Who you callin' a grammar fussy?

All English teachers are not like this guy. Personally, I think he deserves what's coming to him. Chill out, man.

I just want to start out by saying that I loved the Lynn reading and also enjoyed his description of the “blessed day” when someone finally says, “Oh, you teach English! What a fascinating job! It must be inspiring to think about all the richness and diversity of language as people use it!” I hate the stereotype of English teachers as “grammar fussies.” I am not one of those teachers, and I don’t sit around correcting all my friends’ grammar in my head as they talk to me (or worse yet, stop them mid-sentence and correct them). When I would tell someone I was an English teacher,  if I didn’t get the reaction of, “I better watch what I say,” then it would be something like, “Oh, you’re very brave.” Well, when reading about those freshmen composition teachers with 250 or more students and 80 students per class, I can understand why people think that it’s brave to be an English teacher. Besides, you would have to be brave to teach kids grammar, right? To listen to their whining and moaning about memorizing rules (that almost always have at least one exception and are “hopelessly ambiguous and problematic”). This leads to Hartwell’s COIK (clear only if known). Yes, students do misunderstand those Grammar 4 rules all the time. I did have students who would tell me time and again that a sentence couldn’t start with “because.” What a shame how many student errors are actually due to instruction in “school grammar” rules!

I also enjoyed much of Hartwell’s article, and I feel it gave me some good ammunition to back up my qualms about how grammar is taught (and from my experience, I think that although many English teachers may tout grammar in context in public, they still revert to the traditional sentence practice and grammar rules in private). I loved how Hartwell starts his article with the Braddock quote: “The teaching of grammar has a negligible or, because it usually displaces some instruction and practice in composition, even a harmful effect on improvement in writing.” Certainly I knew right away that I was reading someone with a likeminded philosophy about grammar. I think Hartwell’s definition of the five meanings of grammar is enlightening. I had only really known about or understood what he defines as Grammar 4, “school grammar.” I never really thought about separating usage and style, and I definitely never considered Grammar 1, the “patterns of a language” that we don’t know we have. I think that Francis Christensen’s analogy from 1962 that “formal grammar study would be ‘to invite a centipede to attend to the sequence of his legs in motion’” seems a strong example of the irrationality in teaching rules of grammar.

Along with grammar, comes style. Again, I enjoyed Lynn, particularly his look at style, and I connected the most with the “Individualist” approach. This does not surprise me because I have connected in other writings with Elbow and other (although I know Elbow doesn’t like to be called one) expressivists. I like Georges de Buffon’s statement: “Style is the man.” I think I could get students on board with that. I know I want to read more about Elbow’s views on ignoring the real audience in the early process of writing. Along with Elbow and friends, I also enjoyed the feminist perspectives, particularly Elizabeth Flynn: “Voice is more than the manifestation of an authentic self; it is in fact essential to developing in women students a strong self.” I want to be a teacher who helps her students find their “own most powerful and unique voice.” Lynn’s article also delved into issues about “goodness” and “correctness” and how this relates to minority populations and dialects. I loved Suzette Haden Elgin’s brave statement: “ONE FORM OF LANGUAGE IS AS GOOD AS ANOTHER. DAMN RIGHT!” I agree that saying one form of language is better than another is stupid and does reinforce the power of the majority. But, unfortunately, we also can’t ignore the fact that we “privilege Standard English” in this country, and that changing the world isn’t easy, although we can try. In the meantime, I think encouraging these students to be “doublevoiced” is a good way to help them adapt and succeed, without abandoning their culture. But, I have to add Genevea Smitherman’s quote: “Saying something correctly, and saying it well, are two entirely different Thangs.” Love it!

What if us Standard English speakers had to stand up for our way of speaking because "Black English" or some other minority dialect was the new accepted standard? Walk a mile in someone else's shoes.

