Tomorrow in my College Comp class, I’m going to return several rough drafts that students handed. The topic was ‘write about something you are an expert at.’ I wanted this to be close to their previous topic, ‘write about something you are passion about or obsessed with.’ But I wanted them to have a different angle to view it.
No one, surprisingly, wrote about what they considered themselves passionate about or obsessed with. I didn’t expect that! (See, all that planning would have been for naught).
Beth had written previously about being obsessed with Cold Stone ice cream. I believe I blogged about how that didn’t turn out so well. This time she wrote about being an expert at laughing. She doesn’t realize it yet, but what she is really writing about is how her family uses humor to strengthen their relationships. We’ll see if we can’t get her to realize that sometime this week.
But right now I have her rough draft in front of me. She chose to open her essay with a cliched intro worthy of a five paragraph essay. At least there’s no damned thesis statement. So I’ve X’ed that out. The next few paragraphs focus on a wonderful little narrative about her family going to visit their grandparents. Beth writes how they are all crammed into the van, and she is jabbering away. Finally her brother can’t take it any more and yells, “Beth every time you talk everyone in this vehicle grows dumber.” She expects a quick rebuke from her mother and father. But she finds them both stifling laughter. This is her introduction to the power of humor in her family.
But the paragraphs comprising that narrative need work. Grammatically they’re fine. The problem is that Beth simply tells too much and doesn’t show enough. (Last semester with my first college comp class, I drove them absolutely nuts with my mantra to “tell less, show more.” Finally, Jill erupted one day - when I happened to be gone - and asked anyone - including the sub - who would listen, “What does he mean show? Does he want me to draw him a freaking picture.” Ha. Obviously, I had been telling, at least theoretically, too much in my methods and not showing enough. So when I returned, we had a good chuckle over the outbreak and then I showed them how to show. I believe the sentence we used was “It is cold outside.” That’s telling. I told them to spice it up. Hit the senses. Use specific details and images. Use strong verbs. Avoid piling on the adjectives/adverbs - “It is extremely frigid outside.” And it worked. Their writing became vivid and the telling ended. Last week I saw Jill in the computer lab making up a Brit Lit test. I asked her how things were going and if she remembered freaking out over “Tell less, show more.” She did. Then she said, “And you know what? Now I say that! Whenever I read something, I catch myself saying, ‘they’re just telling. They should show the reader more.” Yes!)
So today I typed Beth’s little narrative onto my computer. With her permission, I’ll put it up on the projector and, as a class, we’ll talk about how Beth could show more. We’ll see what they come up with.
Just in case they stare blankly, I also typed up my own spiced up version of Beth’s little narrative. I incorporated thoughts, dialog, specific images and details. I played up the humor. I added senses. I may not show this to the class. It all depends on how much they bring to the conversation.
I’m wary of intruding too much of my style into Beth’s writing. But that’s not the point. The point is to get her (and the rest of the class) to see all the options that are out there for them. Besides, she has her own style. She just needs to know that there are accessories that she can use to accentuate and develop her style.
Now that I think of it, it’s kind of like what Kristie did for me. When I first invited her over to my old apartment (which I held as a bachelor for about two years), she thought it was filthy (though she never said a word to me then). It wasn’t until later that she told me she was kind of shocked that I hadn’t picked the place up more. But I thought I HAD. To me it looked quite clean - I vacuumed and had the dishes done. But I guess the jeans hanging over the bedroom door and the books piled next to the couch and the papers all over my table and a few stray socks here and there weren’t her definition of picked up.
Now that we’ve lived together for three years, I know the meaning of picked up. It means vacuuming regularly, dusting regularly (I had forgotten to do that in quite some time at my old place), windexing the windows (I had never even thought of that), and thoroughly scouring the bathroom sink, toilet, and tub (I just wasn’t willing to go that far!). But now I’ve been enlightened.
This happened too with my style. I thought nothing of having an old beat up couch that I had gotten for free from a former coworker. I thought nothing of having two mismatching chairs for my dining room table. I thought nothing of bare white walls or horrible window treatments (to be honest, I didn’t even know what the hell window treatements were). I thought nothing of sleeping on top of my comforter on my bed and just using a blanket to stay warm (that way I never had to make the bed - I just had to fold the blanket). I could go on, but you likely get the idea. Unless you’re a bachelor and are wondering what the hell I’m talking about.
But now Kristie has got me addicted to colors, art work, rugs, furniture, and TLC and HGTV channels. I never would have guessed this. Now I shudder at what my old apartment used to look like. I mean I left my Christmas lights up ALL year! I didn’t even have matching plates or glasses!
The same is true for exposing my kids to all the things they have available to use in their writing. When I assigned the students their first essay, a few incorporated dialog. When I returned the essays, we talked about the effectiveness of dialog. Now I get essays enhanced with dialog (though I was fearful that I’d get essays that were all conversation, but that never happened).
Now that I think of it, I did this same thing in one of my comp classes last year. One of my all time favorite students, Ashley, was struggling with an essay. She wanted to write about how competitive (and back stabbing) girls were. But she couldn’t get anything out. So I sat down at the computer next to her and said, “This is what I’d write if I were you.” And I just started writing as if I were Ashley. I had humor. I had dialog. I had her thoughts and reflections. I had key details. (I think I was writing about waiting in line for prom and watching all of the girls go out and critiquing all of their dresses and such. Then I wrote about trying to sabatog one of her friends, who I depicted as a rival. I wrote that the night before while over at the rival’s house I had snuck into her room and sawed most of the way through one of her high heels. That way she’d make it down part of the grand march before it gave way and she spilled down the aisle). I had Ashley rolling. She asked me to print it out and passed it around. The class thought it was hilarious. I simple said, “Why let your writing be boring? Spice it up.”
Ashley said, “But I could never write like that.”
“Of course not,” I said. “That’s me writing that. You have your own things to say and techniques to add. You have your own stories to tell and your own thoughts about those stories. Use that. I never could do that.”
And she did.
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