I do not remember being taught English grammar. I remember math problems, and learning cursive, and memorizing maps of Africa, but I can't recall one single grammar-related lesson. I must have had them at some point -- maybe early elementary school? -- but "grammar" as a concept was never clearly defined for me in any finite way. I thought (and still thought up until a few hours ago) that grammar could pretty much be summed up thusly: don't say ain't.
Therefore, when I started reading Micciche's essay, I was mightily confused. She was discussing "rhetorical grammar," but I wasn't even certain what "grammar" was in the first place. If I were to define grammar simply on the basis of Micciche's essay, the definition would be: writing. It seems that she lumps everything related to successful writing under the umbrella of grammar: word choice, diction, punctuation, sentence construction, conjugation, spelling, rhythm, rhyming, explication, narration, quotation, imagination... the list goes on. It seemed she was calling for the teaching of good writing in a writing class, which seemed to me a bit redundant, as well as badly organized. How did "grammar" unify her essay?
So I looked up the definition of "grammar" on the OED: "[mass noun] the whole system and structure of a language or of languages in general, usually taken as consisting of syntax and morphology (including inflections) and sometimes also phonology and semantics". Okay, so: writing. Got it.
It was about then that I realized that WRIT101 is not a writing class -- it is a composition class. The students learn strategies for research, organization, persuasion, writing to an audience... all the tools for effectively composing a piece of writing, but not the nitty-gritty of actual "writing." And in calling for the application of rhetorical grammar in a composition class, what Micciche is really calling for is, TEACH WRITING. Most of the exercises she proposes involve having students read and analyze well-written texts in order to dissect them "grammatically"; that is, studying the effect of punctuation, the effect of word-choice, the effect of word-order, the effect of conjugation, etc.
Where does "writing" (i.e. grammar) fit into the composition classroom? (This is where this blog post devolves into me just posing a bunch of questions). Within the confines of our syllabus, where do we have the chance to take a deep breath and talk about writing? How can we address both composition AND writing? How can we merge the two?
I think one of the most obvious ways that we approach "writing" with our students is through the explanation of genre -- by asking our students to specify their audience, we are also asking them to specify a "style" -- certain grammar can be ruled out. In the genre of an instruction manual, for example, long and lovely descriptive sentences would not be proper -- rather, the sentences should be concise and to-the-point. This is how I see Bawarshi and Reiff's article interacting with Micchiche.
Monday, October 25, 2010
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Life Place Unit
Hey friendly 540ers,
Would anyone like to workshop unit plans with me before Wednesday?
Kirsi
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Jeff's post: Forgive me father, I have sinned: the Evaluative Process
(Jeff's post went to the wrong list)
This week’s readings touch on how instructors evaluate their students’ work (both written work and participation). Reading through the suggestions for evaluation offered by Chiseru-Strater felt more like a list of sins I had committed during my evaluation of PAAs.
Critical reading, constructive response, and reflective thought: these are the sort of practices we are encouraging our students to adopt in this class, yet as I read through the articles, what struck me most was just how much I had failed as an instructor to make these things apparent in my evaluations of PAAs. For example, Chiseru-Strater, discussing the subjective nature of the evaluative process, suggests we should bring students into it by having them draw up and discuss their own list of criteria for what makes writing good. (185) Did I do that? No. She mentions the use of a self-evaluation form at the end of each paper. Did I have my students fill one out? Nope. When she goes on to discuss her old methods of evaluating a student’s draft by marking up “each paper, making comments about grammar, syntax, and spelling along with comments about focus, voice, and detail.” Even though we were warned to be cautious with our red pens, I still couldn’t resist the impulse to mark up grammatical problems, spelling errors, and strange punctuation. I think Chiseru-Strater puts it best, saying, “Under that standard grading procedure, I did not really distinguish among my many responses, and for that reason it was difficult for my students to decide which comments were more important than others.” (190)
Sommers echoes this sentiment, stating, “teachers’ comments can take students' attention away from their own purposes in writing a particular text and focus that attention on the teachers’ purpose in commenting.” The result of this appropriation of text by the teacher is a very confused student who will often times simply correct what they can based on the comments they’ve received and will not look much further in how to change their paper.
