First-year writers at the University of Mississippi compose reflective ePortfolios in which they examine their writing practices throughout the year.  Work on the ePortfolios begins in the first week of the semester.  In my classes, students begin their ePortfolios with a writer’s statement called “Me as a Writer.”  They write a paragraph describing how they see themselves as writers, upload a visual image that represents their writing, and explain their choice of image. Reading these early ePortfolio entries reminds me why I love teaching first-year writers. 

For one thing, they are eager to learn.  Consider this student’s explanation of why she uploaded a picture of jigsaw puzzle pieces: “This picture describes me as a writer because even though the pieces I need to be a good writer are there, I just haven’t figured out how to put them together yet.” That’s a student who senses her own potential and is anxious to grow into it.

First-year writers are also courageous, like the student who uploaded an Australian signpost with a picture of a kangaroo.  She explained: “The picture I included is how I feel about writing. It gives me a chance to explore the world and also explore myself.”  She’s a student who will gladly push her intellectual boundaries into new territories. 

First-year writers are also wise and often funny.  One student uploaded an image of a blind squirrel and commented: “I believe the picture of a blind squirrel describes me as a writer because the squirrel knows what it wants, a nut, but cannot find it. I, on the other hand, know what I want to say in my head but can never seem to translate those thoughts into writing.”  Isn’t that how we all feel approaching a new writing task? 

You and I are lucky to have the opportunity to teach young writers.  Hurray for a semester filled with jigsaw puzzles, kangaroo signposts, and blind squirrels.

Karen Forgette

A new semester has just begun, and I once again find myself struggling to introduce a new group of first-year students to college writing.  This time, I tried to think of a new way to help them understand the necessity of active engagement in a writing class by stressing the difference between content classes and skill classes.  I explained to my students that content classes are the classes that college students take in the movies – the ones where students read the textbook (or not), come to class and take notes (or not) while the professor lectures, and then take exams over material covered in their readings and notes.  Such classes require little active engagement on the part of students, and this is, unfortunately, what many students come to college expecting their classes to look like.  Skill classes, I told my students, are an entirely different experience, much more akin to culinary arts or painting classes that they might have taken in high school.  In these classes, students are often assigned readings, but they’re not just reading to grasp “what happened” in preparation for a quiz.  Instead, they’re reading to observe the techniques that writers use, much as they might taste a finished dish to discover how the flavors blend or examine a famous painting to observe the brushstrokes.  It’s actually a very different kind of reading from the reading-for-comprehension that’s been drilled into our NCLB-raised students practically since birth, and I’m trying to make that difference as visible as possible to my students early in the semester.

Continuing with the writing as cooking or painting idea, I asked my students on the first day of class about their experiences in such classes (or pottery classes, or woodworking).  Their accounts all involved watching as someone else performed a task, then undertaking the same task for themselves (with the instructor’s guidance, of course).  Essentially, I’m telling them, that’s what Writing 101 will be like.  They’ll watch someone else paint (in this case, that means reading an essay that successfully incorporates dialogue, or uses lots of vivid sensory details, or marshals various types of evidence in support of a thesis, or makes graceful, clear transitions between complex ideas).  Then, they’ll come to class and talk about what they saw – the techniques, the individual brushstrokes or phrases, the structure and cadence of the writing.  Finally, after they’ve discussed their observations with me and their peers, they’ll try out those techniques for themselves.  For very difficult tasks, they’ll practice in groups, just as they might in a culinary arts or painting class.  But eventually, they’ll work on their own, producing their own soufflé or watercolor landscape or essay.

So far, this approach has yielded interesting results.  Of course, it’s only one week in, but I have noticed that students are talking about texts much more in terms of technique than of plot.  I hope that this continues throughout the semester, and I’ll do everything that I can to encourage it.  In any case, I would love to talk more with you about it at the symposium later this month.  See you all there!

Best,

Sheena D. Boran

FASTrack Instructor

Center for Writing and Rhetoric

University of Mississippi

Each new school year brings the excitement of new students, new goals, and new opportunities. Each new year, teachers eagerly await their students’ return, thrilled to have the chance to try a new strategy or new approach. Each new year, teachers have the hope that this will be the year more students are inspired to write.

