Pedagogy Statement

The ink of the scholar is more sacred than the blood of the martyr.
-The Prophet Mohammed

Muslim lore states that their holy prophet Mohammed was once an Arab merchant, and one evening during his travels he fell asleep on the roadside. Suddenly, the archangel Gabriel appeared before the Prophet and, after waking him, dictated the Koran to him, expecting him to write it down verbatim because it was the Word of God. While Gabriel’s apparition and Mohammed’s task were immensely special, the true miracle of this story is that at the time it took place, Mohammed was reportedly illiterate. While I can never be sure of the story’s validity, one thing is for certain: modern composition teachers (and students) can infer from it that one doesn’t have to be a naturally gifted writer in order to write something important. Everyone is more than capable. This is the attitude I approach my pedagogy with. I believe that everyone, no matter how talented they are, can learn to write better.

Learning to write better, at least in the academic setting, means learning to engage the texts and teachers in a manner that is conducive to scholarly discourse. I am fond of saying that English is my favorite subject because it gives a voice to all the other subjects. Mike Rose seems to agree with me when he says, “Indeed, it is worth pondering whether many of the ‘integrated bodies of knowledge’ we study, the disciplines we practice, would have ever developed in the way they did and reveal the knowledge they do if writing did not exist” (593). The point is that whether they admit it or not, the other academic disciplines look to composition teachers to chisel at the marble that is the inexperienced writer and turn him or her into La Pieta. This is the noblest calling, I feel, because our very existence as a specialized discipline and a necessary component in the university curriculum rests upon how well we sculpt our students. Our role is even more important when we consider how traditional education, according to Faber and Eilola, “is merely assumed as a baseline skill, important but not particularly valuable” to the corporations who will eventually employ the students we teach (1074). So teaching students to write better, then, is not only to introduce them to scholarly writing, but it is also to adequately prepare my students to write in a real world setting.

I believe I must begin by teaching them to think about themselves as writers and not as students. To do this, Robert Brooke argues that “we must help both them and ourselves to see our interaction in writing classrooms as cut from a different mold than ‘regular’ classrooms” (729). To achieve this goal, I will take David Bartholomae’s advice: “the student has to learn our language, to speak as we do, to try on the peculiar ways of knowing, selecting, evaluating, reporting, concluding, and arguing that define the discourse of our community” (605). In my experience, this language is rhetoric, the art of persuasion, the art of arguing. There is very little real world application for purely explicative writing, or for compare/contrasts essays. No matter what a person in the real world writes, there is always an argument driving it. So I believe in teaching students how to argue professionally and in a scholarly manner.

Furthermore, I believe that in a composition classroom, students should be writing because it is a skill, and Mike Rose argues that “a skill, particularly in the university setting, is, well, a tool, something one develops and refines and completes in order to take on the higher-order demands of purer thought” (592). Similarly, James Moffat argues that “students learn to write by writing, not by talking about writing” (qtd. by Lindemann 98). Both men elegantly cite that old adage, “practice makes perfect,” especially when it comes to writing, and I agree with them wholeheartedly. So my classroom will be writing-intensive. I will instruct them to rhetorically analyze their reading assignments so they can make arguments about their assignments in regular responses. As an undergraduate in David Keplinger’s poetry survey course, I, along with my classmates, was required to write weekly letters to him in response to letters he wrote to us about the discussions or readings for the week. This introduced us to the notion of scholarship by means of conversation, but it also helped us establish our identities as writers and scholars ourselves, and I will implement this exercise in my own classroom. As with our Theories class, I would like to begin my class time with “Sacred Writing” because I believe it will help students get into a writing frame of mind; when one goes to the gym, he or she must warm up before moving on to serious exercise. That’s what “Sacred Writing” is to me: a warm up activity that prepares the students for serious writing. I will also finish classes with “Evening Pages” to further nurture the students’ creativity and identity. And of course, there will also be the mandatory essays to gauge how well they’re progressing as writers, as critical thinkers, and as scholars.

