Monday, November 30, 2009

They'll miss me when I'm gone

The classes I teach at my alma mater are remedial writing classes. Part of that package entails extensive conferencing and multiple drafts for most paragraphs and essays assigned. It's work-intensive, and they tend to hate me when they turn in one draft, get it all bloodied up in red (or blue or purple or magenta...) ink, resubmit it, get it back with more bloody marks (enough of them in the same exact places, remarkably), and then turn in a final draft, which I usually manage to maul as well.

They hate me, I tell you, hate me. I practically felt the daggers from one student during her conference today.

But then in class, as I explained that the last in-class assignment would have less direction from me and less intensive editing unless they had specific questions about specific sentences or words, etc., I told them that once they got to the composition classes, they'd get a lot less one-on-one direction on their papers.

"So can we come bring them to you to look over for us?" one student asked.

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