Walking Amongst the Pre-Raphaelites

Sonny,

true love is the greatest thing in the world

; except for a nice MLT – Mutton, lettuce and tomato sandwich – when the Mutton is nice and lean, and the tomato’s ripe. They’re so perky. I love that.

Today Shawn sent this:

Love is good.

Today a squirrel insinuated himself

my open window

between

my window’s screen

And SCARED the bejeebers

And SCARED the bejeebers

                                                                 outta
                                                                         Me!

P>S> BAked Goodies of choice to them what can identify the titular reference. Although chef recommends my momma’s recipe for peanut butter chocolate chip cookies. They great!

“D a n c i n g is drawing the world.” – Paulo^Freire

“When you’re skating on thin ice, you may as well d a n c e.” – Author unknown

It would seem redundantredundantredundant to summarize chapter 4

[here]

when Tanya’s blog already does that: http://securingaspace.wordpress.com/2006/09/24/emigs-composing-process-of-12th-graders-lynn-as-subject/

so I will record some of the commentary I particularly noticed and my responses to it…

I often felt frustrated with Emig’s observations on Lynn. It would seem that she is attempting to meld a ScientificApproachW/AHumanistOne, and not fully

committing

to either. She would often comment “” on Lynn as a case study, for example:

“Personally, Lynn is a very vivacious as well as a very perceptive girl, attuned to

herself and her world” (Emig 45 – 46).

So. In what way does this commentary +add+ to the study? How does one

—-measure—-

such aBsTraCTs as “vivacious,” “perceptive,” “attuned to herself and her world”? Emig doesn’t really describe by what means she determines these things, even if her description were to be a personal response – which clearly it is anyway.

She also doesn’t seem to reflecttcelfer

^{very closely}

on how privileged Lynn is; as Tanya points out in her blog, she does not discuss her skipping portions of 4^th and 5^th grade. Emig underlines the uniqueness of

Lynn

-as compared to-

many other 12^th graders

when she states, “in fact, Lynn’s schedule, with its spaced classes and

free time,

moreclosely resembles the schedule of

a ^{college freshman} than that of a _{high school senior}” (45).

Clearly, Lynn represents anything but the typical, yet the {narrative structure} of the book [ }{ ]

is such that she is

advantaged spatially in the text

as well as experientially in life (As Laurie points out, I believe, when she blogs on the intro/chap 1 and draws connections between Royster/William’s article and the gaze of the piece: http://thoughtjam.wordpress.com/2006/09/23/introduction-and-chapter-1-of-janet-emigs-%cb%86the-composing-proccesses-of-twelfth-graders/).

Why no contemplations about CCCC“average”CCCC or FFFF“below average”FFFF students and such

//[limitations]\\ in

marginalized writing groups?

In a sense, Emig replicates replicates replicates replicates the _minority situation in most English classrooms, since (Caucasian) females are often characterized as being

!!!!leaders !!!!

in that subject, as opposed to +maths+ and ^sciences^.

As well, Emig’s text suggests some

mirroringIgnirorrim

between investigator and participant: “The pre-writing period … isextremelybrief … probably because … in her anxiety [the investigator] unintentionally hurries the process. It is the first for _{the subject} as well, and their mutual apprehensions tend to

reinforce one another” (46).

reinforce one another” (46).

reinforce one another” (46).

As Eileen commented on Tanya’s blog, the two “““clicked““`,” and this also makes me question how closely Emig mirrorsIsrorrim Lynn in general – what -+=-+=factors=+-=+- do they share? How similar are their backgrounds? Does Emig FOCUS SOclosely on Lynn because she reiterates much of her beliefs about writing and personal history?

Emig notes Lynn defines feel·ing (fē‘lĭng) as

1. a. “abstract things”

Which I suppose is so – but fails to _underscore that Lynn points>>>> to THEMES as aBstRaCt, offering the example “ambitions”; subjects dealing in feelings are Emig’s interpretation of her statement, not what Lynn ———-

[pictures] as AbSTrACtiONs.

———-

Lynn was interesting to me, 2, so I don’t entirely blame Emig for being enamored of her. After all, she is in other ways a ^standout to “typical” students when you consider the

“writing about

feelings/

writing about

facts” divide.

Lynn appears the etisoppo of many students I’ve taught @ the college level in this respect. Many seem ready enough to write about their feelings or opinions should I require it (or even if not), but confused on how to present /synthesize the voices and facts of expert-others with their work.