So, as I scan my six pages of typed notes on this week’s readings, I can see not only that there was a lot of information to digest, but also that there was much that I connected with and found valuable and interesting. My view on teaching grammar has been that it is perhaps a necessary evil, but that there must be some way to make it more interesting and pertinent to my students. I do not have happy memories of learning the rules of punctuation, pronoun and antecedent agreement, misplaced and dangling modifiers, etc. So, I always told myself that if I became a teacher, I would make grammar fun. Well, probably needless to say, I didn’t succeed in that goal. I tried daily MUG shot activities and sentence combining along with more traditional methods, but I still didn’t see any concrete evidence that these things were helping improve my students’ writing, and now I know why. “Grammar…cannot be looked upon as a substitute for, or a gauge of, the ability to write. The only test of the power of expression is a test of the power of expression” (Joseph Meyer Rice).

All I Really Need To Know I Learned From The Beatles

“Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup.” Who says it better than The Beatles? I think the eight-year-old mentioned in Britton’s “Shaping at the Point of Utterance” captures the same idea, just not quite as poetically as John Lennon did in his "Across the Universe" lyrics. He said, “(Writing) just comes into your head, it’s not like thinking, it’s just there.” I relate to this when reflecting on my own writing process. Sometimes it feels like there is some magical force compelling me to write more, my words flowing out from my fingertips as I rapidly type away on my little MacBook.

But, Flower and Hayes I think would call my “magical force” their “myth of discovery.” They believe there is no mysterious idea lurking in your mind just waiting to be brought out through writing. Instead, they believe that discovery and its insights are “only the end result of a complicated intellectual process.” As I read more, it seemed clear how their research showed that writers do make meanings instead of finding them. I think their definition of the Rhetorical Problem and the six parts they outline make sense. However, I did feel like something was missing in their findings. Is it the emotion that Alice Brand discusses in “The Why of Cognition?” I’m not convinced because I didn’t understand how Flower and Hayes’s model ignores emotion. Their test subjects did seem to follow their emotions when deciding how they wanted to be perceived by their reader or how they wanted to affect their audience. One study member said, “I feel enormously doubtful of my capacity to relate very effectively to the audience,” and she went on about how she would try to present herself in “a simple and straightforward and unpretentious way, I hope.” I don’t think that this statement implies “emotional neutrality.” I think these writers did seem to be exercising “inclusion and exclusion” based on their feelings.

I know that when I write my emotions play a role in deciding how to move forward or how to tweak what I’ve written. I feel like my process is much like the “Retrospective Structuring” of Perl and Egendorf: “shuttling back and forth from (my) sense of what (I) wanted to say to the words on the page and back to address what is available to (me) inwardly.” I think if I recorded my every thought during my process (as did the Flower and Hayes study participants) that I would see how I do have goals outside of just the assignment and audience. However, I know that sometimes those things come naturally, or I don’t consciously ponder over them. I think that this is why teaching this process is so challenging. I appreciate that Flower and Hayes say, “We can help (students) create inspiration” rather than just waiting for it by teaching them to “explore and define their own problems.” But, as I think it goes in most theories about teaching, this seems easier said than done.

English (or is it Engfish) 101?

When I saw this week’s theme was “Basic Writers,” I was excited for what our theorists were going to say about the topic. My “lower level” English classes were my most challenging, especially the writing instruction. Our junior English classes were divided into Honors, College Prep, General, and Low Level sections. Of course, all new teachers were assigned to the low level courses, the administration not so wisely giving the most challenging section to the least experienced teacher. The aim of the writing instruction in the low level course was to help the students score in the proficient category on the PSSA writing test. Unfortunately, as Mike Rose asserts in “The Language of Excursion,” “when in doubt or when scared or when pressed, (we) count.” The pressure was to get the students’ writing to the point where it would pass as proficient based on the PSSA writing rubric. Although the rubric is not all about conventions and counting errors, it still proves to be a “way out,” an easy method for objectively judging student writing.

