REVISITING [HAUNTED] HOUSES AND THE SUBJECTIVITIES THAT RESIDE WITHIN
A Project
Presented to the faculty of the Department of English
California State University, Sacramento
Submitted in partial satisfaction of
the requirements for the degree of
MASTER OF ARTS
in
English
(Composition)
by
Jennifer Lorene Fleischer
SPRING
2014
© 2014
Jennifer Lorene Fleischer
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
ii
REVISTING [HAUNTED] HOUSES AND THE SUBJECTIVITIES THAT RESIDE WITHIN
A Project
by
Jennifer Lorene Fleischer
Approved by:
__________________________________, Committee Chair
Amy Heckathorn
____________________________
Date
iii
Student: Jennifer Lorene Fleischer
I certify that this student has met the requirements for format contained in the University format
manual, and that this project is suitable for shelving in the Library and credit is to be awarded for
the project.
__________________________, Graduate Coordinator
David Toise
Department of English
iv
___________________
Date
Abstract
of
REVISTING [HAUNTED] HOUSES AND THE SUBJECTIVITIES THAT RESIDE WITHIN
by
Jennifer Lorene Fleischer
Both the content and form of this project focus on personal and creative forms of writing within
composition studies. Although the author does not argue that personal, creative writing
assignments will prove desirable or effective for all writing teachers, she does maintain that
composition instructors needs to revisit and reimagine the types of meaning making that writing
students do in the classroom. For, the rise in multimedia texts serves to expand students' notions
of literacy above and beyond the classroom and into the world of social media websites, cloud
technologies, and much more. As such, composition classes of the 21st century necessitate a
variety of writing assignment in order to adequately prepare students for writing practices both
within and outside of academia.
_______________________, Committee Chair
Amy Heckathorn
_______________________
Date
v
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Page
Illustrations ............................................................................................................................ vii
Chapter
1. COVER LETTER ……………...………………………………………………………... 1
2. TEACHING PHILOSOPHY ............................................................................................... 9
3. ANNOTATED BIBLIOGRAPHY ................................................................................... 14
4. RESEARCH DOCUMENTS ............................................................................................. 36
Rhetorical Analysis of an Academic Journal………………………………………...37
Revisiting [Haunted] Houses and the Subjectivities that Reside Within………….....40
Appendix A. Presentation Handout ..................................................................................... 56
Works Cited .................................................................................................................... ….....57
vi
List of Illustrations
Illustration
1.
Page
Gothic Mansion………………………………… ..... .………………………………. 38
vii
1
CHAPTER 1: Cover Letter
2
Allow me to begin with a quote from one of my favorite authors, Raul Dahl. Although
perhaps best known for his children’s stories, it wasn’t until my mid twenties that I discovered the
ingenuity and pleasure of his prose. He once stated, “A person is a fool to become a writer. His
only consolation is absolute freedom.” Of course, this quote makes sense only in democratic
societies where freedom of speech is upheld and respected (though, there remains a limit as to
what proves acceptable in any society). But, privilege aside, to me this quote hints at a secret that
not everyone is privy to or perhaps cares enough to consider; the notion that writing, especially
writing in the twenty-first century, is widespread, accessible, immediate, multiplicitous, and, yes,
freeing. Freeing, most notably, in terms of the way that it connects us to each other through
shared and disparate experiences.
Whether our students mean to or not, they read countless texts each and every day.
Although not typically of the literary or academic sort, these texts influence their experiences and
approaches to literacy in general. Consequently, students’ exposure to these varied or multimodal
literacies renders them rhetorically primed to enter the conversation on what it means to create,
reflect, and connect in both academic as well as personal and job-related contexts. This
assumption impacts my teaching praxis and has very much influenced the creation of my
portfolio project. The key to teaching writing equates to exposing students to a variety of written
genres so as to bridge their academic as well as vocational and/or personal discursive enterprises.
For me, I feel that this task is best accomplished when my students are provided with the
opportunity to write creatively and from their own personal experiences.
In this way, this portfolio encompasses a number of documents that speak to my
academic, professional, and personal goals, preferences, and teaching strategies. To begin, my
statement of teaching philosophy highlights the ways in which my academic training (regarding
theory and the application of theory) informs my teaching practices. Composition scholars and
3
educators such as Cheryl Ball and Dana Ferris inspire me to push the envelope with regards to
multimodality in the classroom as well as challenge me to tailor my teaching strategies to meet
the needs of a variety of learner types, especially in terms of multilingual students. As a future
community college instructor - where student diversity is the norm not the exception - the ability
to maintain flexibility and dynamism in my teaching proves especially crucial. In terms of my
coursework in the MA program specifically, the more composition scholarship I read, the more I
realized the necessity of adaptability and flexibility as an instructor. For, not only will my
students display diversity in terms of language, culture, and socio-economic backgrounds, but
their learnings styles, ages, experiences, and preferences will also greatly differ. What is more, I
have come to realize that not only is every student different, but every class proves unique;
consequently, my range of abilities and strengths as an educator will continue to grow and be
challenged with each new teaching endeavor I encounter (and here is where my creative spirit
best comes into play).
Next, the annotated bibliography underscores my ability to explore and engage with
current theories and practices related to composition studies. This document brings together a
number of articles and books related to personal and/or creative writing in composition
classrooms, as well as historical accounts that chart the rise and fall of personal writing in
composition studies over time. Again, this topic relates to my personal teaching approach - and
interests - and serves as the subject of my publishable documents. As with any research project,
the research itself proved the most daunting - albeit worthwhile -task. With the annotated
bibliography, I spent ample time reading various composition scholars’ arguments in favor of
personal and/or creative writing. Before I knew it, I had a multitude of scholarship on pro
personal, creative writing; however, not knowing exactly what to do with all of this research, my
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project soon resembled a house in shambles, a house with neither a roof nor a foundation but a
nicely decked out three-car garage.
But, as soon as my thesis adviser suggested that I divest my energies towards historical
resources, I felt renewed strength and conviction. This seemed like the much needed mortar to my
house in disarray, for what better way to understand the relationship between personal, creative
writing and composition studies than to chart the rise in popularity, and disfavor, of particular
writing theories throughout the ages? Although I did not end up directly using these sources in
my article, they allowed me to engage with various composition theories and theorists, from
classical rhetoricians to expressivists and social epistemic scholars. Modern theories on braided
discourses - or a blending of personal and academic writing - further serve to connect my article
to current trends in composition studies, especially those which aim to give a voice to
traditionally marginalized students.
The publishable document itself is geared towards a UC Davis journal publication called
Writing on the Edge (WOE). This journal, as described in my rhetorical analysis paper, publishes
unique and creative articles that relate to composition theory and/or practice. WOE proves a
fitting venue for my article because of its focus on scholarship which is cutting edge, personal,
innovative, and somewhat controversial. Of course, my journal article constitutes the largest
portion of my portfolio project. In this publication, my overarching contention stresses how
writing instructors ought to teach a variety of textual genres in the classroom. But, for me
specifically - due to my own interests, experiences, and preferences - my teaching mantra
purports that students ought to have the opportunity to write creatively and from personal
experience if they want to do so. Whether or not students emphatically situate themselves in their
writing (via the first-person pronoun) does not negate the fact that the their papers, whatever they
may sound or look like, arise from a complex web of personal and non-personal associations
5
(such as ingrained societal norms) in the brain. Creative writing, on the other hand, can take many
forms. Students can get creative, or take “liberties,” with the style, content, and form of their
writing. As a result, each student must determine for her or himself to what extent the application
of innovative or creative elements proves appropriate for a particular context and given audience.
In terms of the style of my journal article, the language and tone very much reflect the
content of the piece. Not only do I weave personal anecdotes and opinions into the article, but I
also rely upon the extended metaphor of a “haunted house” in order to underscore the status and
implications of personal, creative writing within composition studies today. This style of writing,
I believe, connects directly to my teaching style. As an educator, I am especially conscious of and
deliberate about my own persona in the classroom. Hence, in order to encourage and maintain
student involvement in my class, I constantly vary my body language, tone, gestures, topics, and
classroom assignments. The part I play as teacher, then, also mirrors the part that I take on as a
writer: to engage. But, my mode d’être is not merely to engage my students and audience; it also
serves me well, on both a personal and professional level, to keep things lively and fresh for
myself. When I am engaged and committed, I feel that this energy and passion carries through to
my students and readers, too. Moreover, a more engaged brain better facilitates the learning
process.
Speaking of process, the engineering, compilation, and reworking of this project took
multiplicitous and not-so-direct turns, to say the least. From the moment of departure - wherein I
attempted to narrow my focus, define my terms, and hone my interests - to the act of researching
and writing the documents themselves, this project, in all of its manifestations, looks quite
different from what I had initially anticipated. I knew from the get go, for example, that I wanted
my article to look and sound creative and personal, but I had not the slightest inclination as to
how I would achieve this (and, of course, I did not want the creative or personal elements to seem
6
arbitrary). However, as soon as I came up with a catchy title - for which I cannot now, for the life
of me, remember how it came to me - I began to run with the motif of “haunted house” and
relished the opportunity to experiment and play with my prose.
On a deeper level, the content of my paper did not begin to develop until after the initial
very rough first draft, which was entirely too heavy on the historical and rather light on analysis
and “umph.” This first rough sketch lacked a strong argument and resembled a haphazard
compilation of many different paper topics rolled into one. Though the historical information
gave me a strong vantage point from which to write about personal and creative writing, once I
lobbed off a substantial portion of this section the focus of the article shifted to include
multimodality and scholarly research on personal and/or creative writing. As a result, my writing
became more interesting, more direct, and exceedingly more impactful.
Taken as a whole, this portfolio is the result of my academic coursework, research, and
personal foray into teaching and tutoring writing at the university level. I believe that it
exemplifies my passion for teaching and provides a glimpse of my teacherly character. It was
perhaps not until the Fall of 2013 - my last semester of actual coursework at CSUS - that I fully
came to conceptualize myself as an educator, for which two notable reasons stand out in my
mind: teaching English 1A and a research paper on multimodality in composition classrooms. In
preparing my course design for English 1A, I had the opportunity to apply all that I had read and
written about - and discussed with my peers - to the classroom. How refreshing and impactful that
was, and is, I cannot tell you! This, more than any other experience at CSUS, has served as the
apex at which composition theory and practice collide. It is, to put it simply, an invaluable
experience for any future educator.