On the other hand, each new school year brings its own set of realities.   Many barriers remain between ideology and practice, making some educators wary of incorporating writing into daily instruction.  Many secondary teachers desire to build their students’ writing skills, but they simply haven’t had the resources or opportunities to reach their classroom writing goals. Incredibly, others have been told not to spend instructional time writing, for the mandated state tests will not call for students to compose. The students’ lack of writing practice then becomes clear during the transition from high school to college.

Hopefully, current changes in English Language Arts  curriculum and testing will  lessen the restraints on secondary teachers. However, we must keep in mind that secondary teachers are in the mist of implementing a new curriculum.   We must support the secondary teachers through this transition as they begin to implement more writing in their classrooms. Working together, we can help bring writing home to the students of Mississippi.

Mary Ann Parker

Through my years as an educator I have worked in high school classrooms with small and large groups of freshmen and seniors, in the college environment with freshmen, as well as one on one with under-prepared college students. Today I’d like to focus on my experience with under-prepared students and the building blocks to success.

There are many reasons as to why my students are under-prepared. Many of them come from poorly funded high schools, have had inadequate teachers, been passed along, have learning disabilities, have poor reading skills, do not have academic goals or standards set by parents or guardians, are first generation colleges students or are ESL students. Often times, there is a combination of reasons.

Each student and their weaknesses are different, but all of them struggle to write and suffer from a lack of skills in all academic areas. Our concentration is not on MLA formatting, while we do discuss plagiarism and practice all that is needed to avoid it (parenthetical citations, quote transitioning, works cited page, etc.) we mainly concentrate on the basics: grammar, punctuation, brainstorming, organization. All of my students are expected (as they should be) to write a college level paper; unfortunately, many of them were never required to write a middle school or high school level paper. This jump in expectations and ability can be devastating to students who already feel as if they do not belong in a college setting.

It is here where we begin building with blocks. The student’s success does not come from how technically sound my writing knowledge is, (Ack! Ended in a preposition), instead the importance lays heavily on whether or not I can get their trust and build their confidence through the teacher/student relationship. All under-prepared students walk into my office knowing they do not have the skills needed to be a successful college student; unfortunately, they all also believe that they aren’t smart enough to develop those skills. They are embarrassed, don’t want help, and oftentimes have a very bad attitude towards me and the academic demands of their programs.

Every student I work with is talented in some area of their life: athletics, music, art, dance, etc.  As educators, we know that being able to use the confidence students have in one area to fuel confidence in a weaker area, will be the turning point for the student’s ability to open themselves to writing development. So, how do we do this? The answer….

I have no clue. I would give anything to know this answer, to give a student confidence, to motivate a student’s desire to learn and take pride in their work. If I knew that, I wouldn’t write this blog, I’d write a book and go on an international speaking tour and make millions of dollars. But, I’m writing a blog piece, so take this with a grain of salt. (Insert smiley face here). Every student is different and part of the joy of teaching is figuring out how each student’s puzzle fits together. Here are some techniques I have used; they are by no means new ideas, brilliant ideas or eye openers. In fact, I have no doubt that I am preaching to the choir. Ready choir? Let’s sing:

1.       Listen to them. Ask an open-ended question, hell, ask lots of open-ended questions and then zip-it. Ask a hard question, right off the bat. “What are your goals in life?” “What do you fear the most?” “For what would you risk your life?” Then, when they give you a short answer, keep your mouth shut, smile, and silently make them uncomfortable. They’ll talk, no one likes silence. Then as they open, be open with your experiences. Show them trust and support, but most of all, listen. Everyone talks to people today; no one listens anymore, especially to youth. More often than not, they’ll find it refreshing.

2.       Ask them to free write. No time limit. Then build off it.

3.       Listen to them.

4.       Have them bring in magazines of interest: ESPN, Gaming, etc. Read an article together and show/discuss the organization, main points, transitions, sentence structure, etc. Most students who struggle with writing also struggle with reading, this is a great way to strengthen both skills.

5.       Listen to them.

6.       Use online resources to help in brainstorming, concept mapping, outlining. Even though I’m old fashion and think pen to paper is the best route, students, especially underprepared students, are more comfortable using technology.