As Deborah Mutnick states in “On the Academic Margins,” the “national mania for standards and assessment” does certainly complicate the debate over the best way to proceed with basic writing instruction. Mutnick says teachers are faced with a dilemma: “everyday work of teaching is shaped by institutional and political forces rather than by student needs.” I think this sums up what is happening when teachers are pressured to help students pass a test rather than to help students become better writers. In my school, if we failed to provide adequate instruction to help students pass the PSSA writing test, they were placed in remediation (this word now has a whole new meaning to me after reading Rose’s article). We were told to use the threat of remediation, endless drills and virtual workbook exercises in the computer lab, during senior year study period as a tool to get students to care about the writing test. Even if I had threatened burning at the stake as a punishment, many students still would not have passed. It was true that some had just given up on writing and didn’t try, but more often students just didn’t know how to write at a proficient level no matter how hard they tried. And I had not been adequately prepared in how to teach them to write, so we were stuck in a circle of continually disappointing each other.

Unfortunately, teachers are faced with political pressures of "teaching to the test" and cannot always do what they think is actually best for their students.

Although the articles we read this week were geared towards college writing instruction, I did find that much of it also applied to the problems I encountered in my secondary basic writing courses. I felt that these students were at a disservice by being separated from their peers based on ability. In Mutnick’s article, she quotes Peter Dow Adams, who was questioning “the benefit of homogenous classes.” Adams said the message we are sending is “We don’t expect you to be able to write well.” My “remedial” students definitely felt this way; they continually repeated to me, “I don’t know how to write. That’s why I’m in here.” This was the go-to excuse when I confronted students who would respond to writing prompts by slumping into their chairs and pouting rather than even attempting to write. I really enjoyed the idea of the “Studio” that Mutnick presents as an alternative to basic writing. I am usually drawn to ideas that are outside of what Mutnick calls “traditional educational frameworks.” However, I’m not sure how this idea could translate into a secondary classroom.

Another issue that was repeatedly mentioned in this week’s readings was the debate over how and to what extent grammar instruction should be included in basic writing courses. Sondra Perl’s “study of unskilled college writers” was mentioned in Mutnick’s article. This study “showed how overattention to editing undermined (students’) ability to compose fluently.” This stood out to me because I saw this all the time in my basic writing classes. Students were so afraid of making errors that they would freeze even in the early stages of writing. Actually, this fear of errors was present in my college prep sections as well. I am definitely on the side of those who believe that “correct writing” does not always equal “good writing.” I had to laugh at some of the research Rose describes that was concerned with “the particulars of language” and “listing and tabulating error.” I especially enjoyed Luella Cole Pressey’s research that concluded in the advice to divide up the “mastery of rules” between grades 2 and 12, with “an average of 4.4 rules to be mastered per year.” I was happy to see that there were pioneers like David Bartholomae who “helped shift the emphasis of instruction from grammatical to rhetorical concerns.”

Come on, lighten up. Not all grammar mistakes are going to end with such dire consequences.

However, that is about all I found sensible in Bartholomae’s position on basic writing. In his article, “Inventing the University,” he says that in order for students to succeed in college-level writing, they must “speak in the voice and through the codes of those of us with power and wisdom.” Maybe I’m not understanding him, but it seems that he is actually suggesting we not only embrace what Macrorie called “Engfish,” but that we should teach our students how to write in this way, to mimic the language of “the privileged community.” I thought we were trying to help students find their own voice in order to write effectively. He even says we should convince basic writing students that “it is better to write muddier and more confusing prose (in order that it may sound like ours).” Again, if I am missing something, please comment. But, I can’t imagine that simply mimicking what students think is “academic discourse” will help them to write better. It seems like Bartholomae is taking the stance of “If you can’t beat them, join them.” If writing in your own voice with your own cultural influences won’t help you in college, then pretend to be someone you’re not, and join the “privileged” by attempting to copy their voice and style. Although none of the articles solve the problem of basic writing, I enjoyed reading about its history and the many different viewpoints and theories that discuss its pros and cons.