When I set out to teach English 1A, I knew that I wanted multimodality to play a pivotal
role in my teaching praxis; however, I greatly underestimated the role that technology could and
7
would play in my classroom. But, rewind to three years ago, just before entering graduate school,
and I was a technological dinosaur. I never, ever, would have imagined creating a class blog - let
alone requiring all of my students to do the same - but once I dove into the research on
multimodalities, there was no turning back; I simply could not justify ignoring the benefits of
such technologies for my students. Moreover, the relationship among my teaching practices,
multimodality, and personal, creative writing not only constitute the subject of my publishable
document, but they also play out in my classroom each and every day. One need only look at my
class blog (jenenglish333.blogspot.com) in order to experience this connection and better
understand my approach to teaching composition in the twenty-first century.
In addition, I have always been a self-proclaimed creative and “feeling” sort of person.
This manifests itself in my role as a student, work ethic, hobbies, and interactions with others.
Thus, as soon as I decided to concentrate my thesis on creative and personal writing - though,
admittedly, I pushed and pushed against this notion because I initially felt that it was too “taboo”
of a topic - all of the details seemed to fall into place. The idea for this project truly gained
momentum when I began my research on multimodality in composition studies. It is here that
personal and creative writing seemed most prominent and applicable to students, in the way that
various visual, auditory, and/or written language intersect and affect one another. The most
prolific texts of our time - and particularly digital texts - speak or appeal to the personal and do so
in a way that stretches far beyond the typical framework of mere typeface on a glossy white page.
It is here, also, that I came to understand the ways in which students’ out-of-school writing can
relate to the work they are doing at the university. For, the recreational writing and reading rituals
students engage in - no matter the genre or medium of text - impact their literacies in profound
ways. Therefore, when I, as an educator, allow my students to bridge their personal as well as
academic discourses, they can then establish their own voices within academia, have more
8
interest (and more at stake) in their writing, and expand upon the rhetorical savvy that they
already bring with them to the classroom.
From the get go, I remained adamant that this project prove not only useful to me as a
student and teacher, but also interesting and meaningful. I hope to look back at this portfolio
project years down the road and actually want to - and enjoy - rereading the words on this page. I
want to glimpse again the teaching persona that I embodied at one particular point in time.
Perhaps this particular aspect of my teaching will endure throughout the duration of my teaching
career. Then again, perhaps the teacher I am today will be very different from that of tomorrow.
Fast forward five, ten, twenty years, and the notion of language will continue to metamorphose
and expand as the textual becomes ever more reliant upon digital interfaces. There is something
to be said of the aesthetic value - in its plainness - of the written word. But, to limit ourselves as
educators to traditional forms of meaning making creates a vast divide between the classroom and
the outside world.
9
CHAPTER 2: Teaching Philosophy
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My belief is that a successful writing class equips students with reading, writing, and
critical thinking strategies that prepare them not only for future academic endeavors but also
discursive practices related to work, home, and their personal lives. Consequently, my classroom
is one in which students write copiously, read frequently - their own revised drafts, peers’ papers,
as well as homework assignments that engage class concepts and provide writing/reading
strategies - and expand their notions of literacy in the twenty-first century. With the rise in digital
media and the ever expanding availability of multimodality, students today compose in
environments that are largely instantaneous, fundamentally social and global in nature, and
provide relatively easy access to a vast breadth of online literature (for good and for bad).
In this way, as a composition instructor it is my aim to bridge my students’ personal and
academic lives and to raise their awareness of the dynamic, social, political, and contextual nature
of knowledge-seeking and building as it relates to their own unique trajectories in literacy
development. For example, this semester I required each of my students to create a personalized
blog wherein they can post all assignments for the course, respond to their peers’ blogs through
virtual peer review workshops, and experiment with creating and responding to various visual,
written, and digital texts. In these blogs, writing for and beyond the university combine and
collide in myriad ways, as students experience language as ever changing, personal yet shared,
and both limiting and liberating (depending on the audience and context for which one is writing).
With respect to technology in the classroom, I look to educators like Cheryl Ball for her
extensive applications of and rationale for multimodality in composition studies. Her published
writings and teaching blog serve as pedagogical tools which have impacted my own course
design and sequencing. Further, just as Cheryl’s pedagogy is both student-centered and genrebased, I encourage my students to maintain active roles in the classroom and to flex their
rhetorical prowess by means of reading, analyzing, and composing in various (and sometimes
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hybrid) genres, including literacy narratives, opinion papers and reviews, rhetorical analyses,
research projects/presentations, summaries, annotated bibliographies, academic journal articles,
and so on. Also, in order to establish a student-inspired classroom, where students’ voices are
acknowledged and respected, I always ask for feedback and suggestions on classroom activities
and assignments as well as tailor my teaching so as to better fit the needs, both collective and
individual, of my students.
Yet another composition scholar whose work inspires my writing pedagogy is Dana
Ferris. Ferris’s suggestions regarding practical applications for multilingual student writers drives
the day-to-day goings on in my classroom. In particular, her co-written text Teaching ESL
Composition serves as an indispensable resource to which I continually refer for everything from
writing prompts to responding to student papers. Regardless of whether or not I am teaching a
class specifically designated for multilingual students, the reality suggests that many of my
students will have varied linguistic backgrounds and abilities. And, in my opinion, the diversity
and multiplicity of experiences, intelligences and linguistic and/or cultural heritages amongst my
students is best not left unheard or unwritten. Indeed, I feel that it remains crucial for students to
have ample opportunity to draw upon, explore, and share their lived experiences through writing
assignments, class discussions, and small group work (such as peer review workshops). Not a
class period goes by in which students refrain from collaborating either in pairs or small groups.
For, the sharing of knowledge and experiences underpins one of my strongest teaching
philosophies, and this again relates to my predilection for student-centered learning. In my
classroom, I find that student talk, rather than teacher talk, is where true learning begins.
As an educator, my primary aim is to place students at the forefront of their literacy
journeys. This can be accomplished by asking students to develop individual course goals at the
beginning of the school semester; promoting discursive strategies that prove meaningful despite
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whatever life paths they may choose; providing students with the freedom to pursue their own
research topics; and, by asking students to reflect on their writing practices and course objectives
throughout the semester. My belief is that when students are allowed to draw their own
conclusions and make their own inferences, they become more active and eager learners, and,
consequently, prove more likely to engage with class topics beyond the classroom.
Though I encourage “creativity” and experimentation in written assignments, my main
intent is to enhance and expand students’ abilities to read, write, think, and understand. That said,
my stress falls on a student’s ability to critically engage the topic and audience at hand as well as
their development as writers in general, not the extent of their showy displays or “originality” of
thought. For example, one of my assignments includes a rhetorical analysis of a threedimensional object that the students themselves create. Although this may seem like a highly
creative assignment - and do not get me wrong, in many ways it is - the fact remains that students
must draw upon their analytical faculties during all phases of the project: brainstorming,
constructing, and reflecting. This assignment culminates in a reflection paper wherein students
rhetorically analyze their own objects and reflect upon the creation process and product (i.e. their
objects) as a whole. Taken this way, though this activity can be seen as an exercise in creating a
tangible argument, it also exposes them to a new genre - visual rhetoric - and teaches them that
rhetorical awareness permeates all aspects of literacy, both written and visual “texts.”
In sum, whether students are writing a rhetorical analysis paper, composing a response to
an in-class journal assignment, preparing for a multimodal group research paper, or reflecting on
their literacy development in their culminating writing portfolios, I encourage them to rise to the
challenge of every writing opportunity and to be conscious of and deliberate about what they are
creating/writing, for whom they are creating it, and why. In return, I (and their peers) will respond
with feedback that is supportive, critical, honest, and meaningful. Ultimately, my students will
13
learn that reading, analyzing, and composing texts - whether written, visual, verbal, or otherwise are paramount to success in the academy and the world beyond.
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CHAPTER 3: Annotated Bibliography
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HISTORICAL SOURCES
Berlin, James. Writing Instruction in Nineteenth-Century American Colleges. Carbondale:
Southern Illinois UP, 1984. Print.
In this text Berlin covers an in-depth analysis of three types of rhetoric in nineteenth
century America: classical, epistemological (or eighteenth century rhetoric), and romantic. Berlin
discusses the theories, practices, and major players behind each rhetorical school of thought in
order to show how and why each evolved and its implications for university education. The last
portion of Berlin’s book discusses, to a lesser degree, three rhetorics from the twentieth century:
classical, expressionist, and “new rhetoric” (similar to expressionism, but with more of a socialepistemic turn). And, as this book was written during the golden age of rhetoricians like Peter
Elbow and Ann Berthoff, Berlin proves exceedingly optimistic about process-oriented
pedagogies.
Berlin’s text offers a historical vantage point of writing classrooms in the nineteenth
century. And, by understanding the popular rhetorics of this time period, I am better able to make
connections between what is being taught now and what was being taught then. As Berlin
suggests in the opening lines of his book, philosophies about rhetoric fall in and out of fashion
according to the times (1). Moreover, it is essential to be able to map this evolution of rhetorics in
order to better understand the role that personal writing has occupied in composition classrooms
since the dawn of the modern university system.
Bowden, Darsie. “The Rise of a Metaphor: ‘Voice’ in Composition Pedagogy.” Rhetoric
Review 14.1 (1995): 173-188. JSTOR. Web. 7 Sept 2013.
Though critical of the preponderance of “voice” instruction in writing classrooms,
Bowden’s article provides an extensive overview of the emergence and continued use of the voice
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metaphor in composition pedagogy. Backed by extensive historical data, Bowden argues that
“voice” has long been a tradition of rhetoric, from the days of Plato to the classrooms of today.
Her overarching aim, however, is to “show how much three compelling and often controversial
dichotomies - specifically oral and written language, social and individual perspectives, and
creative and expository writing - are embedded in this metaphor” (174). By so doing, Bowden
details the historical twists and turns that composition studies has taken over the course of its
lifetime. And, while she herself remains leery of a strict adherence to voice pedagogy in writing
classrooms, Bowden explains how the voice metaphor is paramount to understanding the
development and evolution of composition studies throughout time. Ultimately, Bowden aims to
highlight the manner in which the voice metaphor relates to the following: speech versus writing;
creative versus expository texts; lastly, the personal versus the social.
A historical resource, Bowden’s article offers a close look at the rise and continued
success of voice and personal perspective in writing classrooms (and, according to the author, this
is not necessarily a good thing). Bowden maintains that a stress on style, manner of elocution,
persona, etc. began in the days of oral rhetoricians and has persevered throughout time.