7.       Listen to them.

8.       Use writing prompts that will lead into descriptive, argumentative, and persuasive responses. Work through them to teach the nuances between styles.

9.       Listen to them.

10.   Use Point A to Point B technique. Write a sentence or two to begin a story and then write a sentence or two to end the story; the student must then connect the dots. (Great for teaching descriptive/creative writing).

11.   Have the student read his/her final draft out loud. They will be uncomfortable, but this is a simple way for them to hear their mistakes. It’s great for auditory learners.

12.   Give them a paragraph to read and then have them write a one sentence statement to explain the purpose/topic of the paragraph. (I believe we would all recognize this as a thesis statement). If they can’t get it to one sentence, have them write three and then take those three sentences and turn it into two and then two into one.

I think I may have forgotten one tip, listen to them. The great thing about writing and about teaching writing is that there are billions of different tasks and techniques to use. There are many solutions to building writing foundations and skills, but the aspects all of those strategies have in common is: patience as an instructor, building a trusting relationship, listening without judging or “talking to”, tying the lessons to topics of interest, positively discussing mistakes and exaggerating the excitement over achievements. If a student is not confident that they have the ability, they’ll never give themselves the opportunity to succeed. As educators we have the ability to provide the building blocks for the academic success for which every student deserves the chance to achieve.

~April Thompson

Four years ago at Lamar School in Meridian, we began developing a writing program.  It has evolved and is continuing to evolve as, through trial and error, we find what works best for our teachers and students.  Initially, we adopted the Institute for Excellence in Writing program at the elementary and middle school.  The IEW structure contains nine units and provides student worksheets. The program covers note taking and outlines, summarizing, creative writing, essays, and critiques. We found that this standardized approach was stifling for both the teacher and the student, so we took the parts we liked and borrowed from other programs to form a writing curriculum. We established goals for each grade beginning with Kindergarten. By the end of the year, all Kindergarten students will be able to write two to four complete sentences, understand the concept of “Dress Up” words, and use technology to create writing.  Teachers have students writing every day, they write in journals at home once a week, and have students read work aloud.  Second graders will be able to write two or three complete paragraphs, write summaries from reference-type books, and the expectations continue to grow through the elementary school.

In middle school, we have dedicated classes teaching, literature, grammar, and writing.  The writing teacher has adopted Pearson’s Writing Coach. It has an internet source that offers a tutorial about word choice, punctuation, and sentence fluency. Students write about what interests them allowing the teacher to create a comfortable writer.

We have also administered the Educational Records Bureau Writing Assessment Program (ERB/WrAP).   This test provides a direct measure of writing skills by collecting a writing sample from each student. The writing is scored analytically, providing a six-trait, six-point rubric to provide data that helps us target deficiencies.  The writing is returned to the students whereby they receive a grade and the rubric used in the grading. We have given the test to fifth through eighth grades as well as ninth and eleventh grade students.

It is our goal to continue to improve the teaching of writing at Lamar School.  I have just scratched the surface of what we are doing.  We would love to share what is working for us.

Four years ago at Lamar School in Meridian, we began developing a writing program.  It has evolved and is continuing to evolve as, through trial and error, we find what works best for our teachers and students.  Initially, we adopted the Institute for Excellence in Writing program at the elementary and middle school.  The IEW structure contains nine units and provides student worksheets. The program covers note taking and outlines, summarizing, creative writing, essays, and critiques. We found that this standardized approach was stifling for both the teacher and the student, so we took the parts we liked and borrowed from other programs to form a writing curriculum. We established goals for each grade beginning with Kindergarten. By the end of the year, all Kindergarten students will be able to write two to four complete sentences, understand the concept of “Dress Up” words, and use technology to create writing.  Teachers have students writing every day, they write in journals at home once a week, and have students read work aloud.  Second graders will be able to write two or three complete paragraphs, write summaries from reference-type books, and the expectations continue to grow through the elementary school.

In middle school, we have dedicated classes teaching, literature, grammar, and writing.  The writing teacher has adopted Pearson’s Writing Coach. It has an internet source that offers a tutorial about word choice, punctuation, and sentence fluency. Students write about what interests them allowing the teacher to create a comfortable writer.

