Guest blog by Denise Du Vernay.
Denise is the co-author of The Simpsons in the Classroom: Embiggening the Learning Experience with the Wisdom of Springfield. She has been teaching various college literature and communication courses for over 10 years. Her bi-weekly film column runs every other Sunday at Matchflick.com
I’ve had some laughs at students’ expense during my ten years of teaching college composition —from a student whose dog died (not the funny part), leaving her “defecated” (that’s the funny part), to a student who borrowed a personal experience essay from another author, but didn’t remember to update names and places, making it glaringly obvious that the experience described was not his. My friend had someone turn in a paper that opened with a remark that people had been performing some activity since the Jurassic. I give the student credit for switching up the more common “Since the beginning of time” opening, but really, the Jurassic‽
And while it’s true that these gaffes are a much deserved source of entertainment for the nation’s teaching assistants and ill-paid freshman comp teachers, we can get our cheap laughs elsewhere. I have Maria Bamford stand-up on my iPod, for one. I don’t want to laugh at my students’ papers, and really, I would prefer a world where composition papers were well-written, carefully thought out, and entertaining (in a good way). Such papers tend to stand out (again, in a good way) to instructors of Comp 101. I’ve collected a few suggestions on what to do and not do in essays for college composition. My focus will be on two of the main types of essays assigned in freshman comp: the personal experience essay and the argument essay, and some simple steps you can take to make them stand out—in a good way:
THINGS YOU SHOULD NOT DO:
1. Use second person
There are a few terrific stories told entirely in second person. Masters like Margaret Atwood, William Faulkner, and John Updike have tackled this risky narrative style. But that’s not what I’m talking about here, nor is it the kind of second person that I’m using now: I really am addressing you, my audience, directly. Nope, what I’m talking about are papers that drift in and out of a hypothetical “you.”
This common conversational habit has leached its way into scholarly writing. Most American English speakers do this at least sometimes, including me. It works for some purposes, especially when we’re trying to get the listener/reader into the experience. This is why we do it so much in everyday conversation. Example:
“You know when you have one of those days where you oversleep, miss the bus, and you know the whole day is going to suck? So you call your stepdad and have him pick you up, and he makes you give him gas money.”
The first part, sure, but then I’m lost at “stepdad,” mainly because I don’t have one. So this second person bit isn’t about me at all! Don’t confuse me like that!
However common this is in speech, it should be avoided in academic writing. Besides, if you’re writing a personal experience essay, it’s best to stick to first person anyway. In personal experience or argument essays, using “we” or “one” in those hypothetical situations may seem more awkward, but it is more professional.
2. Make blanket statements
While blanket statements just come off as really, really lazy, I do get what the writer is trying to do with blanket statements–she’s trying to relate with the reader, show the reader that they are similar and may have something in common. But when a personal essay begins with, “High school is a difficult time for many teenagers,” I feel no bond. All I feel is bored. In addition, blanket statements are often just plain incorrect (like the Jurassic Period example above).
These blanket statements are often found in the opening of an essay, which is heartbreaking because there are so many effective and interesting ways to open an essay. (Hint: Quoting the dictionary is NOT an interesting or effective way to begin an essay. We see it a lot. And we hate it). Instead, try an interesting or provocative quote, a startling statistic, a rhetorical question. If you’re writing a personal experience essay, start it by dropping the reader into the action. I have read countless essays (with boring introductions) that should have begun with the second or third paragraph, causing me to cross out entire paragraphs with Big Red.
On a related note: show; don’t tell. Do not start the essay with “It was a sunny/rainy/crisp fall day.” Rather, use a detail that also shows action to indicate the kind of day it was: “Our tires screeched on the dark, wet road as my sister hit the brakes too hard.” Or you might employ dialogue (see below) to paint the scene.
3. Quote Wikipedia in an essay
Don’t get me wrong; I love Wikipedia. I use it nearly every day. It’s a great place to get a quick answer or to start research, but your research should not end there. Most Wikipedia entries have sources; check them out. Nothing screams “Give me a C!” like Wikipedia in the Works Cited page.
4. Use lots of !!!!!! or ????? or ?!?!?!?!
Save the multiple end punctuation for emails and IMs, or consider giving up all together—if you’re in college, it’s probably time to let the habit go. Here’s an easy test: If you say “brainfreeze,” it’s time to say goodbye. If you still say “ice cream headache,” you’re still immature enough to use them, but in informal situations only!
Seriously, multiples of end punctuation have no place in college writing. Not only does it appear childish on an aesthetic level, it comes off as lazy. I know that sounds harsh, but think of it this way: the writer knows there’s not enough power in her words, so she uses a bunch of !!!!!! to add that power. In college writing, your skills should allow you to string together powerful words.
If you absolutely must end a sentence with an exclamation point and a question mark, go to insert > symbols and find the interrobang. It looks like this: ‽ (a combination of a question mark and exclamation point). While it’s not a standard mark of punctuation quite yet, I doubt any composition teacher would have a problem with your using it. In fact, they even might be a little impressed. Personally, I’m impressed when students make the effort to locate symbols, like accent marks or an umlaut (although I’m always a little disappointed when they don’t).
THINGS YOU SHOULD DO:
1. Proofread
Imagine taking the time to crochet a blanket or make a necklace by hand for a friend. Would you present it in a grocery bag, with your friend’s name scrawled across the side with a Sharpie? Not proofreading an essay that you worked hard on is the equivalent to spending weeks on a sweater and then wrapping it in newspaper. The recipient is not going to think what’s inside is important, and why should he?
