Garrek is an individual who writes in unique and interesting ways. In his drafts, he begins with them being rather wordy. He addresses the topic at hand but uses too many words sometimes to illustrate his points. By the time the final draft rolls around it is polished. The piece is still able to display his voice and points he is trying to make in a more straight-forward, academic way that still makes the paper a good read. Most of his papers, and responses, begin with a very straight-to-the-point, logical statement that grabs the readers attention and encourages them to continue reading the entirety of the paper. While editing his drafts, Garrek seems to take what people have enjoyed or suggested for revision, and includes them in a more effective way; I saw this a lot in the moving of paragraphs around in the paper. And as an end result, the paragraphs were more effective and helped keep the overall flow of the paper going. The best part of Garrek's writing that I enjoyed as an almost theme-like way, was his effective use of voice in amusing phrases that help the reader to further understand the point that is being made, i.e "The River of Suck." Overall Garrek is a good writer that lets his personality shine through his writing while still being able to keep it academic.

Kyle:

Kyle writes in an interesting way. It seems to be impersonal, but upon further examination, his personality seems to shine through. Sometimes it doesn't seem so, but if you look you can see his voice and parts of himself in the pieces. He tells us that he enjoys poetry; I find this to be evident in his writing style. His style seems almost to strain for a flowing, soft, poetry-like style. Sometimes though, it seems choppy, but this is in an almost stanza-like way. This is particularly evident in drafts, when he goes back to revise them I see that the writing becomes more objective. The papers all seem to be written similarly, by this I mean that the style, voice, and overall objectivities are implanted in some way that sometimes is confusing, but then becomes more clear as you keep on reading. Kyle writes with a poetry-like style but still manages to keep it academic and shows much potential both as a creative writer, and an academic one.

Hilary:

Hilary writes her papers personal experienes laced in with the points she is making in her pieces. When she begins her papers, they seem shorter. By shorter, Imean tahat she lists out her main points but does not elaborate on them overtly much. When it comes to revisions, she is able to expand more on them and a lot of times, adds more voice. Along with voice, comes her own style of explanation. She gives good direction in an almost teacher-like way so that we can "see" where she is coming from and what it is that she wants us to glean from her writing. It is shown often in her writing, that she prefers "telling" it ( i.e telling about how a day went or a particular event in a day through a casual form like e-mail, etc.) but that she is able to work it nicely into her formal pieces as well.

Jessica:

Jessica has an objective writing style. In her writing, she tells things how they are, she tends to not "show" what is happening, or why she believes certain things to be what they are. Her text-book-like writing style works effectively in conveying points. In the beginning when these points are made, she tends to not elaborate on them enough from her own personal experiences etc. In her revisions though, she expands more on her explanations and is able to insert more voice so it is not as impersonal. It is evident in her writing that she comes from a medical background in education; this is shown in her themes of medical issues (i.e Alzheimer and in her Corbett imitations) that help us get a glimpse into how her mind works as a writer, and a person.

First Imitation:

Model Sentence: They stood outside on the wet pavement of the terrace, pretending that they had not heard us when we called to them from the library.

My Imitation: They huddled together near the snow piled along the sidewalk along the terrace, laughing as they feigned deafness while we hollered to them from the entrance of the library.

Model Sentence: When he offered me the gift and when his classmates, perceiving his embarrassment, discreetly withheld their applause, I gratefully accepted his gesture of friendship.

My Imitation: When he extended his hand that clenched a small parcel, his face visibly flushed scarlet; his classmates quietly choked back their applause, I smiled broadly and grasped his gesture of friendship.

Model Sentence: The gallows stood in a small yard, separate from the main grounds of the prison and overgrown with tall prickly weeds. --George Orwell

My Imitation: The daunting grounds of death displayed itself in an isolated area far off the main grounds, it appeared all the more haunting with the assistance of sharp, prickled weeds that ran sometimes above the lengths of our bodies.

Second Imitation:

Model Sentence: The gallows stood in a small yard, separate from the main grounds of the prison and overgrown with tall prickly weeds. --George Orwell

Variation of the Pattern: In a tiny yard, isolated from the rest of the prison grounds, stood the gallows overrun by long, spiny weeds.

Alternate Expression: Surrounded in a small yard by towering, sharp weeds, the gallows stood isolated from the main grounds of the prison.

Jamie Costin

Dr. Allen

ENG 319

As A Composition Scholar

"Is this your paper?"

"Um...yes?"

"Well then. I would like you to answer this question for me: Who was your composition teacher?"

Blink. Blink. "Um, Mr. Kaye, what does that have to do with anything?" was my hesitant response.

"I would like to speak to them about why the hell they taught you to write like this. This paper is so poorly structured, and so off-base about your conclusion that I am honestly shocked you passed a composition course," was the curt reply.

I thought my jaw would hit the floor. Instead I felt hot, angry tears welling.

"What's wrong with it?!" I muttered angrily.

"Everything. I must be honest with you, on a writer-to-writer basis. This paper has no real point to it. It uses too little of the author's information that was provided to you and sounds nothing like what you were assigned to write. I thought you knew better than this, I will not accept a paper written by someone who has not given the author enough credit and who did not study them or their text thoroughly," Mr. Kaye replied as he nonchalantly plopped my paper onto his desk. The 'plop' of my eight page report echoed throughout the classroom. Does he have any idea how hard I worked on that?! All those hours of typing away and re-reading every...single...word of that boring essay? I thought furiously; I could feel many eyes burning into the back of my skull as my fellow students stared at me and my accidental confrontation with our teacher.

