Dissecting Myself

So often I find myself disenchanted with composition studies because I am not studying people with whom I can identify with. I hear so many white male voices telling me write this or say that. Essentially letting me know that I cannot be myself if I want my work to be read and taken seriously. I am told to contribute to a machine that is sterile, without a distinctive heart. Only in classes where there is a specific focus on studying the “different voices” do I feel comfortable letting my unfiltered voice come through. However in my head I know I should keep that voice to those classrooms because while it is one thing to be inventive within those classes, it is not appreciated in others. Despite those different voiced authors having studied for many years, being experts in their field, having been published and studied in the classroom, it is discouraging to know they have been harshly criticized. No one wants to know their work is considered less just for being an extension of themselves. It sucks to think that people like bell hooks, Gloria Anzaldua, Derick Bell, and Patricia Williams who write how they want because it is who they are get ridiculed for that. They have and are making it easier for new voices, but I sometimes think that no matter how loud our voices are, because they are our own, they won’t be taken seriously.

When given the opportunity, I will be as creative and inventive in my composition as I can. When I know what I write will be critiqued though, such as when I am working on a term paper, applying for graduate programs, internships, or some work positions, that I should adhere to what academia has deemed appropriate, even if my writing loses part of what makes me unique. Even when I am writing without censoring myself for the sake of being an autonomous being, I do feel some kind of shame for not doing what is expected of me by those positioned above me. And that is absolutely ridiculous. We live in a world where language is evolving in the expanding global landscape, yet I feel as though I can’t utilize this new language that I have grown accustomed to and fond of in my own daily interaction with it. Because my professors, editors, and directors are people indoctrinated into a long established prototypical academic standard environment they are less likely, and even adverse, to accept that this evolved language that is just as good, if not better.

Part of my lack of enthusiasm in the classroom is knowing for the most part I am just another face in the crowd. Budget cuts, that hit English courses first, have caused class sizes to increase and thus any personal interaction with the person whom is supposed to make me a stronger writer is not available to teach me. Often, if they are available, they are impatient due to not being paid enough and thinking that some things they think I should have learned already. It is sad to think that quality education, especially compulsory education, is so thoroughly linked to money. Like Teresa M. Redd mentioned in her essay Trying to Make a Dolla Outa Fifteen Cents, it is those schools with a majority minority population that don’t get the same kind of funding as other schools and because of this those students fall behind because the funding should be going to the technology that is required these days to succeed. Access to a driven teacher and the technology needed to get work done is vital and yet I often find myself lacking in both areas, due to the education system that wants to funnel money into sports and new buildings for the sake of putting some rich person’s name on it.

Slang, Spanglish, cursing, and quirky anecdotes are things that I use in my everyday life. They are aspects of how I communicate that make me feel comfortable, make me feel confident, make me me. It would be so much easier for me to convey a message if I was allowed to use the language I know and am comfortable with instead of conforming to a structure that makes me feel as though I am lost, grasping at an ideal that I cannot achieve because I have not had the same experiences, nor offered the same affordances as those people whom control and determine the standard of composition in the education system. And even if I were to be the writer that is wanted by those grading my papers, it is not like it means anything when it comes to having a degree, a degree that is losing its value every month. According to James A. Berlin in his essay English Studies, Work, and Politics in the New Economy, no matter how excellent a writer I am, that little piece of paper telling me I completed my degree means nothing without experience or the ability to be a creative thinker. Neither of these things I have been able to gain in a classroom because 1) doing assignments isn’t considered real work and 2) creative thinking is discouraged in the classroom. And this is the discouraging paradox faced by me. While I am stuck in a class that is not preparing me for the real world, the real world wants me to have qualities that aren’t attainable going to classes that take up all my time.

In a perfect world I would be taught all the technical stuff that is required to be a capable writer while being able to say what I want, how I want to say it, and be able to get a job easily that doesn’t crush my spirit. That world does not exist however. That world does not exist and yet I am told that it does by the people that just want the money I don’t have. Buying into the illusion that is higher education, I have sacrificed my own sanity as a student, lost a lot of interest as a writer, and have become disillusioned as a person. Writing is an art that has been beaten down by expectation and standard. It is an art that I thought I would excel in when I was younger, but only if I want to write fiction, and only if I can make it out of academia alive. I would hope that the education system incorporates different voices (feminine and non-Euro-American) sooner into the curriculum, so that young students can feel more inspired, exposing them to something new that will change the landscape of composition from its strict paradigm. Classes that do incorporate these different voices feel too much as though they are simply appeasing me. If my education included these different voices without the context of it being the deviation I’d have more respect for higher education and thus I’d probably be a much better writer and person in general. My writing is the monster that Dr. Frankenstein created. I have all the necessary parts, and even a soul, but it is ridiculed by most everyone because it simply looks different.