Dirk discusses the importance of stressing to the students what exactly we expect from students in terms of evaluating their participation in the course. I thought it was interesting how he mentions the widely-varied views of what students imagine a teacher bases participation grades upon. Again, I began to think of my own class. It's true I have stressed the importance of participation, but I have failed to really explicate what I expect of my students, how their own definitions of participation might differ from my own.
So, am I guilty of not bringing the students into the evaluative process? Yes. Of not stressing enough the importance of self-evaluation? Yes. Of commenting on papers in a way that may give students the wrong impression about what is most important when revising a paper? Yes. Of not being clear to the students about what I expect of them in terms of participation? Yes.
Yes, I am guilty of all of the above. I think we all are. But the silver lining is there is time to absolve ourselves by making strides to redefine our own evaluative processes. So for this week, I'm curious to know, what are you guys guilty of in terms of your own evaluative processes? What would you have done differently if you could go back and start the class all over again?
Yes, we have sinned. But hopefully we can learn from the errors of our ways. Until then, I guess we'll just have to settle for saying a few Hail Marys and hoping one day we'll be better.
This week’s readings touch on how instructors evaluate their students’ work (both written work and participation). Reading through the suggestions for evaluation offered by Chiseru-Strater felt more like a list of sins I had committed during my evaluation of PAAs.
Critical reading, constructive response, and reflective thought: these are the sort of practices we are encouraging our students to adopt in this class, yet as I read through the articles, what struck me most was just how much I had failed as an instructor to make these things apparent in my evaluations of PAAs. For example, Chiseru-Strater, discussing the subjective nature of the evaluative process, suggests we should bring students into it by having them draw up and discuss their own list of criteria for what makes writing good. (185) Did I do that? No. She mentions the use of a self-evaluation form at the end of each paper. Did I have my students fill one out? Nope. When she goes on to discuss her old methods of evaluating a student’s draft by marking up “each paper, making comments about grammar, syntax, and spelling along with comments about focus, voice, and detail.” Even though we were warned to be cautious with our red pens, I still couldn’t resist the impulse to mark up grammatical problems, spelling errors, and strange punctuation. I think Chiseru-Strater puts it best, saying, “Under that standard grading procedure, I did not really distinguish among my many responses, and for that reason it was difficult for my students to decide which comments were more important than others.” (190)
Sommers echoes this sentiment, stating, “teachers’ comments can take students' attention away from their own purposes in writing a particular text and focus that attention on the teachers’ purpose in commenting.” The result of this appropriation of text by the teacher is a very confused student who will often times simply correct what they can based on the comments they’ve received and will not look much further in how to change their paper.
Dirk discusses the importance of stressing to the students what exactly we expect from students in terms of evaluating their participation in the course. I thought it was interesting how he mentions the widely-varied views of what students imagine a teacher bases participation grades upon. Again, I began to think of my own class. It's true I have stressed the importance of participation, but I have failed to really explicate what I expect of my students, how their own definitions of participation might differ from my own.
So, am I guilty of not bringing the students into the evaluative process? Yes. Of not stressing enough the importance of self-evaluation? Yes. Of commenting on papers in a way that may give students the wrong impression about what is most important when revising a paper? Yes. Of not being clear to the students about what I expect of them in terms of participation? Yes.
Yes, I am guilty of all of the above. I think we all are. But the silver lining is there is time to absolve ourselves by making strides to redefine our own evaluative processes. So for this week, I'm curious to know, what are you guys guilty of in terms of your own evaluative processes? What would you have done differently if you could go back and start the class all over again?
Yes, we have sinned. But hopefully we can learn from the errors of our ways. Until then, I guess we'll just have to settle for saying a few Hail Marys and hoping one day we'll be better.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Invention: The Wind beneath your Wings
So you’re flying this airplane, right? Parts keep falling off, and you’re scrambling to reattach them. Meanwhile copilots, flight attendants, and even passengers are offering calm, helpful advice as you frantically try to keep the plane intact and your flight pattern on course. Tell me, how did you get in the air?
We cannot overestimate the importance of invention and prewriting. As Trim and Isaac say, “you will find that energy invested in the invisible stages of writing pays dividends later on” (110). More than simply providing an opening into your writing task, these “invisible stages” help cultivate ideas. They provide an opportunity to really lay some groundwork towards understanding what you want to say and how you want to say it.
