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Contents

Introduction

Contextualization

A Review of Existing Scholarship

Methodology

Results and Discussion

Conclusions

Acknowledgments

Works Cited

About the Author

Introduction

Stephen Kwame Dadugblor writes that “the concept of collaboration in writing center work is as old as the inception of writing centers” (75). Yet collaboration in the writing center is far from a monolith. For example, tutorials and peer response groups are both student-centered approaches that utilize collaboration as a robust tool for learning, encouraging dialogue between reader and writer to improve writers and their writing. However, tutorials and peer response groups differ in their theoretical underpinnings, goals, and methods, and these two forms of collaboration must not be conflated.

At the University of Wisconsin-Madison, the distinction between tutor and peer collaboration is further blurred by undergraduate programs such as the Writing Fellows Program and the Rose Writing Studio, both of which engage undergraduate students in discussions with other undergraduate students about ways to improve previously penned essays. Participants in these programs exist in a nebulous space between uninformed students assigned to peer review and proseminar-trained graduate writing center instructors. Members of the Writing Fellows Program and Rose Writing Studio alike grapple with some information regarding tutoring best practices—a semester of instruction for Writing Fellows and a mere few weeks for members of the Rose Writing Studio—yet neither group is completely immersed in the world of writing center studies and best practices. Nonetheless, both groups are expected to comment on other undergraduate students’ work, thus offering ideal populations to explore questions regarding comment effectiveness from tutors with varying levels of education and experience. In light of such differences, I am prompted to ask: Does feedback vary from undergraduate tutor-to-peer review versus peer-to-peer review, and if so, how does such variation impact the effectiveness of collaborative learning to write?

I hypothesize that, though both programs are premised on the value of undergraduate peer review, in general, the comments offered by Rose students will be less effective—operationalized in terms of higher-order focus and level of specificity—than those offered by Writing Fellows. This difference likely stems from the fact that members of the Rose Writing Studio learn less about writing center pedagogy in the three weeks before they begin commenting on drafts and assume a reciprocal relationship with their peers, in which each student both shares their work and critiques that of others. In contrast, Writing Fellows encounter knowledge of tutoring best practices for a semester in English 403, a required seminar for new Fellows in tutoring writing across the curriculum, and develop a more nuanced ability to guide tutoring sessions. My findings corroborate this hypothesis but also offer evidence that the comments elicited by both kinds of review offer thoughtful ideas on improving a student’s draft.

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Contents

Essay

References

About the Author

In my experience, writing studies—both as a field of inquiry and a practice—has a tendency to be full of commonplaces that are largely intuitive and appear to make a lot of sense, especially at a theoretical level. When we hear quips like “Writing is a social activity,” for example, it’s perhaps easy to shrug and think, well of course it is. However, when we try to put those abstract ideas into practice, things tend to get a little…stickier, less intuitive, more difficult to actually live out. One of those commonplaces that I find particularly troublesome to enact is the idea that revision is core aspect of writing, or: all writing is rewriting.

As a writer, I know that what I am doing is process-oriented and that words and even ideas that initially come out on the page are likely not the same ones that will end up making it through to publication. Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird always still sits dutifully beside me on my desk when I write, her advice bringing me at least some level of comfort as I struggle to get words, any words at all, onto the page, “[W]riting is not rapturous. In fact, the only way I can get anything written at all is to write really, really shitty first drafts” (22). Okay, I reassure myself, a shitty first draft is definitely doable. And then, because (again), writing is a social activity, the next step to be able to get beyond that initial draft is to solicit feedback on my writing.

In my classroom, this takes the form of peer response activities; in my publishing life it manifests as the peer review process. So, I get feedback on my writing, but then what? A host of research in writing studies speaks to the importance of revising writing in light of peer commentary; but bringing this well-substantiated theory into practice is often more difficult than it initially appears for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is that writing is also-always an act of identity, a merging of text and self. And seeing beyond one’s self in order to incorporate the socialness of writing takes an act of intentionality, one that I didn’t learn about until later in my writing career.

One of the most important things about writing that I wish I had known about sooner is how to make reviewer feedback actionable—how, practically, to take the socialness of writing and put it to use so as to actually re/vision my writing. I doubt that I am alone when I say that almost never is it the case that I submit a piece of text for publication that is accepted as is; the outcome I always aim for, then, is revise and resubmit. (And if you find yourself with just such a decision from a journal you should take a moment to celebrate!) But then I’m still confronted with the problem of how to use the feedback I get from reviewers. The request to “substantially revise” can feel daunting at best, and the most productive way I’ve learned to tackle this writing-for-publication imperative was taught to me by one of mentors, Dr. Kendall Gerdes (who, in turn, was adapting advice about revising from Tonya Golash-Boza), and I’m grateful to be able to pass it on here: the revision plan.