Ultimately, the author argues that a reliance on “voice” implies an inherent preference for orality
over written discourse. And, while the “personal” is one aspect of voice, it is a significant one.
Brereton, John C. The Origins of Composition Studies in the American College, 1875-1925:
A Documentary History. U of Pittsburgh P, 1995. Print.
This text picks up where James Berlin’s Writing Instruction in Nineteenth-Century
American Colleges leaves off. Though, unlike Berlin’s book which focuses on rhetorics of the
time period, Brenton charts the beginnings of composition studies in American academic
institutions. According to Brereton, by the dawn of the twentieth century, all colleges had an
assortment of writing and English courses due to the emergence of four factors: 1) the influence
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of the German university model on American education; 2) the growing number of individuals
pursuing higher learning; 3) a differing understanding of the conception of knowledge; 4) the
work of academic administration in updating the framework of college life and practices. Along
the way, Brereton details the manner by which composition pedagogy has morphed over time.
This text adds yet another dimension to my historical purview. Though it does not
provide ample information about personal writing per se, it does discuss the environmental
factors which helped mold composition studies to what it is today. For, theories about writing do
not only come from faculty and scholars; social and political transformations often give rise to
new ways of thinking about and experiencing the world. This, of course, has profound
implications for the teaching of writing.
Connors, Robert J. “The Rise and Fall of the Modes of Discourse.” College Composition
and Communication 32.4 (1981): 444-455. JSTOR. Web. 7 Sept 2013.
This paper explores the monumental shift in composition studies away from the system
of belles lettres and towards a more exact and less “highbrow” use of language (the trappings of
current-traditional rhetoric). One such consequence of this shift was the creation of the Bainian
modes of discourse, wherein writing was compartmentalized into four general categories:
narration, description, exposition, and argument. The modes remained popular until the 1920s,
when single-mode textbooks rose in popularity and expository writing - with a large emphasis on
“thesis texts”- took center stage. As a result, the modes of narration and description were doled to
creative writing classrooms and argumentation became largely the concern of speech classes
(450). In the end, there is a moral to Connor’s story: writing teachers ought to be wary of
pedagogical practices that seem useful but have no basis in writing praxis (455).
What is most interesting here is the idea that “narration” once held a lofty standing in
writing classrooms (along with the other three modes, of course). And, moreover, narration was
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taught as a solitary type of writing, distinguishable from other modes, such as description or
exposition. Taken as a whole, Connors’ article provides adds yet another dimension to the
historical evolution of narrative in composition studies.
CRITICS OF PERSONAL, NARRATIVE WRITING
Bartholomae, David. “Inventing the University.” When a Writer Can’t Write: Studies in
Writer’s Block and Other Composing Process Problems. Ed by Mike Rose. New
York: Guilford, 1985. U of Toronto, Dec 2010: 134-165. Web. 9 Sept 2013.
In his renowned article “Inventing the University,” David Bartholomae distinguishes
between two types of writing: the first appeals to academics and uses “the privileged language of
university discourse;” the second type subjects the reader to childish jargon by drawing upon the
“wisdom of experience” (138). Bartholomae’s descriptors for these distinct types of writing –
academic versus narrative – clearly situate his argument in favor of students writing in academic
discourse. Bartholomae maintains that in order for students to learn to write successfully in their
college classes, they must imagine themselves as “insiders” and possessors of the dominant
discourse (143). Therefore, student success depends upon the instructor’s ability or willingness to
“demystify” and teach academic language conventions in the composition classroom (147). In
this way, his article signals a departure from personal types of writing in composition studies.
Bartholomae’s article “Inventing the University” is a landmark in its own rite, and as
such is cited extensively by both critics and proponents. While I agree that it is
“counterproductive” for students to learn that their ideas are unique to themselves (143), I do not
think that such an argument is necessarily at odds with narrative forms of writing and
communicating. Although students can benefit scholastically from learning to appropriate
academic texts that are thesis-driven and supported by scholarly research, this type of writing
19
may not prove so helpful to students outside of the university. And, while reading and writing
academic discourse can make students feel more at “home” in the university, it is can also be said
that allowing students to incorporate personal experience into their own texts can deepen and
broaden their understanding of the topic at hand.
Johns, Ann M. “Opening Our Doors: Applying Socioliterate Approaches (SA) to Language
Minority Classrooms.” Second-Language Writing in the Composition Classroom: A
Critical Sourcebook. Eds. Paul Kei Matsuda, Michelle Co, Jay Jordan, and Christina
Ortemeier-Hooper. Urbana: Utah Bedford/St. Martin’s, 2011. 290-302. Print.
In this article, Johns calls for a socioliterate approach (SA) to teaching language minority
students about writing. Johns begins her argument by undermining the usefulness of personal
writing in second language composition classrooms by pointing to two failures: first, its inability
to prepare students for academic writing; second, its failure to address the needs of students who
are culturally as well as linguistically diverse. In lieu of emphasis on personal voice, then, Johns
contends that students should be exposed to an SA framework, wherein the teacher focuses on the
social constructs of language, exposure to genre analysis techniques, and peer review strategies.
In other words, Johns pinpoints the necessity of training multilingual students for academic
discourse, and as such, this article provides practical applications for SA research in the
multilingual classroom.
Even though I will not be focusing specifically on multilingual learners in my research
project, this essay offers a possible rebuttal for the usefulness of personal narratives in
composition classrooms. Though I would disagree with Johns’ claim that teaching personal
writing to multilingual students is “damaging” and puts them at a disadvantage compared to their
native speaking peers, this is a valid counterargument to consider as I pursue my own research on
this topic.
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PROPONENTS OF PERSONAL AND/OR CREATIVE WRITING
Bishop, Wendy. “A Rhetoric of Teacher-Talk or How to Make More Out of Lore.” Under
Construction: Working at the Intersections of Composition Theory, Research, and
Practice. Eds. Chris M. Anson and Christine Farris. Logan: Utah State UP,
1998. 217-233. Print.
Using a highly personal and experimental style, in this article Bishop explores a number
of ways in which teachers communicate and exchange knowledge with other teachers. Bishop
juxtaposes her own teacherly and personal experiences alongside the theory and research of other
composition scholars in order to demonstrate the importance of narrative style and her
predilection for “author-present” over academic, or “author evacuated,” prose. By talking to the
audience in a style that is both personal and understandable, Bishop argues that teachers can
create more accessible and widely-read texts (229).
The fact that this chapter navigates the significance of personal narratives for educators
rather than students adds a critical vantage point to my research question. For if writing teachers
are writing and publishing in a personal style, this suggests to me that there may be some value in
students also being able to work in this genre. Moreover, the type of discourse that Bishop
champions blurs the distinctions between writing for the academy and writing creatively. This
author contends that researchers who write in a personal and creative manner can simultaneously
assess pedagogical goals and implications as well as - and perhaps most importantly - effectively
communicate with their readers (other teachers).
---. “Suddenly Sexy: Creative Non-Fiction Rear-Ends Composition.” College English 65.3
(2003): 257-275. JSTOR. Web. 2 March 2013.
The stance taken by Bishop in this article is threefold: first, she calls for an open dialog
among the disciplines of literature, creative writing, composition, and rhetoric; second, she
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underscores the fact that creative writing already happens in composition classes; thirdly, she
stresses the notion that writing teachers must believe in their students. In order to substantiate
these claims, Bishop draws upon personal experience as well as historical research in order to
demonstrate the ways in which creative non-fiction has fallen in and out of favor in the
composition classroom over time. Central to her paper is that argument that composition
instructors need to believe, first and foremost, that their students can write and that their students’
narratives matter. Furthermore, she calls for a banding together of literature, creative writing, and
composition faculty in order acknowledge that no strict boundaries ought to- or do in fact - exist
within writing classrooms.
I am considering borrowing Bishop’s definition of creative nonfiction for my own
research inquiry, but I am also toying with the more common and, perhaps, obvious term personal
narrative. Bishop’s article draws upon a vast body of scholarship that is pro creative nonfiction
writing in composition classrooms, and it is in this vein that her research lends itself to my
particular research question.
Grimm, Nancy Maloney, Anne Francis Wysocki, and Marilyn M. Cooper. “Rewriting Praxis
(and Redefining Texts) in Composition Research.” Under Construction: Working at
The Intersections of Composition Theory, Research, and Practice. Eds. Chris M. Anson
and Christine Farris. Logan: Utah State U P, 1998. 250-281. Print.
In reflecting on their own experiences as educators, graduate students, and writing center
staff, the authors of this article point to the necessity of incorporating the use of multiple voices
and perspectives in scholarly writing. By incorporating alternative writing approaches – such as
narrative, biographical, poetical, and/or hypertextual elements – in their texts, researchers can
bring in outside (and often marginalized) voices, connect theory to practice in pragmatic ways,
facilitate students’ entrance into the academy, expose their own personal biases and moral
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leanings, and, lastly, take moments for critical self-reflection. In essence, Grimm, Wysocki and
Cooper intertwine experimental formats, font styles, and writing styles with composition research
in order to create a chapter that blends practical findings with theoretical perspectives and to
propose a much-needed overhaul of traditional academic texts.
Though the majority of this article focuses on the social, multivocal aspect of writing the idea that texts ought to speak to and about traditionally marginalized groups, such as ethnic
minorities and students in general- it gives a nod here and there to the significance of personal
writing in composition research. And, it appears most beneficial to my research in terms of its
signaling away from traditional strictures of impersonal academic discourse and instead toward
more personal modes of writing, theorizing, and thinking about knowledge. Furthermore, similar
to Bishop’s article “A Rhetoric of Teacher-Talk or How to Make More Out of Lore,” Grimm,
Wysocki and Cooper focus on the impact of creative nonfiction on scholars and educators rather
than students.
Harris, Judith. “Re-Writing the Subject: Psychoanalytic Approaches to Creative Writing and
Composition Pedagogy.” College English 64.2 (2001): 175-204. JSTOR. Web. 27
March 2013.
As evident from the title of this work, Harris draws upon psychoanalytic theory and
research in order to demonstrate the possibilities of introducing creative writing in the
composition classroom. Focusing on issues of communication, identity, self-reflection, and mindbody therapy, Harris demonstrates how expressive writing can inspire students to write more and
encourage teachers to be coaches and motivators throughout this process. The central tenet of this
article, it seems to me, is the stress on the awareness of the self, and how such an awareness can
facilitate better writing.
