All my writing - and yours - is autobiographical.
DONALD MURRAY
As an English major concentrating in writing and literacy, I have learned to critically evaluate rhetorical situations. I understand learning is a lifelong process. I recognize that language and culture are intertwined, and that individuals often perceive cultural literacies in peculiar ways. Our individual lives, interwoven with the lives of others, are affected by our shared experiences. In writing, we endeavor to convey meaning, to make sense of our experiences. We seek to understand. We want to overcome. We write to know we are not alone.
When writing, I strive to discover threads of stories because I believe stories help communicate complex ideas. During my junior year I enrolled in a literary journalism course, little suspecting how the valuable instruction would change the course of my life. The graceful blending of narrative and research intrigued me, and I realized that I had been practicing the versatile genre throughout my academic career. Now, I had a name for it. I was captivated.
Motivated to enrich my understanding of the genre, I challenged myself to take my writing to a higher level. Over the course of the semester, I interviewed sources – daring territory for a shy, soft-spoken student – and explored cultural pockets of Indianapolis. I engaged in thorough background research and integrated the collected bits of information into cohesive pieces. Striking an appropriate balance between the various aspects was both a challenging and exciting process. I crafted each project with care, selecting the choicest quotes, adding descriptive elements, creating a whole out of the individual parts. I enjoyed writing about local businesses and venues, and came to appreciate the process of interviewing diverse sources. I stretched my abilities, and my perspective broadened as I wrote about the different personalities I encountered. The course whetted my appetite and set me on the path of literary journalism.
The following spring, I chose to further my experience. I interviewed Wendy Franklin, a local Stutz artist who specializes in creating fiber art. We quickly established a rapport, and she gave me a tour of her vibrant downtown studio. She was preparing for an open-house art show, and was eager to tell me about her work, process, and inspiration: “I’m not the type of person or artist that wants to have everything be prescribed,” she mused, contemplating her philosophy. “That’s the fun of it. Is to try new things and you know, see how it’s going to work.” As she showed me her contemporary landscapes, Wendy confided that she couldn’t paint to save her life. Painting, with its two-dimensional focus, is too flat for her taste. “But this,” she breathed. The construction of the textured layers. The loose dying process. “It’s much more three dimensional,” Franklin explained, adding, “I am much more a three dimensional person.” For Wendy, fiber art is freeing. “I think I’m just a colorist,” she offered by way of explanation, grinning broadly as she shrugged her shoulders. Surrounded by her chromatic strands and dyes, creating beautiful whims, Wendy is in her element.
I believe the act of creating is an innate human desire. We yearn to create something meaningful. We want to leave our mark, to show that we matter. I create and convey meaning when I write. Wendy Franklin creates something meaningful when she designs her colorful, textured pieces of art. I enjoyed spending my afternoon with her, in her bright studio awash with natural sunlight. The breeze that floated in through her open windows caught the tufts of merino wool fibers, causing them to dance. It was a peaceful place. And Wendy was content to be there. It was her sanctuary.
After writing the article about Wendy and her unique textile art, I did not labor over a title. I knew, from the moment she uttered the words, what I wanted to name the piece. Wendy said it so well: she is a colorist. I titled the work “A Colorist’s Perspective.” I sent off my draft to Wendy, as promised, so she could review it before I submitted the article to my editor. Wendy approved the piece, and I was satisfied that she felt I faithfully represented her and her artwork. Although the article was never published, I am pleased with it. It represents my experience, my visit with Wendy on a lovely spring afternoon. Together, we created something meaningful. Even though we are the only ones who shared in the experience, every person who reads my piece has an opportunity to meet Wendy Franklin. They may visit her eclectic studio and see her artwork, and they can read about her charismatic personality. Through writing, we can share meaningful moments with others. Through writing, we have a chance to gain a new perspective.
Writing also helps us process. Although writing itself is a process, I have discovered that the act of writing helps me work through difficult situations. As I gather my wandering thoughts, writing enables me to sort out complex ideas. For me, writing sometimes serves as an outlet, an expression for pent up emotions that I shove beneath the surface. When I jot down snatches of fleeting thoughts in my writer’s notebook, I find release. Writing becomes both a process and a way to process. It helps me heal.
The theme of my junior year was brokenness. I felt fragmented. I pushed through my spring semester, trying not to deal with personal loss, trying desperately to focus on the immediate tasks at hand without processing the events that continued to press me. Academically, I excelled, earning another 4.0 GPA. When I returned to school in the fall – my senior year – I believed I had adjusted. I was mistaken. I had much yet to learn.
I realized my suppressed pain was still present when I started writing in my writer’s notebook. In his Issues in Teaching Writing class, Professor Steve Fox informed prospective teachers that we could not effectively teach our students how to write well if we were not actively practicing writing ourselves. He asked us to make a consistent habit of writing in a notebook over the course of the semester. I followed his instruction, reluctantly at first. As I engaged in the activity, I began to release the pent up dam. Poetry, personal narratives, bits and pieces of memories, memoir – I wrote, filling the pages with words. I found that sometimes words run dry. Sometimes there are not words to express what I know to be true and real. But that does not mean there is a blank space. The space can be filled in time.
