In-class Blog: Where I'm at.

So, we've been asked to blog about where we think we're at. To be honest, I'm not sure if this means where we're at in this class or for the semester in general. I've been very negligent in my blog posts, simply because during the past few weeks I spent all my time studying very rigid subjects--Calculus, Organic Chemistry, and Genetics--that all required right or wrong answers. Thus, I lacked inspiration.


However, in between study sessions and problem sets, I somehow found time to interview my choice professor for my digital story (who will, for now, remain nameless). I came into the interview with a page of questions that I intended to ask, all in perfect order, but I found that the interview carried itself. Hearing what it means to write from a professor, author and a former college student was fascinating to me. He humorously suffered from many of my freshman year writing "diseases" (such as procrastination) and his description of his writing style and process throughout the years was definitely rewarding. I left his office with a new energy and excitement for the development of my digital story.


Now the real question is, how do I approach this digital story? How does one compress 20 minutes of recorded dialogue into 3 minutes of meaningful, spoken information? 


This is where I'm at.

Distorted Perceptions of the Writing Center

A few days ago, I was in the line at the salad bar at D-hall. I was in a rush to eat before my 1:30 class, and was periodically--and by periodically, I mean in 30 second intervals-- checking my cell phone to monitor the time. I somehow managed to tune in to the conversation of the two girls in front of me. It went something like this:

Girl 1: "I can't eat dinner with you tonight because I have to go to the writing center for one of my papers. My professor is forcing us all to go."

Girl 2: "Wow, that sucks. So, what are they going to do? Proofread it for you?"

Girl 1: "See, that's what I don't get. The only tutor I could get that fit in with my schedule isn't even majoring in the subject area of my class. I don't understand how she's supposed to help me at all."

So, naturally, as a prospective writing consultant currently taking the ENG 383 class, I so gladly (but politely) interjected. 

"It's not about proofreading--the writing consultants mainly check for your style and how you formulate and organize your ideas. They basically help you out with the writing process itself regardless of the assignment or its subject area."

And thus, the day was saved. I felt like I had enlightened those fellow Richmond students to go out into campus and enlighten others. If only the world was so perfect.

I got to thinking that perhaps that is the general perception of many University of Richmond students. Many think that it's a proofread headquarters, where we thoroughly check their grammar and spelling and make sure full stops and commas are exactly where they need to be.

How many of these people are shocked when they come for their first Writing Center Appointment and find that this perception is wrong?

How can we prevent this from being the assumption of UR students?

The "Aha!" Moment

Growing up, I always swore against the teaching profession. I didn't want to have to deal with unruly children, or students who just didn't care about their work. However, I once asked my older cousin, a history/geography teacher, what she found so rewarding about her profession. She told me she loved those moments when a student finally understood a concept, or finally figured something out that they had been struggling with. "The 'aha' moment, you mean," I said, in an attempt to clarify. She responded, "Yes. The 'aha' moment, and the fact that I could help steer my students towards the 'aha' moments--it makes everything worthwhile."


For the first time, I experienced leading someone to their "Aha" moment. On Saturday I had my first experience as a writing consultant through the College Mentoring Project. I won't disclose my tutee's real name in interest of privacy, but I will refer to her as Lisa during this post. Deeply in preparation for the college application process, Lisa was obviously facing trepidation when presenting her ideas for her college admissions essay. She had a full page of bullet points describing a summer experience that she felt was relevant to the essay prompt provided. After listening to her present her ideas, I only had one thought.


Lisa already had an entire essay. It was simply spread out between her mind, her lips, and the words she had already laid out on paper.


Through out the consultation process, I helped her narrow down her ideas and expand on them, but it occurred to me that I wasn't really doing anything remarkable. While she looked at me as if I were an all-knowing writing genius, I couldn't help but realize that being a writing consultant is not what I previously thought it was. It's not just proofreading papers, and looking out for grammar and spelling mistakes. It's about turning on the mind's "faucet" and letting the writer's ideas flow freely. When I managed to turn on Lisa's faucet, I saw that "Aha" moment manifested on her face, and I must admit: my cousin was right.

1 + 3 + 1 = 5 Paragraphs! [Spoken in the words of a shocked first-year college student)

[Based on Chapter 6 of Keith Hjortshoj’s “The Transition to College Writing”]

During my first year of high school, the most life-altering, dynamic phenomenon of my academic career was introduced to me: the magical Five Paragraph Writing Formula. For those of you who weren't so privileged as to have this explained to you in high school, that involved the introduction, three body paragraphs, and, to top it off, the conclusion. Always remember:

1 + 3 + 1 = 5 Paragraphs!

This meant that, no matter what the essay topic was, I would construct an introduction carefully including the three points that my body paragraphs would outline. Then, I would meticulously craft my three body paragraphs—no more, no less, mind you—in the exact order I dictated in my introduction (lest the reader mistake me for a disorganized writer). I would top off my creation with a neatly formed conclusion that basically summed up everything I said in my introduction and three body paragraphs. Thus, the following formula was true for me:

1 + 3 + 1 = 5 Paragraphs = Guaranteed well-organized “A+” worthy essay.

Really!

Now, how about going back and altering this formula for a shocked first-year college student?

1 + 3 + 1 = 5 Paragraphs = Boring essay that rarely catches the attention of a college professor and yields an astonishing C+.

Really?