All posts by Wonderful Faison

An Interview with Our New Associate Director, Joseph Cheatle, PhD

I took a few moments to sit down with the new associate director of the Writing Center@MSU, Joseph Cheatle. What follows is a brief snippet of who Joe is, why he came to this writing center, and what he envisions for the writing center, as well as the productive tensions created between the interviewer,  and the interviewee, Joe.

WF: “Well, Joe, I guess the first question I want to ask you is what do we call you? You’re a man with three names. I’ve heard you called Joe, Joseph, and Joey, so which do you prefer?”

JC: “Actually, I respond to them all…. Joseph is my professional name, and when I was a child, I was called Joey. So any of them is fine. I don’t mind.”

WF: “So, as you know, writing centers are commonly known as a space commonly associated with women in terms of who are commonly employed as tutors and administrators. So, I gotta ask, what draws you to not only Writing Centers, but the MSU Writing Center in particular?”

JC: “One of the things that really draws me to writing centers is its ability to help people and it’s something meaningful… And as far as it being a gendered space, I don’t think we have to gender it female just because it’s a warm, welcoming space… where students are made to feel comfortable… its a place where people want to help each other.”

WF: “So this idea of comfortability perpetuates, at times very problematically– it’s kind of a grand narrative of writing centers being comfortable, homey, all of these things. Without even dissecting or going into that, that always seems to me to be a response to what education is and what teaching is? What does a comfortable education provide or is the writing center just masking that education is daunting and that to learn, to achieve, to excel is not an easy process? Is the writing center just a masking agent for that? Or can the writing center create changes?”

JC: “I’m drawn to the writing center not because I think education should be comfortable, but because it can help a student be more independent and give them the skills to be able to learn in this atmosphere.”

WF: “Sounds good. Let’s shift gears a bit. I want to know how you see the MSU writing center enacting this change and giving students the skills they need to navigate writing assignments?”

JC: “I think just where the main WC is located. We’re at the center of campus. It gives us a chance to really enact change in the university… this is where writing centers are hopefully headed and this is where writing centers should be headed. It should be a place where staff and faculty are coming to the writing center asking for our help in their classes and really trying to work to improve student learning.”

After understanding why Joe was drawn to the MSU Writing Center and what he envisioned a writing center could do, I wanted to know whom he thought the writing center should employ, noting, “I’m asking because you know I’m always concerned with diversity.”

JC: “Well, I think you’re looking at racial diversity, which is good. I think we need more disciplinary diversity.”

WF: “Oh, so like, the STEM disciplines?”

JC: “Exactly.”

Originally, this alternate view of diversity (varied disciplines, like STEM) unnerved me because was, variation is not the same as diversity . One can get a vast amount of people from the hard and soft sciences and still a racial, ethnic, and gender bias will persist as historically, these disciplines are still populated by upper middle class white men.  However, the writing center does lack tutors from the STEM disciplines and this lack does need to be filled due to the vast amount of student we have in STEM who take classes such as IAH (Integrated Arts and Humanities). As such, we both agree that a concerted effort to employ people within STEM disciplines as well as POC and other marginalized bodies who major in STEM disciplines would both enrich and diversify the writing center..

I asked Joe what was one thing he wanted tutors and staff to know about him above all else. He sat back thoughtfully, placed his hand to his chin and said, “I just want people to know I’m here and I’m here to help our tutors, staff, and students.”

Decolonize This! Writing as Embodied Double Consciousness

Often in the writing center tutors are trained, as are many students, that writing is an object—both a product and that which must be produced. The arguments over “good” and “bad” writing are arguments based on neoliberal capitalist discourses surrounding the selling and consuming of texts, be they written, digital, or multimodal. Therefore, “good” writing is writing that can be produced for the purposes of selling it to consumers (academics, the public, and so on). While writing is a product and does serve a larger capitalist goal, writing is not only a product. Writing is not only an object, but an action—a type of cultural practice and way of doing. Though these cultural practices of academic writing is deeply tied to classed (upper-middle-class) and raced (white) assumptions and ideologies, this cultural practice is a useful discourse to learn and one that is taken on or embodied in scholars neither identifying as upper middle class or white. It is in this embodiment—this “putting on of the White Hat”—that I argue a feeling of double consciousness is created that is or could be portrayed in writing or in the works of those writing from the margins.

