Prompt for Tuesday, October 30

Revisit (or write for the first time) one of these prompts, but using only one-syllable words:

Write about a time you realized that you loved something you thought you hated, or hated something you thought you loved.

OR

How do you feel about your name?

OR

Describe your favorite place, or one of your favorite places.

Why I Doctor

I never liked being called “Ms. Majerus.” My first year at Uni, one of my students was calling my teacher name down the crowded hallway in an effort to get my attention: “Ms. Majerus! Ms. Majerus!” I didn’t hear her. In desperation, she shouted, “Elizabeth!” and I immediately turned around. “Elizabeth” sounds like me to me. “Ms. Majerus” sounds like one of my aunts.

I never felt like Ms. Majerus, but over time I did come to terms with the name. Still, when I finished my PhD a couple years into my Uni career, I briefly considered changing my form of address from “Ms. Majerus” to “Dr. Majerus.” I had been working myself ragged writing my dissertation while teaching full time, and I had put seven years into earning my PhD. It felt like a momentous accomplishment, and the change in my chosen honorific[1]would reflect that. “Dr. Majerus” also just appealed to me more than “Ms. Majerus.” Ms. Majerus sounded mundane, adult but uninspired, while Dr. Majerus sounded more august and somewhat funny at the same time, an expert in her field who might also have some super-secret mad scientist identity.

At the time, however, there was another teacher in my department who already had a PhD, a veteran more than twenty years my senior, who went by Ms. Laughlin. It felt a little strange to insist upon my “doctor” when another teacher I worked closely with was satisfied with plain old “Ms.” So, even though there were other PhDs in the building who went by “Dr.,” I decided to stick with “Ms.”

Flash forward a few years, and somehow I’m one of the veteran teachers in our department. My younger colleague Mr. Ernstmeyer is on the verge of earning his PhD, and we’re gathered around the English office talking about whether he’ll change his honorific to Dr. Ernstmeyer. He admits that he’d like to but is undecided. Regretting my decision to stick with “Ms.” instead of going for the admittedly more pretentious but also, to me, more fun and less mundane “Dr.,” I encourage Mr. Ernstmeyer to go for it, telling him that I will start using “Dr.” as my honorific if he does so. 

Since I made the change, I have come to like “Dr.” more and more. It feels more equitable that it’s not only the administrators at our school who are given the respect of the honorific that corresponds to their advanced degree, and I love the fact that “Dr.” is gender neutral. I still feel more like an “Elizabeth” or even a flat “Majerus” than a “Dr. Majerus.” But “Dr. Majerus” feels much more like me than “Ms. Majerus.” It’s sort of like the name version of the clothes I wear at school vs. the clothes I wear at home. Dr. Majerus feels like a set of clothes that are more formal and maybe a bit less comfortable than I’d choose to wear around the house, but still, clothes that I chose. Ms. Majerus felt like I was borrowing my aunt’s sweater. It was a perfectly nice sweater, and it kept me from getting chilly, but it wasn’t mine. 

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[1]Honorificis the English word for a title prefixing a person's name, e.g.: Ms., Mr., Sir, Dr., Lady, Lord, etc.

Erdrich, Whittemore, and sentence combining

Louise Erdrich, “The Names of Women” and Katherine Whittemore, “Endangered Languages”

With the first two of the following three tasks, you can change the sentences radically, but try as much as possible not to change the meaning of the sentences or phrases within them. Work with the words from the original as much as you are able. Also label your two sentences with the names of your group members:

1. Take one of the longest sentences from either of these essays and break it into two sentences, then post it in the “favorite sentences” googledoc. Label the new sentences “Broken up.”
2. Then take two relatively short sentences that are next to or near each other and turn them into one sentence. Label the new sentence “Combined.”
3. Now, as a group, judge whether the broken up or combined sentences you created are better, worse, or about the same as the originals, and briefly comment on this in the doc. Label it “Comment.” 

When your group has finished its sentence work, answer the following questions in your notebook:

1. Do you feel like you learned anything from the sentence breaking-up/combining exercise above? If so, what? 
2. What do these two short essays seem to you to have in common with one another? Which was more interesting and why? Or were they equally interesting in different ways?

Michael Pollan's notes for the Intro and Chapter One: The Apple (also: colons & semi-colons!)

Before, during, or after you read the apple chapter of Michael Pollan's The Botany of Desire, please take a look at Pollan's notes for both of these chapters, which we'll talk about on Friday, in addition to discussing the chapter itself.

And here's the information on colons and semi-colons that I shared in class today.

Defend Americans' right to assemble and petition our government

If you care about our First Amendment rights as Americans to peaceably assemble & to petition the government for a redress of grievances, please submit an official comment on the regulations currently under consideration to create new barriers on organizing protests and large gatherings like the Million Man March near some of our most important government buildings in Washington D.C.

Our nation has a long history of marches, gatherings, and protests––from a wide range of points on the political spectrum–– that have been held on the National Mall and other places of national and symbolic importance in D.C.

My Feelings Relating to the Word "Relatable"

I wrote the post below the second time I taught Nonfiction writing, so it's several years old at this point. But a couple weeks ago I referred in passing to my dislike of (and resignation regarding) the word "relatable," and a student in fourth period was curious about a fuller explanation, so I am reproducing the post here in the unlikely event that you want to hear my whole rationale for why I dislike the word. (Note that I wrote this back when I was not resigned to its use, so I was more inclined to rant about it. Now that I'm resigned, there's really no point. I'm sure you can relate :)

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Nonfiction Writing is one of my favorite classes to teach. I love spending a semester helping students learn how to write eloquent, concise, engaging personal essays and seeing them develop a compelling writing voice of their own.