"But, I did study them thoroughly! And what's wrong with my conclusion?!" I retorted as, and who are you to judge my opinion?! rang pronouncedly through my mind.

A slow, deep sigh answered me before his eyes lazily slid toward mine and made contact, "Everything."

This traumatizing experience was the result of one of my first essays I wrote in my A.P English class in high school. An unpleasant experience. Oh yes. I learned a valuable lesson, however: To make the teacher happy, stick with the rules, and keep as little of my opinion out that they did not deem to be "correct." I did not like this conclusion, but with my grades on the line I found that it was the best way to go about passing my classes and get decent grades on my papers.

As I take more composition courses, thoughts of how I would like things to go in a composition classroom scramble around in my mind. First off, I believe that a writer (more or less) is any person who is able to write and articulate their thoughts through writing. This opens up the Pandora's box of grading by the teacher or a peer; if a person simply writes their thoughts down on a paper and turns it in, it is still considered writing, right? To many, not necessarily. Many times, it depends on the teacher who is instructing the course and how they are going about explaining what a writer is and how writing should be done.

Different types of teaching compositions exist. Two teachers that are well known for their vastly different views on composition are Bartholomae and Elbow. I think that both of these authors have brilliant views on what composition should be. One is more strict in their "right and incorrect" beliefs while the other believes in a more loose and free way of analyzing. However, I also believe that if we take principles from each of these authors then we can get a constructive, yet more comfortable writing environment for authors to grow in. This can be applied for teachers like Mr. Kaye who believed in there only being one set way of going about teaching. That's good for him, but as for students like me that were mortified and humiliated at hearing that our views were "wrong," it was detrimental rather than conducive to my learning and growth as an author.

I think, that a good composition course can consist of studying some great works and not necessarily idolizing them, but instead using them as more of a reference. This is more of Elbow's approach and I feel that it works more constructively for the student. Students can use these works and can go back to them if they feel lost, or that their writing is missing that little piece that would complete their thoughts. Also, texts that are great examples of composition should be utilized so that how they are written is more of the focused point rather than what they were thinking. This can be separated more or less by the instructor who is teaching the rules of composition and finds certain works that are making a compositional point rather than an ethical, or perhaps a personal point. For instance, if the teacher has a piece by an author who is known for their more radical pieces, that show a great way to compose an argument, then the teacher can focus the discussion on how it was written. The teacher can perhaps not focus so much on why the author wrote the piece or what their (the teacher's) own personal interpretations are and instead focus more on the compositional aspect and teaching that there is not only one set way of perceiving an authors work. This way the student is still learning something and not being attacked or shot down for their individual perceptions of the text.

With this studying, comes a teacher of course. This is where Bartholomae's teaching style comes more into play. I do strongly believe that a teacher is an important piece to an author's growth. However, I believe that the teacher should be more of a guide rather than a dictator. Instead of saying things such as: This is completely wrong. What were you thinking? This is not what the author was saying at all! Go read it again. This is the prejudicial way that Mr. Kaye addressed his views on my paper. Who's to say that my conclusion was completely wrong? I could very well have had some important aspects that could be correct, but because he was so set in his ways, he paid no heed to my views and shrugged them off while making me feel like an idiot. He could have been more constructive and said something along the lines of: You pose an interesting point. It's not what most people perceive but you just might be able to make it work. Why don't you elaborate more here and there and then add some more quotes? Then go have so-and-so read over it. This way, the student still knows that they have some more work to do on their papers rather than feel that they failed at life and cannot write at all.

Bartholomae believes that a student, cannot be their "own" author. He believes that the authors and their writing are merely a result of race, sex, social environment, history, etc. All these factors make up a person and therefore the writing is a result of these things. He believes that there is no writing without these influences. I agree with this to a point, but one part I do not believe about this statement is that society makes us who we are. I believe that we are our own person, sure we are exposed to all of these things but I do not believe society is solely responsible for who we are as authors. I, personally, go more with Elbow's approach that anyone can be a good writer if given the proper environment and light direction. He believes in having an open, free environment and less structured way of thinking and writing. He has his students do free-writing exercises to clear their heads and perhaps start a good piece of writing. Elbow also publishes his students' work in a magazine; this encourages students to write and allows them confidence in knowing that their works are important enough for publication. I believe this is essential to a writer producing good work, that is, to have the teacher show them that their work matters and is in fact worthy of reading.

Bartholomae, on the other hand, believes that the students should go through more rigorous and often, demolishing training in a disciplinary method. The teacher has sole power to instruct the students, and they should be eager learners that absorb everything the teacher says and apply that, and solely that and the scholarly works to their own pieces. Sometimes, even putting the "greats" of writing on pedestals knowing that the students believe they will never achieve such greatness but they need to try to do so. Along with this goes the onerous studying of scholarly writers works and their "meanings", that is the meanings that the teacher deems correct. By putting them on these pedestals it can be damaging to an author rather than conducive to their growth. If they look up these "greats" and are being taught that their way is the only real way to write, then there is more of a chance that the author will become a copy of the "greats" and will not find their own style. They are too focused on making it like the "greats" that they turn off their own thoughts and styles, and pertain their writing to that of the "greats" and have it look just like an others rather than their own.

