Praxis Essay 1 - React

Praxis Essay 1: React

January 18 2019

One of the more interesting themes I have come across throughout our readings thus far has been the efforts to distance writing studies as a genre from that of traditional English classes. In full disclosure, I had originally signed on for this course under the assumption that writing studies would simply be another English class like the many I have taken before - thankfully this is not the case.

The various pieces we have observed so far have been quick and forthright about pointing out the problems that exist within a generic English course, and many of these addressed shortcomings I have personally felt throughout my education. Perhaps the most abundant point made has been that writing is best assessed as a process, rather than a product. As a student, this is a radical change in perspective that I wholeheartedly welcome, and wish that I had access to earlier on.

The core issue with standard English curriculum is the extreme linearization of strategy by which every student is instructed to write. This practice is hammered into our heads at a young age. Five paragraph essays. Introduction. Body paragraphs. Conclusion. Done. Repeat this ad nauseum with minor tweaks until college, when the lucky ones might encounter some semblance of diversity for the first time in their lives. It always felt a bit strange to me how writing, in theory, was made out to be some grand adventure of freedom and creativity, but in practice became a rudimentary chore, comprised of a series of arbitrary hurdles to jump over and unclear boxes to check. As Donald Murray puts it, “repetitive autopsying doesn’t give birth to live writing” (3). One of my personal standout memories of this problem took place during my AP English Literature course in my senior year of high school. After pouring hours into a lengthy and detailed literary analysis of Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness (a dreadful book), I received my paper back with a less-than-average grade and a note that said something along the lines of “the essay was well written, but your interpretation is wrong.” This naturally led to a lengthy discussion with my English teacher, as I tried to explain that as the one who birthed the interpretation into existence, I am fairly certain that it is indeed correct in its own right, and was properly enforced by the supporting paragraphs of the paper. Nonetheless, I was still instructed that I was, plainly, wrong. Needless to say, I felt less than enthused about English after that. Creative liberty in the modern English classroom died long ago. So, I did what any frustrated student would do, and jumped ship, landing my interests in the sciences instead. Was biology just another series of hurdles and checkboxes? Absolutely! But at least it wasn’t pretending to be anything else.

What was lacking from my past exposures to English was consideration for the writing process as a whole, particularly revision. As Nancy Sommers describes it, “current models of the writing process have directed attention away from revision” (378). It is shocking that this crucial step is so frequently ignored in formal writing structure. Revision can turn a potentially disastrous paper into an outstanding paper. So why have I never received formal instruction about how to effectively revise a paper?

Within the scope of writing in the biological domain, revision plays an important role. Biological literacy is not innate. It takes time to acquire the background knowledge and slow, methodical reading skills that are necessary to decipher a dense research paper - to understand how the graphs correspond to the findings in the text, to recognize not just what the experiments being performed do, but why the authors decided to perform them, and to extrapolate the downstream effects of intricate chemical interactions that might not be clearly stated in the text. The target audience for research papers is not always so clear. Some readers might have a firm understanding of the topics at hand, while others have never attended a biology lecture in their lives. This calls into question how much background information ought to be discussed in order to clearly convey the findings of the paper, and elevates the potential to accidentally misinform readers. Unlike a literary analysis, there are incorrect interpretations to be had here. Take the recent anti-vaccination crisis as an example. In 1998, Andrew Wakefield published a paper in The Lancet, an esteemed medical journal, that described the first alleged link between autism and the measles, mumps and rubella vaccine. Upon later inspection, Wakefield only used twelve test subjects in his study - a test group that is far too small to accurately represent the general population. Despite this, despite the fact that Wakefield had his medical license revoked over this article, and despite The Lancet retracting the article, despite the hundreds of following meta-studies that definitely prove no correlation between autism and the MMR vaccine, the results of this misinformation still percolate to the present day, and present themselves in the form of measles outbreaks among children in western nations of the world.

Thus, there is an added emphasis on providing thorough research and methods when writing in the biological field. Biological writers have a moral obligation to publish sound science. Doing so requires an added emphasis on clarity. Logical arguments have to flow nicely with the data presented in such a way that the reader can follow without the need for years of background knowledge. It is an unusual style that mandates a greater respect for revision than traditional English essays might. In my experience, biology professors have been very willing to meet and review drafts to assess necessary changes before yielding the final product - something that English professors tend to shy away from, so as not to give unfair advantages to students who seek effective revision. Though the styles of writing differ, the strategies do not necessarily have to. Each field is attempting to create the best quality product in the end, so why do English classes neglect changes?

Writing studies effectively takes a step back from the arbitrary nuances that have somehow become a hallmark of English curriculum. Rather than once again instructing students to “do what they have been taught to do in a consistently narrow and predictable way” (Sommers 383), writing studies challenges this mindset, and pushes students to constantly improve their writing and communication abilities. It is not so much a matter of passing or failing an assignment, as it is to learn from the assignment and continue to improve it over time. Just as reading in the biological field requires a slow, careful lens to construct and deconstruct complicated research, writing too could benefit from a softer pace. Taking the time to reflect, reread and revise a paper is a powerful learning tool. When writers become too caught up in writing for a reader “whose expectations influence their revision process” (Sommers 385), they lose their creative freedom for the sake of making the grade, and in turn fail to learn effective writing strategies applicable in the real world. The current model of writing instruction can be particularly damaging in the biological realm, as cutting corners could lead to widespread misunderstanding. The threshold between writing and biology is a unique area of communication that is worthy of further investigation so as to improve the ability of researchers to accurately relay their findings to the public at large.

Works Cited

Murray, Donald M. “Teach Writing as a Process Not Product.” The Leaflet, vol. 11, no. 14, Nov. 1972.

Sommers, Nancy. “Revision Strategies of Student Writers and Experienced Adult Writers.” College Composition and Communication, vol. 31, no. 4, 1980, p. 378., doi:10.2307/356588.

Wakefield, AJ, et al. “Ileal-Lymphoid-Nodular Hyperplasia, Non-Specific Colitis, and Pervasive Developmental Disorder in Children.” The Lancet, vol. 352, no. 9123, 1998, pp. 234–235., doi:10.1016/s0140-6736(05)77837-5.