Tamar 2/20
Super long post, but 1) I've been away for 2 weeks, so I thought I'd write something substantial to make up for 2 missed posts, and 2) this is something that really struck me in the reading and allowed me to make connections across my classes--essentially it has been an exercise in writing to learn ;)
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In Brice’s article she describes her work negotiating with a writer to help him find his thesis.
“I suggested he frontload some of this information, which, in the essay’s present form, appeared near the end. While reluctant to reveal at the beginning of his essay the lessons he’d learned…Phillip was willing to compromise. He crafted a sentence expressing curiosity….” (p. 173).
The traditional academic writing style (in the US/English dominant countries), privileges the front loaded thesis--the immediate spoiler, and laborious redundancy of the “tell me what you are going to tell me, tell me, and tell me what you just told me” pattern of organization---with a clear intro, body and conclusion. This is so widely considered the gold standard that it has largely remained unchallenged in academic writing, even by many writing instructors.
This rhetorical style has its historical roots in a tradition of logic, conceived of by white men. Access to this style of logical reasoning and the adherence to formalism in academic writing is how to succeed in the academy. Women and people from various linguistic, ethnic and cultural backgrounds who have less experience with these forms have often had to conform to this style to achieve acceptance in academia. I am taking a course in which we respond to the class readings via “one-pagers” and are encouraged to take risks, find our voices, and be creative. The following is what I wrote last week:
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Assignment Requirements: To receive an A on this essay, you must provide a strong thesis statement, and support your argument with solid examples. You must organize your essay logically. Make sure there are no holes in your argument. Weakness will not be tolerated. Do not use “I”. Be objective. No wishy-washy pansy shit. Man up.
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The five paragraph essay can mansplain you into submission. How many times have I been told by teachers and supervisors: “Sure, it isn’t the best, or the ultimate goal, but it a great tool to teach students how to logically organize their essays”
Think like a white man.
Write like a white man.
You will receive the white man’s approval.
A+
In chapter 16 Sheridan-Rabideau reviews the history of gender/feminism in writing studies, and mentions research that considered how writing styles might be gendered (p. 256). It is widely accepted that speech is gendered (for example: rising intonation/ “up-talk”/valley girl speech as female/feminine), but often people consider writing as neutral or objective. However, the qualities considered the gold standard for academic writing are also those valued as masculine attributes --strong, logical, objective . Adopting the “assumed-to-be-masculinist” style (p. 257) is how women have been judged as “good” writers in the academy. This, of course, is not only about gender. The language bind described in chapter 16 is equally as relevant to race, class, ethnicity, and language background as it is to gender. Developing one’s voice in writing, particularly in academic contexts, is difficult when the words, structures, and organizational styles are prescribed, foreign and unnatural for the writer.
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What is this disdain for predetermined thesis statements, outlines and graphic organizers? The phallic arrows telling me there is one way to my conclusion leaves me unsatisfied. What if I started with an idea? A question? With just one word? I would let this word sit in my navel, undisturbed, warm, nourished. I would give it time and room to grow. What if there were no conclusion? No thesis? What if this word just kept appearing? What if I found that this starting point was in fact both the ending and the beginning?
_____________________________________________________________________________
So back to Brice. She uses Pratt’s definition of “contact zone” which refers to a “social space where cultures meet, clash, grapple with each other, often in contexts of highly asymmetrical relations of power”, and goes on to suggest that any writing center might be considered a contact zone due to the “perceived hierarchy of knowledge about what constitutes good writing” (p. 169).
I can’t help but think of the front loaded thesis and traditional organizational patterns students are taught as a form of white, male supremacy in the academy. I also feel that an emphasis on such form does a great disservice to students. If we conceive of writing as a form of thinking and learning (which is part of how I define writing), predetermined thesis statements and outlines stunt the thinking--exploring--discovery process that we (as instructors) claim we want our students to experience. The pedagogical implications here for me are 1) I do not require my students to write a thesis sentence (or an introduction for that matter) at the beginning of the process, and 2) when we do write thesis statements, we always refer to them as “working thesis statements” to emphasize how they can change though the discovery process of writing.
Brice’s work with the student to find the thesis statement, in my opinion, is what writing instructors should allow students to do without punishing them up front (rather than a grade of a B-, what about asking the student about his purpose, what he wants to communicate to his audience, his central idea as he understands it? If you must grade, consider the process over time, not the product at a point in time.) This process is where learning takes place, and it is when students can revise, not just to improve their grades, and not to conform to a particular style, but to find the best possible way to convey their intended meanings.
At the end of the article Brice asks: “What if we avoided….predicting the future?” I would argue that we must avoid predicting the future. As writing instructors, we should stop privileging the academic “gold standard” for writing (something I consider a very problematic tool that perpetuates unjust power dynamics within the institution) and as tutors in writing centers, while respecting the student’s desire to please the instructor/receive a high grade, and respecting the instructor, acknowledge this form for what it is (historically based gendered tool with racist and classist implications), and approach our work with students as agents of change. In this way the writing center may represent less of a ‘contact zone’ and become something closer to a “safe house” .