James Berlin argues that “writing…is an art, a creative act in which the process – the discovery of the true self – is as important as the product – the self discovered and expressed” (674). His words resound with me because being a writer has always been a significant aspect of my identity, and I have observed that it is not a static skill that stops improving the moment the writer learns how to make letters. Professional writers don’t churn out perfect drafts on their first try, and they certainly aren’t Shakespeare right out of the gate. They are constantly pre-writing, writing, and revising. Student writers need to understand that the writing process is a fluid, living thing that is always changing and evolving. Maxine Hairston argues that teachers “have to initiate them into the process that writers go through” (446). I believe she is correct, and that is why in my classroom I will emphasize the importance of drafting and revising.

However, Bartholomae also rightly argues that “if writing is a process, it is also a product; and it is the product, and not the plan for writing, that locates a writer on the page, that locates him in a text and a style and the codes or conventions that make both of them readable” (611). Teachers don’t grade students on their personal writing processes. They grade them on their final products. This is why grammar, specifically sentence mechanics is important to me. “Writers need to develop skills at two levels,” argues Patrick Hartwell. “One, broadly rhetorical, involves communication in meaningful contexts…The other, broadly metalinguistic rather than linguistic, involves active manipulation of language with conscious attention to surface form” (579). I am a firm believer that too many surface errors detracts from the meaning a writer tries to convey, so in spite of what many researchers think on the matter, learning correct grammar is important. However, the word “grammar” has such a strong negative connotation that when students hear it, they automatically tune out anything that seems to be related to it. But if the word is not used, I think the students will be much more likely to retain knowledge of it.

That is not to say I believe in, to paraphrase Stanley Fish, the rote memorization of different parts of speech (15). Hartwell suggests, and I agree, that students already know more about grammar than they give themselves credit for, having learned the basic mechanics of English when they learned to speak it. That is why I don’t want to teach grammar with formal drills and exercises. I will address grammar in subtle ways, like catching mistakes in their drafts and before the final product is due. This relates back to my emphasis on the writing process because it reinforces the idea of revision during drafting. I prefer to do it covertly as Erica Lindemann suggests in Rhetoric for Writing Teachers, by not letting students know they’re learning it. This means I will not circle mistakes in a red pen. Rather, if I see a student struggle with the same issue, say a tendency to write run-on sentences, I will gently point out one example of the mistake and instruct them to find the others. This will help me keep from focusing on errors, and it will help the students learn how to proofread their own work.

Returning back to Mohammed’s legend, one can’t overlook Gabriel’s role as teacher. If we assume for just one moment that he was not a divine being, we are forced to acknowledge his tremendous patience, dedication, and love for communication. These things compelled him to teach Mohammed how to read and write, and because of his efforts, he created a profound thinker who left a lasting impact on the world. I don’t know if any of my students will ever be the father or mother of any major philosophy, but I do know that if I follow Gabriel’s example, I too can create profound thinkers who will contribute something to the life of the world rather than be indifferent spectators to it. Gabriel taught Mohammed more than just the Koran that day: he taught him that writing is God’s work. Writing is sacred. And hopefully, when I’m done with my students, they’ll know that too.

Works Cited

Bartholomae, David. “Inventing the University.” The Norton Book of Composition Studies. Ed. Susan Miller. New York: W.W. Norton and Company, 2009. 605-630. Print.

Berlin, James. “Rhetoric and Ideology in the Writing Class.” The Norton Book of Composition Studies. Ed. Susan Miller. New York: W.W. Norton and Company, 2009. 667-684. Print.

Brooke, Robert. “Underlife and Writing Instruction.” The Norton Book of Composition Studies. Ed. Susan Miller. New York: W.W. Norton and Company, 2009. 721-732. Print.

Faber, Brenton and Johndan Johnson-Eilola. “Universities, Corporate Universities, and the New Professionals: Professionalism and the Knowledge Economy.” The Norton Book of
Composition Studies. Ed. Susan Miller. New York: W.W. Norton and Company, 2009.
1059-1080. Print.

Fish, Stanley. How to Write a Sentence: And How to Read One. New York: HarperCollins Publishers, 2011. Print.

Hairston, Maxine Cousins. “The Winds of Change: Thomas Kuhn and the Revolution in the
Teaching of Writing.” The Norton Book of Composition Studies. Ed. Susan Miller. New York: W.W. Norton and Company, 2009. 439-450. Print.

