Developmental Essay - Minor in Writing Capstone Course

 

To be completely honest, there were several years where I thought my writing hadn’t improved at all. In high school, I remember thinking, Well, I know I’m a better writer than I was in middle school, but I can’t really say why. And I think a part of that mentality has carried through to my university career – I’m better, but I can’t really say why.

 

I know. That’s not the best note to start on when your assignment implies that you should boast about how wonderful and eloquent you are. I figure that writing is a skill that you develop over many years. For instance, think of a person who draws. When she first picked up a pen (or marker, or pencil, or crayon), she probably didn’t have any idea of how to make an “okay” piece of art become a “great” piece of art. But she kept practicing, and one day she looked down and realized, Oh, I can draw realistic eyes now, or, Oh, I drew those strokes the way I wanted them the first time. For me, it’s the same idea. I look back on what I wrote in the past, and I can say, Oh, I’m now less wordy in my sentences, or, Oh, my introductions have become clearer about the point of my essay.

 

As much as I have tried to escape it, I still carry something of a grade-chasing mentality inside me. This mentality doesn’t appear in the context of attempting certain smoke-and-mirror tricks to make an essay look good just so I can have a high grade. (Think of a hollow introductory paragraph that’s a page long. No one is fooled by that.) Instead, the mentality comes out more in the context of fear – that what I’ve written simply isn’t good enough, and as such, isn’t deserving of a high grade. This is neither a logical nor healthy notion, as it easily stifles a writer’s creativity. A writer needs a certain degree of courage to chase after the topics that interest her most, and an amount of confidence that what she says is significant.

 

If anything, over the course of my college career, I’ve developed a sense of boldness in my written work. (Even this paper is an example. If outright challenging the prompt isn’t bold, I don’t know what is. Possibly stupidity on my part.) But in any case, I’ve gotten the opportunity to tackle topics that I could never have done before. These reasons may range from not having the resources to do certain kinds of papers in high school, to believing that a certain topic wasn’t “serious” enough for academic discussion. None of the works that I’ve listed in my annotated bibliography are the “high-brow” topics that one would expect from an English major with an advanced vocabulary and too much time on her hands. The papers I wrote that analyze certain works of literature are fine, but they weren’t the first things I thought of when I was creating the list – not by a long shot. All the works in the bibliography were subjects that I chose myself. One of the necessary ingredients for writing a successful piece is that you have a passion for the topic. Masterpieces don’t come from saying, “Eh, whatever, I guess I’d better answer this question the teacher set out for me.” (I suppose there are some rare individuals who can create amazing work without having much excitement for what they’re doing, but that’s a terrible way to live. It almost seems like cheating.)

 

For instance, two of the works I listed in the bibliography are about Walt Disney World. I will talk for hours about that place, and go on at length about mundane details. Because this is a subject I already like, my enthusiasm is easily woven into the writing. (As it happens, both pieces were written in classes that were required for the Minor in Writing. Getting the opportunity to do the stuff you actually want to do is a huge advantage!) I care deeply about the subject, and I want to “do right” by it and prove my knowledge. This desire translates to a better paper overall. That being said, time constraints did mean that I didn’t quite get my works where I wanted them to be. For instance, in, “The Disney is in the Details,” I think my authorial voice is great. This piece is modeled after the style of an online article, and I think I emulated the format and the conversational tone pretty well. However, I do think that the ending is rather abrupt, and if I could, I’d go back and write a much better conclusion. Similarly, “Making the Tiki Birds Breathe” does ramble on in a few spots, although it is a good nine pages. In a paper of that size, it’s easy to get bogged down in lengthy sentences and even lengthier side stories.

