1.1 Really? Writing? Again?

Yes. Writing. Again.

Obviously, you can write. So why spend yet more time and attention on writing skills? Research shows that deliberate practice—that is, close focus on improving one’s skills—makes all the difference in how one performs. Revisiting the craft of writing—especially at the early end of college—will improve your writing much more than simply producing page after page in the same old way. Becoming an excellent communicator will save you a lot of time and hassle in your studies, advance your career, and promote better relationships and a higher quality of life off the job. Honing your writing is a good use of your scarce time.

A 2009 survey of employers conducted by the Association of American Colleges and Universities found that 89 percent of employers say that colleges and universities should place more emphasis on “the ability to communicate orally and in writing effectively.” It was the single most favored skill in this survey. In addition, several of the other valued skills are grounded in written communication: “Critical thinking and analytical reasoning skills” (81%); “The ability to analyze and solve complex problems” (75%); and “The ability to locate, organize, and evaluate information from multiple sources” (68%). This emphasis on communication probably reflects the changing reality of work in the professions. Employers also reported that employees will have to “take on more responsibilities,” “use a broader set of skills,” “work harder to coordinate with other departments,” face “more complex” challenges, and mobilize “higher levels of learning and knowledge.” If you want to be a professional who interacts frequently with others—presumably, you do; you’re in college—you have to be someone who can anticipate and solve complex problems and coordinate your work with others, all of these depend on effective communication.

The payoff from improving your writing comes much sooner than graduation. Suppose you complete about 40 classes for a 120-credit bachelor’s degree, and—averaging across writing-intensive and non-writing-intensive courses—you produce about 2500 words of formal writing per class. Even with that low estimate, you’ll write 100,000 words over your college career. That’s about equivalent to a 330-page book. Spending a few hours sharpening your writing skills will make those 100,000 words much easier and more rewarding to write. All of your professors care about good writing, whether or not they see their courses as a means to improve it. Creating and sharing knowledge—the whole point of the academy—depends on writing.

Transitioning to College

But college is different in more subtle ways as well, and those differences reflect the evolution of the university. Colleges and universities today are student-centered, and most higher education faculty spend most of their time carefully crafting educational experiences for students. However, the notion of the university as a center for scholarship and exchange shapes how colleges and universities operate today. Some points:

1. Professors are scholars and artists: Most of your professors have had little to no formal training in pedagogy (the science of teaching). They’re extensively trained in their scholarly or creative fields, and well versed in relevant theories, methods, and significant findings. Almost all professors seek out innovative and engaging pedagogies.
2. Professors have competing obligations: While you may view your professors primarily as teachers, your instructors are also collecting data, writing books and articles, making films, writing poetry, consulting with businesses and organizations, or inventing things. Some instructors are VERY persnickety about being addressed as “Doctor” or “Professor” and not “Mr.” or “Ms.” Not all fields have doctoral degrees, so “Professor” is always an appropriate choice for addressing your instructors. When in doubt, ask your professor how they would like to be addressed.
3. Professors design their classes:  Most high school teachers in public school systems are contractually obligated to deliver a particular curriculum and, in some cases, to use particular methods to do so. Your instructor may be required to cover particular concepts and skills or even assign a particular textbook, especially if one class is a prerequisite to more advanced classes. However, he or she still has a lot of freedom to determine what students should learn, what they will do to learn it, and how their achievements will be measured. As a result, two different sections of the same college course could differ dramatically, much more so than two parallel high school sections.
4. Students drive their learning: The assumption behind high school instruction is that the teacher is the engine of learning. The assumption behind college instruction, in contrast, is that students are the engine of learning and that most of the significant learning happens outside of class while students are working through a dense reading or another challenging intellectual task on their own. More often, though, professors want to provide you with material not contained in the reading or facilitate active learning experiences based on what you read. The assumption is that all students have the skill and self-motivation to carefully read all the assigned texts. Professors lay out a path for learning—much like how personal trainers develop exercise routines—but it is up to students to do the difficult work themselves.

While university systems have shifted toward student-centered practices, colleges and universities still see themselves as communities of scholars, some senior (i.e., faculty), and most junior (i.e., students), your professors are passionate about their fields, and they want to share their excitement with you as effectively as they can. However, they also know that you came to them voluntarily, and they fully expect you to take complete responsibility for your learning.

College Writing is Different

College is a fundamentally different educational model; as a result, the purposes and expectations for writing are different. You have learned many of the essential skills and practices of formal written communication throughout your schooling; now it’s time to take your writing a step further.