Hartwell, Patrick. “Grammar, Grammars, and the Teaching of Grammar.” The Norton Book of
Composition Studies. Ed. Susan Miller. New York: W.W. Norton and Company, 2009. 563-585. Print.

Lindemann, Erica. A Rhetoric for Writing Teachers. 4th ed. New York: Oxford University Press, 2001. Print.

Rose, Mike. “The Language of Exlusion: Writing Instruction at the University.” The Norton Book of Composition Studies. Ed. Susan Miller. New York: W.W. Norton and Company,
2009. 586-604. Print.

Dr. Hugh Burns' Workshop at CSU-Pueblo, February 24, 2011

First of all, let me start by saying that I really enjoyed the time I spent with Dr. Burns. He's this genius of a man, and a big shot in the world of academia, but he never treated the Thunder-pups like we were inferior. Rather, we were equals. He seemed especially intrigued how I used a Muslim legend in my pedagogy statement rough draft, and he talked to me about it a few times. He even flattered me by asking if I wouldn't mind sharing it during his workshop. As it turned out, we didn't have time for me to share it, but just the sentiment was touching. He was just a nice, down-to-earth, pleasant guy to hang out with. I came home and told my family that he was the perfect embodiment of the kindly old grandfather, the kind of grandpa everyone wants because he's generous, funny, and smart, but not the kind of grandpa everyone is blessed to get. I know I sure didn't! My grandpas were crotchety and mean.

So I attended his workshop. I wasn't sure what to expect, but I thought I'd hear some interesting revelations about the art of teaching writing. I don't think that was the case, but I did learn a new word: propadeutic. The best I can figure, it is the rhetorical equivalent to the Boy Scout motto, "be prepared." Dr. Burns explained that it was the theory of being prepared to engage in hermeneutic and heuristic processes. I'd like to know more about this.

Dr. Burns had us break into small groups to discuss a time we felt fear in our lives and a time we dealt with a reticent student. Well, since I'm not a teacher yet, I've never had to deal with a reticent student, but during this exercise, I reflected on myself last year. Although I consider myself a good student, I struggled terribly. So what Dr. Burns said about fear resonated with me. I was terrified my troubles were going to buy me a one-way ticket out of the program. I think the events of that entire semester tore me down to nothing, but only so that I could be re-built as a stronger and smarter person. Kind of like the Million Dollar Man.

Still, upon reflecting on my own experience as a reticent student and listening to my group and the entire class share their experiences, I realized that everyone must have that moment at least once in their life, that one moment that made them feel sub-mental and stupid, like they were incapable of learning. Dr. Burns said we should try to remember that time from childhood where we felt fear in order to learn empathy for students experiencing fear. But I think we should remember that one moment when we felt reticent so that we can understand what they're going through. This would allow us to think about what our teachers did that either pulled us out of our rut or made things worse, and we can apply that knowledge to our practices. For me, I'll never forget Dr. Eskew channeling Yoda when he told me "you must unlearn what you have learned." His remark struck me as funny, and I mentioned it to him. This led to a discussion how all the great philosophers all said similar things - Yoda, Jesus, Aristotle, etc. - and that somehow made me understand where I went wrong. Everything just clicked. I still don't know why. It was just like that time when I was struggling in high school physics, loving the science but not comprehending the math, but when I woke up one day, I just understood. When I'm a teacher, I want to impart that bit of pop-culture wisdom to my students because it helped me overcome the most humiliating experience of my academic life.

Listening to the class talk, I realized there are a lot more reticent students than I thought. This played to what we also talked about in my group, about where does a teacher draw the line between trying to empathize and giving up? It was like that old saying: you can lead a horse to water but you can't make him drink. But what if it's not as simple as that? What if it's partially due to the teacher?