Either way, teachers I find to be necessary but not necessarily all-knowing deities; the same with scholarly writers. And one thing that many teachers appear to overlook and that I believe is essential in reminding students to encourage them to grow into great authors is: They started where you presently find yourself. As students, there to learn, grow, and develop into your own self and style. Teachers are meant to guide, and we are meant to learn and to write. We should be taught composition and given the strength and encouragement that we can indeed write, that it is worth reading, and that perfection does not exist; it is merely an idea that is pressed into wishful thinking persons minds and finds itself often in places like scholarly works and deemed worthy literature.

Allen

ENG 319

Returning of Things Lost

"Where are you from?"

I twitched at the question; my eyes darted around the strange sixth grade classroom that had walls adorned with academic posters and pictures of the students currently flocking around me. It was like I was the latest animal attraction at the zoo.

"I only lived about 40 minutes away from here actually..." I replied to a tall boy who wore a TOOL beanie and smelled of rubber cement, as I sunk further into my chair, twiddling with my long hair.

"Well why are you here? Did you like, do good in school over there?" a blond came up and demanded as she sat her Abercrombie clad self on my desk.

"Dad's job. And yeah...actually I did really good in school over there," I murmured as I pulled my jacket closer to me and stared at my pencil that graced the top of my first writing assignment with the condemning letter scrawled across the top.

"I heard you went to a private religious school, I bet it was easier there. That's why you're failing over here," the blond smirked as she flipped her hair over her shoulder and playfully pat my head.

"No...it wasn't easier," I defended as I remembered how my parent's said how proud they were of my straight A's because I attended an accelerated school, "It was just different."

These were some of the pleasant conversations I held when I moved and went through the transition between a private school where I had about nine other kids in my grade, to a public school that had well over 22 kids in my class and even more kids in my grade but in different classrooms. I never knew that 6th grade could have so many kids at once. Also, this school had tracks. I had no idea what a track was and was horrified at hearing that my breaks were all chopped up and weird. Plus there was the bigger pressing issue...the issue of my writing.

After I left the security of my tiny little church that I had called school for over six years and moved to a house that wasn't in my hometown that I had been comfortable in, I made myself a little shell and buried myself in it. The kids around me looked at me like I was a foreign object and laughed at me because I got free lunch and wore hand-me-downs from my relatives. I went from enjoying school and trying my best at things to trying to escape from all of it by hiding alone during recess. When I sat in the classroom, girls scoffed and giggled at me and boys had fun stepping all over my stuff and gluing my supplies to the inside of my desk while I was out. I hated it, and plus, every time the teacher would hand me an assignment, I would either ignore it or attempt to write something only to get it handed back with the lovely sixth letter of the alphabet adorning it.

The first conference came when I had been enrolled there for a couple of weeks. After speaking with my teacher, my parents left and I had to go alone into the room to talk to my teacher before I could go home.

"Jamie, your parents are very upset with me because they say I'm making you do badly."

"Oh. Sorry..."

"What am I doing wrong? I've tried talking one on one with you about what the assignment is about and you just...I don't know. Ignore me?" she replied as she cleaned her glasses.

"No! I don't...I don't ignore you...I just...I can't do it," I stammered as I jerked my plaid jacket closer around me.

"You can't do what? The homework? Jamie. I know that no one likes doing homework or taking the time to do a good job, but you---"

"You're wrong! I do try...I sit for a long time and try to write. I don't understand what you want. You want things like "voice" and stuff that I have no idea what you're talking about. I never did this bad at my other school. I never had an F, ma'am. Never. That's why Mom and Dad are mad..." I murmured as I bit my lower lip nervously.

My teacher sighed heavily and placed her glasses back on her nose, "Your parents told me that you won contests for your creative writing and poetry at your last school."

"Uh huh..."

"Well, how come you were able to write then and not now? You have to be able to have voice and the other things I've been telling you to insert into your homework if you were able to win those types of things. Do you remember the last story you wrote, the one about the dog chasing the boys?"

I nodded slowly and twitched as I recalled the grade I had received on that story.

"Well, I told you that the story needed more voice. And you got mad and told me that it was a dog and couldn't talk. Were you serious about that? Is that what you think voice is?"

With wide eyes, I cautiously nodded. I hadn't meant to be insulting or anything. I just thought it would be silly to have a story with a talking dog in it.

She sighed heavily again and dug around in her folder and emerged with the assignment we were currently working on. She asked me to take mine out, I yanked my backpack over to the chair and plucked my paper, all crumpled and covered with random scribbles, and plopped it on the table. She raised an eyebrow at it.

"Um...I was having a hard time figuring it out...sorry..."

"Okay, Jamie. Look. When I want voice," she paused as she circled a sentence on my paper, "what I mean is, I want you to put more of yourself into this. I want the paper to not be just a sentence, I want it to be an explanation of something from how you think it is."

Blink. Blink. Me? Ha, who'd want to read something with me in it? Apparently this thought showed on my face.

"What's wrong, Jamie?"

"No one likes me, why would I want to put myself into writing something? They'll just hate that too. When we're in groups and stuff...no one...Cares. They hate it cuz I wrote it. And you don't like it either..." I replied as my eyes darted from the teacher, to the floor, and back to meet her eyes again. Her perfume was starting to bug me. Old lady perfume, not overtly appealing especially when trapped in a small room with her staring at me pointedly over her thick-rimmed spectacles.