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Though I have no inclination to focus on psychoanalytic theory in my own research, this
article raises some key issues that I had not previously considered: namely, the idea of expressive
and personal writing as self-therapy. As a composition teacher, my goal is to generate better
writers, and though I praise and encourage writing for its inherent therapeutic value and as a
means of learning more about the self, I am not convinced that the teacher should make this aim
an overarching objective of her or his classroom. That said, this article offers a unique theoretical
perspective, where psychoanalytic theories are invoked in order to emphasize the experience of
the individual over the social and contextual in writing classrooms.
Hesse, Douglas. “The Place of Creative Writing in Composition Studies.” College
Composition and Communication 62.1 (2010): 31-52. Web. 2 Jan 2013.
Hesse takes a highly controversial stance by calling for an end to the bullying and
exclusionary practices enacted by composition and creative writing departments across the
country. Instead, the author purports that both disciplines should tear down their walls and join
forces so that students may gain a “more comprehensible view of writing in all its guises” (43). In
the age of digital literacies, Hesse further maintains that students read and write a wide variety of
texts, many of which have no relation with the rhetorical situation. Instead, these documents may
derive from a creative space and may rely heavily on visual markers, word choice, and personal
experience. Though Hesse does not discount the importance of analysis and the rhetorical
situation in composition classrooms, he does question the exclusion of other types of writing that
engender imagination and allow students to create texts rather than simply write about them.
What Hesse means by this is that instead of requiring students to only write papers that analyze
and synthesize the information of other authors’ texts (e.g. literary analyses, argumentative
essays, and research papers), students can also greatly benefit from the opportunity to write texts
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that hail from their imaginations and personal experiences (and that may be entirely or somewhat
fictitious in nature).
I am going to step out onto the limb with Hesse here, as “creative” writing does not solely
refer to literature. Instead, creativity can manifest itself in multiple forms, one such example
includes digital texts, where the display of words is perhaps just as important as the content (and,
where personal narratives abound). After the dissolution of the belletristic system, personal
writing hung on by its toenails in the form of narration, only later to be displaced by more
argumentative and analytical forms of writing. And, while Hesse’s claims may seem
revolutionary - even ridiculous - to some, in my opinion the rise of digital literacies and
multimodality necessitate a rethinking of the acceptance and propagation of creative composing
in composition classrooms. For, the composing and reading that digital natives do in their spare
time - Tweeting, blogging, Facebooking, e-mailing, and web surfing in general - rely heavily on
elements of style, language, and personal, creative “touches” (e.g. pictures, hypertext, videos,
music, and so on).
Knowles, Gary J. and Andra L. Cole. “Creative Nonfiction and Social Research.” Handbook
of the Arts in Qualitative Research: Perspectives, Methodologies, Examples, and Issues.
Thousand Oaks: Sage Publications, Inc., 2008. 105-115. Print.
This all-encompassing tomb offers thought-provoking strategies, approaches, dialogs,
and theories that entertain the possibilities engendered by the intersection on qualitative research
and the arts. For my purposes, however, I chose to focus on the chapter “Creative Nonfiction and
Social Research.” This chapter describes the origins of the term “creative nonfiction;” charts its
eventual acceptance as well as celebratory status among ethnographers; and serves to complicate
the very terms used to define this mode of writing. Drawing a theoretical binary between
centripetal (“factual”) and centrifugal (“fictional”) forces within texts, Knowles and Cole contend
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that the fact/fiction binary occupies an ambiguous and elusive status. Furthermore, they detail a
number of factors which may designate a work of nonfiction as “creative,” some of which include
“expressive, connotative language,” the “presence of a story or quasi-story format,” and “plot,
narrative drive” (109). Lastly, these authors argue that reading creative nonfiction requires a
creative-minded reader, as the this form of writing has no fixed message.
I find this book useful for a couple of reasons. First, not only do I admire the writing style
of its authors, but the chapter that I described above offers the most in-depth and thoughtprovoking exploration of the scope of creative nonfiction writing. Second, this text encourages
me to use art within my own research paper. Though I am convinced that I will include some
form of multimodality in my final project, what form this will take is yet to be seen.
Nicolini, Mary B. “Stories Can Save Us: A Defense of Narrative Writing.” The English
Journal 83.2 (1994): 56-61. JSTOR. Web. 7 Sept 2013.
This document describes the varied benefits of personal narrative for students of all ages
and charts the disappearance of narrative writing beginning in primary school. According to
Nicolini, children relish telling stories - stemming from their upbringings and an innate tendency
towards narration - but starting in about the 4th grade, this type of writing begins to fall out of
favor in the classroom. As a result, students writers may begin to feel insecure and “lose their
sense of self” (58). As for some of the stated benefits of narrative writing - for this article
describes many - Nicolini remarks that it can create greater unity in the classroom among
students; it has the potential of increasing a student’s involvement in his or her paper; and, it can
raise critical awareness of the relationship between past, present, and future for all writers.
Though this article is dated, I find its conversation about the relationship between
personal writing, childhood, and adulthood intriguing and useful. Moreover, it is certainly
noteworthy for its extensive discussion on the positive aspects of writing from personal
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experience. Lastly, this article stands out in terms of its emphasis on the act of storytelling. For
Nicolini, writing one’s life story is paramount to bridging the gap between school work and life
work.
Root, Robert L., Jr. “Naming Nonfiction (A Polyptych).” College English 65.3 (2003): 242256. JSTOR. Web. 29 March 2013.
Root’s objective is to complicate the common, though arguably complex, trajectory of the
term “nonfiction.” Largely an opinion piece, Root bridges personal experience with recent trends
in composition and creative writing pedagogy in order to demonstrate the multiplicitous and often
misunderstood nature of creative nonfiction writing. According to Root, the accepted definition
for nonfiction proves too broad and, consequently, unhelpful. As a further complication, the
conjoining of the terms creative and fiction, “creative nonfiction,” applies an arbitrary binary
between creative and “non-creative” nonfiction writing - not to mention the fact that the
definition of creative changes depending on who is being asked. While nonfiction writing
typically resides alongside the ranks of other literary genres, Root states that the writing that goes
on in composition classrooms is by and large nonfiction writing; therefore, nonfiction deserves a
more accepting role in writing classrooms. Root’s culminating argument proves perhaps most
evident when he declares, “Maybe the question is whether, when we name composition, we aren’t
simultaneously naming nonfiction” (255).
As I am still debating whether or not to focus on personal writing or the entire creative
nonfiction umbrella, Root’s article posits some interesting notions for me to ponder. Most
pointedly, Root maintains that all writing ought to come from a personal place. Consequently, he
suggests that the fields of composition and nonfiction (creative) writing overlap immensely. I am
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beginning to wonder how (and if) one can actually distinguish between fictionalized and nonfictionalized forms of writing?
PROPONENTS OF ACADEMIC AND PERSONAL WRITING
Burnham, Christopher. “Expressive Pedagogy: Practice/Theory, Theory/Practice.” A
Guide to Composition Pedagogies. Eds. Gary Tate, Amy Rupiper, and Kurt Schick. New
York: Oxford UP, 2001. 19-35. Print.
Burnham’s article responds to critics of expressivist pedagogy who claim expressivism
fails to adequately prepare students for academic or real-world success and allows writers to
neglect social and political conditions in order to meet individual needs. According to Burnham,
expressivist pedagogy was created in order to bridge a connection between discourse, the
individual, and the making of meaning or knowledge. What is more, the author purports that there
is a recent trend in expressivism, known as social expressivism, which posits that personal
awareness allows a writer to forge connections between self and society; a keen sense of the self,
then, can fundamentally equip students with the ability to question oppressive political and social
practices at large. In this way, Burnham illustrates that expressivist pedagogy is not only helpful
but essential for writers.
Expressivist pedagogy remains an integral facet of my research, as this school of thought,
perhaps more than any other, highlights personal writing as fundamental to a student’s growth as
a writer. This article also provides convincing evidence that personal writing does not have to be
a study of the self. Instead, it can foster self-awareness, which in turn can allow students to forge
connections between themselves and society. It seems to me that when students are able to
personally connect with the material - written, spoken, visual, or otherwise - they can then project
this inner awareness towards more communal and productive ends.
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Ede, Lisa. “Methods, Methodologies, and the Politics of Knowledge: Reflections and
Speculations.” Methods and Methodology in Composition Research. Eds. Gesa Kirsch
and Patricia A. Sullivan. Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press, 1996. 314-329.
Print.
Ede’s chapter serves as a heady introspection of the author’s personal as well as academic
experiences. Though Ede does not propose answers for her summations, her goals are to explore
and complicate the relationship between methods and methodologies, theory and practice, as well
as personal experience and academic practices. Taking a largely humanistic and reflective stance,
Ede uses this chapter both to reflect and engage herself as well as her audience in this largely
philosophical musing about what is writing and how does/might this relate to research. She ends
her chapter with the confession that she sees no absolute “conclusions” in her wake (327).
However, she underscores a healthy balance between theory and practice that allows for the
expression of personal, political, and critical thought. Moreover, she hopes that composition
studies will embrace this sort of dynamic and reflective way of researching so as bridge personal
and public spheres within academia.
I am including this seemingly disparate chapter namely because of its extensive use of
narrative and its unconventional voice. Though a published academic text, Ede fuses personal
experience with theoretical interpretations about scholarly research. I feel that it is important to
consult academic writings that employ narrative techniques because they demonstrate to me the
idea that academic and personal writing are not necessarily distinct, nor should they be. And, if
academics are employing personal writing in their own work, perhaps students ought to follow
suit.
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Elbow, Peter. “Closing My Eyes As I Speak: An Argument for Ignoring Audience.”
Teaching Composition. 2nd ed. Ed. T.R. Johnson. Boston: Bedford St. Martin, 2005.
145-167. Print.
In this article, Elbow argues that students may benefit from ignoring outside audiences in
the initial stages of their writing. By ignoring audience and instead composing for themselves,
students can explore and discover interesting developments in their writing, which will ultimately
make writing subsequent drafts easier and more successful. Drawing upon the work of
psychologist Lev Vygotsky, Elbow further stresses the importance of individual, critical thinking
for writers. For, Elbow cautions, when student writers focus on writing for their audience too
early in the writing process, the level of analysis and completeness of thought may prove
fragmentary and lacking. Instead, students may fall into the trap of concentrating on their
language and style - how they are writing - rather than the content - what is being said. In this
way, Elbow encourages “private” writing as a beneficial way of approaching any written task
because, although the dissemination of language is fundamentally a public act, writing begins
with the self (156).
