By the time students leave my college composition course, my hope is that they will have achieved the following: they 1) understand that composition is messy processes; 2) engage in critical thinking proactively; 3) are better equipped to communicate effectively; 5) acknowledge the existence of diverse voices in the world; and 6) recognize that their own voices are valuable and powerful. The final goal listed is the foundation for the rest, and my deep investment in my students drives my pedagogy.
The structure of the class, with its many draft submissions, peer workshops, and in-class activities using the students’ writing as the primary material, throws them into the messy processes essential to the development of any piece. We embrace the mess. As one student observed, “I usually don't make several drafts of the same essay, and I found the process to be very rewarding. I got to see my writing grow over time as I refined it.” At the heart of the class is always “my students’ evolving drafts and their sense of themselves as evolving writers” (Lad Tobin). “Evolving” is key, for it suggests deep and continuous transformation, and that is what a composition course can enable: real revision of a writer’s piece and of the writer herself as she critically reexamines her work.
Throughout the course, I teach composition through the lens of rhetorical situation, highlighting the importance of considering genre, audience, and purpose whenever my students compose. They have a great deal of freedom to write about topics that interest them. They also circulate their work online so that, instead of just catering to me, they can operate from the more productive motivation of knowing that their compositions will be seen by their classmates and the general public. I look for every opportunity to make my students see how the skills they are learning are relevant to their lives outside the classroom.
I believe one of my tasks as a composition instructor is to foster critical awareness of the rhetorical choices we make so that students can craft work that more effectively communicates their purposes. Crucial for this is active engagement in metacognition. Thus, I dedicate class time to reflective free-writes, and the last assignment of the course is a reflection. Moreover, students come away from Project 1, a personal narrative, with a deeper appreciation for reflection. These experiences also allow them to see how composition can be a part of their lives, whether or not they write for school after completing ENC2135.
Grading has been one of the most challenging aspects of teaching. I treat each student’s work as a serious text that contributes to the field in which it is situated, and I approach evaluation with the mindset that, no matter what, I like the composition I am about to read. However, certain papers make it difficult to maintain this attitude, and a few times, I have spent over an hour on a single project because I’m determined to give each one ample praise and write constructive, conversational feedback that only addresses a few major issues at a time.
I also try to minimize the looming cloud of assessment in my classroom through means such as making rubrics with my students so that we can negotiate the components of “good” composition (See “Pedagogical Materials” for more info). Students were astonished to realize that they really had agency in determining our community’s values regarding composition. One such moment: When a group proposed that a project deserving a B in the “Website Design” category for the second major assignment should have at least three pieces of relevant media, a confused student asked, “Wait, was that a requirement on the assignment sheet?” I replied, “It is if we decide that it is—you are the ones in charge here!” and his jaw literally dropped. Best of all, unexpected and wonderful values emerge this way—for example, “Writer Investment/Effort” became a category for Project 1.
In a similar vein, I’m always seeking ways to affirm to my students that their ideas, experiences, and compositions are significant. Some have taken this to heart, and one told me that she had read her narrative to her family and they all cried together. She said, “Sharing my words with my family was one of the most beautiful things that I have ever been able to give to the most important people in my life. My genuine emotional connection to my piece was my narrative's greatest strength…[This assignment] has truly touched my life and my family’s life in a very deep and meaningful way.” It is amazing to witness students tangibly experiencing the power that their compositions can have.
I especially cherish the glimpses of real progress in my students. For instance, one of my quieter students transformed his personal narrative during the drafting process. At first his story had an abrupt, depressing ending, cutting off right after he detailed a recent painful experience. In our one-on-one conference, I encouraged him to include more reflection, and to take advantage of this assignment to really reflect on the events—maybe even to get some personal closure and consider how he might move forward.
His final draft blew me away. The emotional power of his arc would have been moving for any reader, but the subtle note of hope at the end was especially moving for me because I knew it was hard-won. Afterwards, the student told me that he had his project and my comments saved in a folder to show the rest of his family. These moments make teaching worth whatever I can invest into these students.
My desire, ultimately, is for them to value their own voices, to recognize the importance of their ideas, and to compose accordingly. Rhetoric, in the words of Lloyd F. Bitzer, “functions ultimately to produce action or change in the world.” As a composition teacher, then, my responsibility to empower student composers is a responsibility to empower mediators of change, both in themselves and in the world.