"I doubt the children hate you as much as you think they do dear, and I certainly don't hate you. I just think you need to work more on adapting to this school. Let's sit and figure out what it is that is confusing you..." she concluded as she gave me a small, but very sincere smile. I blinked and scooted closer to her so I could try and glean some helpful information.

As time progressed, I learned everything I had lost when transitioning over to this new place. By sitting alone with her and sometimes the teaching assistant, I was able to find a way to push myself, little by little, back into my writing. I soon found myself ignoring my fellow pupils and their derogatory comments, and was able to combine my train of thought into a coherent piece of writing. Even as the lessons on voice gave way to things like focused sentence structures and word choice, I simply met up with my teacher after the lesson if I felt confused or lost and she would proceed to have me show and tell her how my past teachers taught me to do something similar. I learned how to use the knowledge I had gained at my other school and adjust it to how this school's "system" went. It took a lot of time and practice, but I managed to learn how to find a happy medium with my writing and forming it into what a different type of teacher's standards were. This school worked differently, both with its teaching styles, curriculum, and students but I soon learned that adaptation was key to learning to survive at this school and not to fail the 6th grade.

This concept followed me out the doors of elementary, into middle school, high school, and is still now seen in my writing that I do for college. These concepts both go towards my academic writing life along with my creative writing. When I'm assigned something unpleasant or that sounds difficult, I don't panic and merely type words onto a paper. I sit, think about what it is that this teacher is wanting to glean from my assignment, and adjust it so that I can still work with it. I don't have to write anything perfectly to their specifications, but I can adjust my writing so that I can succeed. Sitting in my steamy sixth grade classroom with many eyeballs on me and confusing assignments always being plopped on my desk, I was more keen to panicking and not being productive and shutting down almost completely. But after that encounter, and learning to cope with it, I can now write things that are pleasing to both teachers and my peers alike. It may not always be the prettiest structured thing in the world, or be as particular as a professor would desire it to be, but assignment's get completed and learning is essential. I am always gathering information of some sorts, and learning how to apply it. All of these concepts are reflected whenever I sit back and look at my latest assignment. Whether I'm met with a grumble, or a heavy sigh by myself, I still know that even if the paper appears crappy, it can be fixed, and mistakes can be learned from. Mistakes don't always screw us over, in the end, they can prove to be more of a guide than a hindrance and give way to success.

Allen

ENG 319

Returning of Things Lost

"Where are you from?"

"I only lived about 40 minutes away from here actually..." I replied to a tall boy who wore a TOOL beanie and smelled of rubber cement, as I sunk further into my chair, twiddling with my long hair.

"Well why are you here? Did you like, do good in school over there?" a blond came up and demanded as she sat her Abercrombie clad self on my desk.

"Dad's job. And yeah...actually I did really good in school over there," I murmured as I pulled my jacket closer to me and stared at my pencil that graced the top of my first writing assignment with the condemning letter scrawled across the top.

"I heard you went to a private religious school, I bet it was easier there. That's why you're failing over here," the blond smirked as she flipped her hair over her shoulder and playfully pat my head.

"No...it wasn't easier," I defended as I remembered how my parent's said how proud they were of my straight A's because I attended an accelerated school, "It was just different."

These were some of the "fun" conversations I held when I moved and went through the transition between a private school where I had about nine other kids in my grade, to a public school that had well over 22 kids in my class and even more kids in my grade but in different classrooms. I never knew that 6th grade could have so many kids at once. Also, this school had tracks. I had no idea what a track was and was horrified at hearing that my breaks were all chopped up and weird. Plus there was the bigger pressing issue...the issue of my writing.

After I left the security of my tiny little church that I had called school for over six years and moved to a house that wasn't in my hometown that I had been comfortable in, I made myself a little shell and buried myself in it. The kids around me looked at me like I was a foreign object and laughed at me because I got free lunch and wore hand-me-downs from my relatives. I went from enjoying school and trying my best at things to trying to escape from all of it by hiding alone during recess. When I sat in the classroom, girls scoffed and giggled at me and boys had fun stepping all over my stuff and gluing my supplies to the inside of my desk while I was out. I hated it, and plus, every time the teacher would hand me an assignment, I would either ignore it or attempt to write something only to get it handed back with the lovely sixth letter of the alphabet adorning it.

The first conference came when I had been enrolled there for a couple of weeks. After speaking with my teacher, my parents left and I had to go alone into the room to talk to my teacher before I could go home.

"Jamie, your parents are very upset with me because they say I'm making you do badly."

"Oh. Sorry..."

"What am I doing wrong? I've tried talking one on one with you about what the assignment is about and you just...I don't know. Ignore me?" she replied as she cleaned her glasses.

"No! I don't...I don't ignore you...I just...I can't do it," I stammered as I jerked my plaid jacket closer around me.

"You can't do what? The homework? Jamie. I know that no one likes doing homework or taking the time to do a good job, but you---"

"You're wrong! I do try...I sit for a long time and try to write. I don't understand what you want. You want things like "voice" and stuff that I have no idea what you're talking about. I never did this bad at my other school. I never had an F, ma'am. Never. That's why Mom and Dad are mad..." I murmured as I bit my lower lip nervously.

My teacher sighed heavily and placed her glasses back on her nose, "Your parents told me that you won contests for your creative writing and poetry at your last school."

"Uh huh..."

"Well, how come you were able to write then and not now? You have to be able to have voice and the other things I've been telling you to insert into your homework if you were able to win those types of things. Do you remember the last story you wrote, the one about the dog chasing the boys?"