Elbow’s call for ignoring audience exposes a critical need for personal writing in
composition classrooms. Hypothetically, if students are allowed to write first for themselves which Elbow claims is far less intimidating than writing for others - then their writing will have
marked benefits over “reader-based prose.” This theoretical position helps me situate my own
research in terms of its (possible) practical use in the composition classroom. Moreover, I feel
that Elbow’s theoretical stance justifies as well as highlights the need for more research on
personal writing in writing classes. At the same time, it remains significant to note that when
Elbow speaks of private writing, or writing for the self, he assumes that this writing will remain
the sole property of the writer. In other words, writing for the self constitutes a form of pre-
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writing, one which the reader or teacher need not see. Thus, the arguments put forth in this
chapter relate mostly to the drafting stages of student writing.
---. “Exploring Problems with ‘Personal Writing’ and Expressivism.” The Selected Works of
Peter Elbow. U of Massachusetts, Amherst (2002): 1-22. Unpublished Draft. Web. 27
March 2013.
In this self-published paper, Elbow highlights the difficulties as well as the significance
of the terms “personal writing” and “expressivism.” Elbow encourages the use of personal writing
in the composition classroom as a means of making students feel less intimidated about and more
invested in their own writing processes; however, he also cautions that personal writing can and
usually does include both personal as well as nonpersonal elements. Taken together, Elbow
claims that these two elements often result in a “hybridity” or intersection of discursive modes.
That is to say, any type of writing may harken from personal experience(s) but is not necessarily
about the author. Elbow explains that personal writing can be defined in four ways: in terms of its
topic, language, purpose, and/or the author’s thought process(es) involved. Defined in this
manner, Elbow’s definition of personal writing can apply to any text, as all writing begins in the
author’s mind. The second half of this article describes Elbow’s mistrust of the term expressivism
and emphasizes the fact he does not believe that the “personal dimensions of writing are any
better or more significant than the nonpersonal kinds” (17); each has its purpose, its time and
place, and often the two are welded together. As a personal touch, Elbow concludes his essay by
listing the ways in which he ignored academic editors’ suggested changes to his work;
consequently, his article remains unpublished to this day. In sum, Elbow’s article serves as a
defense against critics who lump him into the “expressivist” school as well as functions as an ode
to his mutual respect for both personal and nonpersonal forms of writing.
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There is a lot of useful information here. The first relates to idea that personal writing can
be defined by four categories – 1) topic, 2) thinking, 3) language, and 4) function – and the
second relates to the fact that personal writing often represents a mingling of both personal as
well as nonpersonal elements. This suggests to me that personal writing can permeate several
different genres of writing, including academic papers, even if its use is not necessarily evident to
the reader.
Gunter, Kimberly K. “Braiding and Rhetorical Power Players: Transforming Academic
Writing Through Rhetorical Dialectic.” Journal of Basic Writing 30.1 (2011): 64-99.
Web. 3 May 2013.
In this article, Gunter grapples with the question of whether or not to teach personal or
academic writing in composition classes. Her conclusion: teach both! Gunter begins by
discussing the long-held tension between followers of Peter Elbow and those of David
Bartholomae. Whereas the former proponents advocate personal writing, the latter often dismiss it
in favor of academic or scholarly discourses. While Gunter agrees, to an extent, with both sides,
in response to Bartholomae’s contention that academic writing empowers student writers, she
argues that traditional academic discourse can isolate already marginalized students, especially
“basic” writers. Though she by no means demands a “dumbing down” of basic writing
curriculums - for experiences in students’ everyday lives render them “rhetorically adept” (64) Gunter suggests that a “braiding” of personal and scholarly writing allows students to find their
own voice while also acquiring the writing conventions of academese. This article concludes with
a case study of one of Gunter’s students, which serves to show a positive use of braided
discourses in the basic writing classroom.
Articles such as this one, which argue for a blending of personal and academic modes of
writing for college students, present a possible compromise between compositionists who, on the
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one hand, esteem academic writing and those who, on the other hand, uphold personal writing as
the preferred discursive mode. Gunter’s arguments for encouraging students to create blended
texts allows students to retain an element of personal “voice” while simultaneously challenging
them to meet college standards (and, preparing them for other discipline-specific coursework).
This arguments serves as a “middle” ground from to which I can compare the suggestions of both
critics and proponents of personal writing.
Mutnick, Deborah. “Rethinking the Personal Narrative: Life-Writing and Composition
Pedagogy.” Under Construction: Working at the Intersections of Composition Theory,
Research, and Practice. Eds. Christine Farris and Chris M. Anson. Logan, UT: Utah
State UP, 1998. 79-92. Print.
In a similar fashion as Kimberly Gunter’s piece “Braiding and Rhetorical Power
Players,” Mutnick calls for a blending of academic and personal discourses in composition
classrooms. As such, she maintains that process pedagogies and ethnographic writing can make
students aware and critical of traditional social and academic institutions. Mutnick further
explains how early process theories championed narrative writing and why they are still relevant
today - perhaps even more so than ever before. Furthermore, Mutnick contends that personal
writing can best serve the interests of marginalized students by demarcating a space for subaltern
voices that historically have been silenced through hegemonic suppression.
This article successfully blurs the distinction between academic and personal forms of
writing, and does so from a varied theoretical perspective which includes process, social
epistemic, feminist, and critical theorist schools of thought. Above all, Mutnick challenges
criticisms of process pedagogies that label it as unacademic, socially exclusive, or narcissistic in
nature. Mutnick’s championing of “blurred genres” also seems applicable to multimodal texts,
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where students in the 21st century compose and create blended genres on a regular (and for some
daily) basis.
MULTIMODALITY
Limbu, Marohang."Teaching Writing in the Cloud: Networked Writing Communities in the
Culturally and Linguistically Diverse Classrooms." Journal of Global Literacies,
Technologies, and Emerging Pedagogies 1.1 (2012): 1-20.
Limbu first defines what “writing in the cloud” means, and thereafter proceeds to detail
the numerous ways in which this technology raises cross-cultural, linguistic, and geopolitical
awarenesses for first-year writing students (5). Limbu contends that this technology - which
includes digital documents such as Google docs, prezis, Wikis, blogs, Twitter, and any other
electronic medium which allows for instant and shared written texts - can enhance student
analytical strategies and is relatively accessible, cost-friendly, and does not require extensive
training (10). Additionally, students can expand their knowledge of other cultures by
communicating with students from diverse cultural backgrounds from around the world. By
bringing topics of cultural and linguistic difference into the composition classroom, students learn
to experience writing as a social, political, and hierarchical act. And, as digital texts like
Facebook are always present on the web, they prove easily accessible across space and time.
This article outlines a number of digital multimodal texts that can prove highly beneficial
to all students. Most pertinent to my area of research, however, relates to Limbu’s discussion of
linguistic and cross-cultural exchanges via cloud technology. This article highlights the
availability of cloud software to create shared personal histories that foster cultural awareness
and posit writing as a recursive process that has social, political, and historical implications (15).
Especially critical to my own research, Limbu’s article suggests that digital media can prove a
unique yet effective means for incorporating personal writing into composition classrooms.
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“The NCTE Definition of 21st Century Literacies.” National Council of Teachers of English.
Feb. 2013. Web. 8 Nov 2013.
This updated version of the NCTE definition of “21st century literacies” details the need
for multimodal technologies in composition classrooms. Of notable mention is their contention
that literacies are “multiple, dynamic, and malleable” and that in order for students to keep up
with the rise in digital discourses, exposure to multiple written genres and modalities is essential.
According to the NCTE, students in the digital age must be proficient with technology, work
cross-culturally, create and deploy knowledge in a global context, learn to negotiate among
various textual forms, critically engage with multimodal texts, and understand the moral
dilemmas posed by digital environments (e.g. open access to the internet and copyright
infringement laws). By redefining literacy to include digital and multimodal texts, the NCTE
situates technology at the forefront of composition pedagogy.
The NCTE statement is absolutely critical to my research in the way that it equates
literacy with the ability to read and write in multiple environments using a myriad of technologies
and discursive practices. If literacy in the twenty-first century is defined by multimodality, then it
goes without saying that writing instructors ought to use and make available such technologies for
their students.
Vie, S. “Digital divide 2.0: ‘Generation M’ and Online Social Networking Sites in the
Composition Classroom.” Computers and Composition 25.1 (2008): 9-23. Web. 17 Nov
2013.
Vie’s article centers on individuals born during the twenty year span from the 1980s to
the 1990s, more commonly referred to as Generation M. For this generation of students, Vie
purports that social media usage is extensive, and even those who do not partake in websites like
35
Twitter or Facebook are aware of social media websites’ wide-sweeping implications. In sum,
this article maintains that “The time has come, then, for us to pay attention to online social
networking sites so that we can effectively teach technological literacy in the writing classroom
and attend to the deepening digital divide between Generation M students and their instructors”
(11). In other words, it is time to bridge the discursive practices of both academese and students’
personal lives.
Tantamount to Vie’s argument is the contention that the field of composition and rhetoric
is excessively lagging in terms of its embrace of technology, particularly with concern to social
networking websites. Similar to other articles that praise digital media like Facebook for
composition students, Vie maintains that this technology is widespread and can help diminish
teacher-student power dynamics. As this article raises the disparity between academic and out-of
school writing, it suggests that multimodal texts are integral to students’ literacies. This focus on,
and praise of, multimodality is where Vie’s article proves especially integral to my research.
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CHAPTER 4: Research Documents
37
Rhetorical Analysis of an Academic Journal
The UC Davis publication Writing on the Edge (WOE) is a for-profit, peer reviewed
publication that does exactly what its name implies: showcases writing that is avant-garde,
controversial (to varying degrees), and straddles the chasm between invention and reinvention,
ingenuity and practicality. Though the journal claims to be “interdisciplinary” in nature, its
content focuses on writing and composition pedagogy. In particular, it seeks publications that
focus on novel ways of thinking about and employing writing instruction, and some possible
topics include technology in the classroom, writing across the curriculum, collaborative writing,
and teaching strategies for multilingual and/or multicultural students. According to the WOE
website, it seeks articles that are both “enjoyable to read” and applicable to pedagogical theory
and practice (http://woe.ucdavis.edu/). However, while WOE encourages creativity and
experimentation in the content and display of its subject matter, it also requires submissions that
are reinforced by scholarship and precipitate new ways of (re)thinking about writing and writing
instruction.