We have also administered the Educational Records Bureau Writing Assessment Program (ERB/WrAP).   This test provides a direct measure of writing skills by collecting a writing sample from each student. The writing is scored analytically, providing a six-trait, six-point rubric to provide data that helps us target deficiencies.  The writing is returned to the students whereby they receive a grade and the rubric used in the grading. We have given the test to fifth through eighth grades as well as ninth and eleventh grade students.

It is our goal to continue to improve the teaching of writing at Lamar School.  I have just scratched the surface of what we are doing.  We would love to share what is working for us.

This semester, Itawamba Community College has several duel-enrolled classes on high school campuses. I don’t want to debate whether or not dual-enrollment is good or evil, but this week I’ve found myself examining my knowledge of dual-enrolled students. My exploration is prompted by one of my WC supervisors teaching a dual-enrolled class at a local high school. She seemed genuinely happy to agree to help with this class, but I found myself wondering what her fears might be about a class full of dual-enrolled students. I was afraid that she would hit walls with content. I was afraid that she would have that one student who tries to ruin the whole class for everyone. I was afraid that dealing with a foreign administration would cause friction and result in bad feelings. I was afraid that parent involvement could overshadow the experience for my supervisor and for the students. So far, none of these disastrous scenarios has happened. After the first class, my supervisor seemed pleased and excited. She said that her students were “super giggly and super smart.” This description sounds like one of the reasons I want to teach college students and come back to class every semester. I think that’s a good sign.

My experiences with dual-enrolled students have been nothing but pleasant. What could have been the scariest and potentially most miserable scenario—brothers who were home-schooled in rural Mississippi because of the health of one brother and who dual-enrolled their senior years of the high school curriculum—gave me one of the best consultants I’ve had the pleasure to supervise in the writing center. Furthermore, because he was dual-enrolled, I got him for two years before he transferred to MSU. I can only get consultants for two years if they dual-enroll, take their first year writing courses in the summer, or bum around for an extra year. My consultant wasn’t the only brother I had the pleasure of knowing well. His brother dual-enrolled in my Comp. 1 course and I found in him a very different person, but one no less pleasant, intelligent, or rewarding to know. I don’t know that anyone else in the class knew he was dual-enrolled unless he told someone.

This semester I have the pleasure of meeting another dual-enrolled student who is taking my Comp. 1 course and a College Algebra course. In fact, I’ve also met his parents. They were friendly, interested, and, of course, concerned, but not at all scary. I don’t know why I always expect high school students’ parents to be scary. From my observations, this student plans to work harder in my class than many of my college-aged students might consider an option. Between his classes he finds a spot in the writing center and works, and when he hits a wall, he asks good questions. How could I not be pleased??

So far, my experiences have all been rewarding in positive ways. I’ve formed a very good opinion of dual-enrolled students and of this experiment to give motivated and intelligent students the opportunity to receive credit for both high school and college. Others will have to form their own opinions based on their own experiences, but I sincerely hope that their experiences are as positive as mine have been.

To prepare to write this blog post I thought I would read through some of last year’s entries. One post that stood out to me while reading was Jeanine Rauch’s post focused on teachable moments, and I thought that I would continue that thread from a different angle, especially after a recent summer teaching experience.

As a writing teacher, I know that many of my students think of grammar and mechanics first when they prepare to turn in a piece of writing to me for feedback and a grade, and often at the start of the semester students will tell me that they are bad writers due specifically to their struggles with grammar and mechanics (their prior experiences with “bleeding papers” are proof of this for them). I admit that yes, I do consider the technical correctness of a paper when reading it, but for me the content is what I value above all else. This may be because of my research interest in basic writing or my recognition that the students I teach come from so many different backgrounds that do not always prepare them well for college writing, but regardless of the reason why, it’s just how I have always approached assessment of student writing.

In writing this post I’m not trying to initiate any debate about the preparedness of students for college writing, or about whether a paper with grammar and mechanics errors but excellent content is better or worse than a paper with excellent grammar and mechanics but lackluster content. Rather, I want to draw attention to the fact that part of our responsibility as writing teachers is to address “teachable moments” that pertain to the ideas of a student’s writing as well as to the correctness of it (*please note that I know Jeanine also focuses on ideas in her feedback to students, so this post is just continuing the thread she started last year that focused on correctness).