Professors look at you as independent junior scholars and imagine you writing as someone who has a genuine, driving interest in tackling a complex question. They envision you approaching an assignment without a pre-existing thesis. They expect you to look deep into the evidence, consider several alternative explanations, and work out an original, insightful argument that you care about. This kind of scholarly approach usually entails writing a rough draft, through which you work out an ambitious thesis and the scope of your argument, the term of art for this, coined by novelist and memoirist Anne Lamott is “shitty first drafts” or “zero draft,” then starting over with a wholly rewritten second draft containing a mostly complete argument anchored by a refined thesis. In that second round, you’ll discover holes in the argument that should be remedied, counter-arguments that should be acknowledged and addressed, and important implications that should be noted. When the paper is substantially complete, you’ll go through it again to tighten up the writing and ensure clarity. All writing, from essays to textbooks and novels, goes through several drafts. Writing a paper isn’t about getting the “right answer” and adhering to basic conventions; it’s about joining an academic conversation with something original to say, borne of rigorous thought.

Few students approach writing college papers in the way that professors envision. Many students first figure out what they want to say and then (and only then) write it down as clearly (and quickly) as they can. One quick round of proofreading and they’re done. Many students have a powerful distaste for truly revising (i.e., actually rewriting) a paper because it feels like throwing away hard-won text. Consequently, when students are invited or required to revise an essay, they tend to focus on correcting mechanical errors, making a few superficial changes that do not entail any rethinking or major changes. Professors find that tendency incredibly frustrating. Some instructors craft an assignment sequence to force a true revising process; others leave it up to you. Virtually all shape their expectations for the final project around the idea that you’re writing to learn, writing to develop, writing to think—not just writing to express.

Another major impact of this shift to a junior-scholar role is that you not only have to learn to write like a scholar, but you also have to learn to write like a political scientist, a chemist, an art historian, and a statistician—sometimes all in the same semester. While most academic writing conventions are common across disciplines, there is some variation. Your professors—immersed as they are in their fields—may forget that you have such varied demands, and they may not take class time to explain the particular conventions of their field. For every new field of study, you’re like a traveler visiting a foreign culture and learning how to get along. Locals will often do you the kindness of explaining something, but you’ll have to sleuth out a lot of things on your own.

What do Professors Want?

At one time or another, most students will find themselves frustrated by a professor’s recalcitrant refusal to simply “Tell us what you want!” It’s a natural feeling and, at times, a legitimate one. While all professors want to set you up to succeed, they may find their expectations hard to articulate, in part because they struggle to remember what it’s like to be a beginner in the field. Often, however, the bigger and better reason that professors won’t just tell you what to do is that there simply isn’t a particular “answer” they want you to give in the paper. They want to see your own ambitious and careful analysis. Some students assume that they should be able to envision a paper and its thesis within minutes of receiving the assignment; if not, they complain that the assignment is unclear. Other students assume that every professor has a completely different set of expectations and, consequently, conclude that writing papers is just an unavoidable guessing game about entirely subjective and idiosyncratic standards. Neither of those assumptions is true. Good, well-constructed writing assignments are supposed to be challenging to write, and professors are, above all, looking for your self-motivated intellectual work.

One quick tip for improving your college writing is to listen to each professor. Most professors have different expectations, it can be tricky knowing what exactly they’re looking for. Pay attention to the comments they leave on your paper, and make sure to use these as a reference for your next assignment. Try to pay attention and adapt to the professor’s style and preferences. Additionally, don’t get discouraged! If you feel like you are getting low grades, talk to your professor about what you could have done differently. This will help you be better prepared for future papers. Most professors love to be asked questions and interact with students. If you ever need help, do not hesitate to ask for advice on how you could do better.

Despite some variations by discipline, college instructors are bringing similar standards to evaluating student work. Recently, the Association of American Colleges and Universities has brought together faculty members from across the country to deliberate on the core knowledge and skills that define liberal arts education. They have also worked out benchmarks of success, as summarized in a rubric for written communication. Check it out! While few instructors are sitting down with the AAC&U rubric to determine grades on papers, you can be confident that these are the kinds of things almost all professors are looking for. The language of the “capstone” column illustrates especially well the scholarly mindset and independent work habits they expect students to bring to their work:

“thorough understanding of context, audience, and purpose,”

“mastery of the subject,”

“detailed attention” to writing conventions,

“skillful use of high-quality, credible, relevant sources,” and

“graceful language.”

Professors want to see that you’ve thought through a problem and taken the time and effort to explain your thinking in precise language.

The following chapters in this book seek to concretize these ideas. They begin with the most fundamental issues (the purpose of the assignment and the thesis), move through organizational strategies, and end with sentence-level expressions. The expectations laid out here may seem daunting, maybe even too academic. But communication isn’t just about expressing yourself; it’s about connecting with others. And it’s connecting with other people—in families, couples, communities, and workplaces—that shape the most important experiences of your life.