Not long ago, my daughter was constantly struggling in school. She's a smart kid, but she's got ADHD, so she's high-maintenance. I was getting a phone call every other day from her teacher or her principal telling me just how awful she was. Every morning, she'd invent some mysterious illness just so I'd keep her home from school. She was truly convinced her teacher hated her. I didn't believe that until I went to her classroom for her Halloween party, and I saw that the woman had shoved her desk in the back corner, facing the wall, and far from her own desk and the other kids'. "Gabby," I said, "how long have you been back here?" "Weeks," she replied. No wonder she hated school! I finally believed her teacher hated her. Her teacher was a very young woman, fresh out of college, and almost certainly had no experience dealing with ADHD kids. After talking with her, it was clear she didn't want to teach the kids with issues, only the ones that could do what they were told like mindless automatons. I immediately demanded a new teacher. Since my daughter has switched classrooms, she hasn't had any problems.

In the college setting, I wonder how many students are lost because they were paired with a teacher who just didn't have the patience to deal with them. How many could have gotten it, if only they had been paired up with a teacher who cared enough to try? And how many teachers have made students feel dumb and worthless because it was harder for them to learn than for other students?

Anyway, returning to the workshop, my only criticism was that it didn't last long enough. I don't feel like an hour was enough time to really get involved in any serious classroom training. But, for the time we did have, I enjoyed myself and appreciated the chance to get to know my classmates and teachers better. And I also appreciated Dr. Burns beginning the workshop with something along the lines of Sacred Writing. I'm not terribly good at creative writing on the fly, I have to think about it for a while, so I didn't finish his Texas anthem. When I get more time, however, I will try to finish it for him. His exercise was just one more example of what we've been talking about all week: that academic writing is creative too.

Writer's Block

My favorite essay so far in 501 has been "The Essential Delay: When Writer's Block Isn't" by Donald Murray. He says that "each writer fears that writing will never come, yet the experienced writer knows it may take days, weeks, and months to produce a few hours of text production" (716). Spoken like someone who hasn't had a deadline! But I understand the gist of his argument.

Still, I have days when I feel the pangs of doubt, and I spend them wondering if I'm a talentless hack because the words won't come on command (like today, for example). On these days, I think of the writers from past generations who used drugs to breach the divide in their mind, and I wonder if I know anyone who can get me some opium! Of course, I'm just kidding here, but the point is that even though I've been writing since I was six, an experienced writer (I think), I have days when I feel completely and utterly worthless, and depressingly anxious because I can't do what I was made to do. Murray cites quotes from very famous writers on the matter, and while they are inspiring words, they are also disheartening. It's as if, because I don't have these similar insights about writing, I'm nothing more than a rank amateur.

In some ways, I feel like Maria, the student cited as an example in "Remediation as Social Construct." Like her, I was born into a life of English studies. But I have Asperger's, so not only is it hard for me to interpret social cues, I have trouble thinking of appropriate things to say in a situation and therefore I am not as well-spoken as some of my classmates. But I can easily discern annoyance, so I can tell when people are agitated with my speaking shortcomings. Knowing this about myself, it's hard to turn to teachers, friends, and family for writing advice. I remember my undergraduate adviser, David Keplinger, always patiently dealt with my neurotic episodes of writing insecurity, but I could tell sometimes that he was secretly annoyed with me for needing help.

I don't feel like teachers can, as Murray did, cite famous authors and hope that their inspirational words help students through their writing struggles. I also think that teachers must be aware of how much they really say without uttering a word. I think the saddest aspect of "Remediation as Social Construct" was that the teacher, June, had no idea she was killing Maria's love of writing by projecting her annoyance with the girl's shortcomings to the class with her body language and tone of voice. How many great writers have been lost to the world because of teachers like that? I think good teachers are there to help the student work through the struggles such as writer's block.

Hull, Glynda, Mike Rose, Kay Losey Fraser, Marisa Castellano. "Remediation as Social Construct: Perspectives from an Analysis of Classroom Discourse." The Norton Book of Composition Studies. Ed. Susan Miller. New York: W.W. Norton and Company, 2009. 1059-1080. Print.

Murray, Donald M. "The Essential Delay: When Writer's Block Isn't." The Norton Book of Composition Studies. Ed. Susan Miller. New York: W.W. Norton and Company, 2009. 1059-1080. Print.