I reflected on my life stories. I honed select pieces. I tackled the taboo subjects of miscarriage and infertility. I wrote about grief and the sense of aching loss. And as I wrote, my burden lifted. I was not carrying the weight alone. The words carried it with me. When I write, I want my words to burn like acid and cleanse like rain. There are times when I cannot grasp adequate words to express my experiences, and my writing reflects these difficulties – it is raw. And sometimes it’s messy. And sometimes it’s beautiful. And sometimes it is just plain painful. But life is messy. And life is beautiful. And sometimes it is painful. But I believe life is also about overcoming.
I integrated several of my revised reflections into my final project, a multi-genre work. I explored vulnerability in personal narratives, crafting a curriculum designed for high school students. Much like the literary journalism pieces, my multi-genre grafted in narratives and pedagogical research, as well as poetry, writing activities, letters, and interviews. I also included a writing contract for prospective students. Each of the elements contributed to a cohesive whole. I collected the fragments and seamed them together, forming a complete piece. In the process of creating the multi-genre, I was able to process my grief. I began to heal.
Throughout my academic career, I have learned how writing clarifies ideas. My versatile English major has equipped me to approach complex issues with adequate tools. I know how to hone my language, how to communicate with my intended audience, how to convey meaningful ideas in terms that are appropriate to my rhetorical situation. Words can be tailored to meet specific needs. In writing, clarity is essential. When composing my researched literacy event, “Cultural Literacies: Protean Shapes and Coffee Grounds,” I framed the piece with a narrative before launching into an evaluation of modern conceptions of cultural literacies. I chose to show my audience what a literacy event is before explaining how literacy events are relevant, describing how we interact with multiple literacies on a daily basis without even being aware of the layers of texts that affect our choices and shape our thinking. As I observed in the conclusion of the article: Literacies are all around us. As Dennis Baron stated, “[W]e live in an environment that is increasingly surrounded by text” (439). The nature of literacy is ever shifting, but the underlying meaning is the same. Our interaction with text shapes our understanding of meaning, and our understanding of meaning shapes our world.
I considered the nature of literacies when I composed my senior capstone. An exploration of spoken literacies, my senior capstone project touched on multiple aspects of my academic career, blending my fascination with stories, language, history, and culture into a collection of perspective pieces. I composed a collection of narratives, using vernacular language to establish a sense of place and identity. I researched the dialect spoken by my father’s family in western Kentucky. I visited my father’s hometown, Princeton, Kentucky, and listened to him reminisce about his childhood memories. I explored the places where he grew up with his twin brother, Dale. Using transcripts of the twins’ stories about their childhood adventures, I reframed my father and uncle’s tales and began to tell the stories from the perspective of the twelve-year-old boys. Since both my father and uncle speak SWE with a Midwestern accent, I recorded samples of the Princeton dialect to recreate their childhood language.
The vernacular language transformed the twin stories. The bluegrass dialect set the tone for the narratives. As the twins relate their adventures, their individual personalities are developed through their use of language, and they each elaborate on different details when they relate their version of the tale. When developing the pieces, I focused on the rhythm and cadence of the words. I embarked on an exploration of the bluegrass language, engaging in a recursive writing process. I labored over the wording, the pairings, the contractions, endeavoring to represent the spoken dialect on the page in a tasteful, genuine manner. Since I based the narratives on true events as told by my father and uncle, the resulting pieces closely resemble their childhood recollections. The stories are rooted in truths.
The accompanying research narrative serves as my introduction. In it, I outline my process and describe the nature of my research methods. My capstone project is a culmination of the skills I have honed during my undergraduate career, a conglomeration of my passion for words, storytelling, culture, and language. While composing the narratives, I delved into multiple literacies. The experience challenged me to stretch my understanding. I altered my approach to writing and focused on the musicality of language. I sifted through the meanings of various words and reconfigured my grammar to accommodate the melodic bluegrass dialect. I learned how to communicate stories in a southern tongue. English is a mutable language, shaped by culture, time, and place.
After graduating, I will continue to write stories. I am interested in pursuing freelance writing and blogging, but I am also intent on teaching high school composition courses to homeschooled cooperative students in the Indianapolis area. The practical skills I have developed during my undergraduate studies will serve me well. I am currently designing a high school writing curriculum for prospective students, building on the principles I gleaned from professor Fox’s course Issues In Teaching Writing. I desire to foster an appreciation of literacies in my students, and I believe writer’s workshops will help scaffold valuable learning processes. My experience as a tutor at IUPUI’s University Writing Center has taught me the importance of tailoring sessions to meet individual needs, and I can apply similar concepts to student conferencing sessions.
I am excited to embark on a new adventure, excited to apply myself to a teaching position, excited to continue to write. My husband and I are considering returning to the Philippines in the near future – we are both hoping to volunteer for non-profit organizations. I am interested in teaching ESL classes, both abroad and locally in Indianapolis. Whatever we decide to do, I know that we will enjoy living life together, discovering the intricacies of our wonder filled world. We know that learning is a lifelong process, and we are just beginning our journey. I know that languages and cultures are intertwined, and that we, as people, perceive cultural literacies in peculiar ways. Our individual lives are affected by our shared experiences. In my writing, I will endeavor to convey meaning, to make sense of my various experiences and cultural encounters. As I write, I seek to understand peculiarities. I write to overcome. I write to know I am not alone.
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Work Cited
Baron, Dennis. “From Pencils to Pixels: The Stages of Literacy Technologies.” Writing About Writing: A College Reader. Ed. Elizabeth Wardle and Doug Downs. Bedford: St. Martin's, 2011. 423-440. Print.