Sunshine and rainbows.

Okay, so I feel a little guilty about all the negativity in my first post for this week. I had just finished the Covino reading that I thought I'd never get through, my cat sitting on the couch behind my head was incessantly licking her fur, somebody ate the last of my Twizzlers, and it's past my bedtime. So, I was in an annoyed, Mr. T. kick-butt kind of mood. Now that I've had my Sleepytime tea and have looked over my notes again, I just want to share a a few, more uplifting, thoughts on this week's readings. Now for the sunshine and rainbows.

My first happy thought comes from the end of Lynn's Invention chapter. I appreciate that his text adds suggestions of practical classroom applications based on the information he presents, and I particularly liked the fruit-poem. Lynn questions if any "bizarre practice" may serve as an invention strategy. Perhaps, and if so, I want more. I got the most attention from my students when I stepped out of the box and tried something unusual. For example, this is one free-writing type of activity that was always a favorite in my classroom: I would play new agey music, turn off the lights, have the students put their heads down on the desk, and then read from a script that took students on a virtual walk outside of the classroom and the school. Students were instructed to listen carefully for all the details and sensory images of the story. They walk through streams where fish nibble their toes and through dense forests with tropical flowers and all types of wildlife. They also go to their "special place" where they interact with a person of their choosing before coming back the way they came and "waking up" in their seats. They immediately upon opening their eyes must write without stopping about their journey. I have gotten the best pieces of writing from this activity. Students can't say they don't know what to write and it helps them try to connect with their "voice" and use vivid details.

 As far as the discussion on form, I think that Lynn's quote from Kenneth Burke is interesting. He says form is "an arousing and fulfillment of desire." Therefore, it's about writing in a prescribed manner so that your reader will anticipate what is coming next. But then it seems that veering from the expected would better serve to grab the reader's attention. In the movie Memento (which he mentions), the story is told from the end to the beginning. The scriptwriter did not want the audience to anticipate every move, but instead to be surprised and engaged by its form. So, to teach form using the five-paragraph theme, even though the audience feels safe and at home in anticipating the topic sentences, restated thesis, and generalized conclusion, they're going to be bored and forget whatever message it was you were trying to convey. Still, my students craved that fill-in-the-blank security blanket that is the five-paragraph essay. So, I guess it's good to know, sort of like backup ammunition, but I want to learn more about how to help my students step out of their comfort zone.

I pity the fool.

My head was spinning with this week’s readings. “Nineteen possible logical patterns that are valid” – give me a break, Aristotle! I pity the fool who had to memorize this nonsense. I was happy that Lynn recognizes that not many teachers or students are going to have the time or patience to learn these patterns. But, I do understand why some knowledge of the history of rhetoric is important for teachers and students of writing. Obviously Aristotle devoted quite a bit of time to his theories (too much time in my opinion), as did other theorists throughout the centuries. It is impractical to dismiss it all without consideration. Again, I felt as though the message was to find some type of middle ground – to “draw on both process pedagogy and classical tradition,” as Lynn asserts. Covino too says something along these lines about adapting the “best of the past” to our present classrooms.

Did anyone else kind of wish that Covino had started and stopped his paper with “Obviously, the definition of rhetoric is not going to be settled?” It seems that all the readings agreed that rhetoric is everything. What is the point in beating the crap out of that fact? I don’t think that texts can be classified; in trying to do so, we are wasting our time. I agree with D’Angelo’s statement that it seems the identification of the “modes” was not about function, but was more about trying to “get experience in order.” Still, trying to uproot what has been set down for so long is daunting. The PSSA Writing Guidelines includes scoring rubrics for narrative, informational, and persuasive writing. They also define focus as “the single controlling point made with an awareness of task (mode) about a specific topic.” Once again, teachers are faced with the dilemma of teaching to the test. If these modes are outdated, based on some faulty theory of psychology, why are the people writing these testing guidelines not aware?