 

Come to think of it, none of the works that I’ve listed on my annotated bibliography are topics that I was obligated to do. Granted, I did have to write the papers in question or else I’d fail the course, but that’s not quite what I mean. As an English major, I’ve written reams of paper about what this novel, this chapter, or this metaphor means in a literary context. And that’s fine in and of itself, because it’s a valuable skill to able to read a text closely and to critically evaluate it. But none of those kinds of papers made it to my bibliography. I think a major reason why is because the topic wasn’t totally under my control. Papers that discuss literary works aren’t bad, per se. They get the job done well enough. But usually, they’re written with a deadline and a grade in mind, and as a result, there’s something lacking. I still use the good practices that I’ve learned over the years when writing those essays, such as having a strong thesis, paragraphs that explain my points clearly, and the occasional flourish of wit. I care about writing well, but the primary concern is often getting the darn thing done.

 

I suppose it’s like the difference between seeing a reproduction of a painting and seeing the original for yourself. It’s easy to make a reproduction, since all you need to do is photograph the work and then copy it. And a reproduction can be nice, but it lacks some of the fine details that make the masterpiece what it is. A masterpiece has had care and thought put into it, while a reproduction just needed someone to click “print.”But in terms of this “masterpiece versus reproduction” concept, “Women, Comics, and Conversation” is an interesting variation. I was writing with the deadline and the page length in mind, but at the same time, I was also passionate about the subject. This is due in part to the two women in the discussion being close friends of mine, and also because the topic was something I was a fan of. Hence, I don’t get bogged down by trying to sound stodgy and academic. However, it does mean that my passion leads me off into some extended tangents. The introduction, for instance, is rather long. Though it does provide background to people who are totally unfamiliar with the discourse surrounding women, comics, and fandom, the audience is meant to be those in the field of linguistics. As such, they would have expected me to get to the analysis of the conversation earlier in the paper. A professional linguist may have also expected me to go deeper into certain elements that I noticed, or brought up completely different details of the discussion.

 

But even with all those legitimate criticisms, I’m still proud of this piece. This was the first time I had ever written a formal linguistics essay, complete with an unfamiliar reference and organizational style. (Linguistics essays use APA format; English essays use MLA format.) I was able to mimic the norms of a linguistics paper as best as I could. My personal interest in linguistics helped, as well, and I’m able to talk at length about patterns that I noticed in their speaking styles.

 

And no, I'm not implying that any of my works on my annotated bibliography can be called be masterpieces. In fact, a more accurate comparison for many (let’s be honest… all) of these works is the sketches a sculptor does before she even starts working. Sketches are very interesting in their own right, but to historians, they also show the progression of ideas before the finished product. With many of my own works, you can see the progression in style, technique, and skill.

 

The best example of this is “The Robot Store,” written in my first-year writing seminar. The class was called “Narrative Journalism,” and through this course, I learned three things: one, there are tons of cool places around Ann Arbor; two, verbs are stronger than adjectives and adverbs; and three, I don’t want to become a journalist. I’ve carried these three lessons with me throughout my college career, though the second one is the most pertinent to our discussion. In “The Robot Store,” a reader can see how I’m trying to emulate the standards of narrative journalism. (Mimicking the principles of other forms of expression is something I would continue to do later on. See “Women, Comics, and Conversation” for a senior-year example.) In my freshman-year essay, I’m trying to do what professional writers do – portray an interesting topic, and keep the audience hooked. In some ways, my attempt is slightly transparent. There are some sentences that are awkward or dull. There are definitely some paragraphs that need to be re-worked. And as always, there are numerous small errors that you never seem to find until you re-read your paper eleven times.

 

Despite all that, looking at this paper again is like looking at pictures of myself when I was young. Yeah, I’m a little awkward and goofy-looking sometimes, but it’s kind of cute to see who I was. Similarly, you can see that I’m making an earnest effort in “The Robot Store” and in all of my other papers. In fact, for that paper in particular, I don’t recall what grade I got on it. What I do remember is how proud I felt after I completed it, and that I done my work to the best of my ability.

 

For me, that’s when I’ll judge something that I’ve written as “good.” When I feel that I’ve put forth my best effort, and I’m satisfied with what I have (while knowing that I can always make more edits), then, I am happy.