Language Acquisition As An Investment?

While lying down on my chair, which is not a normal chair to rest, but to think and work very hard; it is where I basically execute most of my thought processes regarding my English composition course.  How can I improve my second language skills?  By striving hard, by reading constantly and by pushing myself to develop a better understanding of the language environment I interact with.  I am now working on my annotated bibliography, which is due by the end of the course, but I need to work on it ahead of time, since I will need the whole month of April to study for my comp examination.  As one of my classmates puts it, “It is a nightmare.”  Very frightening! This is probably the scariest challenge I have ever experienced in my life.  Anyway, while searching Dominguez database, I found an interesting article for my annotated bibliography; titled, “Language as an investment, Capital and Economics: Spanish-speaking English Learners’ Language Use and Attitudes.”  I see power in this title; also, truth and reality.  Investing in the acquisition of a second language is a sort of transforming our social identity.  This is true for immigrants, not only for Spanish-speaking groups, but for all immigrants.  It is a way to develop a second social identity that will make them becoming individuals with complex identity.  Learners with complex identities claimed the English-speaking identity, the Spanish-speaking identity, and the bilingual identity.  The author of the article suggests that language builds social capital, which in turn, helps second language learners to overcome obstacles and to endure hardships and to earn higher wages.  Latino immigrants who strive hard to learn the language; develop abilities that will transform them in active and efficient participants of the diverse society and the social environments they interact with.

Class Tonight

I have been mulling over what I said in class tonight. I wanted to suck the words back into my mouth after they came out, not because they were not what I meant but because of the potential for them to be taken out of context. I did not refer to the student writer as possibly learning disabled as a put-down. I meant it genuinely.

I received a paper from a student recently that reminded me a lot of the second essay we reviewed in the "12 teachers" assignment. The difference between my prompts and the one we reviewed was that my prompts are fully detailed, 1-2 pages of explanation with a step-by-step plan. In addition to the prompts I give, I also write my own essays for each assignment, including outlines. Additionally, the class does a great deal of "invention" for each essay, planning as individuals, in groups, and with me. I collect 3-4 drafts along with the final one, and I mandate that students who were absent for peer or instructor review sessions have the SI or a Writing Center tutor review their papers. I even trick the students with an "Okay, final paper due next class," just to make sure that there is a draft that I will definitely see before the next class meeting when the real final draft is due.

However, there is no fail-proof method; there will always be a few students who poo-poo the process and hand in the final draft with no previous drafts because they have not participated in any of the review sessions. I even warn ahead of the time that unreviewed papers will be scrutinized more closely since, if there was a glaring global note that I missed, I will not fault the student for this error. I also have a policy that late papers are accepted, but they are not eligible for grade revisions, and I re-grade every rewrite and replace grades with the highest ones for every paper, not just one or two. From this context, this framework, and from my training as a former Special Education teacher with LAUSD, I consider that someone who has participated in revisions and still struggles with the basic assignment requirements may have a learning disability. In the case of the aforementioned student, I learned, after working with her for six weeks, that this is the issue.

Unlike the K-12, students are under no mandate to identify as LD in a college setting, and many of them do not. The safety of the limited enrollment K-12 class is completely removed, and LD/SDC (Special Day Class) students find themselves in community college classes of 50 writing students.  Three semesters ago, in week 5 or 6 of teaching a basic skills class, I received notices from DSPS, and I learned that there were 8 LD students in my class of 47. I struggled to meet their needs, as well as the needs of my ELL students, along with a boisterous group of rowdy, immature students, fresh from Hamilton. That class was a serious challenge for me in spite of all my training.

Point is: I meant no harm in my statement. The sooner I identify an LD student, the sooner I can help the student, and I prefer not to finally figure out an LD diagnosis after reading the last essay (but this occurs sometimes, too). One clue, I have learned, is recognizing a student's difficulty with following the guidelines of the assignment and the instructions given.