A. Last? Thought!

Emig questions why Lynn begins writing so “matter-of-factly” and concludes that the student who is “dutiful” and “disciplined enough to want to please”… “is not permitted to have blocks, as adults are” (Emig 56). Ridiculous . After all, the “real” student response to this quandary (“’I’m sorry; I have a block and can’t write today.’ Or ‘Please give me another topic; I just can’t write on this one.’ Or ‘I need more time if I’m to deal with this subject the way I want and feel.’”) is quite simple to ascertain: if they don’t say any of these things to their teacher and generate other bridges to creativity, they don’t do it! Wouldn’t it indeed be wonderful if we could theorize more effective ways for students to handle this situation? I loved Laurie’s heuristic for the students to write on this _subject.

A course I remember, not so long ago…

                                                      …oga gnol os ton ,rebmemer I esruoc A

******

I was sitting in a class and I had one of those moments where someone drops a comment and your brain jumps to a connection you don’t expect.

ZAP!

Suddenly, you’re scribbling furiously in a kind of “sprint-writing” in order to pin the entirety of the thought down so it can’t escape you again.  Ironically, at the exact moment this happened to me, it also happened to a classmate. 

At that point the professor remarked: “I wonder how often students are really writing their grocery lists in these moments,” in that “I’m-joking-but-really-not” teacher voice.  I know you know the one.  We’ve probably all used it at least once in our lives, too. 

But ouch (!).  Since I am usually not the loudest voice in a class – particularly larger classes – I am immediately upset by the implication that I am not engaged because I wrote my thoughts down rather than BLURTING them out (and that would be without considering them first, too – s h u d d e r). 

Why must we always

rush

to fill silences

and share

every supposition we have? 

By what automatic right are my thoughts owed and owned by the professor, so that not sharing engenders a suspicion that my attention must be

elsewhere? 

Further, how is the comment useful either to the professor, those writing, or the class?  What positive metaphors did it draw?  What constructive behavior could it inspire?  What did it say in its definition of our class space and the behavior it imagined for us?

It is by comparison that Williams and Royster’s article

“History in the Spaces

Left:

African American Presence and Narratives of Composition Studies”

creates a parallel.  As they point out, the narratives constructed concerning the history of rhetoric/ composition are frequently student[NOT]centered in their approach.  Further, they wish to explore African Americans in higher education, to “[seek] a fuller understanding of their historical presence in academic arenas, and thereby composition studies” (Williams/ Royster 572). 

While examining the input of various versions to the hhhistoryyyy (Berlin, North, Brereton, Shaughnessy, Malinowitz, Miller), Williams and Royster reflect on the efforts Fontaine and Hunter made to include“ethnicvoices”intheirwork – an effort that was largely unsuccessful:  “Did Fontaine and Hunter HEAR that perhaps she [a possible contributor who was a minority] did not SEE her work as

margin                       

alized

in the same way that they were seeing it, saying it, and drawing the lines of possibility for it?” (Fontaine and Hunter 11 qtd. Williams and Royster 567; Williams and Royster 567).  This, then, reminds me of the ~~~abrupt shock~~~ I felt in that classroom, the JoLt (Z!) that came when I was reframed as someone else’s object and

placed on view

before others

in a context that had not occurred

to me. 

But the Fontaine and Hunter illustration proves what I also find to be a relevant point: Royster and Williams call for historical accounts to

“create a space for others” and “fill the space,” yet their critique of Hunter/Fontaine underscores the difficulty of such a step (566). 

The reflections on comp/ rhet historians that appear before Fontaine and Hunter are reviewed are full of places wherein Royster and Williams ask for a “re-articulation” of the

[gaps]

and

/limitations,/

the call to:

craft —>            a —–>                        {space }{

for minorities.

How would this be done? 

And would it be successful, given that they are not persons of color?  Brereton, for example, is said to have “creat[ed] a space for others…but he does not actually fill the space”; Would that not have been an appropriation (566)? Again, how suitable is it for a white, male other/author) to ^“fill the space”^ created?  As Fontaine and Hunter demonstrate, when outsider voices attempt to articulate the perspectives of others, even in a speculative manner, they are criticized for not [framing them properly] (although I find the words “criticize” and “properly” to be excessively loaded language in this instance).  Although I do not perceive the purpose of Williams and Royster to be taking these authors to task, still it reveals the stickysituation of endeavoring to not only

“create” space for these others,

but also to

“fill” it

when one’s ability to do so creditably is doubtful. 

After all, as an outsider you might just see a grocery list.

Breuch, Lee-Ann M. Kastman. “Post-Process ‘Pedagogy’: A Philosophical Exercise.”
JAC 22.1 (Winter 2002): 119 – 150. Rpt. in Cross–Talk in Comp Theory: A Reader. Ed. Victor Villanueva, Jr. 2^nd ed. Urbana, IL: NCTE, 2003. 97 – 125.