How do we get our students to find a topic that really speaks to them? How do we get them going? During the first week of unit one, many of my students announced that they hated to read. They were firmly opposed to reading or writing anything they were told to read or write. However, when it came to choosing topics, one or two mentioned that they had hoped I would provide a list of topics for them.
As TA’s, some of us have chosen to adhere fairly loosely to the definition of sustainability as applied to our students’ papers. In several cases I asked students what they were interested in, and we worked together to tie their topics into sustainability. Even utilizing this technique, my students struggled. I don’t know if they were inhibited by fear of failure, fear of censorship, or some other fear that they might not even have recognized, but this particular freedom to choose any topic in the world was daunting for my students. They wanted their list and strict guidelines.
Antlitz attributes a large portion of this dilemma to writing anxiety and offers a variety of solutions to the blank-paper malady, including “movement, sound, intentional distraction, role playing, journaling, and prayer and meditation” (82). While some of these could be applied to our metaphor of flying, I think they are more helpful as writing invention strategies after all.
Now check the altitude gauges and trajectory (and forgive any technical inaccuracies in my metaphor).
I wonder if I asked my students to commit to a topic too soon. I wonder if they felt committed to a topic before they were comfortable with it. I wonder if I pushed them off the runway with one mighty heave before they even knew where they were going or if they wanted to go there.
It is possible that my students felt this way at some point. If they did not engage in the invention strategies or understand the importance and relevance of the freewrites, clustering exercises, and group activities I introduced to them to encourage deep exploration of possible PAA topics, it is possible that they felt trapped when they were instructed to begin writing.
I did not deliberately embed inventing activities throughout the personal academic argument writing process, but it seems like a no-brainer now. Lessner and Craig describe the benefits of inventing throughout the writing process. Many of their invention strategies emphasize flexibility and continual exploration, “In looking at invention as a “single act,” they say, “you might miss how helpful invention can really be as an ongoing developmental practice that allows new ideas and exciting connections to be made” (127).
“Finding Your Way In” provided very accessible ways to get students to continue thinking about their subject as they write. Lessner and Craig’s invention strategies are intended to help “stretch your writerly muscles” (128). I did not mean to allow my students to put ‘er on autopilot, but while grading my PAA’s, I discovered that many of them would have benefited from exercises that explicitly reviewed where they started, where they were heading, the angle they were taking to get there, and the places that they stopped along the way. Perhaps, if I had, they would have changed their destination.
We cannot overestimate the importance of invention and prewriting. As Trim and Isaac say, “you will find that energy invested in the invisible stages of writing pays dividends later on” (110). More than simply providing an opening into your writing task, these “invisible stages” help cultivate ideas. They provide an opportunity to really lay some groundwork towards understanding what you want to say and how you want to say it.
How do we get our students to find a topic that really speaks to them? How do we get them going? During the first week of unit one, many of my students announced that they hated to read. They were firmly opposed to reading or writing anything they were told to read or write. However, when it came to choosing topics, one or two mentioned that they had hoped I would provide a list of topics for them.
As TA’s, some of us have chosen to adhere fairly loosely to the definition of sustainability as applied to our students’ papers. In several cases I asked students what they were interested in, and we worked together to tie their topics into sustainability. Even utilizing this technique, my students struggled. I don’t know if they were inhibited by fear of failure, fear of censorship, or some other fear that they might not even have recognized, but this particular freedom to choose any topic in the world was daunting for my students. They wanted their list and strict guidelines.
Antlitz attributes a large portion of this dilemma to writing anxiety and offers a variety of solutions to the blank-paper malady, including “movement, sound, intentional distraction, role playing, journaling, and prayer and meditation” (82). While some of these could be applied to our metaphor of flying, I think they are more helpful as writing invention strategies after all.
Now check the altitude gauges and trajectory (and forgive any technical inaccuracies in my metaphor).
I wonder if I asked my students to commit to a topic too soon. I wonder if they felt committed to a topic before they were comfortable with it. I wonder if I pushed them off the runway with one mighty heave before they even knew where they were going or if they wanted to go there.
It is possible that my students felt this way at some point. If they did not engage in the invention strategies or understand the importance and relevance of the freewrites, clustering exercises, and group activities I introduced to them to encourage deep exploration of possible PAA topics, it is possible that they felt trapped when they were instructed to begin writing.