Community college students demand and deserve our sensitivity, and I want to be clear that I was not calling the student an "idiot," but I recognized that the student may have a cognitive processing deficit that deserves my attention, empathy, and skill. My goal is to serve all of my students to the best of my ability; that is what gives me the peace of mind--the feeling that I successfully completed a day of service to a higher purpose, to the good of humanity--I need in order to shut my eyes and sleep comfortably at night.

My Process And Welcome To It

            The experience of taking several weeks to compose the Literary Autobiography was not only enjoyable, but productive.  First, I was forced out of my discomfort zone of doing minimal prewriting prior to drafting.  I had had little trouble composing research papers using just an outline because I had always done extensive research and annotation, but this subject matter required a different approach.  In particular, I had trouble remembering many of my earliest experiences with reading and writing.  To that end, the invention techniques from Elbow and Lindemann helped me remember events from my literary past and associated feelings.  (Shame is not fun to relive by the way.)  Clustering turned out to be the most useful tool for unearthing decades-old details of my experiences.

            Prior to enrolling in the Rhet/Comp program, my only experience with peer review was in a writing group I attended for several years in the early 90s.  I felt awkward because I was the least experienced of all the writers and didn’t understand how to give and receive criticism.  Dr. Cauthen’s Creative Nonfiction class taught me how to comment on papers, and the friendships I made allowed me to trust the comments of my classmates.  Desiree and Ebony, who were with me in that class, gave clear feedback that never felt judgmental.

            Finally, getting feedback from Professor Cauthen at several intervals helped direct my paper away from “unearned pathos” toward clarity.  Choosing the right events to relate revealed a common thread that wove itself throughout the piece, giving it momentum and a sense of the inevitability of my becoming a teacher.

A Reaction to "The Rhetorical Stance" by Wayne C. Booth

To begin, I really appreciated the succinct definition which appears early in Booth's essay: "... rhetoric is thought of as the art of 'putting it across,' considered as quite distinct from mastering an 'it' in the first place." He follows this with aptly chosen rhetorical questions: "Is there such an art? If so, what does it consist of? Does it have a content of its own? Can it be taught? Should it be taught? If it should, how do we go about it, head on or obliquely?" These questions get to the heart of the issue; we have to find ways to help students (after they arrive at an informed point of view on a given topic) to master "the art of putting it across."

On page 141 Booth provides us with the essential elements of the rhetorical stance: 1) the available arguments about the subject itself, 2) the interests and peculiarities of the audience, and 3) the voice, the implied character, of the speaker. A successful piece of writing, Booth asserts, strikes a balance between these elements.

Ironically, Booth's fails to strike the proper balance in his own essay: he spends several pages digressing, describing in detail perversions of imbalances in composition, "corruptions" -- and he devotes only the last page to discussing a balanced rhetorical stance. On page 145, however, he refocuses himself and tells us that an accomplished piece of rhetoric comes from a writer who "knows more about the subject than we do, and if he then engages us in the process of thinking -- and felling -- it through... in the company of an audience."

There is a final comment of Booth's that resonated with me: "Much of what is now considered irrelevant or dull can, in fact, be brought to life when teachers and students know what they are seeking." If a writer and teacher know the desired affect, the bottom-line purpose, then both the drafter and adviser can revisit each word, sentence, paragraph, or section in terms of its rhetorical balance and ask whether the desired persuasion could be better achieved by perhaps writing it differently.

It occurs to me that even in the pre-writing stage, the teacher should direct the writer to consider the three essential elements of the rhetorical stance as the writer formulates a plan. After a first draft, during conferences between writer and peer or between writer and teacher, the primary guiding question should be, "Does this portion of the essay accurately articulate what the writer is seeking?" If all critical readers approach the draft in terms of its desired affect and its bottom-line purpose, the suggestions and revisions should ultimately enable it to achieve proper balance in its rhetorical stance.