For many scholars of color, this elitist academic discourse creates a type of double consciousness within writing, where they question: To whom am I writing if not my own? For what purposes am I writing if not for those not in the academy? To which community should I speak when I write and to what discourse community do I need to preference, suppress, or speak across equally? These questions are not outside writers’ heads when they write. We cannot automatically silence the discourses—of teachers, tutors, parents, friends, employers and employees—that tell us what acceptable writing is and what it is not, and while one can (and many do) argue that standard writing is nothing but a rejection of discourses of resistance, e.g. Black Language and Rhetoric, Working-Class Rhetoric, Queer Rhetoric, and so on, these rejections create an embodied response. This effect can cause a state of double consciousness that can present in clients as “I don’t know how to say this the way the teacher wants. Help me say what I want the way they want” to “Why do I have to write about Keeping Up with the Kardashians as a representation of American culture? I’m an American. I live in America. That’s not my life.”

I could ask the conventional question of how we should train students to answer these questions and others like them in a relatively short writing center consultation (a question of time)? However, I want to ask by what means should tutors be trained to address the colonizing practice of academic writing, its purpose in neutralizing discourses from communities deemed undesirable, as well as its democratic functions? Moreover, what tools do tutors need to teach clients rhetorical disguises which would “involve using dominant codes of language in expected ways, to speak and write in ways that might otherwise appear to be covering or assimilating to white standards of conduct” (Denny, 2010, p. 54)? How can the embodied experience of navigating double consciousness, not only in writing but also in the public arena, be useful in teaching clients ways to counteract such psychological damage within their writing?

Decolonize This! Interrogating Academic Literacy Practices

While taking the Writing Center Administration course offered here at MSU, I have found myself questioning writing center pedagogy and practices, specifically with regard to ushering clients into various forms of academic literate practices. These academic literacy practices (clean, concise, effective writing, most often written in Standard English) are laced with politics of exclusion—the exclusion of marginalized bodies, their rhetorical practices, and their various language(s) and dialects. While many scholars do challenge longstanding academic literacy practices, writing center tutors and directors, if not interrogating these longstanding practices, may—in fact, are—re-inscribing oppressive literate practices on the bodies of the students entering the writing center for tutoring. Grimm (1999) argues, “writing centers need to be more fully engaged with the paradox of literacy—the way that literacy both dominates and liberates, both demands submission and offers the promise of agency” (p. xiii). In other words, literacy, like all “standards” is “a socially constructed modifier” that “systemically bases policies and practices on those mistaken judgements” about standards and clients abilities to meet them (Greenfield, 2011, p. 35).

It may seem a large undertaking for writing center directors to take on the task of educating and disrupting academic literacy practices, particularly if those practices benefit them in the advancement of their own lives and careers. However, educating clients about and encouraging them to use rhetorical practices of their own choosing that allow their concerns, inquires, theories, and resolutions to be heard is productive for expanding not only the rhetorical skills of tutors, but also the larger ideas surrounding literacy, literate practices, and what counts as such in the academy.

While I encourage clients to resist within assignments if they wish, I also educate them about the costs of such resistance. Let me be frank: some instructors have power issues; some instructors believe they can learn nothing from their students—no matter their age, class, sexuality, or lived experience they may have. Some teachers cannot handle challenges from students with regard to assignments given or texts read. These teachers are the least likely to support such resistance and the most likely to give students performing this resistance a bad grade. However, there are teacher who welcome such resistance and the insight it can give them about their own pedagogical practices. These teachers are often more willing to allow students to push at boundaries in writing and reward them, usually with a good grade. Educating students about the real consequences writing has also teaches them that writing can and does have immediate impact and affect and is important for clients to learn.