I did not deliberately embed inventing activities throughout the personal academic argument writing process, but it seems like a no-brainer now. Lessner and Craig describe the benefits of inventing throughout the writing process. Many of their invention strategies emphasize flexibility and continual exploration, “In looking at invention as a “single act,” they say, “you might miss how helpful invention can really be as an ongoing developmental practice that allows new ideas and exciting connections to be made” (127).
“Finding Your Way In” provided very accessible ways to get students to continue thinking about their subject as they write. Lessner and Craig’s invention strategies are intended to help “stretch your writerly muscles” (128). I did not mean to allow my students to put ‘er on autopilot, but while grading my PAA’s, I discovered that many of them would have benefited from exercises that explicitly reviewed where they started, where they were heading, the angle they were taking to get there, and the places that they stopped along the way. Perhaps, if I had, they would have changed their destination.
Let's Revise The Way We Talk About Revision
This first semester as an MFA student (so far) has been really interesting for me in terms of observing my own writing process. There are two stories, in particular, that I’ve brought back from my very first writing class, still believing, despite what peers and teachers told me at the time, that there is something there, some idea worth getting out even though I have yet been unsucsessful. I have never called this process revision, but I think that is because I too, like first year composition students, always thought of revision as “error-hunting”. In my head I’ve always referred to this process as “re-writing” and what allows it to be successful is the time I’ve spent between drafts continuing to read and write.
It was interesting to read that the workshop and conference models used in composition classes is based on the creative writing workshop model. I understand why this model has been employed in attempt to combat the idea that revision is “punishment work” (111). I think it’s important to point out that the popularity of this “punishment work” idea as it applies to revision is not merely the result of student laziness, but aided by the composition teachers themselves. In Yagelski’s 1995 study of composition students, he reports “Most of the teacher’s comments on drafts focused on lower-level concerns with virtually no attention given to ideas…as a result, students revised primarily to improve their grades and considered the teacher to be the primary audience” (115). How can we expect our students to understand what it means to rigorously revise something when we are not guiding them to it?
The problem as I see it, is that the “workshop” model as an approach to combat these problems is not particularly effective because it’s adaptation from the creative writing class is missing some key feature: reading, imitation and practice.
I think we can all agree that the majority of improvement in writing is gained from exposure to “expert” work. Where in the composition course are we pointing them to examples of how something should be structured? We try our best to explain it through diagrams and instructions, but really, when and where are they supposed to be improving? I agree that a certain amount of improvement can come from writing itself, but I believe this is a result of stumbling across something that gets positive feedback and continually trying to re-emulate it.
It was interesting to read this following my grading weekend of the students PAEs. When I found myself bogged down in less than perfectly constructed sentences I had to resist the urge to cut this, add that and mark everything in red. I treated sentence construction the way we were told to treat mechanics—does it interfere with getting the message across? Many of these mistakes or less than stellar writing are likely a result of not having proof-read as they ought to, or possibly at all.
The question posed about how computers have affected the revision process was interesting because I saw first-hand some examples in my student’s work. I think there is an attitude like why should I go back and read it when the computer is going to catch mistakes that I can’t? Calling this the “tech-savvy” generation doesn’t really refer to their tech-skillz but rather the trust they place in technology. They defer to the computer as the expert. I came across one paper that had a partial sentence lingering at the end of a paragraph, like the writer abandoned the thought mid phrase. This would be amazingly easy to correct and delete had the student read over the work before submitting it, but this and other evidence led me to believe he hadn’t.
Mistakes like these do not come about from a lack of understanding about the revision process, but a lack of caring. The prevailing idea being, if the computer will correct my sentence-level errors and I’ve written through the paper once, why would I do the extra work to polish my ideas? If the revision process is polishing, think about literally what that metaphor is telling them: the only difference between a polished something-or-other vs. an unpolished one is just the presentation. The function is, in no way, changed. I think the composition student feels the same way about their essays, will that extra work even show up in my grade?
So my questions are:
How do we teach them what revision means through example and not metaphors that break down and (possibly) convey the wrong ideas?
And if we can do that, how can we teach them to care about these essays the same way students of creative writing care about their stories, poems and essays? Does the answer lie in understanding their audience?