Unlike many “traditional” academic journals, WOE embraces alternative styles of
composing, such as narratives, interviews, humorous anecdotes, drawings, photographs, poems,
and works of fiction. Article submissions should remain under 7000 words, but the majority of its
publications seem to fall within the five to ten page range; though, shorter texts are equally
welcome. WOE is published biannually and its staff hail from the University of California, Davis
where David Masiel and Marlene Clarke serve as editors-in-chief. All articles within the journal
include MLA style, are double-spaced, and provide a one to two sentence biography about the
author (which typically states where the author teaches and sometimes includes an interesting fact
about her or him).
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WOE first began producing articles in 1989, and after 15 years it remains strong and
vibrant. In terms of the articles themselves, WOE calls for submissions that are written in a “clear,
engaging, and personal style” so that their readership can gain a sense “of the person as well as
scholar behind the writing.” Several of its essays display provocative - sometimes racy - titles,
and the majority of its authors teach at universities and colleges across the United States.
However, WOE editor David Masiel assured me that the journal also accepts submissions from
both researchers - including graduate students - and teachers, for “We are concerned not with the
status of the writer but the power and insight in the writing.” In its most recent publication, Fall of
2013, WOE published a total of twelve articles (though the last entry - always termed “The Last
Word” and never exceeding more than one page - consists of a photograph of a whiteboard
covered in writing, with the words “Dobby is Happy to be with his friend...” serving as the most
prominent). Of these twelve, two consist of interviews and eight may be classified as personal
narratives. Though the articles span anywhere from one to fourteen pages, those from the nine to
twelve-page range prove most prevalent. And, true to its “engaging” and narrative style, some of
the articles from this issue include the following: “‘-Awk’ing and ‘Frag’ing Our Way to the
Writing Center” describes the author’s thoughts on teacher-student exchanges by way of
Sommer’s article “Responding to Student Writing”; “Ice Cream in the Cold Wind: Struggles with
a Second Genre in a Second Language” follows a non-native Spanish speaker’s journey through a
creative writing class taught in Spanish; and, “‘Curiosity Won’t Kill Your Cat”: A Meditation on
Bathroom Graffiti as Underlife Public Writing” represents a reflective piece on the ways in which
bathroom graffiti relates to writing and rhetoric in the real world. On the whole, many of the
articles published in WOE demonstrate a strong personal voice and conversational
style.
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For individuals interested in publishing a document through WOE, the following topics
are high in demand: discussions about composition theory in relation to teaching; explorations of
the psychology of writing and composition pedagogy; writing that explores issues of race, gender,
and ethnicity or unusual populations - such as students with disabilities or international students in academic settings; debates surrounding “hot” topics in composition studies; interviews with
renowned educators and writers; texts that are works of fiction, nonfiction, or poetry and relate to
composition pedagogy; lastly, parodies or drawings that “make a serious point about writing or
the teaching of writing.” As such, WOE embraces a myriad of written genres (and some visual,
too) - all of which must relate to writing and writing teachers - but there remain a few types of
documents that WOE simply will not publish. Such texts include articles that are solely
instructional (e.g. lesson plans), that pertain to primary and secondary schooling, and/or may be
characterized as a rhetorical or literary criticism.
What most draws me to WOE, apart from other academic journals concerning the field of
rhetoric and composition, relates to its push for creative, narrative texts. Both creative and
personal writing constitute the subject matter of my own research, and as such I aim to make the
content of my article integral to its presentation and style. In other words, both the subject and
genre of my article will relate to personal and creative nonfiction writing. Furthermore, the
ultimate goal of my academic inquiry is to explore personal and creative writing as it relates to
the composition classroom: how such writing can be of use to students, and how its standing in
North American college classrooms has evolved throughout time. For reasons relating to content,
applicability, and, admittedly, one of proximity - WOE is practically within my own backyard! Writing on the Edge remains my top pick for the publication of my article.
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Gothic Mansion
Revisiting [Haunted] Houses and the Subjectivities that Reside Within
“It was a solitary house, standing in a sadly neglected garden: a pretty even square of some two
acres...It was easy to see that it was an avoided house—a house that was shunned by the village,
to which my eye was guided by a church spire some half a mile off—a house that nobody would
take. And the natural inference was, that it had the reputation of being a haunted house.” --Charles Dickens, The Mortals in the House
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Like many children, I drooled over ghost stories (often made up on the spot) and classic
horror films, like Halloween, The Shining, or (embarrassingly so) the Scream series. This tale,
too, may bring sweat to the compositionist’s brow, a crook to her lips, and a rapid flutter to her
heart. It may, in fact, prove uncomfortable, even unnerving. And, the more the reader stews over
the content, the more she or he may come to realize the implications of my credo. It is not, to be
clear, a horrific tale in the least. But, all disclaimers being known, for some it will prove
disarming; not because the message itself is revolutionary in its scope, but because it so simple as
to often be misjudged, misaligned, and/or misrepresented within composition studies. What I am
talking about here does not hide under the bedsheets - for most of us, at any rate - or tap at our
windows late at night. It happens each and every day, sun or spooky fog aside. Essentially, it
permeates all aspects of life. That is - and here is the frightening kicker - except our very own
classrooms…
IT’S BLOODY PERSONAL
One task set forth for the writer involves engaging the reader so as to facilitate interest
and engagement. However, an effective story is one that is not, to borrow the Spanish term,
demasiado; it mustn’t be too contrived, too deliberate, or too self-conscious. The art of spinning
of good yarn is akin to working the nine to five (and what with traffic, turns into a grueling eight
to six), putting a warm - and wholesome - meal on the table by seven, exercising the dog, feeding
the cat and rounding up the chickens, and getting the kids, or ourselves, to bed in time to relax
with a good book or veg out in front of the boob tube; in other words, for many of us, the odds of
accomplishing such tasks rivals that of getting struck by lightning, dead center between the eyes,
and twice in the same month! What it - either the daily grind or storytelling - comes down to is
proper orchestration and diligence; one must follow one’s gut, one’s sense of duty, and relinquish
allegiance to predictable outcomes. To express oneself is not only to go through the motions but,
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in essence, to satisfy an innate and fundamental human instinct: to live and continue living by
passing down our stories from relative to friend, friend to stranger, and so on and so forth. We are
our own favorite haunts; stories left untold can besiege the body like worms feasting on a newlyearthed corpse.
Of course, few self-proclaimed storytellers commune in the light of day; it is, quite
possibly, a dying (and practically non-existent) art. At least, in composition classrooms. But, with
the rise of digital communication and social networking sites, people from across the globe are
telling their stories like never before; the sheer number (and growing) of personal blogs,
Facebook pages, Twitter feeds, and Pinterest accounts attest to this fact. Twenty-first century web
technologies now compete for one of the top forms of communication (Limbu 59), and today’s
youth view computers as paramount to their social and personal livelihoods (Vie 12). Is there
indeed a resurgence of personal narratives? And if so, to what end? Despite the influx of personal
writing via the Internet, however, the same cannot be said of personal writing in college
composition classrooms. For many, storytelling belongs amongst the ranks of creative writers and
orators; it remains distinct from more logical and academic forms of discourse. Moreover, just as
fictive creative writing inhabits a lowly status within English departments, similarly applying the
label “creative” to nonfiction writing “marginalizes” the status of narrative and storytelling in
composition classrooms (Root 246). Opponents or skeptics of personal writing not only have
dubbed it non-academic and elitist (as quoted in Burnham 20), but also “dangerous”
(Bartholomae 143), ethnocentric, unproductive, and “damaging” (Johns 291).
Consequently, composition scholars and teachers remain divided on this issue and fall
along various points on the academic versus personal writing continuum. As such, writing about
the self remains a hotbed issue in many composition classrooms. Darsie Bowden remarks, “Even
today, the issue of personal writing is at the heart of the conflict within writing programs ...about
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the kinds of writing students should be learning” (178). This tension perhaps gained its fullest
notoriety in response to expressivist pedagogies of the 1970s, which placed heavy emphasis on
“voice” in student writing (173). At the same time, although expressivists were among the first to
apply the term “voice” to writing, this metaphor has a long and influential history, dating back to
antiquity and the puppeteers of Aristotelian debate.
SKELETONS IN THE COMPOSITION CLOSET (A.K.A. A LITTLE HISTORY)
Over the years, composition studies has donned many a cloak, each reflecting the popular
writing theory or theories of the time. Although personal narrative has long been a topic in (and
on the “outs”) of composition classrooms, the notion of personal writing attained its heyday
during the glory (and hippie) days of the expressivist movement. But, to back up just a bit,
expressivism’s predecessor -its mortal enemy, in many ways - thrived during the early days of
industrial America. This rhetoric, the Current Traditional model, eschewed classical rhetoric and
its emphasis on spoken discourse in favor of the more individual and “private” act of writing
(Berlin 88). While classical rhetoric continued to maintain a happy home in communications
studies, an offshoot resurrected in the vecindario of English departments under the appellation of
composition studies. During this period, college writing classrooms oft earned the label
“remedial,” or freshman English, and stressed allegiance to form and correctness above all else
(Brereton 18).
But, at about mid-century, the “voodoo” of current traditional rhetoric began to fade, and
the door was left wide-open to theories that placed the act of writing back at the center of self and
the search for/expression of knowledge (Berlin 85). Christopher Burnham explains that the
current traditional teaching model maintained prowess from the early ‘40s up to the Vietnam
War, until expressivists and others sought to “subvert teaching practices and institutional
structures that oppress, appropriate, or silence an individual’s voice.” These theorists aimed to
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overturn traditional hegemonic practices by way of highlighting the importance of the writer in
the writing process (Burnham 22-23). Though, critics of expressivism often touted its failure to
prepare students for academic writing (Bartholomae 147), and pointed to its self-serving ends and
disregard for political and social action (Burnham 28). Burnham maintains, however, that the
personal writing embraced by expressivists did/does not necessarily preclude social implications.
An individual can apply her own experiences to her writing in order to consciously disrupt
cultural, political, and/or social injustices (29). Furthermore, academic writing has its own
baggage of limitations - namely, that it stifles student voice and critical thinking - to which I will
return later. Consequently, while scholars like Elbow encouraged students to “ignore” audience in
the early stages of their writing and instead concentrate on their own personal composing
practices (“Closing My Eyes As I Speak”), there was - as there always is - a consequential
backlash. This sort of thing happens, of course, when academics shed theories in much the same
way that a cobra loosens its skin; once it’s done, they move the hell on!