Owning Writing

As I was reading this week's essays for 501, I kept noticing the theme of democracy and thought Hesse best summed up my concerns when he asked the question, "Who owns writing" (1248). He argues that it is teachers, but to be honest, I don't think that's entirely the case. It is true that writing teachers are important because a good one can help unlock a student's potential while a bad one can cause a student to crash and burn, forever destined to hate writing. So in that sense, Hesse is right. But in my mind, taking into account this matter of democracy and the celebration of the individual, I can't forget the writer. The writer owns writing.

Cynthia Selfe argues that one of the problems facing English departments is their unwillingness to address issues of technology in relation to issues of literacy. She says, "English composition teachers have come to understand technology as 'just another instructional tool' that they can choose either to use or ignore" (1178). Although she wrote the essay "Technology and Literacy" over a decade ago, the problem is still a valid one. However, I think a major problem facing the English departments is composition theorists. They spend so much time trying to dissect writers like frogs in a Biology lab that they oftentimes fail to see the human behind the act. As a result, we writers are reduced to machines. Just cold, soulless machines plugged into a mere equation or statistic in experiments that turn the Scientific Method on its head. The theorists' findings influence how teachers teach us, and those teachers unwittingly churn out armies of people able to compose merely average work. I appreciate the theorists trying to help people learn how to be better teachers and writers, but at the same time, their never-ending quest for composition's version of the philosopher's stone, that magical artifact that will create an elixir so powerful it will allow every writer to become Shakespeare, Eliot, or Emerson, is annoying. But the reality is, and the theorists always seem to forget, that humans are individuals. It's a fact of nature. No two are created equal. There will only be one Shakespeare, one Eliot, one Emerson. Humans haven't developed the ability to clone themselves, so why should writers be reduced to clones?

I appreciated Hayes essay, "Peeking Out from Under the Blinders," because he essentially tells his fellow theorists "Hey, while we're focusing on the 'big' issues, we're overlooking the important 'little' ones, these pesky human factors. He says:

Our interests build empires, subjugating neighboring areas, and surrounding them with high walls which separate the "interesting" from the "not interesting." This process can lead us systematically to ignore some very important topics which we may not see as important because they do not fit neatly into our current preoccupations (1032).

Incidentally, his six factors - task definition, perception, spatial skills, the psychology of the writer's environment, the cultural context, and the social context - are all issues that focus on the writer's mindset, not their product.

Perhaps I'm way off base in my rant here, and I probably am. But after I read the distasteful article "Universities, Corporate Universities, and the New Professionals" by Faber and Eilola, I panicked. I imagined a terrible future where composition studies became a corporate affair. I tried to minor in business administration as an undergraduate, and after a semester, I realized I'd lost part of my soul. And, having worked for a corporation that wanted a business-minded person, i.e. a mindless automaton, I know they don't really want someone with a mind of their own. This just want someone who can follow orders and generate the most profit possible. So when I see theorists reducing writing to a sheer mechanical skill, just like corporations reduce their employees to robots, and know that someday, some corporate stooge is going to mosey to us, scrutinize our inefficiency, and say, "We'll take it from here," I freak.

We have to get it together if we're going to withstand a corporate takeover. The reason, according to Faber and Eilola, those corporate universities will eventually replace traditional academies is due to our inefficiency. They see us churning out "baseline" knowledge that is generic and lacking in real-world application, and that when it came to teamwork, time management, deadlines, and responsibility, we fell short (1072). This is a democratic society, and in order to beat them, we must do so at their own game via supply and demand. If we can raise our standards by encouraging innovative thinking as opposed to generic thinking, encouraging real-world application of our knowledge (for us English people we can't simply be armchair scholars), learning rigorous self-discipline, and ultimately taking responsibility for ourselves, we can supply employers with workers whose knowledge is a valuable commodity, not just a rudimentary foundation, and we can do so while regaining our monopoly on education and keeping them from "buying us out."

But most importantly, we will have once again elevated the individual by truly owning our writing.

Faber, Brenton and Johndan Johnson-Eilola. "Universities, Corporate Universities, and the New Professionals: Professionalism and the Knowledge Economy. The Norton Book of Composition Studies. Ed. Susan Miller. New York: W.W. Norton and Company, 2009. 1059-1080. Print.

