© 1983 Don W. King

This essay first appeared in Carolina English Teacher (1983): 14-17, published by the South Carolina Council of Teachers of English.

In "An Apology for Poetry" Sir Phillip Sidney argues that an artist is superior to a philosopher because while the latter says what to do, the former shows what to do:

For whatsoever the philosopher saith should be done, he [the artist] giveth a perfect picture of it . . . coupleth the general notion with a particular example. A perfect picture, for he yieldeth to the powers of the mind an image of that whereof the philosopher bestoweth but a wordish description: which neither strike, pierce, nor possess the sight of the soul so much as that other doth.

It is not going too far, I think, to extend Sidney's notion to the composition classroom. That is, if we want to teach our students how to write, we must do more than just tell them how; we must show them how by actually composing in front of them. What follows in this essay then is a system for showing students how to write, as well as a consideration of its benefits and problems.

Before I literally compose in front of my students, I spend a good deal of class time providing "wordish description." Crucial rhetorical concerns like persona, audience, and subject as well as prewriting techniques are discussed. At the same time, I make many kinds of writing assignments, both in and out of class, including freewriting, sentence combining, descriptive-narrative paragraphs, and so on. However valuable I tell my students these theoretical discussions and practical exercises are, as far as they are concerned, I am still just talking about writing.

Nonetheless, the stage has been set for me to show them the writing process. What I do next causes quite a shock; about a week and a half before their first deliberative essay is due, I tell them that I will write along with them on one of the topics I have assigned. Furthermore, I tell them I will compose most of my essay on the board in the same piecemeal fashion I ask them to. Generally I begin my composing on the board that day by illustrating a pre-writing technique. Usually I choose one like brainstorming, clustering, finding crucial ideas, or even freewriting. We spend the greater part of that class period talking about what I am doing on the board, and I end by giving them an assignment requiring that they engage in a similar pre-writing strategy. Showing them what I do at this stage of writing is crucial because it illustrates the many different kinds of decisions a writer has to make as well as assuring them that all writers, even teachers, do not "spontaneously generate" perfect essays. Instead, they see that although writing, even at this early stage, is tough, it is not an impossible act.

The next time we meet, they exchange papers and, in small groups, discuss and criticize each other's pre-writing. About half-way through the period I begin working on the board towards the tentative thesis for my essay, readily adapting my ideas to their criticisms. In fact, quite often they see that the process of developing a thesis is just like pre-writing; as we work through the focus that my essay will take, we again are confronted by choices and decisions-the same kind of choices and decisions they will have to face. Eventually, however, the entire class decides what my essay's thesis will be. Once again, I ask them to follow the procedure I illustrated as they prepare to have their own theses ready the next time we meet.

During the next class period, we again break up into small groups to analyze and criticize each other's work. Again, about half way through the period, we focus attention on the board, and I begin composing my introductory paragraph. The interchange that we have at this point is most important because they see that the challenges of composing are not unique to themselves. They know that I know how hard writing is. Furthermore, as I hear their criticisms and offer to adjust my paragraph accordingly, they again witness the actual process of composing. Sentences are crossed out, new words substituted, transitions added, style adjusted, parallelism strengthened, and so forth. The ever-shifting, problem-solving nature of composing, its decisions and flux, is seen first hand by my students; I do not just talk about it.

When we meet the next time, they exchange introductory paragraphs and help one another by suggesting changes and criticizing weak spots. Later in that class, I begin composing at least some of my supporting paragraphs on the board. I suppose that this is the most difficult paragraph for me because here I become most vulnerable. No longer am I thinking what I think; I begin to see what I think. Not knowing where I am going with the paragraph is scary, but it does parallel well the actual composing process. Rarely does any writer know where a paragraph is headed. Though I may have an idea of where I want to get, the organic nature of writing fights against a pre-planned, mechanistic order. But while composing this paragraph is the most challenging for me, as my students watch me, it is the most revealing to them. They witness someone starting and stopping, stating and restating, defining and refining, winning and losing; they witness composing.