Fast forward almost half a century, however, and the very the definition of writing proves
all the more erratic, vexing, voluminous, and recondite. More specifically, reading and writing is
no longer a matter of paper and pencil; it is a conglomeration of a multitude of various digital,
visual, and discursive practices. And the culprit? Drum roll, please...multimodality. This is the
pandora’s box of composition departments everywhere. Unlike the Greek version, however, this
(digital) box of “terrors” proves frightening only to those resistant to its powers.
MULTIMODAL = FREAKSHOW?
More often that not, multimodal, or multimedia, texts continue to be either ignored or
under-utilized in writing classrooms. Even still, the extent to which students and instructors
interact with multimodal texts in their day-to-day practices is ever expanding, and several
scholars have remarked on the quotidian implementation of multimodality in the lives of youth
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and adults alike living in the twenty-first century (Gleason, Limbu, Luke, and Vie). Multimodal
literacies redefine the ways in which knowledge is created, shared, and understood; they allow for
instantaneous communication on a global-scale and reinforce the importance of rhetorical
dexterity in a largely digital age. In fact, according to “The NCTE Definition of 21st Century
Literacies” (2013), students of the twenty-first century should possess a relative “fluency”and
“proficiency” with technology as well as be able to rhetorically engage with multimodal texts.
Moreover, for many, multimodality begins at an early age: “[M]edia(ted) texts constitute
children’s first curriculum, often their initial entries into texts and textuality” (Luke 398). If
today’s youth are learning how to write text messages and send e-mails before they properly
figure out how to steal cookies out of the proverbial cookie jar, imagine what impact this can
have on students’ literacies. Consequently, yet another questions boils to the surface: exactly
which excuses can we muster in order to justify not teaching multimedia texts in our composition
classrooms?
The ubiquity of multimodality - via cloud technologies, PowerPoint, blogs, YouTube,
online news and journal publications, academic websites, etc.- gnaws at the very notion of
singular pedagogies, which focus predominantly on one particular conception or model of writing
(for example, solely teaching students how to write rhetorical analyses or persuasive papers). The
result is writing classes that prepare students for merely one type - or an arbitrary few types - of
writing. If students, say, learn only how to write thesis-driven texts in composition classes, this
may inadequately prepare them for writing tasks they encounter in the workforce or at home, the
likes of which may include blogs, Facebook, fan fiction, e-mails, visual and written reports, and
so on. However, a class that allows students to experiment with a variety of genres - the thesisdriven academic papers as well as cover letters, websites/blogs, narratives, grant proposals,
presentations, etc - has a much higher potential to meet the diverse needs of students’ academic as
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well as personal ventures. In this way, instructors of singular, or “one-eyed,” pedagogies are the
Cyclops of writing classrooms everywhere; their purview of writing proves narrow and
exclusionary, much to the detriment of their discursively dexterous students. Therefore, looking
back at what composition studies has been and what it could be today, one fact remains clear:
multimedia texts are here to stay.
In terms of the relationship among multimodality, personal, creative writing, and today’s
generations, there seems to be an apparent disconnect between students’ out-of-school and inschool literacies. Oftentimes, inside the writing classroom students need only compose the basic
three to four-page paper, double spaced, size 12 Times New Roman font, one-inch margins...I
think you get the picture. The quintessential, formal typed paper is not problematic in and of
itself; in fact, this document type recurs quite frequently in both academia and the work force.
However, when at home or on the run (via their SMART or iphones, ipads or laptops), students as well as the rest of us - share their stories via creatively (or terribly corny) shot selfies,
Facebook updates, Pinterest, and countless other social media sites. Not only do students write
about themselves and read about the lives of others in these digital contexts, but they also add
flavor to their homepages, blog posts, and messages through the use of multiple images, borders,
typefaces, emoticons, links to music videos, fictional narratives, comic strips, clever hashtags,
etc. Thus, whether students consider themselves creative or not, the everyday texts that they
compose for recreation and/or pleasure often reflect both personal and creative elements. The
Internet, then, serves as the apex at which all forms of multimodalities hatch, metamorphose,
collide, and are unleashed unto the world. And, multimodality is the bastard-child of personal,
creative, instantaneous, and overtly social/global prose (and yes, in the world of digital discourse,
monogamy no longer persists).
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Event still, it remains prudent to recall that multimodality is but one facet of the
creative, personal writing spectrum. Long before the explosion of cell phones and social media
websites, educators have called for the acceptance and implementation of personal and/or creative
writing in academic circles. And for some, the divide between academic and personal types of
writing remains hazy at best.
BLOODLESS, PERSON-LESS PROSE
Does “non-personal” discourse even exist? One line of argument follows that all writing
is subjective because, as Thoreau once commented, “it is, after all, always the first person that is
speaking” (as quoted in Root 252). To this I would add - appropriate to modern audiences - the
writer types all that appears on the page. When writers share their personal stories, they begin to
forge connections with the world around them. Similarly, when a reader reads these personal
narratives, she also calls her own experiences into question: Can I (personally) relate to this text,
this story being told, or no? When a writer writes, she does so within a specific context; this
context speaks to some phenomenological or societal observation. The reader, regardless of
whether or not she or he agrees, passes judgment and postulates questions based on both personal
bias and the author’s apparent “character,” or ethos. Hence, while some writing may begin with
the “self” as subject, it does not necessarily end there. In his article “Exploring Problems with
‘Personal’ Writing and ‘Expressivism,’” Peter Elbow examines the ways in which personal and
non-personal writing prove often inseparable for students, academics, and working professionals.
Newspapers, e-mails, and journal publications reflect this increasingly noticeable footprint of the
individual on written discourse. Furthermore, with respect to college campuses, Elbow maintains
that students often write for or about themselves “despite teachers [sic] efforts to curb it” (9).
Kimberly Gunter stakes a similar claim by suggesting that “Many teachers find it difficult
to justify spending precious class time on narratives…[However,] When an overly academic
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discourse is prescribed, we end up creating parrots who excel in replication, not agents who can
enter in, own, and alter the discourse at hand, academic and otherwise” (66-69). In other words,
when the writer is “artificially” removed from the writing equation, one unintended result may
include more superficial and less metacognitively astute writing. Furthermore, Deborah Mutnick
contends that to disengage narrative from academic discourse enacts “artifical limits” on student
writing because personal experience facilitates student understanding of complex concepts (8).
She goes on to comment that the pronoun “I” does not merely speak for the author of a text
because language, as a whole, becomes “public” or communal as soon as it is released unto
society (82). If all language is shared - that is, it results from complex social interactions, and thus
speaks to a collective “we” rather than an individual “I” - then perhaps no writing is strictly
personal? Then again, this seems like an egg-before-the- chicken type argument. What remains
certain, however, is that words do not arise out of thin air; instead, they drip from the lips of
innocent (and not-so-innocent) civilians.
Yet another line of argument extrapolates a stark distinction between academic and
personal writing or, as Wendy Bishop dubs them, “author-present” and “author-evacuated” prose.
Accordingly, Bishop describes author-present prose as writing that speaks to personal experience,
uses storytelling or narrative as a rhetorical device, and fully engages the audience. On the other
hand, author-evacuated prose dismisses narration and creative writing in favor of language that
adheres to a specific, often academic, discourse community. Such stringent and non-personal
forms of writing, Bishop contends, can isolate the reader from both the content and context of a
particular text. Though Bishop does not situate all academic writing as non-personal - after all,
she is a composition instructor and scholar who herself publishes personal, creative and academic
texts - she does highlight the manner in which “private” discourses can serve unconstructive ends.
Thus, if the author intends to engage her readers, she must talk to them; that is to say, the author
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must use language and examples that prove accessible, interesting, and speak to personal
experience (“A Rhetoric of Teacher Talk” 229).
If “non-personal” writing in fact exists, it certainly should not constitute the majority of
writing in college classrooms. Manuals, lab reports, and other author-evacuated texts - like the
ones Bishop describes above - surely serve essential roles in many different fields and academic
disciplines. But, they - like any other genre - have their limits. One such limit, described by
Kimberly Gunter, purports that by not allowing students to situate themselves explicitly into the
writing situation, we can create “detached” writing (67) and serve to disempower students by
“disallowing” them to say what they want (68). One possible solution to the academic, nonpersonal vs personal writing debate - where some critics argue that one form of writing proves
more beneficial to students than others - is to promote the teaching of “blended” or “braided”
discourses. Championed by scholars such as Kimberly Gunter and Deborah Mutnick, among
others, braided discourses allow for students to blend subjective and objective points of view,
such that students can offer up their personal stories,“make the most of the rhetorical savvy” they
already possess (Gunter 68), and -especially for those “students on the social margins-” can
finally have a “voice” within the academic community (Mutnick 84). In general, minority
students and others on the “margin,” as stated by Gunter, may display a more difficult time
adjusting to academic discourse conventions. By allowing these students to apply their personal
experiences to their writing, however, this can serve as a familiar and less threatening avenue of
entering into academic language. For, the application of personal narrative renders assignments
less foreign and more accessible. According to Mary Nicolini, “The personal narrative serves as a
bridge, a link between the ‘soft’ and ‘hard’ writing” because personal writing gives the writer
more “control” and “is familiar, not foreign.” Consequently, personal narratives encourage
writers to trust their own ideas and develop an understanding of the relationship between past and
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present and self and society (58-60). If a hybrid teaching philosophy is adopted, then, the idea is
that students may become active and “passionate” (Nicolini 60) participants in their writing, their
classrooms, and academia as a whole.
Yet another solution to the non-personal vs personal writing debate involves teaching a
variety of genres in the composition classroom. Ann Johns - a harsh critic of expressivist or
excessively “inward-looking” composition classrooms for minority students - advocates a variant
of this pedagogy, which she refers to as the “socioliterate approach” (SA). However, while SA
promotes the teaching of various genres in writing classrooms, its primary aim “is not on the
individual and his or her identity...but on understanding how all of us are shaped by the social
nature of language and texts” (291). Johns disparages an overreliance on personal narrative due
its inability to adequately prepare language minority students with a “literacy strategy repertoire”
and instill “confidence that enables them to approach and negotiate a variety of literacy tasks in
many environments” (290). Therefore, Johns further contends, composition instructors should
emphasize “unfamiliar social and rhetorical contexts” in the classroom in order to insure student
success in various cultural and linguistic contexts (291).
