Succeeding in the Class: Process vs. Product

To succeed as a writer, you have to figure out the value of process. This is why learning process orientated thinking and studying the processes employed by successful writers will allow you to make yourself a better writer. Making yourself a better writer will help you produce better writing. In fact, if I had a magic wand, I'd wave it over your heads and magically, you would understand real learning and most of being happy and successful is more about learning the destination (the product) is much less important than journey to get there (the process). In fact, in this class, refining the processes you use to think about writing and producing writing *IS* the product, not the papers and posts you write along the way.

If you remember the first day of class, I defined good writing as successful writing, that is, writing which accomplishes the goals the author (you) have sat for it. The ability to produce such writing isn't a matter or talent, and it's not something with which you are born. Writing which scores regularly--successful writing--is a product of a long process of error, trail, and persistence. This process involves you figuring out what you need to learn to accomplish your goals. It involves in figuring out what your goals are and learning to focus on them. It involves practice. It involves developing a system of steps and techniques you can *use*, and it involves hard work.

All of us have admired Olympic athletes, musicians, and even circus performers. They make the difficult, seemingly impossible look easy. Each movement is purposeful, polished, graceful, and their performance--their product--seems beyond the abilities of mere humans. BUT--and this is a big "but"; so, I'm breaking the usual rules and writing it in capitals and starting a sentence with it--each of these performances is produced by a human, who in most respects is just like me and you. (Well, in my case, they usually aren't as fat.) What sets them apart from us is years of practice and skill honed by practice and knowledge of themselves and their medium.

We "know" they are as human as we are, but in our guts we remain, somehow, unconvinced. We continue to believe that they are more talented than us, and most of us firmly believe we can never, ever match their performance. Maybe this is true. The performers we're taught to admire are at the top of their professions and abilities. Most of us won[t take the time to come to their level of expertise and put in the time and effort needed to produce their products. The products we see such experts produce produce usually don't include their first stumbling efforts, the countless mistakes they made while learning, and the time and energy they put into getting themselves to the point where their performance is worthy of our awe. The reason I love seeing a craftsman at work is that I can imagine and admire all the hard work which allowed them to produce the products I use. Of course, this is also why I admire your work.

Every semester, students enter my class believing that good writing is a matter of talent rather than systematic work and a willingness to fail and learn from their failures. They spend a lot of energy looking for shortcuts and easy solutions, when the sad truth is, "There are none." Some tell me, "I don't like English." Some say, "I'm not good at English." Some tell me, "I'm good in math and science, not English." The good news is I teach writing, not English., and almost anyone can learn to write well. Their performances may not, like Shakespeare or Hemingway, be worthy of our awe, but they can learn to write well enough to get most any job done (and done well).

Most of us who ride bikes won't end up being Lance Armstrong, then again most of us aren't interested in multiple wins of the Tourde France. Still, we manage to get from point A to B, and we have fun riding. We don't consider our ability to ride a matter of talent or being born "good" at biking. After all, most everyone can learn to ride a bike. For most, it's a matter of being willing to fall off and get back on the bike until we pick up the trick. After we pick up the very, very complicated blend of balance and multi-layered, precise motions which allow us to ride a bike, riding a bike doesn't seem like too big a deal. Why do students continue to think writing is any different? It isn't. Becoming a successful writer requires the same determination, persistence, and willingness to fail to achieve a greator end that most of us had when we were a kid learning to ride a bike.

Learning to ride a bike requires you to go through a process of failure, getting hurt, and picking yourself up, and trying a slightly difference set of skills. Writing isn't any different, and--truth be told--I've taught enough students how to write that I've learned the difference between those who go on to be good, successful writers and those who don't involves a willingness to go through through the process rather than quitting or just trying to muddle through. Make no mistake: practiced skills accumulate. One day the various skills "click," and you find yourself riding the bike--writing--with ease a confidence.

Over the years, I've become convinced writing is a craft at which almost everyone can become proficient. My class isn't about judging every detail of your writing; it's about my getting you through the process and getting you to believe in the process, and it is about the both of us getting you to get back up on the bike, believing the end is worth all the work and pain. Here's an essential life lesson: "Failure gets a bad rap. You MUST, HAVE TO, SHOULD fail, because failure is a necessary precursor to all meaningful success. In fact, failure can be a joy filled, fun beginning, but it takes a while to learn such joyful acceptance of our own painful failures."

I want my students to be willing to fail, that is, produce writing which isn't successful or is only partially successful. I want them to stretch the envelope of their skills and knowledge. I want them to learn how to learn from their falls, dust themselves off, and try out new techniques until their writing begins to do the work they want it to. At this point, just like bike riding, writing can both get you where you want to go AND be fun. Think about this last. When was the last time you had fun writing? When is the last time you gave yourself a pat on the back for producing a writing which just got from point A to point B? In most of life, you don't beat yourself up or let a teacher beat you up just because you aren't Lance Armstrong. Why is writing usually less fun than bike riding?

Learning to be a good writer--which is what this class is all about--isn't about the products you produce in the class; it's about learning how to learn from the processes you use to produce your writing and integrating this process of learning into how you think about writing and yourself. In short, the most important product you'll produce in the class isn't the papers you'll write or your portfolio, etc. Your most important product, the one on which I'll base your grade, is a proven knowledge of the process of how to make yourself a better writer. I'm looking to see if you're investing the time to try out proofreading techniques, practicing the KISS style, etc. When I give a student an "A," I want to be fairly convienced they have what it takes to go on to be the kind of writers *they* want to be.

Think of me as a little league coach. Yes, I'm judging you, but I'm not basing my opinion of you on your hit-run adverage. I'm much more interested in your learning the game, figuring out how best to teach you, and in getting to witness the joy you take from the practice and play. I base my opinion of you on your willingness to show up for practice, work hard at the tasks I give you, how you work with your team mates, and the progress you're showing learning the skills you're practicing. Like a coach, you'll have to trust me that all the seemingly senseless practice will pay off in the big game. Like a coach, I'm working on the various aspects of your game. Unlike a coach, however, I'll make sure I tell you why I'm having you do all the work. After all, you're adults.

Here's the last major point for today, in every assignment for this class, I want you paying attention to the processes you're using to create the various products I assign. I want you to end every assignment by reflecting and assessing these processes. I want you learning from the creating and doing. I want you learning from practice how to be more accurate and effective. If all goes well--I want you thinking about what you're learning as you learn. If all goes perfectly--life usually doesn't--you might even learn to enjoy writing. When you started, it was a much fun as learning to ride a bike. For most students, there will be a day when all the skills and knowledge you've learned and are learning clicks, and you'll be ready to play your own game, knowing you're playing it as well as you can AND getting as much better at it as you want.

For all this to happen, you have to learn to give your attention to process and accept the products which result. I do.