Finally the day to hand in the essay arrives, so I have my essay duplicated, along with those of three students, and enough copies made for each student. Each essay is then read aloud and evaluations begun. At this point the process of composition, though not actually witnessed, is defended, explained, analyzed, and challenged. We take our time with each essay, commenting both through written notations and class discussions. My essay is treated the same, and I listen carefully to all suggestions. Finally, the class assigns each essay a "grade": that is, each essay is categorized as "publishable," "revisable," or "re-write." I collect the remaining essays and mark them similarly. Later, after revisions, we re-submit our essays and continue the process until each essay is "publishable."

The benefits of showing students the process of composing are many, not just for students but for teachers as well. Students learn, first of all, that writing is not a mysterious act; instead, they see that it is a nuts-and-bolts kind of activity, complex but not unfathomable. Second, they see that writing is not an act intended to be performed in an academic vacuum; that is, by witnessing their teacher's interest in composing, they realize that writing can be a valuable, fundamental part of living, not just education. They see that their teacher does not view writing as a means to an end (that of assigning grades in a course) but rather as an integral part of human behavior. Writing is presented as an end, in and of itself. Third, they see that writing can have "real world" application. As they struggle to write meaningful, relevant, timely essays, and as they see their teacher doing the same, they perceive that the act of writing is means of learning and even thinking.* It seems that no amount of talking nor even reading of model essays can accomplish this last goal so fully as showing them how to compose.

For teachers, the benefits if this system are equally significant. By trying to show our students how to write, we are reminded of a simple fact: writing is hard. Too often I think we forget the frustrations of writing; we forget that writing is an organic process, Consequently, we fail to sympathize with our students who are still learning how frustrating theprocess can be. A second benefit for teachers is that we can actually learn more about writing by writing than by just talking about writing. One never grows in any discipline or pursuit unless actively involved in the thing itself. We need that "hands-on" kind of experience, coupled with our "wordish descriptions," in order to communicate best the ins and outs, ups and downs, whys and wherefores of writing.**

Still, I would be less than candid if I did not anticipate objections. Many teachers, especially those teaching several sections, will wonder how they could do as I suggest, given the grading, preparation, and administrative work they are already obliged to do. My solution (I teach an average of three composition sections per semester as well as two literature sections) is to write only one essay based on my interaction with all my sections. I tell each section that my essay is going to be developed by the compilation of all my sections' comments.

A more deeply rooted objection is the vulnerability of the teacher inherent in this system. That is, this system will quickly destroy the myth that the teacher "knows-it-all." However, I think we can turn this vulnerability into an advantage in that our openness and experimentation as we demonstrate the process of writing will encourage the same attributes in our students' writing. Still, I know that for some it will be difficult to be vulnerable in front of students; there is that nagging fear of losing control. Nevertheless, if we are earnest in our desire to teach and to communicate ideas and techniques about composing, we need to be willing to be vulnerable.

Another objection is the opposite of the previous one: that we will intimidate our students by "showing off" our talents as writers. If we were perfect writers, this fear would be legitimate. However, few writers or teachers are able to produce perfect copy on initial drafts. So why shouldn't we let our students see us change, substitute, pause, erase, add, and so forth as we write? Rather than intimidating them, we will be assuring them that writing is not a hocus-pocus, presto-perfect experience.

A final objection is not really an objection; it is a state of being: inertia. Some teachers may object to this system because it requires something more than they are willing to give. To these teachers, I again underscore a previous point: in order to teach writing, we must be writing. Consider employing this system or some variation of it if for no other reason than to help break the log-jam in your writing process.

The system is not a cure-all; I am not so naïve as to believe that it will revolutionize writing pedagogy. In addition, it in no way is a substitute for telling students about writing. Study of rhetoric is the starting place for any writing course. Instead, consider using this system at the beginning of the semester as a means of showing your students how writing actually occurs. Coming full circle, Sidney argued that showing a man an elephant is better than telling him about one. Similarly, showing students how to write an essay is better than just telling them how to write it.

* See Janet Emig, "Writing as a Mode of Learning." College Composition and Communication 28 (1977): 122-28.

** See Maxine Hairston, "Thomas Kuhn and the Teaching of Writing." College Composition and Communication 33 (1982): 86, for a discussion of the new paradigm for teaching writing that suggests the importance of a writing teacher who writes.