Bodies that Matter: Why Writing Center Consultations Should Not Be About Writing

Photo by aegishjalmur on Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license

As writing center consultants, our main “job” is assisting clients with their writing, whether that writing is an essay or a video project. However, at times, it is necessary to focus not on the product (writing) brought in by clients, but on the body (the client) that brought in the product. While I am not suggesting that focusing on client writing is not important, I am suggesting that the very bodies that write these documents are affected by the same discourses that impact us all, and it is these discourses that can, and often do, show up both in client writing and in client consultations.

The majority of our MSU clients are, indeed, students of the university. These students are often given challenging assignments asking them to write about various issues ranging from more common topics (e.g. Why did you choose to come to college?) to more complex topics (e.g. Do you believe queer bodies should be protected under anti-discrimination laws?). When clients encounter these types of assignments, client biases—intentional or unintentional—often reveal themselves in writing. However, while tutors may be urged to discuss the biases within the text, I argue we need to interrogate and question the biases within students. By interrogate, I do not mean to suggest that clients who express racism, sexism, homophobia, classism, and so on in their writing are intending to be racist, sexist, homophobic, or classist—though at times, they most certainly are. I do suggest that clients, just like consultants, are impacted by the very same discourses surrounding these and other sets of people, cultures, and careers.

These discourses perpetuated by the media, the government, the police, the justice system, the educational system, and yes, the family, live within our clients as they live in us. In other words, while we live in systems of oppression, systems of oppression live in us. Therefore, to help to begin to cut the threads of a dominant system and its discourse, we should begin to ask clients “Who told you this?” “What brings you to this conclusion about these sets of people, culture, and so on?” as well as educating them through literature (scholarly); pop culture (media intended to disrupt certain dominant narratives); and conversation (with consultants when in the consultation). It is easy to focus on the product (text), especially in a capitalist society that seeks to own and in some ways has commodified its entire populace. It is harder to focus on the commodified bodies—the client and the consultant—who write problematic texts that can be harmful to a community of people, as well as to the client. How else do clients begin to question the complex bodies who produce problematic, if not utterly offensive, text documents? And how might questioning the body instead of the text enhance, or even lessen, the effectiveness of the consultation?

What Was the Point of This?: The Emerging Scholar Series

When I started this Emerging Scholar series, I was having an existential crisis, questioning daily my place within the academy. I wasn’t so much questioning my place within the academy intellectually, as much as I was questioning my place in the academy in terms of whether or not my work, and by proxy I, was valued. Most scholars I encounter tell me my feelings are normal and everyone has to prove the value of their work to someone, somewhere. I do not disagree that all scholars have to prove the value of their research; however, all scholars are not Black lesbians. All scholars do not live a “colored” life. All scholars do not have to constantly prove their worth and their value (as humans) on a daily basis.

Because of the struggles I faced proving myself and my work publishable (translation: valuable) in the academy—three rejection letters and counting, I decided I wanted to write about the difficulties I had in this journey to becoming a “scholar” and how the entire process made me feel that I, as a Black woman, had to prove I mattered. Every rejection and every insistence from a colleague, mentor, or instructor to give more of myself, to do more with myself, felt as though I was being asked to do more, being pushed more. However, the rejections from journals felt racial, homophobic, and sexist. When I submit on the lack of Black lesbian images and work in Queer Studies, I hear, “YOU have to PROVE DISCIPLINARY EXIGENCY.” (Translation: Black women don’t matter.) When I submit research suggesting Black women would not favor a National Language Policy, I was told, “This is NOT RESEARCH. You just have the OPINION of BLACK WOMEN.” (Translation: Black women don’t matter.) And while I understand that some of these instances are just the wrong journal or the right journal but the wrong time, this type of dismissive rhetoric placed upon my body by other bodies from the dominant culture feels raced, and this feeling is real and it’s valid.