This summer I taught an online advanced composition course that has a Writing in the Disciplines focus, and one of my students chose to write her papers throughout the session on the subject of breastfeeding and development of allergies in children. As a new mother to a daughter who just recently turned 6 months old, I was particularly interested in the topic since I had done quite a bit of reading on my own about health and nutrition for both mothers and infants. While reading the student’s paper, I came across a paragraph promoting nursing infants until they are at least 6 months old, and within that paragraph a sentence about how families should be educated on the benefits of breastfeeding, including that it is “easy” and “free.”

I think my initial reaction to that comment was surprise, which was quickly followed by disappointment and frustration. I know many mothers who struggled with this supposedly “easy” process, some to the point that nursing just was not an option for them, and I thought about how this faulty perception can lead women to feel even more inadequate because they are unable to do what they are “supposed” to be able to do. I acknowledged that my student was not a mother herself and probably did not discuss her topic with mothers before writing her paper, so her statement was the product of being uninformed and unfamiliar with the issue rather than any deliberate disregard of the difficulties of nursing. I didn’t think that I would be helping the student, though, particularly in terms of calling her attention to audience awareness, by just ignoring the comment and continuing to read the rest of her paper.

So, I wrote feedback in her essay as well as in the rubric that I returned to her calling attention to her comment, highlighting the realities that surround nursing that make it incredibly difficult despite the (I think) common perception that if a woman wants to be able to nurse then it will easily happen. I pointed out to her that some mothers and/or their infants experience medical issues that prohibit nursing, for example, and that even if no such issues are present that it requires significant commitment to be able to nurse, especially to at least 6 months. I tried as much as possible to frame my comments within the positive context of trying to help her be more aware of her audience so that she didn’t risk offending any reader, assuring her that I was offering my feedback from a distanced, “think-about-your-hypothetical-reader” viewpoint rather than just my own. I then waited to see how my comments would be received.

For the students’ ePortfolio reflections that week I asked them to read the comments I had written on their papers and in their rubrics and to then write back to me, addressing those comments with any questions, concerns, and/or other thoughts that they had. I was excited to see that the student chose the feedback I wrote about audience as one of the comments to reflect on, and in her response she stated that she didn’t intend to appear to ignore the challenges of nursing and potentially offend her audience in doing so. In the future she would make sure to more carefully think through how the way she expresses her ideas affects how they may be received, and I found that in her remaining assignments after that paper that audience was not an issue. Am I saying that the student will never again write a sentence that could offend her real or hypothetical reader? No. But what I am saying is that I had a teachable moment that I took advantage of and that in doing so gave that student a better understanding of her reader and what it’s like to be a mother such as the one she was writing about.

I debated on whether to share this example here for a couple of reasons. One is that I don’t want all that I do to be connected to my status as a mother, and the other is that I worried about this post seeming too personal. I decided to write as I did, though, because I think the experience I had relates well to a lot of other teachers’ experiences reading students’ papers, whether the topics focus on gender, race, sexual orientation, etc. It’s difficult for any writer to understand what it’s like to be a person different from himself/herself and all too easy then to repeat stereotypes and uninformed ideas. As writing teachers, though, when we see our students demonstrating questionable authorial ethos we can use that as an opportunity to help them become not only better writers, but I hope also better people, people with a greater understanding and appreciation of others who are different from them. It may just be that our guidance helps them become more informed about their fellow students in the writing classroom, or even their teacher reading papers after a 3:00 a.m. wake-up call from a crying infant.

Creating Community in a Writing Classroom

As the first day of school quickly approaches for us here at the University of Mississippi, I find myself trying to think my way through last year’s problems. One such problem was the issue of community in my classroom. Out of four sections, two bonded extremely well, while two did not. The two sections that did bond as a community were very rewarding to me, because they taught each other as much as I taught them (perhaps more). They genuinely cared about one another, helped one another, and became the type of peer collaborators that made my job easier. Simply put, they wanted to improve as students and writers, and in my (biased) opinion, they did. They held each other accountable for mistakes, and that fostered a strong and motivated community of writers. The bonds formed in those two sections will continue into those students’ sophomore years here at Ole Miss; they will always be friends and root for one another’s continued success.