Give Me Some of That Jeremy Scott

Jeremy Scott is a fashion designer who isn’t afraid to take risks. His collections include gowns in McDonalds and Coca-Cola prints and fuzzy sneakers with teddy bears protruding from the tongues. Fashion snobs have deemed his designs as stupid and kitsch. But he doesn’t let the criticism stop him. He knows his audience; he knows his voice, and he has something to say. And he says it — courageously. 

My experience with many high school English students is that they are scared to take risks with their writing assignments. They don’t want to risk making mistakes or sounding silly. They don’t want me —their teacher— to disapprove, devalue, or debase their words. As a result, they produce safe, dry, prose devoid of any personality. But when I give them permission to step outside the box, that’s when things get juicy. They’re waiting for permission to become powerful writers. I wish they didn’t feel the need for approval. I wish they had some of that Jeremy Scott confidence. 

Writing About Familiar Topics

I revisit Fulweiler’s article, but this time, I paid more attention on the fact that whenever I write I don't think on a specific audience, rather, on generating sentences that somehow could not please an audience, except myself.  Those sentences come from my other self, the Spanish identity, through which I am trying to make meaning out of the English language.  The article states that through the construction of sentences we are building meaning of our world.  I must recognize that most of the time I don’t pay attention on the shape of my words, but, on the flow of my thoughts.  However, as a graduate student, I am very concern about getting excellent scores since I need them for further academic references.  This is a fact that most of times place constraints over my writing style, and on my cognitive abilities of developing a cohesive text.  Yes, it sounds as if I were writing for a grade, indeed, probably most students think about their grades when they are writing a piece of discourse.  I’d like to comment about my literacy autobiography assignment for many reasons, but the most important ones are:  

‒        Our Professor didn’t assign us an unfamiliar topic, rather, we were to write about something that motivates and forces us to write.   

‒        Also, I’d like to mention how my peers reacted very positive to my draft.  They were very professional and respectful when pointing out my syntactic mistakes.   Yes, I don’t like commas and sometimes I abuse them a lot, or left them out.

‒        As a final comment, I may not become a successful writer, but at least, Dr. Cauthen makes me feel that I can write and that nobody will think that I don’t know the language.

First, Do No Harm

            Lindemann is wise to begin the chapter on responding with the quote from Murray.  The idea of being a healer rather than a judge appeals to me, as it would to anyone with a holistic view of composition.  Evaluation is a checkup, an examination to determine what is healthy and what needs care; prescriptivism is a scalpel.  Clear prompts, prewriting, and “formative” comments are the Rhet/Comp equivalent of diet and exercise.

            As a SIL, my students know that I do not give them grades; I only comment and provide suggestions.  My assignments are all risk-free and designed to get them to try something new (writing dialog, playing with style, etc.) or to remediate a common problem (sentence combining, elaboration, etc.).  I will note if there are fragments and run-ons in the paper, but I do not indicate every occurrence; that is their job in revision.  My professor requires the class to use WriteLab, so they have a robot to do that work anyway.  My comments on these types of errors show their impact on the reader and do not refer to “the rules.”  Recently, one student wrote a piece with several fragments that really worked; they were intentional and in keeping with the voice of the work.  When I see that kind of thoughtfulness in freshman writing, I am bound to give encouragement.

            I didn’t always have this point of view.  Working in the Toro Learning Center, I saw some pretty awful writing, mostly from non-English majors, and I used to mark every single error of grammar and syntax.  Not surprisingly, the result was either disinterest or discouragement.  SIL training helped greatly in showing me how to comment, as did the advice of fellow SILs.  The last thing I want is for a student to leave a conference not knowing how to proceed.  Comments must give praise where it is due and guidance as needed.  Take two invention techniques and call me in the morning.

