Due Next Hour/911

 

 

I often wonder what happened to Susan.  I remember her name because it’s also my sister’s name.  She had come into the Writing Center one Wednesday afternoon during my shift to get help with her research paper.  After she signed in, I greeted her with an outstretched hand.  I smiled and said, “Hi, my name is Jamie.” 

 “I’m Susan.  I need help with my paper for History 112.”

 “No Problem.  Where would you like to sit, Susan?” 

“Can we sit at one of the computers?  That way, you can take a look at what I have so far.”

 “Sure.  I’ll follow you.”

As we sat down in front of the computer and she inserted her removable disk into the hard drive, I looked at her face.  Her eyes were brown and the space between them was creased with a frown.  Fair skin covered the taught muscles around her eyes and mouth; her ashen hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, not so much for any statement of fashion, but to get it out of her way.  She avoided meeting my eyes and concentrated on pulling her work up onto the screen of the computer.  Intent on having me comment on her paper, Susan asked, “Can you read what I have typed so far?”

“Sure, but before we get started, do you have a prompt from your instructor?  It always helps if I take a look at the assignment.”

But as I asked her for the prompt, she became nervous and began to dig through her binder for the assignment.  Papers bulged from both the front and back pockets, their edges frayed.  Damn!  I wondered how she would ever find the assignment.  What could possibly differentiate this assignment from any of the other hundred papers stuffed into the binder?  She pulled roughly half of the papers out of her notebook and laid them on the desk next to the keyboard; others she relocated to specific sections of the binder, snapping the three rings closed after each delivery.  Eventually, she did produce the assignment, but by this time she was harried. 

 “Here it is.”  Susan took a deep breath as she surrendered the prompt.  “This is the assignment that Mr. Roberts gave us.” 

“Great!  This will help me understand what your instructor expects.”

I had never seen such a detailed prompt; it was four pages, doubled sided and stapled.   I smiled at her and told her I would need just a moment to glance over the prompt before I looked at her writing.  How do I glance over four pages while she waits? In all fairness, I should spend fifteen minutes reading this prompt, but fifteen minutes is all we have together.  Okay—the assignment is a history project, not simply a paper.  The instructor wanted the student to create a fictional personal narrative; however, he insisted that the fictional character be historically correct.  The assignment required the students to create a persona who would have lived in a specific time period that they had studied as a class and to solidify their story with facts (in the form of outside sources) pertinent to their walk through history.  The students were to document and cite specific laws they may have been involved in writing or implementing as well as laws they may have been affected by.  Okay—this is where he wants his 8-10 outside sources.  Not only was this a research paper, but also an exercise in creative writing.  Cognizant that several minutes had passed, I turned to my tutee.  

 “This looks interesting, Susan.  Who is your persona?”

 “Well, I haven’t decided for sure, but I thought that I could write about Susan B. Anthony.  Do you want to read what I have so far?” 

 “Sure.”  She points to her screen and I see from the tool bar at the bottom that she is on page 1/1.    This is all she has.  Where are the other 7/8?  The due date on the prompt clearly has tomorrow’s date.  Does she have the other pages somewhere else?  As I read the only paragraph she had, I began to panic.  The first paragraph was full of grammatical errors and resembled more of a brainstorming pre-write than an introduction to her history project.       

Okay, where do we start? I know what I would do; I would immediately call home and tell my children that I would not be home until late and to call their father and have him pick up dinner.  Next, I would head over to the Reference Desk and ask the librarian to help me pull up certain laws and primary sources that I could use as the foundation of my paper.  I would then begin to type furiously in order to get something down on paper—nothing will come from a blank screen. And all the while reminding myself: Don’t panic—after a 20 ounce Diet Coke, the adrenaline will kick in and you will be fine.   After all, didn’t I receive an A on a paper worth half of my grade in Ron Berman’s Literature 142 when all I had was six hours to craft a reasonable argument on England’s economy regarding the shift from Industrialism to Victorianism as present in Dickens?  Naturally, I never planned to write a paper the night before, but we do what we have to sometimes.  Can Susan call home?

“Susan, what’s your schedule like the rest of the day?”

“I have to work at 6pm”

“So you only have 5 hours left to work on the project?”

“And also tomorrow morning after my kids leave for school.  My class isn’t until 11am.”

             Is it fair to expect Susan to immediately shift into overdrive?  Might this further her stress?  What is a reasonable proposal at this point?  Perhaps I should suggest an all-nighter.  Wait, wait, wait—slow down, Jamie.  This is Susan’s paper, not mine.   I can’t want this for her.   She needs to take responsibility for this project, not me.  The only sensible advice I could offer Susan in the midst of this paper crisis would be to talk with her instructor.     

“Susan, have you considered contacting your instructor?”

 “For what?  I wouldn’t know what to say.”

“Well, if you had extra time, could you devise a workable plan?”

 “If I had an extra day or even two, I know I could do this paper,” (deep breath)… “I suppose I could try to contact him,” Susan said.

“Do you have his email?”

“It’s on the syllabus.  I probably have it here in my binder.”

Oh God, the binder…

 “Yes, it’s here at the top of the syllabus.”

“My opinion is that it can’t hurt to approach him and reasonably explain your situation and ask for a brief extension.  There’s no way of knowing what he will say, but it’s worth a try,” I encouraged.  “Email him now, and then I’ll walk you over to the Reference Desk.”  She may as well get started.  As the time honored maxim insures: All beginnings are difficult!

As Susan typed her message to Mr. Roberts, she confessed that she was overwhelmed at the assignment and that she had been intimidated by the length and breadth of the project.  When she finished her e-mail, we read the prompt together and broke it down into manageable parts.

Before Susan and I parted, we walked together to the Reference Desk to find a librarian.  Why not maximize the momentum!  Certainly, she is not the only student who has feared a difficult project and procrastinated; I have been stunned with fear myself on more than one occasion.  What is important is that Susan did reach out for help and hopefully, will seek us out sooner should she need help again. 

 “Susan, I’m leaving you with Marion, who will help you begin your research.  Be sure to come back to the Writing Center with your next project, even if it is only to read the prompt.  That way, we can decode the daunting project together.”  She smiled. 

I still don’t know whether the instructor granted her request or whether she was able to follow through with the assignment; however, I believe that Susan realized that postponing something difficult only exacerbates the problem. 

 

 

 - Jamie S.

 

 

Jamie's story is one of my favorites. What she does really well here, I think, is illustrate how much of our consulting work is done inside our own head. During the first 5 - 10 minutes that I spend reading a student's work, I have a dozen thoughts flying around in my head. "Assignment, thesis, good sentence, organization, ooh-spelling mistake, transitions, funky word here, next paragraph doesn't fit... Okay, what do I say first?" It's crazy-town in there!

 

Jamie doesn't give in to what's in her head, though. She doesn't tell the student how her awful binder is hampering her college success, for example. She sticks to what's going to help the student most in that moment. It isn't chiding the student, and it isn't bending over backwards to give the student a jump start. Jamie is realistic and frank with the student without being patronizing. She does a great job of honoring the student's intelligence AND the teacher's expectations. After all, Jamie's had this experience as a student before. (I've had this experience as a student before...) I can appreciate that kind of frankness. Rock on, Jamie.

 

- Brandi B.

 

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 Plus, I think it is first-rate narrative writing.  You and Andrew have a master's touch in using dialogue to move and enliven the story . . .

 

Scott H.