Writing Fatigue: A Way Out

Written by Elijah Gamble

As a senior undergraduate rhetoric major, I feel like school takes a lot from me sometimes. Not to mention I also work in a writing center where it is my job to ingest and critique pages of content. One of the leisures school has taken from me is the joy of reading and the release of writing. (That is not to say I do not love my job because I do). To read for me in the past was to liberate myself from the confines of reality and into the realm of deep imagination; to read for me now is to dissect, to identify, to bind the world and the many perceptions of it into a linguistic code. By the same token, writing for me in the past was to record my imagination, my laughter, my story into something of my own creation and done by my own volition. Similar to my present experience with reading, writing can now feel like a chore of a madman’s making.

Lately, however, I have tried branching out of my routine-generated comfort zone. Over the summer I participated in a poetry workshop via Zoom. There, I rediscovered some of the bliss of reading and writing. The workshop provided me with a low-stakes zone where reading and writing was not required but encouraged, shared, spoken, loved, imagined, experienced, and most of all, lived— not only by me but by others as well. I was allowed access to a platform that I had been denying myself for years.

I found myself perplexed by my former inability to access a portion of myself that had seemed so vital to my existence in the past. Then, I found myself questioning why I even needed permission, from someone else no less, to revisit my long lost loves. Being able to capture reading and writing in a whole new light once again made me realize that I could also apply my reunion to my academic and professional life.

Consequently, this rediscovery of mine reignited my passion for my major and my field of study. The exposure that the workshop provided me with helped me realign my focus. I tried implementing new reading habits and new writing habits in my personal writing. I did the same with my academic and professional writing. I feel as if I have recovered a bit from the reading and writing fatigue I had been experiencing and was able to read a new novel cover-to-cover, for myself and myself only, like I used to when I was younger. Reading and writing for class and work seem less like a chore and more like a hobby. I was not expecting to gain so much from stepping out of my comfort zone, but what I gained was well worth the discomfort the journey to rediscovery caused me.

TL;DR I went to a poetry workshop and found my love for literature and composition again. I recovered from a terrible case of writing fatigue and burnout.

Reflections on a Writing Center

Written by Kathleen Irwin

How long have we been in self-isolation? Too long, if you ask me. So long that I’ve started to reflect on my time working in a writing center. I started my graduate career in a writing center and now I’m back after teaching for two or so years while working on my doctorate. There are so many things the writing center has done for me, and it’s changed me in so many ways. I honestly believe that if I didn’t start out working in a writing center, I don’t know if I would’ve decided to get my PhD.

Not all writing centers are the same. Every single one is unique with its own school of thought, work dynamic, and atmosphere.  That’s one of the perks of having worked in more than one. Both were incredibly different from each other, and yet similar in many ways as well. My first experience as a writing center tutor was hectic, hurried, and theoretically and pedagogically engaging. I learned about the Socratic method, indirect tutoring, and I was introduced to the Writing Center Journal and Praxis, journals I still gobble up when a new issue comes out.

My identity as a tutor began to take form there; I was a helper, a guide, not a teacher. And yet my face to face sessions (the only kind we had) helped shape my identity as an instructor and the importance of communication with one’s students. If you are in graduate school and you have the opportunity, I highly suggest working at a writing center. For some reason I have met people in graduate school who scoff at the idea of working at a writing center and prefer being a GTA or research assistant. While both of those are valuable, working at a writing center was integral to my success in grad school. I learned to be a better tutor, communicator, and instructor.

That being said, my time as an instructor has been incredibly valuable to my second and most recent tenure at the TWU Write Site. I became more confident about myself and my abilities when I became a teacher here at TWU. I was able to create a teaching persona that helped me to (metaphorically) stand tall, be confident in my abilities, and assure students that I knew what I was doing. I also learned to project my voice as a teacher and use multimodal composition strategies and integrate them into my tutoring style. I loved that I was able to merge multimodal composition, free writing and writing center theory into both my tutoring and instructing styles.

Working at the TWU Write Site has given me the opportunity to see past students of mine flourish and grow as tutors. I currently work with two former students of mine. It’s glorious, seeing them tutor with a passion and do such a spectacular job of being tutors. It reassures me, as their former instructor, that I taught them well. As their now co-worker and friend, I get to see them come up with brilliant ideas and do things I would never have been able to do at their age. Before our self-isolation and quarantine, I got to go into work and experience a camaraderie with every single tutor at the Write Site.

Now that we all work online, I get to witness everyone of them helping each other out, lifting others up, and adapting our technological situation to the fullest in our online appointments. We check in with one another, call and text each other off duty, and make jokes about toilet paper. Writing Centers don’t just teach us valuable lessons about pedagogy or theory but build lasting friendships in times of crisis – something I’m sure everyone needs right now.