EVALUATING VOICE IN WRITING

I was trying to keep up with my readings and I found something about voice in ESL learners writing.  It was very interesting how there are universally applied standards concerning voice evaluation.  There were many points discussed in the article including whether if voice should be considered as both, personal and social elements.  It is argued that every utterance exists “within the consciousness of the speaker (or the writer) and within the sociocultural-historical context of its production.”  Teachers or/and English composition instructors should take into account the multidialectal society which is part of the active learning system of ESL students, in order to evaluate ESL voice in writing.  The so called “universally applied standards,” should be modified into a holistic framework approach designed to instruct second language learners about the different ways through which they can express their voice in writing, but without imposing rules attempting to ignore students’ language dichotomies.  Obviously, the manner through which L2 writers express themselves would greatly differ from that of Native speakers of English, and there is nothing wrong about it.  ESL minds are loaded with two languages, which in some instances, this would implied having two different identities, so two different consciousness and two different ways to perceive the world and to make meaning out of it.

Rule #1: Question Your Rules

Mike Rose’s article brings to light many of the unconscious rules by which I operated for years (and still do to some degree). I’m exploring some of these rules in my literacy autobiography. Today I gained some clarity concerning one major statute that I imposed upon myself after I had won a junior high school essay contest: The first draft should be the perfect final draft. That rule screwed me up for years. I have put so much pressure on myself because I felt that my first draft should be my only draft. Writing became less fun and more stressful. My creativity, once fluid and limber, slowly calcified into a lumpy heap. Naturally, my output dwindled. Only recently have I started gaining momentum. Geez. What other rules have been governing me?

Of One- and Multi-Draft Writers

Muriel Harris reveals that teachers of writing must acknowledge two types of students when it comes to the revision process: one-draft writers and those who compose multi-drafts of their compositions.

One-draft writers, for the most part, engage in a lot of "pre-text", mentally crafting what will go on the paper before actually writing. Once the writing process begins, the one-draft writer will revise sentences, phrases and words along the way -- but will not revisit paragraphs or larger elements of structure. A one-draft writer, once a composition is conceived, can usually proceed from beginning to end without much interruption. This type of writer, Harris suggests, may not wish to revise and may resist requests to do so. She offers this advice: "They'll have to learn to do more reviewing of written text both as they write and afterwards, in order to evaluate and revise. They will also need to be aware that they should have strategies that provide for more exploration and invention than they presently allow themselves. While acknowledging their distaste for returning to a draft to open it up again, we also need to help them see how and when this can be productive."

Multi-draft writers, on the other hand, never seem to bring closure to a composition assignment. To become more efficient writers, they will need to become more proficient planners and creators of "pre-text." Harris advises that "They will also need to become more proficient at times at focusing on a topic quickly, recognizing the difficulties involved in agonizing endlessly over possibilities... they will have to learn when and how 'to get on with it.'"

It seems to me that composition teachers should survey and/or interview students to determine whether they are one-draft writers or multi-draft writers. With this knowledge, the instructor can differentiate approaches when focusing on the revision process and provide effective help tailored to students' needs.

This article, along with a number of others, has important implications for the classroom. Why don't we allocate a larger percentage of our time to discuss these readings thoroughly at each English 575 class meeting?

Gloom and Doom Are Not Supported by Data

            In 1712, Johnathan Swift wrote the following:  “I do here in the Name of all the Learned and Polite Persons of the Nation, complain to your Lordship, as First Minister, that our Language is extremely imperfect; that its daily Improvements are by no means in proportion to its daily Corruptions; and the Pretenders to polish and refine it, have chiefly multiplied Abuses and Absurdities; and, that in many Instances, it offends against every Part of Grammar.”  What Swift saw as “corruptions” of speech, modern linguists recognize as the inevitable evolution of the English language.  Yet, this fact doesn’t dissuade people who want to believe that their privileged language is under attack by barbarians.  Contemporary prescriptivist Edwin Newman once wrote, “Language is in decline. Not only has eloquence departed but simple, direct speech as well, though pomposity and banality have not.”  One wonders what Newman would make of our current political discourse.  No doubt, speakers of Middle English in the 15th century thought the shift to Early Modern English heralded the end of civilization.  There’s just no pleasing some people.