I nodded slowly and twitched as I recalled the grade I had received on that story.

"Well, I told you that the story needed more voice. And you got mad and told me that it was a dog and couldn't talk. Were you serious about that? Is that what you think voice is?"

With wide eyes, I cautiously nodded. I hadn't meant to be insulting or anything. I just thought it would be silly to have a story with a talking dog in it.

She sighed heavily again and dug around in her folder and emerged with the assignment we were currently working on. She asked me to take mine out, I yanked my backpack over to the chair and plucked my paper, all crumpled and covered with random scribbles, and plopped it on the table. She raised an eyebrow at it.

"Um...I was having a hard time figuring it out...sorry..."

"Okay, Jamie. Look. When I want voice," she paused as she circled a sentence on my paper, "what I mean is, I want you to put more of yourself into this. I want the paper to not be just a sentence, I want it to be an explanation of something from how you think it is."

Blink. Blink. Me? Ha, who'd want to read something with me in it? Apparently this thought showed on my face.

"What's wrong, Jamie?"

"No one likes me, why would I want to put myself into writing something? They'll just hate that too. When we're in groups and stuff...no one...Cares. They hate it cuz I wrote it. And you don't like it either..." I replied as my eyes darted from the teacher, to the floor, and back to meet her eyes again. Her perfume was starting to bug me. Old lady perfume, not overtly appealing especially when trapped in a small room with her staring at me pointedly over her thick-rimmed spectacles.

"I doubt the children hate you as much as you think they do dear, and I certainly don't hate you. I just think you need to work more on adapting to this school. Let's sit and figure out what it is that is confusing you..." she concluded as she gave me a small, but very sincere smile. I blinked and scooted closer to her so I could try and glean some helpful information.

As time progressed, I learned everything I had lost when transitioning over to this new place. By sitting alone with her and sometimes the teaching assistant, I was able to find a way to push myself, little by little, back into my writing. I soon found myself ignoring my fellow pupils and their derogatory comments, and was able to combine my train of thought into a coherent piece of writing. Even as the lessons on voice gave way to things like focused sentence structures and word choice, I simply met up with my teacher after the lesson if I felt confused or lost and she would proceed to have me show and tell her how my past teachers taught me to do something similar. I learned how to use the knowledge I had gained at my other school and adjust it to how this school's "system" went. It took a lot of time and practice, but I managed to learn how to find a happy medium with my writing and forming it into what a different type of teacher's standards were. This school worked differently, both with its teaching styles, curriculum, and students but I soon learned that adaptation was key to learning to survive at this school and not to fail the 6th grade.

This concept followed me out the doors of elementary, into middle school, high school, and is still now seen in my writing that I do for college. These concepts both go towards my academic writing life along with my creative writing. When I'm assigned something unpleasant or that sounds difficult, I don't panic and merely type words onto a paper. I sit, think about what it is that this teacher is wanting to glean from my assignment, and adjust it so that I can still work with it. I don't have to write anything perfectly to their specifications, but I can adjust my writing so that I can succeed. Sitting in my steamy sixth grade classroom with many eyeballs on me and confusing assignments always being plopped on my desk, I was more keen to panicking and not being productive and shutting down almost completely. But after that encounter, and learning to cope with it, I can now write things that are pleasing to both teachers and my peers alike. It may not always be the prettiest structured thing in the world, or be as particular as a professor would desire it to be, but assignment's get completed and learning is essential. I am always gathering information of some sorts, and learning how to apply it. All of these concepts are reflected whenever I sit back and look at my latest assignment. Whether I'm met with a grumble, or a heavy sigh by myself, I still know that even if the paper appears crappy, it can be fixed, and mistakes can be learned from. Mistakes don't always screw us over, in the end, they can prove to be more of a guide than a hindrance and give way to succession.

]]> http://kitto.edublogs.org/2008/12/05/returning-of-things-lost-first-draft/feed/ 0 http://kitto.edublogs.org/2008/12/05/returning-of-things-lost-final-memoir/ http://kitto.edublogs.org/2008/12/05/returning-of-things-lost-final-memoir/#comments Fri, 05 Dec 2008 17:42:37 +0000 kitto http://kitto.edublogs.org/?p=11 Jamie Costin

Allen

ENG 319

Returning of Things Lost

"Where are you from?"

I twitched at the question; my eyes darted around the strange sixth grade classroom that had walls adorned with academic posters and pictures of the students currently flocking around me. It was like I was the latest animal attraction at the zoo.

"I only lived about 40 minutes away from here actually..." I replied to a tall boy who wore a TOOL beanie and smelled of rubber cement, as I sunk further into my chair, twiddling with my long hair.

"Well why are you here? Did you like, do good in school over there?" a blond came up and demanded as she sat her Abercrombie clad self on my desk.

"Dad's job. And yeah...actually I did really good in school over there," I murmured as I pulled my jacket closer to me and stared at my pencil which graced the top of my first writing assignment with the condemning letter scrawled across the top.

"I heard you went to a private religious school, I bet it was easier there. That's why you're failing over here," the blond smirked as she flipped her hair over her shoulder and playfully pat my head.

"No...it wasn't easier," I defended as I remembered how my parent's said how proud they were of my straight A's because I attended an accelerated school, "It was just different."

These were some of the pleasant conversations I held when I moved and went through the transition between a private school where I had about nine other kids in my grade, to a public school that had well over 22 kids in my class and even more kids in my grade but in different classrooms. I never knew that sixth grade could have so many kids at once. Also, this school had tracks. I had no idea what a track was and was horrified at hearing that my breaks were all chopped up and weird. Plus there was the bigger pressing issue...the issue of my writing.