The last time I taught Nonfiction Writing was the first time I came across the word "relatable" in my students' writing. A student or two described the voice or tone or topic of an essay we'd read as "relatable." My reaction to this word was negative, but it didn't seem like a big deal, since it didn't come up more than a couple times. I may have mentioned the word to my students, and if I did, I may have told them that it's not a real word. I may not have. I don't remember. I certainly remember thinking "That is not actually a word, and if it were... feh."

That was a couple years ago, and now I'm teaching the class again. And in the first assignment I collected, where students responded to several essays of their own choosing, I came across the word "relatable" at least a dozen times. One student, normally a clear, precise, and confident writer, used the word a total of four times in a two-page paper.

I've been an English teacher long enough to know that before I make some pronouncement to my class, along the lines of "That's not a real word" or "The correct pronunciation is...," I need to check my sources. The English language is vast, complex, and ever-changing. We are fortunate to have a gigantic vocabulary at our disposal, and our words come from every corner of the globe, with new ones being added and old ones morphing into new ones all the time.

So I looked up "relatable" and found that it is indeed in the dictionary. Of course it's in the dictionary, because it is in fact a word. It means "able to be related." Like a story. But that's not how my students are using it. They mean "able to be related to." And according to my beloved ginormo desk dictionary, the American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language (5th edition), that's not the definition. "Relatable" is just there at the end of the entry for "relate," meaning that the AHDEL defines it my way, not my students' way.

Merriam-Webster's online dictionary, however, backs up the young'uns:

re·lat·a·ble/riˈlātəbəl/ Adjective: 1. Able to be related to something else.
2. Enabling a person to feel that they can relate to someone or something: "Kate's problems make her more relatable."

Why do I hate this word? It's not the very fact of turning a verb into a noun. "Debatable" is fine, as is "dependable" and "deniable." Partly it's the preposition thing. To relate something is very different than to relate to something, and part of me thinks that therein lies my issue.

But no. I'm not normally picky in that way. It is a little ugly to cram "to relate to" into an "able" ajective. But it's more than that.

I think my problem is an assumption that underlies the word: that if this character, this person, this being has something very obvious in common with me, I can "relate to" him, her, it, and thus I can validate him, her, or it. And if we have nothing in common that I can see from a cursory glance, then I might just feel that this voice isn't speaking to me. And I find that a bit solipsistic and shallow.

In fact, there's a better word that we English teachers have been promoting for years that fits the "relatable" bill but is less dependent on the reader's (or viewer's or listener's) experience and worldview being replicated by the artistic or writerly perspective in question. It's "sympathetic." The question of whether we can sympathize with a character, with a writer, with a voice is a much larger one, and (I would argue) enables a more sophisticated and a more outward-looking conversation.

Perhaps we need to promote sympathy as a better lens through which to evaluate writing than "relatability." And perhaps we need to have a conversation about other, more specific, less flabby words that fit into the big baggy mess that is "relatable." But I begin by rejecting the word.

I do not relate.

Finding sources on gender non-specific language

You are interns for a small online magazine that focuses on popular culture from a general interest point of view. Your boss wants you to write a casual but informed 600-word piece on gender-nonspecific language in the twenty-first century. It should introduce the basic issue of gender specific language and give a very brief bit of history (feel free to use Anne Fadiman as one historical source), and it should end by offering readers advice on and/or range of options for how to approach gender nonspecific language. 

Begin by sharing the list of language issues related to gender that each of you made last week. Decide on which issue or issues seems the most pressing and the most relevant to a magazine audience of college-educated younger adults interested in popular culture. You can choose one issue, or a small handful with one being the main focus.

Then make a list of places where you might find information about the issue(s) you've chosen to focus on––this can include print and online resources, but also any other information source you could access within a small budget (for example, contacting experts or commenters in any number of fields or areas by phone, email, etc.). 

Then spend a few minutes trying to find two or more sources to check for basic information that you can use to begin to shape the very first draft of your piece. 

Create a rough outline for the piece you envision (including references to any information you intend to gather from more time-intensive means like interviews).

If you have time, write the first paragraph or two.

Notebook questions (and a note) for "Best American Answers to the Question 'What Do You Believe...'"

For the "Best American Answers to the Question 'What Do You Believe Is True Even Though You Cannot Prove It,'” please complete the following in your notebook:

1. As you read, write down the last name of the writer and the first three to five words of the answer for each of these answers, then as you finish each decide whether it seems to be making an argument. Write “yes,” “no,” or “yes and no” for each answer. (You don’t need to explain at this point, though we will likely discuss your whys on Wednesday.)
2. Decide which two answers offer the most persuasive logic for their "thing I believe in even though I can't prove it." What specific elements of these answers make each persuasive for you?

Note: In the last paragraph of her answer, Alison Gopnik refers to Dan Dennett’s answer, which is not reprinted in this group, but can be found online here. Basically, his answer is a rather Wittgensteinian “I believe, but cannot yet prove, that acquiring a human language (an oral or sign language) is a necessary precondition for consciousness.”

Peer edit for Essay #2

Here's the peer editing handout for the Essay #2 workshop for today. I will also have some hard copies if you prefer to have the questions on paper.