Writing Centers’ Power

Written by Charles Dyer

Believe it or not, there is a group called the North Texas Writing Center Association (NTWCA). This association of writing centers is a subset of the South Central Writing Centers Association, which is an affiliate of the International Writing Centers Association. One might expect this to then become, in the distant future, a member of the Inner Solar System Writing Center Association – in due time.

The NTWCA hosts a fall conference, a short day to share stories of successes and failures, to discuss strategies and techniques, and to impart administrative know-how. One goal of the conference is to discover what works and what doesn’t. Part of the conversations center around the widespread apathy toward writing in general.

The stories are more or less the same at any writing center. Students feel that writing is a burden, a requirement, and something only few can do well. The reasons for this are complicated and not entirely understood because the way we teach writing and grammar is complicated and not entirely understood.

With the pressure of STEM curricula bearing down on schools and teachers, the study of humanities has been slowly pushed to the sidelines and seen as a luxury. Where there are calls for mandatory composition courses in high school and college, the ins and outs of those courses are muddled and – at times – do more harm than good. This is not breaking news and is something composition directors and academics struggle to untangle daily.

What writing centers are left with are frustrated students with lackluster drives to write anything at all. Part of a writing center’s job then becomes motivating students to write and write WELL. Easier said than done, of course.

These are the kinds of conversations had at writing center conferences like the NTWCA held in the fall of 2019 at Tarrant County College’s northeast campus. Out of the strains of the conversation emerged a central question: What do we tell students to make them care about writing?

There are a few ways writing enthusiasts answer this question. The first is that there is an innate need for writing of all kinds – that it’s both an art form and a necessity for civilization.

Another answer is one I heard at the NTWCA conference. “If you want any kind of substantial job, you need to be able to write well.” The more practical answer, this insight follows the expansion of career centers and services in higher education and the ever-shrinking baseline worth of a bachelor’s degree. The more skills you have, the more likely you are to earn whatever job you want.

The third answer – a favorite of mine – is that effective communication is the glue of a society. The ability to write clearly and sensibly eliminates ambiguity and inspires cooperation. The ability to tell stories entertains the heart and excites the imagination. To be able to write is to be able to move an audience or a reader. Words drive actions and thoughts until they become real and tangible.

That’s all well and fine, but how to make students believe that is a hefty question with a monstrous answer out there somewhere. For a writing center, however, it’s about the little things. Tutors and consultants can reinforce the importance of writing little by little. That’s why returning students are so important. We have the unique opportunity to impact a human’s life when it comes to their ability to express themselves. That’s so special.

Make sure students know how important it is for them to be able to write clearly and that effective communication is their key to the world.

Rules Are Meant To Be Broken

Written by Charles Dyer

If you hearken back to your elementary school English classes or even a high school course, you will probably hear the voice of your teacher saying, “Do NOT start a sentence with ‘and,’ ‘but,’ or ‘so.’ Don’t do it!” It was drilled into your budding writer’s brain. I still remember the red marks on my papers. I wince at the thought.

Then came the shock of college writing.

After years of writing essays, reports, and analyses, college professors spouted blasphemy to my face. My hands trembled as I started placing ‘And’ at the beginning of sentences. I could feel the shadows of former English teachers collectively reaching for a red pen to strike down the nonsense I was committing on the page.

My world was turned upside down, and suddenly conjunctions were foreign to me. What was real? What was a farce? Were my English teachers uneducated? Are my professors playing a cruel joke on me?

If you, reader, are anything like me, you have experienced this kind of literary existentialism.

As I wrote more and more in college, I realized that this rule-breaking was common. Experimental writing was okay- encouraged even. It wasn’t that college professors didn’t abide by the rules of writing or that they didn’t understand them. It was precisely because they knew and understood the rules of writing that allowed them to throw the rules to the wind when they wrote.

Rules are meant to be broken in writing, but rules are necessary to a writer’s foundation. How can one break a rule purposefully if one is unaware of said rule? Hint: one can’t!

As you develop your writing and your unique writing style, you’ll notice ticks and patterns in the words, rhythm, and structure. These are your most precious belongings. Keep them close and nurture them. No one writes exactly like you. Your literary fingerprint is what makes you shine among the rough.

But (GASP) what if that style ends up breaking some rules like what I did at the beginning of this paragraph? Breathe. It’s okay. If your writing makes sense to a reader – if it entertains, informs, persuades, or mesmerizes the reader – you’re doing something right.

Develop your writing to the point that you break rules willfully and skillfully.

DISCLAIMER: Do not take this as a “get out of jail free” card. There are still consequences for breaking the rules of writing. Don’t become a complacent writer, breaking rules to save time and brain power. This must be purposeful rule-breaking, and you should always be prepared to defend your writing choices.

Some of the most powerful and entertaining writing is crafted with a little experimentation, but in order to experiment, a writer must know what traditional or typical writing looks like. Once you know where the ground is, you’ll know which way is up. Then, you can write the stars. Cheesy? Yes. True? I’d bet my career on it.