Yes, one day I will be published. Yes, one day I will be the scholar who intellectually pushes her students and not the student who is intellectually pushed. But in this moment, I am neither of those things. In this moment, I am chasing my dream. I do not know what the stories on the other side of publishing, research, and teaching will be for me once I experience them. However, I doubt the feeling of having to constantly prove I matter will wane, if anything, and most likely, it will intensify. I wrote this series to understand where and who I am in this moment (feeling unappreciated), so I know who I can be in the next moment (a Black lesbian scholar that matters). Because Black women matter.

When Life Gets in the Way

I did not intend for this last post on emerging scholars to be about self-care; however, after my own recent struggles, I feel it important to discuss ways in which scholars—emerging or entrenched—can take care of their mental and physical health when life gets in the way. October freak-out is over, but there still remains a residue of pain, struggle, and fragmentation. Normally, I refuse to allow my outside life to negatively affect my academic life. However, this fall, Life got in the way.

During this semester, I have experienced extreme highs of enlightenment, friendship, and community. However, I have also experienced severe lows with depression, loss, guilt, and shame seemingly etched on my skin and inscribed into my psyche. Somehow within this semester Life got in the way. So what does one DO when life gets in the way?
Sure I could give some standard advice about making sure you talk to someone or find a way to take your mind off the whole mess. However, I want to offer something new. I want to offer a story:

I entered a History and Theory of Rhetoric class and all I wanted was to NOT read Aristotle, Plato, Socrates, the Rhodes scholars, etc. But I read them because I had to, because they matter—still, even though I don’t want them to. But when I began to look at Indigenous Rhetorics as a practice, I noticed that it calls us not to think about the thing, but to do the damn thang. So I began to wonder by what means emerging scholars take care of themselves when life gets in the way.

This is a story about pain, shame, and guilt and how one Black body found a way to deal. Sometimes, I just can’t with Life. The only thing I do well is the academy. My Life, it falls apart. Recently, a Life event so depressed me and consumed me with shame and guilt, I thought I would never recover. But there were 6 weeks left in the semester.

Life CANNOT get in the way.

What is to be done when you feel nothing can be done?
Through this struggle I realized I had a process of doing that led to my recovery: talk about it, think about it, hear advice about it, and then dance on it. All of these acts are acts of doing and making the doing creates the making and the making, in turn, replenishes that which could not be replenished. These are things I had to do when Life got in the way. These are things I had to make when Life got in the way. And these are the things that made me whole when Life got in the way. I do not pretend that these measures I have mentioned can help every scholar who needs to deal when Life gets in the way. However, I do suggest that it is in the doing and the making—the habits and hobbies we choose—that can help us heal:

When Life gets in the way.

When Assignments Exclude: Consultants & Damage Control

Working through the tension of when it is wise to inform a student that all writing, even the very assignments they receive in class can, and sometimes must, be interrogated is no small canal to dredge. Often students are asked to write papers that are culturally insensitive or ethnocentric. For example, it may seem wise to assign students to find cultural artifacts unique to the U.S. legal system and articulate its importance to current U.S. ideologies regarding justice. However, to ask an international student to articulate how a U.S. legal artifact is related to a U.S. ideology of justice puts this student at a severe cultural disadvantage. What am I to do in this situation? How am I to assist students new to this culture articulate how a symbol signifies a U.S. ideal? How can I not spoon-feed them the information?

I am not at all suggesting that these types of assignments are intentionally microaggressive against or purposely excluding those persons wholly unfamiliar with U.S. culture and ideology. However, it is important to understand that all writing carries inherent assumptions, biases, and exclusions that can, and do, render certain bodies to the margins of academic writing and the academy at large. When students receive these assignments, they receive messages—messages about not only what should be done in the assignment, but also messages about how much knowledge the professor assumes they bring into class.