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Contents

Introduction

Literature Review

Method

The Artifact

Synthesis

Conclusions

Works Cited

About the Author

Introduction

In 1938, a cultural icon was created, spurring America towards a rhetoric of superheroes who surpassed the capabilities of humanity yet remained uncorrupted by immense power. The icon was Superman, and he was introduced to the world in Action Comics #1 written by Jerry Siegel and illustrated by Joe Schuster. Superman is highly relevant because of his long, important history as an American icon and the symbolism he represents in modern culture. Part of his symbolism is contained in his role as the first superhero. It is widely accepted that Siegel and Schuster’s “Superman” gave birth to the concept of the superhero and inspired every superhero story that came after him (Coogan; Tye). In the last few decades, superhero films and television shows have permeated people’s screens in astounding numbers. With this genre saturation comes a need to understand the origin story of the superhero archetype in order to comprehend the arguments that underlie the modern comic book and the abundance of superhero narratives. That archetype is contained within Superman, specifically within the pages of his debut comic.

Importantly, like any other argument that is crafted, Siegel and Schuster had underlying perceptions of the world that were undeniably integrated into Superman from his first appearance in Action Comics #1. The field of rhetoric is uniquely suited to analyze the arguments embedded within Superman as it is the study of argumentation. Because comic books are a visual medium, it is vital the images that portray Superman are a subject of analysis. However, while studies of Superman’s history can be seen as adjacent to rhetorical understandings (Regalado; Tye), there are few formal visual rhetorical studies of Superman’s debut, and they are limited by their methods (Cross; Paris).

In order to accomplish a formal rhetorical study of Action Comics #1, this study adopts a unique methodology that is suited to analyze comic book images: cluster criticism. Cluster criticism identifies key terms that have elements that “cluster” around them, suggesting a rhetor’s conscious or unconscious meaning for their text (Foss 63-66). Although the method is not exclusively visual, this project explores the use of cluster criticism in visual applications by analyzing the enduring visual rhetoric of Superman’s comic debut. The concept that key terms cluster around a visual element is valuable to studying comic books because comics are reliant on messages conveyed to an audience through images, not just the conversations, thoughts, and narratives conducted within text bubbles or boxes. Additionally, Kathaleen Reid, an important scholar of cluster criticism, called for the study of more applications of visual cluster criticism. Thus, using cluster criticism will open a new path into Superman’s rhetorical meaning and further current understandings of cluster criticism by applying it to a new medium.

Due to Superman’s importance, the limited rhetorical study of his debut, and the usefulness of cluster criticism, this project will use cluster criticism to analyze the visual rhetoric of Superman in Action Comics #1 and answer specific queries. First, based on the visual clusters around Superman, what is the rhetorical meaning of Superman embedded within his debut? Second, knowing that cluster criticism is an analytic methodology with unique value for visual analysis that has seemingly gone unused in the rhetorical analysis of comic books, implementing this technique should examine the effectiveness of cluster criticism in relation to comic books. This will be achieved by understanding whether new rhetorical meaning emerges from Action Comics #1 using this method. Thus, I seek to answer the following questions: Does cluster analysis provide a new understanding of Superman’s debut? As an American symbol, what does Superman’s rhetorical meaning argue about America in 1938, and how might that meaning be relevant today?

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Contents

Introduction

The Spectrum of CTL Opportunities

Growing (and Nurturing) a SOTL Network

Final Thoughts

About the Authors

First, Some Reflection

Sarah

I entered my graduate program (a combined MA/PhD in English Literature at a large, public Research-1 institution) with a strong desire to teach and learn about teaching. I had recently graduated from a small liberal arts college surrounded by eccentric professors who helped me develop my ideas and my identity as a scholar. When I began my graduate career, I assumed pedagogy would be a crucial part of my education; my colleagues and I were, after all, hoping to land jobs teaching at universities. While my department did provide a required semester-long practicum on pedagogy to accompany our first year of teaching, I was surprised to learn that additional training and courses were up to me. Eager to continue learning, I improvised. I attended pedagogy panels at conferences. I took practicums in other departments. I applied to teach special courses. I talked to anyone who would listen about teaching. But it wasn’t until I started attending events held by my university’s CTL that I found a way to develop my teaching to the level I wanted.