After I left the security of my tiny little church that I had called school for over six years and moved to a house that wasn't in my hometown that I had been comfortable in, I made myself a little shell and buried myself in it. The kids around me looked at me like I was a foreign object and laughed at me because I got free lunch and wore hand-me-downs from my relatives. I went from enjoying school and trying my best at things to trying to escape from all of it by hiding alone during recess. When I sat in the classroom, girls scoffed and giggled at me and boys had fun stepping all over my stuff and gluing my supplies to the inside of my desk while I was out. I hated it, and plus, every time the teacher would hand me an assignment, I would either ignore it or attempt to write something only to get it handed back with the lovely sixth letter of the alphabet adorning it.

The first conference came when I had been enrolled there for a couple of weeks. After speaking with my teacher, my parents left and I had to go alone into the room to talk to my teacher before I could go home.

"Jamie, your parents are very upset with me because they say I'm making you do badly," my teacher stated matter-of-factly to me as I nervously tiptoed into the room and slowly lowered myself into the uncomfortable looking, cracked blue chair.

"Oh. Sorry..."

"What am I doing wrong? I've tried talking one on one with you about what the assignment is about and you just...I don't know. Ignore me?" she replied as she cleaned her glasses.

"No! I don't...I don't ignore you...I just...I can't do it," I stammered as I jerked my plaid jacket closer around me.

"You can't do what? The homework? Jamie. I know that no one likes doing homework or taking the time to do a good job, but you---"

"You're wrong! I do try...I sit for a long time and try to write. I don't understand what you want. You want things like "voice" and stuff that I have no idea what you're talking about. I never did this bad at my other school. I never had an F, ma'am. Never. That's why Mom and Dad are mad..." I murmured as I bit my lower lip nervously and kicked at tiny pebbles that were all over the ground from the previous victims that were here.

My teacher sighed heavily and placed her glasses back on her nose, "Your parents told me that you won contests for your creative writing and poetry at your last school."

"Uh huh..."

"Well, how come you were able to write then and not now? You have to be able to have voice and the other things I've been telling you to insert into your homework if you were able to win those types of things. Do you remember the last story you wrote, the one about the dog chasing the boys?"

I nodded slowly and twitched as I recalled the grade I had received on that story.

"Well, I told you that the story needed more voice. And you got mad and told me that it was a dog and couldn't talk. Were you serious about that? Is that what you think voice is?"

With wide eyes, I cautiously nodded. I hadn't meant to be insulting or anything. I just thought it would be silly to have a story with a talking dog in it.

My teacher sighed heavily again and dug around in her folder and emerged with the assignment we were currently working on. She asked me to take mine out; I yanked my backpack over to the chair and plucked my paper, all crumpled and covered with random scribbles, out of my bag and plopped it on the table. She raised a gray eyebrow at it.

"Um...I was having a hard time figuring it out...sorry," I quickly apologized as I stared at the desk to avoid her annoyed expression.

"Okay, Jamie. Look. When I want voice," she paused as she circled a sentence on my paper, "what I mean is, I want you to put more of yourself into this. I want the paper to not be just a sentence, I want it to be an explanation of something from how you think it is."

Blink. Blink. Me? Ha, who'd want to read something with me in it? Apparently this thought showed on my face.

"What's wrong, Jamie?"

"No one likes me, why would I want to put myself into writing something? They'll just hate that too. When we're in groups and stuff...no one...cares. They hate it cuz I wrote it. And you don't like it either..." I blurted out as my eyes darted from the teacher, to the floor, and back to meet her stern eyes again. Her perfume was starting to bug me. Old lady perfume, not overtly appealing especially when trapped in a small room with her staring at me pointedly over her thick-rimmed spectacles.

"I doubt the children hate you as much as you think they do dear, and I certainly don't hate you. I just think you need to work more on adapting to this school. Let's sit and figure out what it is that is confusing you..." she concluded as she gave me a small, but very sincere smile. I blinked and scooted closer to her so I could try and glean some helpful information.

As time progressed, I learned everything I had lost when transitioning over to this new place. By sitting alone with her and sometimes the teaching assistant, I was able to find a way to push myself, little by little, back into my writing. I soon found myself ignoring my fellow pupils and their derogatory comments, and was able to combine my train of thought into a coherent piece of writing. Even as the lessons on voice gave way to things like focused sentence structures and word choice, I simply met up with my teacher after the lesson if I felt confused or lost, then she would proceed to have me show and tell her how my past teachers taught me to do something similar. I learned how to use the knowledge I had gained at my other school and adjust it to how this school's "system" went. It took a lot of time and practice, but I managed to learn how to find a happy medium with my writing and forming it into what a different type of teacher's standards and preferences were. This school worked differently, both with its teaching styles, curriculum, and students, but I soon learned that adaptation was key to learning to survive at this school and not to fail the sixth grade.

