Thursday, August 25, 2016

My New Crush


          Holy cannoli!  This first week of class has been somewhat dizzying, but in a good way—like when you’re giddy and disoriented from stepping off of an awesome amusement park ride.  What has my mind reeling is the discovery of a world I hardly knew existed until a few months ago.  Ah, the writing center!  The tucked away gem of the college campus!  Admittedly, for as little as I feel like I know about this wonderful land, what I’ve learned about writing centers so far is that this place is my new crush.
          As a romantic, I adore the idea of serving a greater good through helping people along in the writing craft.  I’ve long since been the “go-to” girl among family and friends when it comes to anything English.  That’s not to say, though, that I’m some sort of veteran in the arts of peer tutoring; in fact, this class has shown me how very, very little I know about the ebb and flow in and around the chair of a good writing consultant.  I’m excited to be taught how to be good at the good I want to be engaged in.  I want to, as in the more affectionate parts of Stephen North’s sentiments describe (wedged between all his yelling, of course), be a person who contributes to the beautiful process of helping a writer edify what makes him or her a writer.
            Speaking of North, his essays, along with the other readings from this week, have introduced me to what seems to be a growing complexity of a writing center, its dynamics, and how it’s ultimately defined.  Apparently, much is misunderstood about the intents and purposes of a writing center, and North has lit a fire and marches heatedly to demand change in the way such places are viewed.  Even though part of me understands his passion for accurate definitions, I still raise an eyebrow here and there when I read his essays, and his outcry for a four-year writing curriculum makes me scratch my confused head and think.  So, let me get this straight.  In the interest of creating good writers to put in chairs next to good writing consultants, North wants to create a place of instruction, only open to anyone and everyone until seat capacities meet their max.  For him, the ideal writing center is created when you “tie the Center directly to our Writing Sequence through the English major: to make it the center of consciousness, the physical locus—not for the entire, lumbering university—but for the approximate 10 faculty members, the 20 graduate students, and the 250 or so undergraduates that we can actually, sanely, responsibly bring together” (Revisiting, 89). 
            I point out this particular quote because it moved me.  It affected me.  My reaction to his words was a red siren twirling in my head, thinking, “Whoah!  Say what?!  Is this what the writing center is supposed to be about?  Sure, we choose to work here, care to be here, but does our love for the work justify the idea of a writing center being exclusive to a bitty amount of students being slow-churned out of a four-year writing course that primes them to work well with us so we can have more fun together in our little cubicles?  Isn’t that selfish of us?”  Then, in the friction of my response against North’s quote, I realized some things.  1) I’m faced with the challenge of considering what it means for a writing center to be a writing center, and 2) that I very much care about finding an answer to this consideration! 
            So, here I am, at the close of week one and hooked.  I am grateful for the room that has been made for me to join this—our—writing center.  I want to soak up what I learn.  I want to become a part of the defining force that makes our writing center a place worth telling everyone on campus to come to.