While I agree that an overreliance on any one genre (or even a select few) can severely
retard students’ ability to adapt to multiple writing situations, both within and beyond the
university, I do not share Johns’ skepticism of personal narrative for multilingual students. For, it
seems to me that language minority students share their stories via social media websites at the
much the same rate as any other student at the university. Therefore, the application of personal
experience to any rhetorical situation, academic or otherwise, does not inherently exclude or
disadvantage students of various cultural and language backgrounds. Storytelling is not, then, a
genre which J. Martin blasts as solely beneficial to “the brightest, middle class, monolingual
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students” (as quoted in Johns 291). Instead, the application of personal experience may prove
appealing to all students, language minority or otherwise.
Nevertheless, the teaching of multiple genres proves especially enticing to me for a few
reasons. Firstly, personal narrative is simply not appropriate for particular genres of writing (e.g.
lab reports), and thus a braided approach may not always serve the best needs of the students.
Secondly, as mentioned previously, multimedia texts - which make up a large portion of the texts
students interact with outside of the classroom - by definition constitute multiple genres. Thirdly,
when students have the opportunity to experiment with a genre or two of their choosing - say,
creative writing - they may find ways of entering the writing process that prove more meaningful
to their individual wants, needs, and skills.
A WEREWOLF IN SHEEP’S CLOTHING
Up until this point, the discussion has centered predominantly on personal writing. While
personal writing may seem a controversial topic in composition studies, it pales in comparison to
the long-disdained and exiled genre of creative composition (exiled, of course, to the dungeon, I
mean dwelling, of creative writing classrooms). Consequently, a sticky, spider-like web of
tensions emerged, where, on the one hand, creative writing faculty tiptoed around scholarly
writing and, on the other hand, compositionists avoided mention of “creative” like the proverbial
boogeyman in a children’s tale. Either way, the apparent “disdain” for each department appears
mutual (Hesse 33). And, though it may appear that both parties view their extended separation
favorably, it comes at a cost. According to Douglas Hesse, by isolating creative writing from
other forms of composing, “The result for students is alternatively mysticism, compartmentalism,
and cynicism, as they live in ever more complex text worlds in which boundaries so clear to
teachers are not to them” (43). Blogging, Tweeting, Facebook and more present mere versions of
students’ realities; here, perhaps more than anywhere else, personal and creative forms of writing
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play off of one another in multitudinous forms. Online, factual and subjective accounts abound,
and our students encounter and bring together these types of writing in their everyday lives. Hesse
also explains how the widespread propagation and sharing of personal stories through social
media enterprises forces a connection between creative writing and composition: “For most
writers, writing fulfils personal and social interests...while many students…might imagine
publishing the novel or screenplay to makes [sic] them rich and famous, many others simply
aspire for readers [via social media], however few” (47). Additionally, Hesse contends that
students’ recreational reading and writing activities are regularly interspersed by fictive and nonfictive accounts, personal experience, memory recall, visuals, and audio components (48). In
order to properly merge students’ personal and academic discourses, the obvious step, then, is to
allow students to create such hybrid (personal and creative) texts in the classroom as well.
According to Wendy Bishop, students already write creatively in their composition
classes, despite the fact that writing instructors may not prove too keen on fessing up to it
(“Suddenly Sexy” 273). Student creativity can manifest itself in many ways: the subject of a
paper, titles, language (voice), use of examples/personal experience, formatting or style, etc. But,
the extent to which students have the opportunity to “play” with such elements varies, of course,
depending on the teacher. How many of us, however, would openly admit (standing tall, with our
shoulders back, and heads held high) that one, we invite students to write creatively in our
composition classrooms, and two, that we deem such writing to be on par with academic
discourse? Yes, just as I thought.
Creative writing is, no matter how one looks at it, the gargantuan elephant (actually, I
prefer the visual of a gorilla myself) in the composition classroom. However, while creative
writing can incorporate both fictitious and factual accounts, I find that the sub-genre of creative
nonfiction best serves the needs and interests of composition students. For, creative nonfiction
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writing can be adapted to multiple rhetorical situations, not simply that of fictional storytelling.
But, what is creative nonfiction writing? What does it look like and how does it sound?
Moreover, where does it belong? According to Robert Root, its placement serves as a matter of
contention “Either because people in English departments see creative nonfiction as a new
form...or because those who know any history of English departments connect it to a defunct and
discredited tradition of belles lettres” (246), which promoted writings such as personal essays,
memoirs, journalistic tales, and travel accounts (Hesse 37). In terms of what it looks like, defining
creative nonfiction can prove difficult, to say the least. To begin with, the boundary between what
serves as fact and what serves as fiction represents a permeable and fluid abstraction, one that
serves human interests by creating artificial binaries and arbitrary classifications (Knowles and
Ardra 109). Taken another way, “The problem with ‘nonfiction’ is that it is a one-size-fits-all
garment” (Root 244), and arguments over what it is and isn’t traverse a vast and untidy spectrum.
Furthermore, when the term “creative” gets tossed into the mix, all hell breaks loose:
“[N]ot only literary critics and teachers but writers of creative nonfiction themselves, object to a
term like ‘creative’ because it seems to imply that other forms of fiction are not creative…[and]
the meaning of ‘creative nonfiction’ varies depending upon the orientation of the speaker” (Root,
emphasis mine, 249). For me, creative nonfiction can refer to both content and form experimentation with style, presentation (e.g. borders, typeface, arrangement of text on the page),
subject matter, personal narrative, figurative language, genre and combinations of multiple genres
in one text, and so on - but for you and everyone else, it may manifest as a completely distinct
beast altogether. In the end, what mortal wounds would disembowel our students, which bobbing
heads would fall with the strike of the executioner’s axe, if students were allowed to experiment
with many different types of writing in composition classrooms, both non-creative and creative,
academic and nonacademic?
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The answer to this, of course, is that no serious injury - not even a blemish, or mere
scratch - would occur. To the contrary, when we permit our students to write from a creative,
personal space we allow them to connect their personal, out-of-school discourses with that of the
academic community; we underscore the ways in which language proves dynamic, expressive,
individual, social, and highly contextual; lastly, we provide students with the confidence and
ability to critically engage with multiple written genres, the likes of which they may encounter in
the classroom, home, or workplace. The only threat of imminent danger in the composition
classroom, therefore, results when the instructor severs the link between personal and academic
worlds.
GOING TO HELL IN A HANDBASKET (OR NOT)
Alas, this tale must draw to a close, but not without a little self-musing on my part. All of
this is not to say that everyone should wholeheartedly embrace creative and personal forms of
writing. But, my belief is that personal and creative forms of writing ought be welcome guests to
the composition classroom, and that students be provided with the opportunity to engage in
multiple forms of meaning making. Context drives content, and if students get the sense that
creative and/or personal forms of writing are in anyway “inferior” to academic discourse, or if
their instructor seems condescending or dismissive of either’s relative merit in writing
classrooms, then students may prove similarly skeptical and pessimistic. Furthermore, when
writing instructors throw off their shackles and chains and encourage multimodality in the
classroom, students come to see writing as dynamic, experiential, creative, and useful. Though
academese is helpful for students enrolled in university, the likelihood of them writing in this way
ever again is, well, slim at best. However, one may ask, Do all students want to share their
personal experiences? Does everyone want to write creatively? Surely not, but, alas, there is no
harm in allowing students the opportunity to do so.
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What I hope to have illustrated by this essay is that academic, personal, and creative
writing do not reside in desperate dwellings; quintessentially, they are of the same “biologic”
mold - even call them triplets if you must (or a Cerberus of sorts, for the more macabre-minded).
Moreover, just as the categorization of writing into the Bainian modes (narration, description,
exposition, and argument) served no pedagogical benefit to students (Connors 454), I believe that
the designation of personal and academic; creative and non-creative; subjective and objective; all
of these categories prove arbitrary in the end. For, who decides what is fact and what is opinion?
Who is to say what is true or untrue? How can anyone emphatically state that academic writing
ought to ignore the self, when the presence of “self” is absolutely essential to the transmission of
discourse to begin with? Our thoughts, our words, our utterances reside from without and within;
they circumnavigate our bodies like old haunts slipping this way and that, floating across
thresholds and window panes and into the ghastly, and oftentimes cheesy and predictable - but
sometimes revelatory and meaningful - beyond.
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Appendix A
Presentation Handout
Revisiting [Haunted] Houses and the Subjectivities that Reside Within
by Jen Fleischer
Abstract:
"Both the content and form of this project focus on personal and creative forms of writing within
composition studies. Although the author does not argue that personal, creative writing
assignments will prove desirable or effective for all writing teachers, she does maintain that
composition instructors needs to revisit and reimagine the types of meaning making that writing
students do in the classroom. For, the rise in multimedia texts serves to expand students' notions
of literacy above and beyond the classroom and into the world of social media websites, cloud
technologies, and much more. As such, composition classes of the 21st century necessitate a
variety of writing assignment in order to adequately prepare students for writing practices both
within and outside of academia."
AGENDA: Google Presentation
1. Epigraph
2. It’s Bloody Personal
3. Cryptic Terminology
4. Multimodality = Freakshow?
5. Bloodless, Person-less Prose
6. A Werewolf in sheep’s Clothing
7. Parting the Red Tide: Multiple Genre Instruction
8. Going to Hell in a Handbasket (Or not?)
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Works Cited
Bartholomae, David. “Inventing the University.” When a Writer Can’t Write: Studies in
Writer’s Block and Other Composing Process Problems. Ed by Mike Rose. New
York: Guilford, 1985. U of Toronto, Dec 2010: 134-165. Web. 9 Sept 2013.
Berlin, James. Writing Instruction in Nineteenth-Century American Colleges.
Carbondale: Southern Illinois UP, 1984. Print.
Bishop, Wendy. “A Rhetoric of Teacher-Talk or How to Make More Out of Lore.”
Under Construction: Working at the Intersections of Composition Theory, Research, and
Practice. Eds. Chris M. Anson and Christine Farris. Logan: Utah State UP, 1998. 217233. Print.
---. “Suddenly Sexy: Creative Non-Fiction Rear-Ends Composition.” College English
65.3 (2003): 257-275. JSTOR. Web. 2 March 2013.
Bowden, Darsie. “The Rise of a Metaphor: ‘Voice’ in Composition Pedagogy.” Rhetoric
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