The other two sections seemed to divide into several distinct cliques, and while many students sought to improve and did, they never really helped one another by maintaining a strong atmosphere of accountability. In several cases, they helped each other complete work close to the deadline, never mentioning that the procrastinating student was to blame, but usually hinting that it was possibly my fault.

Let me be clear that I was proud of all of my students, but I could not help pondering why two sections came together in such a positive and motivating way, while two simply decided to limp through the class and semester. I also cannot keep myself from wondering if something I did caused this, or was it just the mixture of students in a given section. I believe that good teaching comes from constant questioning and changing; therefore, I have begun outlining some ideas to help all four sections bond closely this year.

Here is a compiled list:

1.)  Distinguish sections as families (this has worked very well in past sections)

2.)  Foster a stronger online community

3.)  Integrate student cultural references to help in the understanding of complex rhetorical ideas

4.)  Be open to students’ ideas for classroom discussion

Whether I will be successful or not remains to be seen, but I do hope to share with you what I have tried, what has worked, and what has failed when we meet together in late September. I look forward to continuing this conversation with you.

Best,

P. Keith Boran

As the 2013-2014 academic year approaches, I find myself in a situation that is somewhat odd: I’m charged with teaching an advanced composition course to students in the Oxford, MS area, but I’m doing so in an online environment while I work from home in Chattanooga, TN. Creating a sense of community is one of my first goals in a writing classroom, and while I’ve been teaching online courses for the last three years, I find myself really stumped this time around.

In the past, I have taught online classes at a community college located in Chattanooga. The classes have been pre-designed, and I’ve been expected to step in as a TA of sorts. I graded papers, I answered emails, I tended to specific snafus that cropped up, but I wasn’t responsible for any of the design work.

As I stare down the responsibility of designing this class, I find myself looking for reasons to avoid it—and I’m not a procrastinator by nature. Being baffled by this, I spent this past weekend reflecting on my fear of this course and my willingness to put off the responsibility. The most obvious culprit is the blatant responsibility I feel, but my intimidation goes deeper than that. My biggest problem with this course design is that I don’t know how to make a composition course—a course central to the Humanities field—feel like a human experience. I don’t know how to create community in an online writing environment. My past experience with online learning has been primarily humanities courses that study history, art, literature, political movements, and various other facets of what it means to be human. I’ve also taught literature classes that require that the students focus on reading poetry, drama, short stories, and novels. The central elements of these courses require discussion and ask that students challenge their worldviews and try on new theories of what it means to be part of a society. These things require student community, and the community usually crops up on its own without very much prompting from me.

Writing is a comparatively solitary experience for our students, though. The task is so heavy, the assignments so intimidating, and the grading so esoteric that the students are often scared to share their writing with each other and intimidated by the responsibility of sharing feedback with their classmates. As instructors, we see that writing can be a community activity. Going to a coffee shop with a friend to work on writing assignments together can provide a much-needed sounding board and a built-in source of feedback. Reading a colleague’s writing helps that colleague, but it also helps you as you get to see how someone else presents written ideas.

Our students, unfortunately, don’t see it this way, so I’m faced with the challenge of creating a sense of community in an online writing classroom. My first solution was to make sure that I create peer review discussion boards that require regular attention from students and that involve specific responses to classmates’ ideas. While I think this is an important facet of the online classroom, I’m just not sure that weekly discussion boards are the most practical way to ensure engaged student involvement. I’ve seen too many students resort stock responses that stop at “I think this sounds great!” or “I don’t see any problems here!”—especially towards the end of the semester when everyone, including myself, is tired.

Instead, I’m in the process of fleshing out a system that alternates peer review discussion boards and interpersonal verbal interaction between my students and me. Letting the students see my face, hear my voice and verbalize questions are essential elements of keeping the composition classroom humanized and to reminding them that there is a teacher behind a computer screen somewhere invested in their success and hoping to help them grow as writers.