When clients enter the Writing Center afraid and confused, seeking assistance if only to show that their confusion is a cultural and not a cognitive one, I wonder what damage we can do with one simple assignment. I also wonder, what damage control must I do in a matter of minutes, minutes that may not be sufficient to stymie the damage of an exclusionary assignment?

Tutor or Teacher?

Becoming a Scholar—capital “S”—is a vast undertaking which include encounters with cognitive dissonance at every turn that manifest themselves in the texts we read, the research we conduct, and the writing we produce. However, the becoming of a scholar is frustrating—rife with feelings of intellectual inadequacies, performance (teaching, researching, and publishing) anxiety, at times, an ever changing sense of belonging or exclusion. These encounters and feelings are not unlike those feelings of clients who enter the writing center. Although many clients are not grappling with teaching, researching, and publishing, they are often grappling with being a productive and good student, as well as learning how to read, critique, and write academic prose. Often, clients seek our assistance with helping them to fully understand both what they are reading and not only what they are supposed to write, but HOW the academy wants them to write. However, as a consultant, where does one ethically drawn the line between consultant and teacher?

I am not at all suggesting that writing center consultants do not, at times, function as a type of tutor/teacher hybrid; however, when clients, and in particular students, are given an assignment on any given topic, Queer issues, socioeconomic issues, class structures, etc., how much are consultants to challenge students to interrogate their own body of knowledge with regard to the topic, as well as challenging and critiquing the body of knowledge of their peers and teachers? Is there an educational line consultants should not cross when tutoring clients? What issues in client writing are best “left to the instructor” and how do we decide?

A Horror in Two Acts: A Rose for Emily

ACT I: The Systems Within

Scene I: A Haunted House

Stories are like houses, hidden away from view. Peeking in one window versus looking through a backdoor, each will give a different snapshot of what the house entails. In that manner, hidden secrets and viewpoints contained within tales can be discovered depending on the reader. So come peer through the keyhole with me, as we discuss what I found in A Rose for Emily.

At first glance a strange gothic story, of a misunderstood—or crazy—woman who was pitied by the town in which she lived. But was she truly crazy, or are the townsfolk far more to blame for her deteriorating state? Reading between the lines, it’s easy to see what the townsfolk, especially the townswomen, felt was wrong with her:

We remembered all the young men her father had driven away, and we knew that with nothing left, she would have to cling to that which had robbed her, as people will.

Despite what her own desires and wishes may have been, according to the town she had failed in her duty as a woman, and therefore became a social pariah. Upon the death of her father, Emily was left alone in her grief, with no man to comfort or hold her, no position as mother to her elevate her.

And then they took him. Took him away after badgering her for days, took him away and declared her a mad spinster. Took away her voice and mind, by declaring her to be pitied, and not intelligent enough to realize they were giving her a tax break in honor of her father. She had no identity, a ghost among the masses, to be pitied surely but never given the elixir to make her human—alive—once again.

Until Homer came.

Scene II: Tall, Dark, and Handsome: The Death of a Hero

A man from out of town, the “hero” come to rescue the damsel in distress in a town full of shapeshifting vipers. A person who spoke to the mad, pitiable ghost, made her alive as he took her through town in a buggy. Who once more validated her existence. However the women, the witches of this forsaken town, quickly began to poison this relationship.

Then some of the ladies began to say that it was a disgrace to the town and a bad example to the young people. The men did not want to interfere, but at last the ladies forced the Baptist minister—Miss Emily’s people were Episcopal—to call upon her.

Scene III: Wandering Ghosts

And thus Emily was thrust back into the world of the living dead, trapped within her house, trapped within her mind. The poison slowly started to work on her, the spell destroying the fragments of her mind. Homer, who was once the gallant knight, fled the cursed town, fled the damsel, and Emily’s decision was set. All Emily had was that house. There was no man to grant her a voice and no children to paint her as a living being. There was nothing but a shade who hadn’t realized they were dead yet, wandering the haunted house at the end of the lane. What ghost bound to a place hasn’t slowly gone mad? When Homer returned, to ensure she would no longer be a solitary ghost, a non-entity in her own home, Emily murdered him to ensure he would never leave her. If she could not be happy in life, Emily found a way to be happy in death.