It was interesting to read that the workshop and conference models used in composition classes is based on the creative writing workshop model. I understand why this model has been employed in attempt to combat the idea that revision is “punishment work” (111). I think it’s important to point out that the popularity of this “punishment work” idea as it applies to revision is not merely the result of student laziness, but aided by the composition teachers themselves. In Yagelski’s 1995 study of composition students, he reports “Most of the teacher’s comments on drafts focused on lower-level concerns with virtually no attention given to ideas…as a result, students revised primarily to improve their grades and considered the teacher to be the primary audience” (115). How can we expect our students to understand what it means to rigorously revise something when we are not guiding them to it?
The problem as I see it, is that the “workshop” model as an approach to combat these problems is not particularly effective because it’s adaptation from the creative writing class is missing some key feature: reading, imitation and practice.
I think we can all agree that the majority of improvement in writing is gained from exposure to “expert” work. Where in the composition course are we pointing them to examples of how something should be structured? We try our best to explain it through diagrams and instructions, but really, when and where are they supposed to be improving? I agree that a certain amount of improvement can come from writing itself, but I believe this is a result of stumbling across something that gets positive feedback and continually trying to re-emulate it.
It was interesting to read this following my grading weekend of the students PAEs. When I found myself bogged down in less than perfectly constructed sentences I had to resist the urge to cut this, add that and mark everything in red. I treated sentence construction the way we were told to treat mechanics—does it interfere with getting the message across? Many of these mistakes or less than stellar writing are likely a result of not having proof-read as they ought to, or possibly at all.
The question posed about how computers have affected the revision process was interesting because I saw first-hand some examples in my student’s work. I think there is an attitude like why should I go back and read it when the computer is going to catch mistakes that I can’t? Calling this the “tech-savvy” generation doesn’t really refer to their tech-skillz but rather the trust they place in technology. They defer to the computer as the expert. I came across one paper that had a partial sentence lingering at the end of a paragraph, like the writer abandoned the thought mid phrase. This would be amazingly easy to correct and delete had the student read over the work before submitting it, but this and other evidence led me to believe he hadn’t.
Mistakes like these do not come about from a lack of understanding about the revision process, but a lack of caring. The prevailing idea being, if the computer will correct my sentence-level errors and I’ve written through the paper once, why would I do the extra work to polish my ideas? If the revision process is polishing, think about literally what that metaphor is telling them: the only difference between a polished something-or-other vs. an unpolished one is just the presentation. The function is, in no way, changed. I think the composition student feels the same way about their essays, will that extra work even show up in my grade?
So my questions are:
How do we teach them what revision means through example and not metaphors that break down and (possibly) convey the wrong ideas?
And if we can do that, how can we teach them to care about these essays the same way students of creative writing care about their stories, poems and essays? Does the answer lie in understanding their audience?
Friday, October 1, 2010
Lesson Plan Brainstorm
Hello everyone! As promised, I am shaking up our tidy blog pattern to get your take on your PAA unit and generate some ideas for the op ed unit. What were your most/least successful teaching days? My least successful day was the day we discussed paraphrasing. I feel like the activity was good (they paraphrased a chunk of text from a source, and a partner evaluated it according to similarity of sentence structure, word choice and meaning to the original text), but I had a difficult time facilitating discussion afterwards. How did you conduct your paraphrasing class? Did you have one?
I think my most successful adaptation was when I had my students prove working knowledge of their topic by speaking in front of the class for a minute. I am going to expand this idea next semester by giving them a little bit of prep time and scheduling them to present for three minutes. They will be required to discuss at least one solid source and tell a personal story (relate it to themselves in some way). After they present, I will allow the class to ask questions and give the presenter feedback. This way, the students in the audience can work on generating good feedback, the presentor will have to really begin to think and research his/her topic, he/she will begin to think about audience and good questions will be generated all around. What do you think?
Also, I would love to hear of any great examples/plans for the next unit. I know that I want my students to attend one of EVST's sustainability lectures.
I think my most successful adaptation was when I had my students prove working knowledge of their topic by speaking in front of the class for a minute. I am going to expand this idea next semester by giving them a little bit of prep time and scheduling them to present for three minutes. They will be required to discuss at least one solid source and tell a personal story (relate it to themselves in some way). After they present, I will allow the class to ask questions and give the presenter feedback. This way, the students in the audience can work on generating good feedback, the presentor will have to really begin to think and research his/her topic, he/she will begin to think about audience and good questions will be generated all around. What do you think?
Also, I would love to hear of any great examples/plans for the next unit. I know that I want my students to attend one of EVST's sustainability lectures.
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