Some written rambles

Over the weekend I had to correct essays for my church's Black History Month essay contest. The contest was open to children 18 and under with the topic being: "Tell me what you want to be (your job) when you grow up. How will you accomplish this? How will it benefit your community?" Out of about 20 children, it was disappointing to only receive 8 essays. 3 of the 8 high school students submitted essays, one which was very good, but not one of the 5 middle school students submitted one. In their defense, we didn't tell them beforehand what the prizes were, or that there were prizes for that matter. But we did this to see how many would participate if they didn't know they were getting prizes.

Fast-forward to this morning when I realize that I haven't written my blog for class. It's only a little after 9 and I know I have to submit it by noon so that's plenty of time to get it done yet it begins to affect my mood. I slowly become irritated because I really don't feel like writing another blog. It's not an assignment I enjoy doing which is ironic because in a sense I don't enjoy writing but I'm studying to become a teacher of writing. But it's not the act of writing I don't enjoy it's the blog itself as a repeated assignment that isn't to my liking. I would rather write an essay and be done with the whole thing. Yet I still do it because I know it affects my grade. My prize.

So how am I different from the same children I was disappointed in that didn't write an essay. They didn't know that everyone who participated received a prize, but if they did I'm sure they would have submitted an essay. In my case, I know what prize I will receive so I unwillingly complete the assignment. But if the prize was removed, would I still do it? The answer is probably not. So I guess all this reflection and rambling has shown me that motivation has a lot to do with any kind of academic or formal writing.

Ending that subject, another thing that caught my attention was that when I corrected their essays I was here at home alone. I was under the impression that they were going to rewrite the essays then present them to the church the following Sunday. In between that I was going to sit down with them and discuss the changes I had suggested they make to their paper. For some reason to which I am unaware, they were handed their papers the same morning with all my scribbles and markings and asked to read them in front of the church. To say the least it was a spectacle. One by one they stumbled through a jigsaw of their words and mine. I felt ashamed that I had even wrote on their essays.

Reflecting back on my experiences as a student, I would say that this is similar to what happens in a lot of classrooms also. The students turn in the paper. The teacher goes home and corrects it. The teacher returns it to the student. The student goes home and rewrites it. Of course this is an over-simplification of things to illustrate my point that as teachers comments on a paper don't mean much if they aren't explained. In my experiences as a tutor and teaching assistant, I have learned that sitting down with students and discussing an essay is far more valuable than the red pen method employed in my story.