Hashimoto's English 110

This is a beginning course in academic writing, not a creative writing course or a course in "honesty" or "personal writing" or "writing in journals." "Academic writing" shouldn't be boring, stuffy, old-fashioned, rule-bound, detached, or stupid. It should be interesting, complex stuff--and students who think they can just "crank out" their ideas usually make me sad. (Students who constantly say "I know what I want to say but just can't say it" also make me sad. As far as I can tell, there's no clear separation between "knowing what to say" and saying it.)

I might add that many people equate "academic writing" with "survival in college"--a course that teaches sad, deficient students "grammar," five paragraph essays, one-sentence thesis sentences, and taboo words. I think of it as a course in recognizing constraints, ground rules, and conventions; in recognizing the differences between "truth," "fact," "law," and "rule." It is a course in doing things on purpose. It is also a course in learning. In fact, students who become good thinkers and good writers spend much time watching themselves learn, discovering how difficult it is to approach anything with an open mind--especially if they think they know something about it.

How well do I succeed? I think on the whole I do well, though no one who teaches ever knows for sure. (The connection between what I teach and what my students learn is often mysterious.) Certainly, my class evaluations are as good as anybody's--though I'm aware that that in itself isn't always convincing. What do I claim? I claim that my students work harder than almost any writing students in the country; some of them claim to have learned to love writing and continue to write long after they graduate; others recommend my courses to their brothers and sisters and roomates. Some, of course get get bogged down--but not as often has you'd expect, given the amount of writing they do during the semester (out of eighteen students last fall semester, none dropped or quit). Those who finish often tell me that they think they have accomplished something and I do, too.