Writing this post caused me to do a lot of simultaneous reflection about my own approaches to teaching writing, what I wish for students, what I've often denied them, and the risks of changing. /thread. insidehighered.com/blogs/just-vis…
I started the post with a different purpose, using it as an edition of my column for @ChiTribBooks which caps out at 600 words. I realized pretty quickly that whatever I had to say, it wasn't going to fit there, so I decided to just keep going.
I quickly became pretty obsessed with the piece because the writing of it became a way of thinking through the questions and issues The Codding of the American Mind" raised in my mind. For the 4 days I noodled on it, it was often at the forefront of my thoughts.
This obsession was really fun. It was great to really look forward to getting to my desk and be able to work on something so deeply involving. This happens periodically throughout the year, but it isn't a daily occurrence or anything like that.
I started thinking about how often I give students the chance to become obsessed with what they're working on, and even more importantly, the freedom to pursue that obsession wherever it might go. My answer was: not often enough.
One of the reasons students don't experience that obsession is the structure of school and classes. I give assignments with guidelines and to do well, students must fit the guidelines. If they miss the guidelines, they will be punished (via bad grades).
I had the freedom to start with one set of guidelines (600 word newspaper column), but could quickly jump to a different, self-created set (blog post, open to my own whim). That freedom from guidelines allowed me to pursue my obsession.
And while I'm often juggling multiple writing assignments, I also have the opportunity (when necessary) to go all-in on a single thing, as I did here. This is almost never possible for students juggling not just multiple classes, but complicated lives.
Another part of why writing this piece was so involving is that I could feel it drawing out so much of my existing knowledge. I ended up folding in all kinds of different bits and pieces that I've run across recently, and I could see the pieces coming together like a puzzle. Fun.
This caused another question: How often do I put students in a situation where they're explicitly empowered to draw on their own expertise and knowledge in a writing situation? I do better here, but again, the assignment guidelines are often strictures that work against this.
In more recent years I've been more explicitly conscious of starting from a base of student expertise and knowledge, and it's made a huge difference in their engagement. That attitude informs every assignment (experience) in my forthcoming book. amazon.com/Writers-Practi…
Another important part of my obsession was knowing there was a public audience for whatever I produced. This was highly motivating. As I worked, I believed more and more strongly that I had something worthwhile to say, which made me want to say it as best I could.
In my classroom practice, I've integrated this principle for a long time, having students write for real world audiences and then share that work with their audiences to see the impact of their message. Sometimes that audience is just their classmates, but that's ok too.
But sometimes, I have them writing for the public, and doing this piece reminded me of how fraught that can be. I publish a lot on the internet, but for the most part, my work is relatively obscure. I have an audience, but I'm not known, not a target, not prominent in any way.
I started to become anxious over writing a piece that would be critical of two figures (Haidt and Lukianoff) significantly higher on the public intellectual/academic food chain than me. I worried about the kind of additional scrutiny that might bring.
This worry over the scrutiny had some positive effects. I wanted to be very careful and fair with my message and argument. I wanted to give H&L the benefit of the doubt. At the same time, I wanted to make sure my criticism was strong, clear, and fair. I helped make a better piece
But there were negatives to the possible scrutiny as well. I worried about being attacked or alienating people who might otherwise support me and my work. There could be a professional cost to criticizing those higher on the professional food chain. What if I get something wrong?
I soothed myself with two thoughts. 1. I may get something wrong, and if I do, it's ok to admit it. It's happened before and I survived. 2. If the piece is good, and I do come in for a shitstorm, there are likely others who agree with me who can provide some support.
But...these emotions had me thinking about what students experience when I ask them to show their work publicly when they have much less experience navigating these issues than I do. I could be more mindful and cautious about the emotions involved, address those directly.
What I wind up with is thinking about how I can do even more work to make sure students have this kind of experience with writing, an obsession, the freedom to explore, the public presentation and its attendant benefits and anxieties. This is the work of writers I want them to do
To achieve this goal, I'll need to do even more to question the structures and strictures of schooling when it comes to writing, how and what I value when I create an experience I want students to have. /end
