Reflection on My
Semester in the Student Writing Center
This semester in the Student
Writing Center has seen me grow tremendously as a mentor, as a student, and as
a writer. Over the last few months, I have been privileged to work with a
diverse array of writers whose ideas and perspectives have not only brought me
out of my cognitive sphere, but also have allowed me to survey it from an
outside perch. In this writing, I will tell of this journey out of seclusion
and into the wide world of writing.
In telling of this journey, I
first want to establish a context for the “place” at which I stood at the
beginning of the semester by providing a brief history of my experience with
writing…
For the majority of my life,
writing has been associated with one constant: solitude. From fifth grade
through my senior year of high school, I was homeschooled, comprising the
entirety of the student body for my grade; I had relatively few interactions
with academic peers, and essentially always completed work—writing included—by
myself. While this solitude did have its benefits, such as allowing me space
for reflection and thus an acute understanding of the way I think about and approach writing, it instilled in me a
concept of writing as an inherently hermitic activity, and, in a sense, sealed
me away from the influence of others. Up through my first year-and-a-half of
college, I conceptualized writing in this manner, becoming fairly proficient in
my strengths and knowledge but also rather uninterested in the perceptions of
others and unaware of my weaknesses—I admittedly grew somewhat arrogant, and it
is in this state of mind that I initially set out on my journey by walking into
English 1810.
This course was unlike any I’d
been in prior in the sense that it was both small and largely
discussion-oriented. Immediately, I realized that my comfort zone and level of
experience in this area were going to be challenged throughout the course. As I
listened to the ideas of my peers and the eloquence with which they expressed
these, I felt somewhat intimidated, my assuredness in the completeness of my
abilities beginning to falter. For a brief period, the pace of my trek slowed
considerably; I began to retreat into my mind, but was met with doubt rather
than assurance. It was then that I realized that I did not know everything,
and, consequently, it was then that I became intentional in my journey, walking
determinedly forward.
This turned out to be the
first of many growing experiences I would have in the course, serving as a
precursor to what would soon follow—working with writers one-to-one.
In the weeks following my
commitment to this journey, I learned two integral principles: using a
nondirective approach and “respect[ing] the writer”; these would serve as my
guidelines along the way, and would provide the means by which my own learning
was made possible. By asking myself questions such as “What does it mean to
respect the writer” and “How do I respect the writer,” I began to think of how
I wanted to be respected as a writer, and I began to ask myself the same
questions about my own writing that I was taught to ask the writers with whom I
worked—“Why did you do this?” “What do you want your audience to take away.”
With the onset of this new, better introspection, I felt ready to begin my
work.
My first experience in-person
came shortly after, when I observed five sessions between fellow tutors and
students. These observations were quite helpful to me, as they allowed me to
see different concepts and techniques in action. I was able to see what seemed
useful to students and what could work for me. Moreover, talking with the
tutors, I found that they noticed things in the session that I missed
completely and that I noticed things they missed; this was immensely rewarding,
as my confidence and my knowledge were both greatly enhanced through this
exchange.
After I had observed these
sessions, the time quickly came for me to begin my own tutoring. In all
honesty, this was still intimidating despite all of the education and practice
that I had prior. However, as I introduced myself to the student and asked what
I could help her with, I had a significant revelation: I was no longer alone on
my journey. For these thirty minutes, the student was walking with me. We were
able to discuss where she had been, where she was at the time, and where she
was going, and I was able to help her by suggesting a route. Meanwhile, I found
myself impressed with her tenacity (she came to Writing Center a full two weeks
before her assignment was due), and observing how quickly she progressed in her
writing stirred a desire within me to
try the same thing, to try developing an assignment long before its due date
rather than waiting until just days prior. As the session ended and she walked
away satisfied, I felt both a surge of confidence and satisfaction, knowing
that she had learned something from me and that I had learned something from
her. My perception of writing, of people, and of the world around me was
greatly enriched by this.
And since that point, each
session has added to and enriched my perspective. My meetings with students
have led me to places as diverse as a village in turmoil during the Rwandan
Genocide to an evergreen forest in the thick of winter. Moreover, hearing about
students’ varying cultures, ideas, and language usage has forced me to think
more about my own culture, my own ideas, and my own language use in order to
mentor them in their English writing. I have not only been able to pass through
the borders of my mind and my culture, but I have come far enough that I can
now look back on them, examine them, and transcend them, making me a more
well-rounded writer and better person overall. It is my hope and sincere belief
that I have provided such enrichment to the writers—the people, not the
texts—that may also go further in their endeavors in writing and their
exploration of the world around them.
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