strengths, weaknesses, or clarity of their arguments, no special terminology is needed. Teachers simply need to be honest readers, making comments such as these:
“I'm getting lost. How does this paragraph connect to the previous one?”
“Readers will need more evidence here.”
“What about Petriono's research on this problem? Can you summarize and respond to her argument?”
“Excellent point!”
A main aspect of teaching writing, as chapter 2 argues, is to encourage students to revise their drafts, showing students how global revision reveals critical thinking at work. The more teachers can show students their own thinking processes as they move from an initial idea to a finished article, the more they can serve as role models for students. In short, your own experience as an academic writer and reader, combined with your expertise in how scholars in your field inquire and argue, should be all the background you need to help your students with their writing.
Conclusion: Engaging Your Students with the Ideas of Your Course
The steps suggested here for integrating writing and critical thinking assignments into a course can increase students' engagement with subject matter and improve the quality of their work. Moreover, these suggestions do not call for rapid, complete makeovers of a course. It is possible to make changes in a course gradually—trying a few new activities at a time, looking for strategies and approaches that fit your discipline and subject matter—that work for your students and that accord with your own personality and teaching philosophy.
Some teachers make only minimal changes in their courses. We know of one teacher, a brilliant lecturer, who has changed nothing in his course except for adding a series of three microtheme options (students must choose any two) that he grades using models feedback (see chapter 14). Each microtheme assignment focuses on what he considers a threshold concept for his discipline. From each microtheme set, he selects examples of good responses as well as examples of different kinds of misunderstandings. In‐class discussion of these samples lets him focus again on helping students understand the threshold concept. He is happy with this minimalist approach, which he thinks has improved student learning.
But we know of other teachers who have radically transformed their classrooms, moving from a teaching‐centered to a learner‐centered pedagogy, from lecture‐based courses to active learning courses that use exploratory writing, collaborative learning, lively discussions, and other strategies for engaging students in inquiry and debate.
In the pages that follow, we invite readers to find what works for them and for their students.
2 How Writing Is Related to Critical Thinking
The Writing Across the Curriculum movement—along with a surge of new interest in composition theory and practice—began in the 1970s as a reaction against traditional writing instruction that associated good writing primarily with grammatical correctness and style and thus isolated writing instruction within English departments, the home of the grammar and style experts. The problem with traditional writing instruction was that it led to a view of writing as a set of isolated skills unconnected to an authentic desire to converse with interested readers about real ideas.
A classic Shoe cartoon from the late 1980s illustrates the traditional view. Skyler, a bright young bird of a student, sits at his school desk writing essays—an activity that he apparently relishes. “They give me an opportunity to perfect a verbal skill I can use all my life,” he says with a self‐satisfied smile. In the last frame of the cartoon, his smile turns to a triumphant grin as he discloses the skill he has in mind: “the ability to disguise total ignorance with good writing.”
To the general public this is a funny cartoon; to us it symbolizes what was wrong with traditional writing instruction. Skyler believes that the act of writing can be separated from thinking, that writing is merely packaging and thus a separate thing from “content,” which he assumes exists independently, apart from language. To put it another way, writing is like the box and wrapping paper into which we put our already formulated ideas. Once writing is imagined as “packaging,” students find little use for it. Separated from the act of thinking and creating, writing becomes merely a skill that can be learned through grammar drills and through the production of pointless essays that students do not want to write and that teachers do not want to read. This is the view of writing held by many first‐year students when they show up at our doors to begin their college careers. It is the challenge of faculty across the disciplines—along with their colleagues in writing programs and writing centers—to show them other ways of imagining writing.
To gain a different perspective on writing, let's see what writing looks like through the metaphors of a different language. In French, the word for a rough draft is brouillon, derived from a verb meaning “to place in disorder, to scramble.” This metaphor suggests a writing process that begins as a journey into disorder, a making of chaos, out of which one eventually forges an essay. Perhaps driven by their awareness of disorder in the term brouillon, the French place an equally strong emphasis on a plan (roughly equivalent to the English outline), which is the principle of order that the mind must impose on the scrambled brouillon. Together the metaphors plan and brouillon reveal a creative tension between order and disorder. In English, we have no equivalent word for a brouillon. Our phrase “rough draft” suggests something that must be smoothed and polished, but not something deliberately scrambled, something placed in disorder, something that must be wrestled into form. Nor is our word outline—suggesting an inert structure—exactly equivalent to plan, which like the English word plan implies a sense of human purpose and intention.
Viewed in the light of the metaphorical brouillon and plan, traditional writing instruction seems impoverished indeed. Traditionally, we have seldom suggested to students that writing has a brouillon stage, a creative period of confusion and disorder; rather, we have taught that writing begins with an outline. Without the brouillon, we have eliminated from our writing classes the rich, creative source of ideas and substituted instead a sterile order that leaves us obsessed with correctness, neatness, and propriety. The message from our schools has often been that writing is a joyless activity, an opportunity mainly for displaying errors for teachers to red‐pencil. The social cost is incalculable: when writing gets separated from what the writer really thinks, the experience of “really thinking” can be quickly lost from the curriculum.
The writing‐across‐the‐curriculum movement is thus rooted in a radical re‐envisioning of what it means to be a writer. It is the purpose of the two chapters in part 1 to sketch for the reader a general overview of the theory, principles, and rationale that underlie a revised approach to writing, one that can accelerate students' growth as thinkers and learners. This chapter discusses how writing can be best understood as a process of critical thinking. Chapter 3 connects critical thinking to rhetorical thinking—helping students address rhetorical problems of audience, purpose, and genre and appreciate how academic disciplines create their own discourse communities. Together, these chapters provide the underlying theory for the rest of the book's pragmatic focus on classroom strategies for improving students' writing and critical thinking.
Overview of the Writing Across
