of discussion. Also, an even larger amount of synthesizing occurs when students create the final “Collage” project (see the syllabus).
Emphasize Fluency, Freedom, and Flexibility in Writing
Donald Murray (e.g., 2003), Peter Elbow (e.g., 1998), and many other scholars place fluency at the necessary heart of any writing course. Generating language will never be more important than it is in writing about trauma. If your students are unfamiliar with freewriting, you should model it for students on the first day of class. I ask students to assign me topics and I list them on the board, select one, and then use an overhead projector or smartboard to compose aloud, including all kinds of questions, hesitations, false starts, stumbles, and occasionally coherent phrases or lines. I ask students to take notes on the kinds of things I do, such as re-reading, asking myself questions and answering some of them, and going off-topic. What’s important is to keep going. This is followed by my emphasizing that most writers flounder like this. Again, for novices, freewriting should be practiced at every class session, for increasingly longer amounts of time. I begin with three minutes and gradually increase it to 10–15 minutes. Especially with trauma, writers should work from abundance.
Students should have utter freedom in the types or genre of writing. They typically write in narrative form. This makes sense, given their familiarity with this genre. But they are never restricted to narrative or any other pattern or format unless the assigned project requests it, as some do. In most cases, after students make informal lists or “cluster” diagrams, freewriting and narrative rule the day. If students express difficulty with an assignment, the first thing I tell them is “try writing it as a poem”—or news report or graphic short story, or other genre. Students are also free to abandon the “assignment” and approach the task in any other way.
Nudge Writers to Break the Chains of Chronological Order in Writing
Given these established freedoms, I also want students to break the chain of chronology that’s usually imposed by the narrative form. A hallmark of literary nonfiction, getting student writers to “move about in time and space” is one of the hardest things to teach (see, for example, Fox and Lannin, 2007). However, disrupting a traumatic event’s time sequence can be very important for re-seeing and re-framing traumatic events because such events tend to “freeze” in our memory as a cause-effect chain. The student bank teller described earlier may in part blame herself for the robbery because the thief entered the bank soon after she unlocked the main door, a few minutes before she was supposed to. This sequence is cemented into her festering memory of the trauma, but, in reality, her performing this daily chore was very likely unrelated to the robber’s actions.
Responding to Writing about Trauma
Undeniably, the small peer response group should be an integral part of any writing about trauma course. All of its virtues—providing a variety of perspectives and types of advice; clarifying the nature of the paper’s topic; showing emotional support for the writer’s experience, as well as her paper—are intensely needed when writing about trauma. While the syllabus provides guidelines for students (see Appendix A), they are equally useful for teachers. Because my students are experienced teachers, they know how to prioritize and phrase their comments, delivering them in ways that allow their peers to be fully receptive. Of course, the nature of the topic steers most students into adopting supportive stances toward their peers. However, if your students are novices, you’ll need to model how a group should respond, as well as provide them initial guidelines (especially see Elbow and Belanoff [1999] and guidelines from the National Writing Project). After your class gets rolling, sit in on peer sessions (trying very hard not to speak!) and record examples of helpful and specific comments. Then, reproduce and discuss those notes with the whole class.
Differentiate between Written Comments on Students’ Papers and What You Speak Directly to Students
Especially in a writing and trauma class, students will often imitate (in content and expression) the kinds of comments you make about their writing. In stark terms, if you regard yourself as more of a “talker” than a “writer,” then save the most sensitive comments for speaking to the student, preferably out of earshot of others. I’m more of a writer than a talker, so it’s easiest for me to write the most important and/or sensitive comments. This decision also applies to the student in question. If I view the writer as shy or defensive about his writing, I’ll be sure to write my comments, but will engage him in less important conversation, in hopes that we can, in the future, speak of weightier matters as well.
Empathize with Students’ Writing. Always.
Even though you’re all in a writing class, and writing is important, it’s even more crucial to first respond as a human being. As the course gets rolling, you’ll be able to focus comments on style, word choice, organization, metaphor, etc., but this should never occur prematurely. And when it does occur, it should always include the human-to-human response. Even late in the course, I’ve found myself so “blown away” by the prose that I am unwilling (and unable) to respond as a writing teacher. And I’m fine with that. Empathic comments should avoid clichés and be as specific as possible to the paper’s content. One obvious way is to recall a similar situation you may have experienced or know about.
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