(Note: I did not know where I was going when I wrote this. I bolded the sentences in this last paragraph because I think they might be my “thesis”, but I’m not totally sure. In any case, I’m keeping those sentences right where they are :)
______________________________________________________________________________
In Brice’s article she describes her work negotiating with a writer to help him find his thesis.
“I suggested he frontload some of this information, which, in the essay’s present form, appeared near the end. While reluctant to reveal at the beginning of his essay the lessons he’d learned…Phillip was willing to compromise. He crafted a sentence expressing curiosity….” (p. 173).
The traditional academic writing style (in the US/English dominant countries), privileges the front loaded thesis--the immediate spoiler, and laborious redundancy of the “tell me what you are going to tell me, tell me, and tell me what you just told me” pattern of organization---with a clear intro, body and conclusion. This is so widely considered the gold standard that it has largely remained unchallenged in academic writing, even by many writing instructors.
This rhetorical style has its historical roots in a tradition of logic, conceived of by white men. Access to this style of logical reasoning and the adherence to formalism in academic writing is how to succeed in the academy. Women and people from various linguistic, ethnic and cultural backgrounds who have less experience with these forms have often had to conform to this style to achieve acceptance in academia. I am taking a course in which we respond to the class readings via “one-pagers” and are encouraged to take risks, find our voices, and be creative. The following is what I wrote last week:
______________________________________________________________________________
Assignment Requirements: To receive an A on this essay, you must provide a strong thesis statement, and support your argument with solid examples. You must organize your essay logically. Make sure there are no holes in your argument. Weakness will not be tolerated. Do not use “I”. Be objective. No wishy-washy pansy shit. Man up.
_______________
The five paragraph essay can mansplain you into submission. How many times have I been told by teachers and supervisors: “Sure, it isn’t the best, or the ultimate goal, but it a great tool to teach students how to logically organize their essays”
Think like a white man.
Write like a white man.
You will receive the white man’s approval.
A+
In chapter 16 Sheridan-Rabideau reviews the history of gender/feminism in writing studies, and mentions research that considered how writing styles might be gendered (p. 256). It is widely accepted that speech is gendered (for example: rising intonation/ “up-talk”/valley girl speech as female/feminine), but often people consider writing as neutral or objective. However, the qualities considered the gold standard for academic writing are also those valued as masculine attributes --strong, logical, objective . Adopting the “assumed-to-be-masculinist” style (p. 257) is how women have been judged as “good” writers in the academy. This, of course, is not only about gender. The language bind described in chapter 16 is equally as relevant to race, class, ethnicity, and language background as it is to gender. Developing one’s voice in writing, particularly in academic contexts, is difficult when the words, structures, and organizational styles are prescribed, foreign and unnatural for the writer.
____________________
What is this disdain for predetermined thesis statements, outlines and graphic organizers? The phallic arrows telling me there is one way to my conclusion leaves me unsatisfied. What if I started with an idea? A question? With just one word? I would let this word sit in my navel, undisturbed, warm, nourished. I would give it time and room to grow. What if there were no conclusion? No thesis? What if this word just kept appearing? What if I found that this starting point was in fact both the ending and the beginning?
_____________________________________________________________________________
So back to Brice. She uses Pratt’s definition of “contact zone” which refers to a “social space where cultures meet, clash, grapple with each other, often in contexts of highly asymmetrical relations of power”, and goes on to suggest that any writing center might be considered a contact zone due to the “perceived hierarchy of knowledge about what constitutes good writing” (p. 169).
I can’t help but think of the front loaded thesis and traditional organizational patterns students are taught as a form of white, male supremacy in the academy. I also feel that an emphasis on such form does a great disservice to students. If we conceive of writing as a form of thinking and learning (which is part of how I define writing), predetermined thesis statements and outlines stunt the thinking--exploring--discovery process that we (as instructors) claim we want our students to experience. The pedagogical implications here for me are 1) I do not require my students to write a thesis sentence (or an introduction for that matter) at the beginning of the process, and 2) when we do write thesis statements, we always refer to them as “working thesis statements” to emphasize how they can change though the discovery process of writing.
Brice’s work with the student to find the thesis statement, in my opinion, is what writing instructors should allow students to do without punishing them up front (rather than a grade of a B-, what about asking the student about his purpose, what he wants to communicate to his audience, his central idea as he understands it? If you must grade, consider the process over time, not the product at a point in time.) This process is where learning takes place, and it is when students can revise, not just to improve their grades, and not to conform to a particular style, but to find the best possible way to convey their intended meanings.
At the end of the article Brice asks: “What if we avoided….predicting the future?” I would argue that we must avoid predicting the future. As writing instructors, we should stop privileging the academic “gold standard” for writing (something I consider a very problematic tool that perpetuates unjust power dynamics within the institution) and as tutors in writing centers, while respecting the student’s desire to please the instructor/receive a high grade, and respecting the instructor, acknowledge this form for what it is (historically based gendered tool with racist and classist implications), and approach our work with students as agents of change. In this way the writing center may represent less of a ‘contact zone’ and become something closer to a “safe house” .
(Note: I did not know where I was going when I wrote this. I bolded the sentences in this last paragraph because I think they might be my “thesis”, but I’m not totally sure. In any case, I’m keeping those sentences right where they are :)
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