Hayes, John R. "Peeking Out from Under the Blinders: Some Factors We Shouldn't Forget in Studying Writing." The Norton Book of Composition Studies. Ed. Susan Miller. New York: W.W. Norton and Company, 2009. 1059-1080. Print.

Hesse, Douglas. "Who Owns Writing?" The Norton Book of Composition Studies. Ed. Susan Miller. New York: W.W. Norton and Company, 2009. 1059-1080. Print.

Selfe, Cynthia. "Technology and Literacy: A Story About the Perils of Not Paying Attention." The Norton Book of Composition Studies. Ed. Susan Miller. New York: W.W. Norton and Company, 2009. 1059-1080. Print.

My Kids' Act of Selflessness

My kids never cease to amaze me.

Imagine my pleasant surprise when Gabby, my middle child, comes to me the other day and asks my permission to go around the neighborhood with her best friend, Jade, to ask people for a dollar donation for the people of Japan. She wanted to do something to help them after the earthquake, and decided the best way was to raise money. Flabbergasted, I gave her my blessing.

I was stunned! I must be doing something right with her if she takes it upon herself to raise money for people she doesn't know.

But it didn't end there. My two sons, Michael and Adam, found out what she was up to, and they wanted to help too!

Ultimately, they decided not to go door to door. They wound up setting up a card table at the edge of the driveway with a big sign asking for donations, and they spent literally all day out there waving to passing cars. They only made $7, but I'm proud of every single penny they earned. So I put it on my debit card and donated it all to the Red Cross via their website, www.redcross.org, specifying it be used to help the Japanese people, on their behalf.

You know, for such rotten kids, they sure can be sweet sometimes.

Supernatural, Season 6

Anyone who knows me knows I'm a huge fan of the show Supernatural. I have seasons 1-5 on DVD, and watch it religiously every week. And I'd like to say, on the record, that I love Jensen Ackles (Dean). And Misha Collins (Castiel). And Richard Speight Jr. (the Trickster). It's been solid, compelling storytelling from the get-go. What's even more impressive is how the writers of the show have been so accurate. Usually, they don't get mythology and legends right, but these people have really done their research.

But part of me wishes the show ended with season 5. Season 5 was about the Apocalypse, and they had that. So where do they go now? Where can you go after the Apocalypse? So they've tried to go back to the way it was in the first season where there was more focus on the monster-hunting than the ongoing story arch. And that's cool and all, but I feel like they're off. Seasons 4 and 5 were my favorite seasons because they were so emotionally charged and dynamic, and you never knew who was gonna live and who was gonna die. And now, it's like they've tried their hardest to rub me the wrong way.

Sam was literally soulless, but has gotten his soul back so now is back to being whiny and touchy-feely. I can't decide who I like better: soulful Sam or soulless Sam. Dean is trying to be Father Knows Best while whining about how tired he is of the business. Yeah, we know, we get it already. Castiel and Bobby are in hardly any episodes, and when they are in them, their appearances are usually very brief. All the cool recurring characters from previous seasons have been killed off. That, of course, includes the Trickster who died last season so I don't anticipate his return any time soon. Then again, people have a way of getting resurrected on this show, so I'm still crossing my fingers ;)

But, even if they bring the Trickster back, I don't anticipate him being strong enough to resurrect the show. It's become this lackluster thing that leaves me feeling indifferent towards it, not passionate like I once was. And I certainly don't blame the actors for this. I blame the writers. I mean, I'm not a big crier when it comes to the TV or movies, but I cried quite a few times over the course of season 5 because the episodes were so well written. When Jo and Ellen died to save Sam and Dean, I cried. When the Trickster got ganked by Lucifer, I openly bawled. The writing just doesn't pack the same punch this season. Don't get me wrong, there have been some good episodes this season. I liked their take on fairies and aliens. But the good ones are good because they're funny, and for no other reason. And with the season close to over, I don't know how they're going to tie up this new storyline about the mother of all monsters and purgatory. They've taken way too long to get to the point.

So in the end, I'll still watch Supernatural because I want to see how it pans out, but honestly, I don't expect it to last much longer. Maybe one more season after this one, and adios, Mishamigos...