Flashbacks at the Writing Center

by Karrie Stewart
BSU Writing Center

This month's article was written by Karrie Stewart when she was taking the Writing Consultant training course last fall. We wanted to use it for a Word Works issue partly because it's a good read. While telling about working with a client, Karrie remembers her own past experience as a writing center client and interweaves the two scenes. We also wanted to use it also because it raises important issues about what the writing center is all about. Issue one, what should be the writing consultant's place in the writer's writing process? How does it relate to the writer's work with a peer group and with the instructor? (See Word Works #73 for more on this.) Issue two, should students be required to visit the writing center? Some centers discourage required visits. We don't. As a result we get clients who don't want to be there and have no intention of revising anything they bring in. But in some cases--enough to make us think our policy is worth keeping--clients find their writing center experiences enjoyable and helpful, and they come back.

I'll never forget the first time I entered the writing center and offered up one of my papers for a consultant's scrutiny. It was intimidating in a way that was quite different from sharing a paper with a peer in a composition class. Here, I thought, is a real writer or at least, a student who writes well enough to tutor other students. My expectations were mixed. I hoped I would receive some ideas for making my paper better, and at the same time I fantasized my consultant would pronounce my paper brilliant and recognize me as a fellow writer. I wasn't too disappointed that my fantasy didn't come true; my consultant pointed out weaknesses in my paper I hadn't been aware of and suggested strategies for revision. As I thanked my consultant and left the Writing Center, I never imagined that a year later I would be working there myself. My memory of that visit has stayed with me, and I carry it, along with a host of other experiences, into each of my own consultations.

Shane was polite, but distant not knowing what to expect from me, not quite ready to trust his writing to a perfect stranger. Shane was an E101 student whose professor assigned visits to the Writing Center as part of her course curriculum. Since I was already familiar with Shane's professor and assignment, I ran my repertoire of basic questions by him, hoping to engage him in a conversation about his paper.

"So Shane, how are you feeling about your paper so far?"

"Mhm all right, I guess."

"Anything in particular you would like to discuss about it?"

"No, I'm pretty much ready to turn it in."

I wasn't ready to give up yet I still had one question left, one that seldom fails to elicit a response from students who are writing for required composition courses.

"How did your paper go over with your peer group in class?"

I had Shane's full attention now. He admitted that he was growing very frustrated with the students in his group. It seems some of them had complained about the length of his paper and claimed they didn't understand what his point was. "They had the nerve to criticize my paper and they didn't even have a rough draft of their own to bring to class," Shane complained. "Sure, my papers are usually pretty long," he added, "but at least I have written something, at least I . . .

care, I thought looking around at the blank faces of the students in my peer group. Finally, one woman glanced up from the notebook she was doodling on and suggested I rewrite my introduction. "I don't get it," she explained, returning to her artwork. I refrained from pointing out to her that at least I had included an introduction in my paper; instead, I smiled numbly and nodded.

I sympathized with Shane about the challenges of working in peer groups and asked if I could look at his paper. It was long. And he did take quite awhile to make his point. It was also funny, honest, and full of wonderful details and I told him so. Since Shane didn't really respond to any of my compliments, I decided to go ahead and make a few suggestions. First, I asked him if he planned on editing in order to meet his professor's length requirements. "No, she's pretty flexible," he told me. I could sense Shane's withdrawal at the mere mention of changing his paper in any way. I flipped through his essay again, wondering how I could tell him that the first three pages of his paper were completely unnecessary.

Boring! What did this guy in my group know about writing non-fiction anyway? He was a creative writing major. It was a little dry, maybe, and I had asked him to be brutally honest, but couldn't he have found a more tactful way to put it?

I cleared my throat and told Shane, "The background details in these first three pages are funny and well written, but you really don't seem to be addressing the assignment until page four." Shane nodded, but his face remained expressionless; I could see he had no intention of taking any advice I had to give. I actually felt good about the session anyway. At least I had recognized a weakness in Shane's paper and attempted to help him with it. What more could I do?

"Hold on, I'll see if Jonathan has any openings." I scanned Jonathan's full schedule enviously, wondering if I would ever have anyone requesting me as a consultant. I looked forward to establishing a few regulars, students who had chosen to see me again, students with whom I could establish some kind of rapport.

I was pleasantly surprised when Shane came in to see me with his next paper. I had enjoyed reading his last paper and felt flattered that he had chosen to work with me again. Shane sat down, handed me a copy of his paper, and told me that he would be handing in his assignment without making any revisions. He then proceeded to explain that he preferred getting his professor's comments before making any changes. Before I had time to feel insulted by his blunt admission, Shane told me that his professor had agreed with me about the problems in his last paper. "I find it easier revising things in my papers that more than one person has noticed," he explained. I couldn't resist asking him if this included taking advice from his peer group. Shane laughed and told me that all they could say about this paper was that they thought it was "good."

I finished reading my paper aloud and waited for the other students to utter the polite string of lackluster compliments our peer group had become addicted to. I couldn't complain I was guilty of the same banal comments in response to their work.

I had to agree with Shane's peer group; it was a good paper. I stopped often during my reading to point out passages I particularly liked or to explain why I felt certain aspects of his paper were working especially well. I was surprised that Shane seemed a bit impatient at these interruptions many writers, myself included, enjoy hearing why or how something in their paper works. I understood the reason for Shane's impatience when I reached the end of his paper the conclusion was poignant and completely unexpected; Shane had simply been eager to gauge my overall reaction.

In my first session with Shane I had felt he was only allowing me to read his paper, and rather begrudgingly at that; this time it was as though Shane was entrusting me with his paper. I suppose I felt compelled to offer some sort of advice, and since the paper was working well the way it was, I decided to discuss some style strategies for punctuating. Shane didn't seem all that enthusiastic, but I didn't let this dissuade me. When I finished my lecture on the hierarchy of punctuation, Shane shrugged, told me he usually employed the "listen for a pause and throw in a comma" method, and gathered up his papers.

"Maybe you could try weaving some italicized flashbacks into your paper," my consultant suggested. "I think it could be an interesting effect," he added, noticing my lack of enthusiasm. Yeah right, I thought as I told him I'd think about it.

One of the reasons I had looked forward to establishing some return clients was that I was craving stability in an environment that is often far from predictable. Yet, I have learned that each session, even with the same student, often requires its own unique twist, a subtle shift in attitude, sometimes even a radical redefinition of what a consultation should be. The third time I saw Shane he breezed in, immediately told me what his paper was about, admitted that it was still very rough, and proceeded to read it to me. When he finished, I barely had time to say a word before he was telling me what he felt his paper's weaknesses were and what he planned on doing to revise it. Shane had effectively taken care of both our jobs without my doing a thing. I searched for something useful to say . . .

"What do you think?" I asked, suddenly aware that I had monopolized the entire session. My consultant handed my paper back. "You seem to know where you're going with this now. I don't think you need me to tell you what to do with it."

Shane and I chatted for the remainder of our session. I learned he was a business major, and that he was dreading the technical writing class he was required to take. I told him the class wasn't all that bad, and asked him if he planned on taking any other types of writing classes. Shane didn't really seem to be aware of what our university offered, so I filled him in. When I mentioned fiction writing, Shane seemed interested. "You know," he began, lowering his voice, "I've been working on something in my spare time I have about three chapters written . . . Maybe . . .

"What's your major," she asked. I hated this question. She did seem to enjoy reading my papers, and I was growing tired of hiding my desire to write seriously, so I braced myself for her reaction and admitted that I was an English major with a writing emphasis. "Well," she said smiling nonchalantly, "I guess we'll be seeing more of you then."