On Writing Well in the Twitterverse



What do you think, in terms of the ability to write more lengthy prose, is the impact of the fact that today’s incoming first-year students have grown up with Facebook, Twitter, and smartphones? In addition to the shortcomings that No Child Left Behind assessment-heavy education has left them with, students whose writing is most commonly done in 140-character chunks and who think in terms of “like” buttons really struggle to put together a few pages that contain a solidly argued proposition. As may be apparent from this query, I am thinking a fair bit these past couple weeks about the challenges we who teach writing face. There is hope, of course – but the work is certainly cut out for those of us who teach writing in any formal manner.


On the Writer’s Responsibility and the Weight of Words

writerOne of the things that I have been mulling over during the past few months as I anticipate returning to the classroom after a year’s sabbatical, and, in particular, to the Paideia classroom, is how I might best help students acquire an appreciation for the weightiness of writing.     I will be quite satisfied, if, in the course of my teaching, I am able to pass on to students the concept that writing isn’t merely an activity that is sometimes necessary to perform in order to obtain a grade in a class, and is not simply a personal act – but is an act that unites writer and reader in a manner that has far greater significance.

One thing I hope my students can grasp is that when one writes, one writes not merely for oneself, but for the one who will ultimately read the words written. Because the reader’s thoughts are guided and impressions are formed on the basis of the written word, the author has a subtle degree of power over the reader.  Now that power is not in any sense absolute, to be sure, but its existence in the reader-writer exchange does imply an ethical responsibility on the part of the author to wield that power with respect for the reader (and for truth).   I strongly suspect that the idea of such a responsibility is quite foreign to many students, so one of the first things I explicitly tell them each Fall is that writing is no private act, but requires them to think carefully about what they’re saying and how they say it. I don’t know enough about contemporary secondary education Language Arts methods to be able to point to a cause in high school English pedagogy for the lack of a sense in students’ minds of this responsibility.  I would definitely appreciate feedback from any who know more about this than I.  Is it possible they’re never taught it explicitly?

I wonder, too, whether a contributing factor is an emphasis in today’s English classrooms on the ‘personal essay’ as the primary form of writing.  One thing that crops up continually in my students’ writing about texts we read in Paideia is examples of essays that seem to be a hybrid between book report and diary entry.  Again, I’m not sure this is due to explicit emphasis in the classrooms they’ve been part of, but whatever the case,  this kind of writing is frequently what I see in their first papers, and requires attention to undo.   When a student’s default writing mode is ‘personal reflection’, opinion is king, and evidence is irrelevant.  (as an aside… if one assigns such ‘personal essays’, which we don’t in our course, how does one even evaluate such an essay for grading purposes?  I suppose one can look only at style and grammatical correctness, but… ugh.)  The emphasis on ‘personal essays’ also might help explain students’ perplexed looks when their first paper receives a ‘C’ for lacking evidence or a hard-to-find thesis.   I’ve had students question whether the reason their paper received a lower-than-expected grade (which for many is an A-) was that I disagreed with their opinion – good teaching opportunity, I suppose.

One nice thing about Paideia, as contrasted with the typical freshman comp course, is that we don’t do anything with the ‘personal essay’ format, but spend the whole fall semester working on what might be called the ‘academic essay’ – thesis-driven argumentative essays based on texts that we read.  As such, then, we can from day one address the need of the writer to responsibly and respectfully craft an argument to defend a proposition- an argument whose persuasiveness is not found in the personality of the writer, but in the choice of the evidence, the explication of the text and the proposition being argued for, etc.  As an outsider to the art of rhetoric (in professional training, anyway) it’s a joy to be able to pass on to students that this responsibility, and the broad strokes description of the academic essay are directly applicable even to something as arcane as elementary particle physics, my own research field.  Whether one is describing the relationship between Beowulf and Wiglaf at the end of the epic poem, or the interpretation of a particular decay mode of a system of quarks bound together that we have observed in the laboratory, the task at hand is largely the same.  This methodological synergy between the sciences and humanities is really what floats my boat and makes teaching Paidea a real pleasure.   The responsibilities of writers across the board are of one piece.  Ultimately we write about, and aim to persuade our readers of, what we believe is true about a given subject… and crafting articles and essays in which we undertake this act is no idle task.