This concept followed me out the doors of elementary, into middle school, high school, and is still evident in my writing that I procure for college. These concepts both go towards my academic writing life along with my creative writing. When I'm assigned something unpleasant or that sounds difficult, I don't panic and merely type words onto a paper. I sit, think about what it is that this teacher is wanting to glean from my assignment, and adjust it so that I can still work with it. I don't have to write anything perfectly to their specifications, but I can adjust my writing so that I can succeed. Sitting in my steamy sixth grade classroom with many eyeballs on me and confusing assignments always being plopped on my desk, I was more keen to panicking and not being productive and shutting down almost completely. But after that encounter, and learning to cope with it, I can now write things that are pleasing to both teachers and my peers alike without the mental strain. It may not always be the nicest structured thing in the world, or be as particular as a professor would desire it to be, but assignment's get completed and learning ensues. I am always gathering information of some sort, and learning how to apply it. All of these concepts are reflected whenever I sit back and seriously look at my latest assignment. Whether I'm met with a grumble, or a heavy sigh by myself, I still know that even if the paper appears crappy, it can be fixed, and mistakes can be learned from. Mistakes don't always screw us over, in the end, they can prove to be more of a guide than a hindrance and give way to success.

Okay, now this is not the type of voice that we are used to hearing when discussing voice in academic terms. This was merely what I heard my younger sister's teacher saying to her on the day I happened to show up to bring her some lunch. I think that she wanted Amanda to give her an example of voice on the paper and how to use it in class (but honestly I wasn't sure). Like me, my sister had a hard time understanding the difference between verbal voice and written voice in a paper.

Her teacher was being hardly helpful, and after giving the teacher a scathing glare, I promised my sister that I would help her to understand what "voice" the teacher was referring to, besides the one she got scolded for not amplifying. I needed to explain to her what the difference was, and how it was applied to writing. But then there was the fun task of thinking: Huh, what exactly is voice? How do I explain this to an eleven-year-old confused ADD child? How do I explain this to myself? This lead me to thinking back to when I first struggled with applying it to my writing; I thought that "good" writing was purely based on content with voice merely being in the way. But as I progressed through class after class, and annoying teachers trying to brand me with their perceptions and structures on voice, I managed to fuse together my own version of what voice is. I find voice to be the foundation to a paper and to coincide with style.

Personally, I find voice to be a very important factor to good writing. However, this is not always the case, many "good" things that I have read, I find to be lacking in distinguishable characteristics of voice. So then I find myself staring at a paper, squishing my head irritably, wondering: Well then, Jamie, what the heck are you babbling on about? If voice is found in style, then what role does the content play? Do you know what you are talking about? I come to the conclusion: I'm confused. However, I am confident in knowing that style is important and can shine through no matter what is being read or written, that is, if it is applied properly. To test this thought out, I imitated a passage from Frankfurt's On Truth that spans from page 32-34. I will try to keep some of my voice in the writing while still keeping a good grip on what the point of the passage is.

Because of these reasons, no civilizations can afford to hate or neglect the truth. However, for a society to only acknowledge that truth and inaccuracies are legitimate and important concepts, proves to be detrimental and not nearly enough. Plus, these civilizations must not fail to provide strong foundations for applicable individual people that apply themselves to obtaining and exploiting valid truths. Even more importantly, whatever added bonuses that might be looming in the attainable future by means of b.s-ing, by dismembering, or by complete deception, societies cannot afford to put up with anyone or anything that holds a sloppy indifference to the distinction between true and false. Less than that, can they divulge the shoddy, selfish pretense that being true to the facts is hardly more important than one being true to themselves. If there is any attitude that is essentially antithetical to a tolerable and normal social life, that is it.

A general public that is rashly and insistently remiss in any of these ways is likely to decline, or at least, to present itself as being culturally apathetic in nature. Certainly, it shall be unable to produce any type of substantial achievement, and probably of any understandable and wise ambition. Civilizations have, at no time, ever gotten along in a healthy manner, and cannot get along in this manner, without a ton of misunderstood beliefs. To create and support an advanced culture, we need to avert from being incapacitated either by mistakes or by ignorance. We need to be aware of--and naturally, we must also remember to comprehend how to make productive use of--- an abundance of truths.

Upon completion of this exercise, not only was I surprised at the almost complete non-existence of my voice, but also by how difficult it was to regurgitate the author's ideas into my own words. It was frustrating for many reasons, one of them being that the vocabulary he chose to use was similar to what I normally use and made much more coherent sense than my attempt. I found myself using my trusty thesaurus often like I do when I normally write. It was nice yet irritating, because I liked many of the original words, such as "capable" which I replaced with "applicable." These are similar words, but depending on their placement in the context they can have completely different meanings, or meanings that just barely miss the point that the author had intended. At times, I felt like I was nearly butchering them when trying to convey the point in a lucid, understandable way that could still be comprehensive. I felt that, while trying to add my voice I was taking away what made the passage distinctive and important such as the purposeful word placement. While I was writing my version, I wasn't focusing so much on why I was placing a word there, I was merely trying to put some other word that in my normal writing I might use. My voice was choked back due to the content though, and I found it very difficult to try and insert it. Plus, when I finally finished and looked back I only saw snippets of my voice in the second paragraph and in word usages in the first and even there, it was very scarce. For example a small part of my writing style that is visible was my usage of the words "b.s-ing" (in replacement of bullshitting). This word is not much of a change, but as subtle as it is, it can still be seen that that is a word I would use in writing instead of "bullshitting." Another instance, was my usage of the word "looming" when the author used the phrase "may be possible to attain." In the second paragraph, in sentences such as "We need to be aware of--and naturally, we must also remember to comprehend how to make--" There is a difference in all of these sentences meaning, but for my sake of my rendition, it worked best for how I was attempting to understand the authors main point and translate it into something comprehensible by myself and others.