            Lunsford and Lunsford’s article “Mistakes Are a Fact of Life” debunks the commonly held notion that English speakers and composers are going to linguistic hell in a hand basket.  The authors note that today’s students are writing more – a good thing in light of our understanding from Lindemann that one becomes a better writer by writing.  Their 2006 study also found that students are writing the kinds of papers that “require inquiry and investigation as well as reflection,” (793) and I think most would agree such critical thinking is also a good thing.  What students are not doing is including IM terminology (LOL, LMFHO, YOLO, etc.), images, and alternative discourse styles in their academic work (Nobody tell Dr. Sherman, K).  Their most important finding is that the number of errors has not increased in the last 100 years although the types of errors have altered in frequency.  The hand wringing over the decline of English, a concern ever since regional dialects arose from its origins in Low German, is just not supported by the facts IMHO.

What Type of Audience?

For some, writing may be just a simple mechanic reaction or an unconscious process that does not require any inspiration at all.  Well, this is not the case for me; it has never been, and will never be something that I can just sit down and do it.  I mean I need some sort of inspiration to do so, since I have been in bed for the last six days I have pretty much been without energy and unable to think.  For instance, while I was trying to keep up with our teaching of composition class readings, I read that writing should be considered as an organic process.  Is this mean that we really do not need that inspirational drive that I am talking about?  Regardless of what experts may object I really believe that we need a certain degree of motivation in order to even start thinking on putting our thoughts on a piece of paper.  I am the type of person that finds hard to know about what I want to write, it is only until I physically see the written text that I notice what I really wanted to say.  In most instances, this may represent a huge problem, especially if we are writing for a specific audience.  Isn’t that a writer can say whatever in a text?  This is one of my greatest concern regarding my literacy autobiography, in that; I am not sure if I should have in mind the type of audience I will be writing for.  However, I can safely assume that my first, and probably the most important audience for now, will be my professor and my classmates.  Which make feel nervous, but at the same time I feel that they will not only read my text, but also read the underlying context of the circumstances I will be describing in my work.          

Writing Wrongs or Damn You, Lindemann!

            This is what my writing process used to look like:  I would receive the prompt and get right to work – no woolgathering or lollygagging.  If it was a research paper, I would gather more than the required number of sources and start reading and annotating texts.  If it was literary analysis or poetry explication, I would look up every g-d damn word in the OED, but avoid reading outside the text for fear of violating the laws of New Criticism and plagiarism.  To begin writing, I would construct a rigid, formal outline that included my thesis statement and every topic sentence of my fiveish-paragraph essay.  That was the extent of my prewriting or invention.  Next, I would sit in front of my computer for an hour or so, the prompt taped to the wall next to me, trying to craft the perfect introductory paragraph.  Then, I would proceed through my argument, one paragraph at a time, like General Sherman advancing on Atlanta.  Occasionally, I would move paragraphs around, but not often.  Over several days, adding, deleting, substituting, and rearranging were done as part of the drafting process, so that my completed draft was, very nearly, my final one.  At last, I would let it “marinate” overnight and, perhaps, replace a word or two with a synonym before turning in the essay the following day – a mechanically perfect and rhetorically lifeless masterpiece.

            In light of my Rhet/Comp studies, I have had to reconsider not only the way I teach writing, but the process by which I compose.  My writing and my thinking have become less linear, more open to being reassessed and reshaped (194).  I have learned to wool-gather and lollygag.  Since my goal as a teacher is to provide encouragement to students, I have had to leave prescriptivism behind and (Dare I say it?) learn to love things like free-writing and using double-voiced rhetoric.  Instead of using my Lyceum Workshops to drill the class on grammar and syntax, I have students free writing, reading a variety of texts, and thinking about style.  My comments on their papers have more to do with their content and logic, than with their abundance of comma splices.  I have yet to read the finished papers they just turned in, but the drafts I saw were promising.  Some students actually seemed to enjoy the process.