometimes I feel like there is pressure to say the “correct” statement.

            In 1994 and 1995, she was both a teacher and a student.  As a teacher, McGlaun admits that it is very challenging to not sound like you are making pronouncements.  She noted that sharing her suggestions to her students without them seeming like commands was not as easy as she thought it would be (6).  McGlaun realized that this had to be a process of engagement, not one of listening to the teacher and doing just as he or she says.  As a student, McGlaun made even more discoveries.  After working as a teacher, she now understood that each professor has different preferences, which led to different commentary and guidance.  Here, McGlaun states the importance of continuous dialogue (6).  Talking about your paper with others is something I believe in whole-heartedly.  I have even noticed that I have made strange arguments in certain papers when I say them aloud to friends.

            In 2001, McGlaun earned her Ph.D. and became a director of a writing center.  When in conference, McGlaun would ask her students to read their professor’s comments aloud in the tone they presumed the teacher was talking in (7).  All of the tones were negative; this was a theme seen by many of the consultants.  McGlaun started to record her voice for her students so that they could understand what tone she was speaking in (7).  This is an excellent idea.  It, however, seems taxing, and is probably not something that many professors would do.  McGlaun ends with saying that the professor’s voice should sound like one of an ally (7), but does not, in my opinion, give enough information on how to make this possible.  How can we get students and teachers on the same page when discussing writing?  Dialogue and conferences are important, but there has to be more, and I do not think McGlaun gave enough advice on how to make this happen.