We English teachers know that not everyone shares the same love of the written word as we do. Not everyone quivers with joy when they find just the right turn of phrase. Not everyone has cried from a really kick-ass novel. Even so, as a student, your number one goal should be to trick your teacher into thinking you love words as much as she does. (And perhaps you will eventually!)
Something to remember about proofreading is that you cannot rely upon spell/grammar check alone. For starters, spell check does not catch everything (if it’s the wrong word but the right part of speech, not even grammar check will notice it). I have seen countless examples of spell check missing errors and even creating them. This happens when the user just accepts the first suggestion that pops up. Take the example above, the one about the student who was “defecated” at the loss of her dog—I’m guessing she meant “devastated.” I often see “defiantly” in papers when the author meant “definitely.” Putting aside the fact that “definitely” is a filler word that usually contributes nothing to a sentence, a mistake like that can easily destroy an author’s credibility.
Errors caused by spell check are not only embarrassing, they can also be expensive. In April of this year, an Australian publisher had to recall and pulp thousands of copies of a cookbook called The Pasta Bible because one recipe called for “salt and crushed black people.”
So here is my recommendation: proofread using your own eyes. Microsoft Word is smart, but it’s not smarter than you. Be extra careful when copy/pasting (that’s when I tend to leave random commas behind). Read the essay aloud. Do this before and after you run the spell check. If you know that you have comma issues or don’t have the hang of linking verbs, consult a writer’s handbook (I recommend Grammar Girl’s Quick and Dirty Tips for Better Writing, go to your school’s writing center, see your instructor, or ask a trusted friend to proofread. But make sure your proofreader explains the changes to you so that you can fix the errors on your own in the future. Improve your skills while you create quality work.
Finally, if you’re not sure of the proper way to do something, look it up in a style guide. You probably had to buy one for your comp class. For example, if you’re not sure if the title of the movie you’re referencing goes in quotation marks or italics, look it up. If you want to use an ellipsis, don’t just hit the period key a bunch of times (that’s not an ellipsis); look it up. If you’re not sure where to put your page numbers, look it up.
2. Use dialogue
Yes, you should use dialogue in a personal experience essay. Dialogue is a great tool to show the personalities of the people involved with the story without boring the reader with hefty descriptions. It also keeps the action going.
Also, even though you may not remember the exact words someone used, you can still use dialogue. Do your best to use conversation to recreate the spirit of your characters and the event. If your narrative involves your sexist grandfather, don’t tell us he’s sexist; let his dialogue do all the talking. If your friend is obsessed with Star Wars, don’t tell us he’s obsessed with Star Wars; let his frequent references to Yoda do it for you.
In general, personal experience essays should be more or less true. This means that the event you describe should have actually happened to you. That doesn’t mean you have to be absolutely loyal to each detail of the events. (Read this to mean that it’s okay to filter out the boring stuff). Henry David Thoreau’s A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers was based on a trip that lasted two weeks. As a reader, I’m fine with his revision of history because he captured the spirit of his adventure.
3. Use active voice
In active voice, the person or thing performing the action is the subject of the sentence: “‘Weird Al’ performed a great show at Summerfest.” The passive version of this sentence is “A great show was performed by ‘Weird Al’ at Summerfest.” See, the subject of the sentence has changed from “Weird Al” to “show,” and if anything is weird, it’s that sentence.
There are times when passive voice is appropriate, mainly in instances when the person who performed the action is unknown or not important. For example, if a newscaster is reporting on sea turtles, passive voice is perfectly fine: “Today, 25 more sea turtles were found dead on the shores of Louisiana.” Passive is correct in this case because the people who found the turtles are not important to the news story; the dead sea turtles should be the subject.
As a general rule, though, readers often find that the use of passive voice is shady. Thus, we should avoid passive voice whenever possible. Politicians are famous for using passive voice to skirt responsibility. For example, Ronald Reagan once famously said, “Mistakes were made.” Any thinking person would then be asking, “By whom?”
In the episode of The Simpsons called “Bart the Mother,” Bart accidentally kills a bird and, racked with guilt, adopts her eggs and tells them, “Mistakes were made. By Me.” Bart answers the obvious question that Reagan had left hanging in the air, and in doing so, Bart exposes the awkwardness and shiftiness inherent in passive voice. (Yes, I have a Simpsons example for everything).
4. Title your work
Your title should be original, descriptive, and intriguing. It needn’t be overly clever, but remember that it’s the first thing the reader sees, so it needs to spark interest. I’m terrible at titles so I understand the temptation to leave it blank, but titles are like shirts at the Olive Garden: they aren’t optional.
In my creative writing courses, I learned a few tactics for titling, one of which was to highlight phrases in the text that stand out as embodying the spirit of the piece. I tend to do that. For fun, however, I performed Google searches of “good titles” and “coming up with good titles” and I got oodles of hits. Oftentimes, friends or family members who are removed from the work have a freshness that helps with titling—I ask for help all the time. Still, for this blog entry, I’ll probably rely on my fallback.
I’ve heard stories of surgeons and nurses in the operating room making fun of unconscious patients’ noses or thighs. I don’t know if it’s true, (gods, I hope not), but I will tell you that composition teachers share gems with each other. We sometimes grade papers together at Starbucks, interrupting each other’s work to read a hilarious sentence. We email or text each other particularly funny lines. All the sensitivity training in the world won’t stop an under-fed, overworked graduate student from picking on your use of “parity” when you meant “parody.” We’re nerds; some of us shake with mocking laughter at a simple “further”/”farther” mix-up. You, dear students, are often the butts of jokes, and only you can prevent it.