 Breuch separates post-process theory from process pedagogy, exploring what it is rather than what it is in relation to process.  Post-process theory states that writing cannot be taught because we cannot predict the interpretation of our words by another.  As a result there is vast confusion among post-process scholars concerning ways to turn theory into application.  Breuch feels the central issue is the rejection of any application that confers mastery in writing.  She restates three key assumptions formulated by post-process theorists: writing is public, the creation and reception of writing is interpretive, and writing is situated.  Breuch finds two principles of useable pedagogy: rejection of mastery and dialogue vs. monologue in the student-teacher relationship.

            Why am I posting my annotated bibliography for Lee-Ann M. Kastman Breuch when she is not assigned reading until October 3^rd?  Because this *should be* the space in which my blog showcases the original writing assignment of CCR 601, wherein as a class we situated ourselves in rhetoric and composition.  Instead I have chosen Breuch as the vehicle of my commentary.  There are intersecting reasons for this.  Primus: I have read Immy, Tanya and Trish’s pieces, and I now hate mine.  To my eyes, their essays are far more engaging and better thought-out (more professionally appropriate?).  Secundus: this annotated bibliography is a roadmap of my entry into our discipline.  While it was not the first piece I read concerning the theory of composition, it has been a consistent companion in my education, one of the key voices echoing in my head when I sort theories and draw connections between them. 

I had never heard of process scholarship, much less post-process, when I arrived at Drew University.  I had never heard of composition studies, and rhetoric was the skillful utilization of language (by politicians).  In fact, my “instruction” in writing was the high school model of reading great literature and intuiting (magically, I suppose, though we never questioned something so ingrained in our ideology) how to write from those examples.  I skipped such worries at the university level, attending Moore College of Art and Design, a specialist school for women artists with only occasional forays into Art History and other humanities courses.  Ironically, it was this experience, so different from most of the other Drew graduate students, that opened me to the influence of Sharon Crowley’s Composition in the University.  It was the first assignment for Professor Jamieson’s class in the Theory and Practice of Teaching Composition.  Most of my fellows hated her book.  They insisted it was Marxist – as if this naturally made it ghastly and prevented them from seeing anything else in it – as well as rising up in a humanist tide to declare it crap (I could use cleaner language, but then I would not truly be expressing the sentiment). 

Of course not everyone felt that way.  Crowley is my muse.   She is the writer responsible for prompting one of those “aha” moments in me, an epiphany worthy of James Joyce’s young artist.  The conceptualization of writing as learned through practice struck a chord when compared to art.  No self-respecting artist believes art occurs “like magic,” yet we are familiar with its surrounding mystic aura.  People who can’t draw believe art stems from inborn talent; people who do draw (paint, sculpt, design…) know it stems from conscientious practice, that product is the result that creates the myth – much like writing.  As soon as I saw the comparisons, I knew C’s argument “some people can write and some will just never get it” (yes, I am afraid that is an exact quote) was as likely as a grad student with extra reading time.  Most of the others couldn’t comprehend a writing course that did not have, as its axis, the fostering of a love of literature.  To this day, while I am sure there must have been others who felt that putting student texts at the center of writing classrooms is fundamental, I do not know who they are.  S/He who speaks loudest…

Which brings us to tertius: Why Breuch is anchoring my blogsphere.  Blogs shock me.  I know it is a silly fact, but there it is.  They have led me to ask of myself: Where do I locate the concept of “Teacher”?  I have added the minor title “Insubstantial Monoliths” to reflect my mental grappling on the subject – I almost named the blog for it.  Although it does not adequately reflect my real and working relationships with my professors, this exercise (constructing a blog) has initiated the realization that I still have some of that pesky current-traditionalist influence subverting my belief systems.  The teacher is a monolithic idea in my mind – Teacher – one that apparently does not move, breathe, have a functioning personal life, and make blogs.  To me blogs disrupt the “smooth logic of accepted meaning or signification” of the teacher’s body by granting them one outside the university (Avital Ronell).  So imagine the shock when I could venture online and imagine these lives into the space that their blogs created – when the imaginary monolith of THE PROFESSOR became insubstantial as a real person who wrote in a way that was not purely academic (and therefore usually distancing) emerged.  Here are people who write about the commonalities of life.  I can feel I know them better.  Shocking.  Please.

So, thusly we are returned to Breuch.  As she wrote, all writing is public, interpretive, and situated.  My borders and boundaries around the concept of Teacher are imaginary lines.  The space I cleared around it and the distance I saw between kinds of writing don’t operate very effectively.  I will not say they don’t exist – just that they don’t really behave in the conservative way my subconscious insisted.  As one of my favorites, D. Diane Davis wrote, “My sense of writing as performance/spectacle is rooted in my understanding of Derrida. That writing is not a vehicle for ideas. That things happen in writing.”  And so they did – I saw that not only was writing public, so were teachers.