I don't believe that voice is purely style or purely content. Instead, I find it to be more of a blend. The hardest part (for me anyways) is trying to find that happy medium. I wanted to find a way I can convey my point academically without overusing voice and doing a sort of "style overload." However I faced the issue of myself focusing so much on making sure that I don't ruin the original content, that my style is virtually non-existent. If this happy medium is reached successfully, then a powerful piece can be born and along with it, a satisfied academic life, and a clear understanding that can be used to explain successfully to anyone and applied to anything.

"Um...yes?"

"Well then. I would like you to answer this question for me: Who was your composition teacher?"

Blink. Blink. "Um, Mr. Kaye, what does that have to do with anything?" was my hesitant response.

"I would like to speak to them about why the hell they taught you to write like this. This paper is so poorly structured, and so off-base about your conclusion that I am honestly shocked you passed a composition course," was the curt reply.

I thought my jaw would hit the floor, instead I felt hot, angry tears welling.

"What's wrong with it?!" I muttered angrily.

"Everything. I must be honest with you, on a writer-to-writer basis: This paper has no real point to it. It uses too little of the author's information that was provided to you and sounds nothing like what you were assigned to write. I thought you knew better than this, I will not accept a paper written by someone who has not given the author enough credit and who was not studied thoroughly," Mr. Kaye replied as he nonchalantly plopped my paper onto his desk. The 'plop' of my eight page report echoed throughout the classroom. Does he have any idea how hard I worked on that?! All those hours of typing away and re-reading every...single...word of that boring essay? I thought furiously; I could feel many eyes burning into the back of my skull as my fellow students stared at me and my succession in irritating our teacher.

"But, I did study them thoroughly! And what's wrong with my conclusion?!" I retorted as, and who are you to judge my opinion?! rang pronouncedly through my mind.

A slow, deep sigh answered me before his eyes lazily slid toward mine and made contact, "Everything."

This traumatizing experience was the result of one of my first essays I wrote in my A.P English class in high school. An unpleasant experience. Oh yes. I learned a valuable lesson, however: To make the teacher happy stick with the rules, and keep as little of my opinion out that they did not like or agreed with. I did not like this conclusion though, but with my grades on the line I found that it was the best way to go about passing my classes and getting decent grades on my papers.

As I take more composition courses, thoughts of how I would like things to go in a composition classroom scramble around in my mind. First off, I believe that a writer (more or less) is any person who is able to write and articulate their thoughts through writing. This opens up the Pandora's box of grading by the teacher or a peer; if a person simply writes their thoughts down on a paper and turns it in, it is still considered writing, right? To many, not necessarily. Many times, it depends on the teacher who is instructing the course and how they are going about explaining what a writer is and how writing should be done.

Different types of teaching compositions exist, two teachers that are well known for their vastly different views on composition are Bartholomae and Elbow. I think that both of these authors have brilliant views on what composition should be, however I also believe that if we take principles from each of them then we can get a constructive, yet more comfortable writing environment for authors to grow in.

Bartholomae believes that a student, cannot be their "own" author; that they and their writing are simply a result of pieces of society. For example, race, social environment, history, etc. I, personally, go more with Elbow's approach that anyone can be a good writer if given the proper environment and light direction. He believes in having an open, free environment and less structured way of thinking and writing. He has his students do free-writing exercises to clear their heads and perhaps start a good piece of writing. Elbow also publishes his students' work in a magazine; this encourages students to write and also to give them confidence in knowing that their works are important enough for publication. I believe this is essential to a writer producing good work, that is, to have the teacher show them that their work matters and is in fact worthy of reading. Bartholomae, on the other hand, believes that the students should go through more rigorous and often, demolishing training in a disciplinary method. The teacher has sole power to instruct the students, and they should be eager learners that absorb everything the teacher says and apply that, and solely that and the scholarly works to their own pieces. Sometimes, even putting the "greats" of writing on pedestals knowing that the students believe they will never achieve such greatness but they need to try to do so. Along with this goes the onerous studying of scholarly writers works and their "meanings", that is the meanings that the teacher deems correct.

I think, that a good composition course can consist of studying some great works but not necessarily idolizing them, but using them as more of a reference; something they can go back to if they feel lost, or that their writing is missing that little piece that would complete their thoughts. Also, texts that are great examples of composition should be utilized so that how they are written is more of the focused point rather than what they were thinking. With this studying, comes a teacher of course. I believe that teacher should be more of a guide rather than a dictator. Instead of saying things like: This is completely wrong, what were you thinking? This is not what they author was saying at all! Go read it again. They could be more constructive and say: You pose an interesting point. It's not what most people perceive but you just might be able to make it work. Why don't you elaborate more here and there and then add some more quotes? Then go have so-and-so read over it. This way, the student still knows that they have some more work to do on their papers rather than feel that they failed at life and cannot write at all.

Either way, teachers I find to be necessary but not necessarily all-knowing deities; the same with scholarly writers. And one thing that Bartholomae appears to overlook and that I believe is essential in reminding students to encourage them to grow into great authors is: They started where you presently find yourself. As students, there to learn, grow, and develop into your own self and style. Teachers are meant to guide, and we are meant to learn and to write. We should be taught composition and given the strength and encouragement that we can indeed write, that it is worth reading, and that perfection does not exist; it is merely an idea that is pressed into wishful thinking persons minds and finds itself often in places like scholarly works and deemed worthy literature.