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Turning the Corner: Story to Meaning in Freshman Composition Classes.

THOSE OF US WHO FOLLOW a write-from-your-own-experience philosophy in teaching Freshman Composition consistently run into one problem: a batch of trivial narrative papers to read each week. Following the lead of Ken Macrorie, Donald M. Murray, and, more recently, Joseph Comprone, we take this approach to keep our students out of the depths of the library, where they would spend hours researching a boring subject to write an artificial and boring paper, and at their desks engaged in the process of writing, where they belong. Freshman writers, we believe, are apprentices in a skilled trade-writing-and like carpenters' apprentices need material to practice their trade on. But novice carpenters are not sent to the lumber mill to pick up their own materials each day. They keep hammering and sawing and all the material they need is kept at their fingertips. Freshmen have all the material they need for writing at their fingertips, too: their own experiences. Too often, however, they fashion those experiences into a dull, firstperson narrative of "What I Did." The genuine significance of what they did lies undiscovered and undeveloped. The challenge for writing teachers is to help the beginners examine their experiences critically and turn the corner from simple narration to wider meanings and truth in their writing. In my freshman English courses I shy away from "relevant" or "significant" assigned paper topics. In fact I make no assignments at all other than that writing teacher's cliche, "write about what you know." When I do get a paper entitled "Pollution" or "Inflation" I ask the writer how much substantial information he has to pass along to his readers. Does he really know the ins and outs of economic theory, for example? The answer is invariably "no." A budding John Maynard Keynes is rare these days. Then I have two options. I can send him to the library to research inflation, in short to pick up a quick course in economics. Then he can write a research paper, that exercise in footnotes and boredom. Or I can tell him, "Write about something you know more about, something you've had some experience with." So the next week it's "My First Day in College." After three weeks of revision it's a well-honed "My First Day in College." Full of hard-hitting specific detail and crisp dialogue, it still makes me yawn. I find myself repeatedly asking, "So what?" Simple narration, I reasoned, is the mode for best presenting unique experiences