It took me an embarrassingly long time to locate my university’s teaching center; while it was advertised across campus, I was not sure that I, a graduate student, would be accepted or even allowed at the center. Finally, on the recommendation of a trusted friend, I attended a “for graduate students” workshop on developing an effective teaching statement. I immediately felt at home as the workshop was full of other graduate students committed to their teaching. With guidance from the CTL staff, students were able to share experiences, resources, and questions. Not to mention, everyone wanted to talk about teaching. Through my university’s CTL programs, apprenticeships, and mentorship, I developed and expanded my pedagogy. Within a year, I had won the university’s highest teaching award for graduate students. Six months later, I accepted an offer to become an Instructional Consultant at the same center that inspired my growth.

My work at the teaching center as a graduate student not only evolved my pedagogy, but it also revealed a career path that I hadn’t known existed (and immediately wanted). My current work at the CTL enables me to continue learning and developing teaching practices and hones my skills of training, collaborating, and presenting. I regularly connect with other passionate educators, and together we are building strong, inclusive teaching communities across our campus.

Gabrielle

Before entering my PhD program (also at a large, Research-1 institution), I had gained a bit of instructional experience teaching K-12 reading courses. While I had gotten a sense of classroom management strategies, I knew virtually nothing about designing college-level curricula, and I was soon to be thrown into my first semester teaching a course that I, like many English PhDs, never took during my own undergraduate education.

I was eager to teach and was disappointed when my composition pedagogy practicum concluded at the end of my first year of teaching. This practicum, along with a week-long August bootcamp, was the extent of the training offered by my home department. This is not to say that we were discouraged from attending further training, but, as Sarah experienced, it was our responsibility to seek out those opportunities.

I’ll admit, there are times in a PhD program when taking on “extra'' professional development seems unreasonable—PhD students are already bogged down by numerous research, writing, and, in some cases, service commitments. That said, not everyone is equipped to excel in a teaching environment. They are turned completely loose and told to make the best of it. Certain people thrive in this kind of setting, and to some extent, I did. The freedom to design courses and learn the art of course design through trial and error was part of what made learning to teach fun. Yet I constantly found myself looking for models, mentorship, and resources. I could only learn so much from devouring recommended books, like John Bean’s fantastic Engaging Ideas. I was seeking connection with other graduate students who understood the value of teaching.

I also knew that to be competitive on the current job market I had no choice but to take pedagogy seriously. It wasn’t going to be enough to have “good” course evaluations. I had to be able to talk about my teaching in an informed way, and I needed the portfolio materials to back this up. To do this, I needed to workshop my course materials in the CTL setting. It was at the CTL that I learned how to write teaching and diversity statements. Furthermore, I was only able to clearly articulate my pedagogical values in these documents once I knew what they were; CTL events taught me the how and why of active learning, accessibility, and trauma-informed teaching.

I went to every CTL workshop and speaker event that I could fit into my schedule, and it paid off. My department recognized my commitment to teaching, and I was able to begin using what I learned to serve other incoming teachers by helping lead the bootcamp “Welcome to Teaching” events. I was elected by my peers to serve as a graduate representative on my department’s first-year writing committee. In the four years that I taught in my graduate program, I won two university teaching awards, including the most prestigious award for which graduate student instructors were eligible. Ultimately, this work got me off the market and into a faculty position, one where I am responsible for leading pedagogy professional development workshops for the department’s graduate students. Every day that I am in this position I am using what I learned from my experience as a CTL participant, and I continue to encourage graduate students to attend CTL events in addition to our own discipline-specific programming.

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Contents

My Abusive Past

My Relationship with Race

My First Major Mistake as a Writing Instructor

How I settled down as an International Graduate Instructor

Life Now

My Recommendations

Conclusion

Works Cited

About the Author

My Abusive Past

When I was growing up in Bangladesh, I received beatings off and on from my schoolteachers for not being able to keep myself up to the task. We had to do lots of rote-memorization (Freire 72). In my primary school, we had a teacher who appointed two of his class student-representatives to ask us subject-related questions. He would sit on his chair and would do nothing. For example, the class representatives would pick up every student and then ask each of us questions; let us say, about geography. Their question would be something like, “What is the capital city of the USA?” If we had failed to give them the accurate answer, they would have reported it to our geography teacher; followingly he would beat us mercilessly. As a 10-year-old, it was too much for me to fathom. In many cases, my teachers were what Paulo Freire would call “depositors,” promoting the “banking concept” of education (72). His pedagogic approach was brutal. It took me many years to come out of trauma.