ACT II: A Rose for Emily as Southern Eulogy

Scene I: A Eulogy             

Many critiques of William Faulkner’s A Rose for Emily position Emily as a victim of the very class system she inhabits. While this critique of Emily is valid, in this critical reading of A Rose for Emily, I argue this short story is also a type of horror, as it symbolizes society’s desire/wish to rid itself of “undesirables.” The three characters—Emily, Homer, and The Negro—are metaphors for what the dominant society wishes to rid. While the main characters are single individuals, they represent multiple undesirable behaviors/characteristics: Emily is insane, a murderess, a spinster, and a symbol of the Old South. Homer is a gay, a Yankee, and symbolizes the North infringement on Southern traditions, while The Negro is Black (and therefore undesirable), and functions only as slave.

In no way is Faulkner hiding that this story is also about both death and lamenting. While Faulkner is showing the death of “old Southern ways of living,” he is also lamenting them through the voice of the narrator, giving the old Southern ways of living a type of Eulogy. One of the ways this death of the South is depicted, is when Emily’s death is positioned in relation to her house and the changing neighborhood:

It was a big, squarish frame house… set on what had once been our most select street. But garages and cotton gins had encroached and obliterated even the august names of the neighborhood… And now Miss Emily had gone to join the representatives of those august names where they lay in the cedar-bemused cemetery among the ranked and anonymous graves of Union and Confederate soldiers who fell at the battle of Jefferson.

In this passage, Emily’s death and burial next to Union and Confederate soldiers, her decaying house—the “eyesore among eyesores”—flanked by cotton gins and garages (a symbol of the Industrial Capitalism), foreshadow the end of an undesirable way of life: Southern. Though the death of Emily symbolized the death of the South, she also symbolizes other undesirable traits: insane, woman, spinster, and murderess. For this analysis, I will focus on woman and spinster as undesirable.

Scene II: (Southern Belles) Woman as Undesirable and Unfulfilled

This story is centered in the early 20th century, before women had the right to vote and just before what is widely considered “first-wave” U.S. feminism. Within these constraints and the patriarchal system in which she functioned, Emily was undesirable not only because she was a woman, but because she had not reached her potential as a woman in becoming a wife and mother:

None of the young men were quite good enough for Miss Emily and such… We remembered all the young men her father had driven away, and we knew that with nothing left, she would have to cling to that which had robbed her, as people will.

While women as inferior and undesirable within the context of the patriarchal systems are at play in the aforementioned passage, Emily is also denied the opportunity to become wife and mother by her father. It is a type of double patriarchal oppression of which Emily is victim. Coinciding with the death of Southern ways of living, The Negro plays an integral role in functioning somewhat as a timeline for the slow death of Southern pre-Civil War life.

Scene III: The World’s Most Interesting Man

The Negro, nameless and voiceless, is arguably the most important character in this story. Readers will notice that Emily is rarely in a scene without The Negro. The Negro is the only person who sees Emily on a daily basis. The Negro is the only person who allows admittance to Emily’s home. He is, in essence, a gatekeeper to the Old South:

They were admitted by the old Negro into a dim hall from which a stairway mounted into still more shadow. It smelled of dust and disuse—a close, dank smell. The Negro led them into the parlor. It was furnished in heavy, leather-covered furniture. When the Negro opened the blinds of one window, they could see that the leather was cracked.

The Negro is both a relic within and a gatekeeper to the house, as well as Emily. The house, as readers can infer, and the happenings within (though we are never allowed to see the inside of Emily’s house) function as a time capsule, with living bodies (The Negro and Emily) reenacting the roles of Slave and Master. Though hard to imagine a character with no name and no voice is central to the literary arc of a short story, The Negro is mentioned over ten times, and most prevalently towards the end of the story after Homer “deserts” Emily. When Emily goes into seclusion, her daily happenings are known/recorded via the narrators who observe what The Negro did every day over a period of decades.