I’ve come up with three specific ideas so far:

1)    Periodically, I will hold online office hours in which students will talk with me via Skype, Google Hangout, or Blackboard chat—a function of Blackboard much like a chatroom which students can log in to and interact with anyone else who is logged in. One day I believe we should be able to require that online students purchase a webcam to use for Skype or Google Hangout meetings. This $15 (approximate) purchase may do more to ensure success in the online classroom than expensive handbooks that include information accessible on free and very reliable websites like Purdue OWL.

2)    When we do have discussion boards, students will be required to reference something we discussed during a previous online meeting to show that they are internalizing the information gained during those meetings.

3)    I plan to post a video (recorded with my cell phone, laptop, or tablet) every week that’s about 2-3 minutes long. These videos will include a description of the reading assignments, the writing goals for the week, and any upcoming due dates, along with a reminder that we have a discussion board or mandatory meetings coming up.

This plan will take some tweaking, but I’m excited to implement it and see what needs to change the next time I teach this course. Any suggestions from readers will be greatly appreciated, so if you have advice you’d like to share with me and our other readers, please do!

Almost all good writing begins with terrible first efforts. You need to start somewhere. Start by getting something – anything – down on paper. A friend of mine says that the first draft is the down draft – you just get it down. The second draft is the up draft – you fix it up. You try to say what you have to say more accurately. And the third draft is the dental draft, where you check every tooth to see if it’s loose or cramped or decayed or, even, God help us, healthy.

– Anne Lamott, “Shitty First Drafts”

As I compose this blog post, I am reminded of a pivotal moment in my writerly development – the moment when I realized that everyone’s first drafts suck, and that it’s okay, and even good, to start with “shitty first drafts” on the way to writing better second and third drafts. It began when I was sitting in the communal grad student office, waiting for my grad student friend Tom, a fellow writing center tutor, to finish up a project so that we could get coffee. I was an undergraduate, so I was awed and intimidated by the word-nerdy lit, comp, and MFA graduate students who shared that large office and discussed ideas that went right over my head. While I waited for him, perched on a couch of dubious cleanliness, he threw a stack of stapled pages onto my lap.

I looked down at the front page, which had a title with at least three words I’d never seen before. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Read this for me,” he said, looking down and shuffling more paper on his desk.

I knew there was nothing of value I could offer to Tom – he was more advanced than me; therefore, everything he wrote must be brilliant. I figured that, like the rest of the graduate students, brilliance flowed from his fingertips when he sat down to write. I believed what Anne Lamott calls the “fantasy of the uninitiated.” Despite my protests, he insisted that it would help him if I read it for understanding – if there were places where I had questions or felt confused, chances are, other readers might feel the same way. Dutifully, I read his essay and marked thoughts in the margins, pushing aside the voice inside me that said I couldn’t help someone so far ahead of me, and it turned out that my thoughts were actually useful to Tom – they started a dialogue over coffee that helped him develop his paper.

 He thanked me for reading his work and later sent me a copy of Anne Lamott’s essay “Shitty First Drafts,”an essay from her book Bird by Bird. I read it, and it changed my understanding of writing for the better.  In brief, amusing, and candid terms, she writes about how everyone’s first draft sucks, and that it’s okay. Those graduate students weren’t bastions of brilliance – they were writers who, like me, sometimes stared at the blinking curser on the screen feeling lost, sometimes both loved and hated writing at the same time, and they ultimately pushed through the tough stuff, using one another as a test-audience to help them think, compose, and communicate.

 It is empowering to see, rather that just be told, that writing is a messy, time-consuming process for everyone – even seasoned, accomplished writers. I hope that Tom understood what a gift he was giving me in seeing me as a valuable reader who could help him work through his “shitty first draft.” As a writing teacher and a writing center administrator, I am now in a position to mentor many developing writers. I try to pass the message on to them in deed as well as in word – I write when my students write, and I share my writing challenges with them so that they understand that even people who do this for a living have to work at it, and that’s okay.

 I’m excited to talk to you about mentoring writers during the Symposium, so let’s start the conversation here in the blog. I am interested in how you empower your students to see themselves as readers and writers whose thoughts matter. How do you show them that writing is a messy process, and how do you help them make peace with it? What resources do you use? How do you mentor?