Process vs. Product

If you learn nothing else in this class, I want you to figure out the value of process and why learning process orientated thinking and the processes employed by successful writers will allow you to make yourself a better writer, which--in turn--will help you produce better writing.

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 is a product of a long process error, trail, and persistence. This process involves you figuring out what you need to learn to accomplish your goals. It involves practice. It involves developing a system of steps and techniques you can *use*, and it involves hard work.

As you revise your responses in your writing inventory, you'll be adding to the techniques, knowledge and skills about writing you know. Right now, I want you to begin thinking about the difference between product and process. You can add your thoughts to the "Process" section of your inventory.

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"--each of these performances is produced by a human, who in most respects is just like me and you. What sets them apart from us is years of practice and skill honed by practice and knowledge of themselves and their medium. We "know" this to be true, 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, and the products we see 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.

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. 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, we 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 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.

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 quiting 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 process. 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?

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 product 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, your writing inventory, 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.

Think of me as a little league coach. Yes, I'm judging you, but I'm not basing my opinion of you on your products. 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 learning from the creating and doing. I want you learning from practice how to be more accurate and effective, and--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. For most students, there will be a day when all the skills and knowledge you've learned clicks, and you'll be ready to play your own game, knowing you're playing it well.