Scene IV: Homer, The Yankee Queer

Lastly, Homer represents a double metaphor: The victorious North, its Queer ways of living, and Industrial Capitalism. When readers encounter Homer, he is the foreman managing workers as they build a paved road through town. This first scene with Homer symbolizes a type of colonization and Industrial Capitalism, a new way of civilizing the Southern savage from his/her backwards ways (unpaved roads, quiet gentle life, and so on):

The construction company came with riggers and mules and machinery,and a foreman named Homer Barron, a Yankee–a big, dark, ready man, with a big voice and eyes lighter than his face… Pretty soon he knew everybody in town. Whenever you heard a lot of laughing anywhere about the square, Homer Barron would be in the center of the group.

From the very beginning, Homer can be understood to represent the upheaval of Southern life as it moved—begrudgingly—towards certain Northern ideals of modernity and civility. While Homer is a representation of this emerging way of life, he also represents queerness, as he is gay, another type of undesirable characteristic. This undesirability—this flaw— allows the narrators (the witnesses to this change) to pity/shame Homer, and criticize the North for its own backwardness as the ladies all said:

“Of course a Grierson would not think seriously of a Northerner, a day laborer”… because Homer himself had remarked—he liked men, and it was known that he drank with the younger men in the Elks’ Club—that he was not a marrying man. Later we said, “Poor Emily.”

Scene V: Murder, Acquiescence, and Jim Crow

In the final scene of A Rose for Emily, readers are once again allowed access into the house by The Negro. After letting family and gawkers into the home, The Negro—the nameless, voiceless slave—exits the house using the rear door, no longer a slave of an individual, Emily, but a slave of a system: Jim Crow. As onlookers ascend the stairs and break into Emily’s bedroom, we see the remains of Homer, whom Emily had obviously killed and lain in bed with for years. This final act by Emily is representative of Southern vengeance on the Queer ways and thinking invading their lives, as well as its eventual acquiescence, when she lies in bed with Homer: the victor (the North). Consequently, using Queer as an umbrella term, A Rose for Emily is an homage to the Old Confederate South, a Eulogy, and a purging process by which this new Jim Crow South is attempting to shed itself from all actions and behaviors it considers undesirable.

IWCA: A Place for Emerging Scholars

IWCA_logoWhen I was at IWCA a few weeks ago to present on “What Makes a Space Raced: Exploring Whiteness in the Writing Center,” I noticed how conferences—despite the tales of elitist performances and pretentious discourse—provide young and emerging scholars a space to present their research and receive productive feedback. In my rush to get published, I find that conferences allow me to think about my research, to explore ways to expand and exhaust the research, and to nuance the arguments I posit. In other words, conferences allow me to continue being student, which I believe is integral to both teaching, research, and scholarship. Publishing never feels like a learning practice. It feels like a finality: an imagined end goal. Publishing functions as a way of (1) Espousing knowledge, (2) Critiquing knowledge, or (3) Drawing attention to new knowledges. It is a space for experts, not necessarily learners.

What conferences provide young and emerging scholars that is much like the publishing process— if a manuscript reaches external review—is an instant type of peer review. Young, emerging, and established scholars all attend conferences and tend to attend panels in which they are interested. Therefore, what happens when young scholars present is a type of low-risk (ideally) review that can further push and urge a scholar to explore, nuance, and better articulate their research and ideas. For more established scholars, hearing from young and emerging researchers can also serve as a way to better refine, rethink, and nuance their current research. As someone interested in Writing Center research, as well as research in Comp/Rhet, the IWCA conference is an ideal space to present research concerning race, language, and identity in writing center spaces. I never leave a presentation unsatisfied as the questions, suggestions, and resources audience members provide are invaluable in this early stage of my research.