idea flipping

I appreciate having my ideas turned upside down--it seems like it always strengthens whatever ideas come out of the process. Like we’ve been talking about all semester, we have a few guiding principles behind what we do, but the answer is always “it depends,” and the right/wrong binary we tend to lump things into just doesn’t work in the constantly changing environment of the center. 

This week, a couple ideas were definitely turned upside down. After reading Brooks’ “Minimalist Tutoring,” I already had my doubts about the lengths we can go with non-directive tutoring. Of course, these doubts had also come up in our discussions of working with ELL, basic, and learning disabled writers. It seems really unfair and disrespectful to continually ask, “Well, what do you think?” of a student who genuinely doesn’t know. Our group discussed in class how this is a tactic we’ve seen more traditionalist professors use, and (like Carino points out) it’s not even non-directive, because we’re asking a “fill-in-the-blank” leading question. 

Shamoon/Burn’s piece, then, was a great flip and counterargument. I really appreciate how the authors emphasized the dangers of turning any ideas into dogma. I’ve definitely experienced (and discussed with other consultants) that “guilt” of “sinning against” the Minimalist Tutoring Bible. I’ve even watched veterans struggled with that guilt--because, although they know the limitations of minimalist tutoring, it’s still pretty ingrained in what we do. I liked Shamoon and Burn’s suggestion of modeling and corrected in front of the student. The bad experienced I’ve had with directive feedback have always been something along the lines of “here’s your line-edited draft back. Sorry it sucks.” However, I’ve also experienced situations where professors have asked for volunteers to share drafts, and then--as a class--we have gone through and “edited.” It’s amazing to see how beneficial these experiences are. 

As far as authority and power dynamics, I’m pretty grateful for Carino’s great piece. First off, I’m one of those consultants who probably likes to put on my peer hat and act as an ally. My consultation style is definitely ally-ish the more I look at it. I felt like Carino wrote an expose aimed at me--reminding me that no matter how collaborative I feel, no matter how non-directive I am, no matter how much I let the writer talk over me, I’m still structured in a position of some power in the consultation. Again, it’s good to have some ideas flipped this week, because collaboration has been such a huge and exciting concept for me to think about this semester. 

Like the directive/non-directive spectrum, looking at the power structures critically has helped me temper my love for seeing myself as a collaborator and an ally. It helps me realize the importance of understanding power dynamics in the consultation, and to work within them effectively. Again, just like Shamoon and Burn’s piece, Carino throws in a “yes, but…” that makes us better consultants. 

Overall, I’m glad we’ve been able to go on the conceptual journeys in writing center theory that we have this semester. I like that there are no right answers. I’m glad I’ve gone on the bumpy road of thinking I had it right, realizing I was wrong, thinking I had it right again, only now to realize there is no right/wrong binary. There’s a continuum, and I’m confident that as we all continue to consult and gain experience, we’ll become more skilled at navigating that continuum. I know, though, that we’ll never be perfect consultants with everything checked off in the “do” column. And honestly, that’s exciting. 

Great Timing

This week had a serendipitous consultation for me: Right after reading (okay, let’s be honest, skimming) our readings on working with learning disabled students, my 4:00 appointment showed up in a wheelchair with his caregiver. 

Of course, at first sight, I had no idea what kind of disability my writer had--a wheelchair and a caregiver could mean any number of things. But if one thing stood out to me from my favorite reading this week (“Whispers of Coming and Going”), it’s that I needed to approach every writer with an open curiosity, not assuming or stereotyping. As we got started, I introduced myself to the writer and the caregiver. 

I got lucky in several ways in this session. First, the writer had written about his disability--so my curiosity was satisfied in substantial ways by reading his paper aloud. He had suffered traumatic brain injury, and had brilliantly motivated himself to finish his degree, despite his daily battles due to his TBI. Second, I went into it with the false confidence of, “Hey, I just read about this. It’s cool.” Although this writer didn't have a learning disability exactly, he did have a cognitive disability. 

Though this writer struggled to communicate verbally (it was often hard to understand him and his speech was pretty slow), his written communication was excellent--the mechanics were all in place in his piece. This really emphasized to me that idea that disabilities are such a spectrum--this writer clearly faces daily struggles, but has a high understanding of language and of writing. Because of this, I was in the happy position of being able to talk over higher order concerns freely--the prioritization of the session was incredibly easy. 

He was writing a personal essay that asked him to reflect on his past, present, and future. He had done a great job of recounting his past, present, and future, and so I began to help him brainstorm ways of including the vital reflection into his piece. Remembering the outline of the session in Sourcebook, I asked the writer if I could take notes while he talked. He was really enthusiastic about the note-taking, and would talk even more as he saw me writing down his quotes (which were really excellent ideas for the rest of his paper). 

His caregiver began to be involved at this point, which at first was disconcerting for me. I was worried she would overpower the writer, especially because she would often tell him he was “getting off topic” or steer him in another direction. However, as we continued throughout the hour to navigate our relationship, I started to realize that the caregiver was sensitive to my guiding. In other words, as I helped the writer mutually set agendas for each separate topic we discussed, she was able to further help the writer communicate and brainstorm in ways I wouldn’t have been able to. For instance, it was clear that she saw the writer sometimes misunderstood the questions I asked--she realized this far sooner than I could, and would rephrase the questions in ways she knew he would immediately pick up on. The more I worked with both of them, the more I realized her presence was helpful, especially as she helped the writer navigate the collaborative back-and-forth of the session. 

Ultimately, I left that session incredibly encouraged. Both the caregiver and the writer said they’d love to come in again, and left with extensive notes and a great revision plan. The writer even asked me out for coffee (which I told him I’d pour for him anytime he stopped by the center)! I definitely learned that it’s important to include the caregiver in the equation (when there is one with a student). I also saw the importance of note-taking, which I think I’ll try to implement into my other sessions as well--although I can see how it may have been even more important for this particular writer.