Caden Holbrook, Writing Consultant

One of the running conversations we’ve had all year is where to draw the line when being directive with a writer. In this week’s blog post, Caden Holbrook discusses some of this conversation and explains one of the approaches our consultants use that they have started to call “directive non-directiveness.” Check it out!

I have found working at the University of Louisville Writing Center to be fulfilling, exciting, and full of wonderful experiences. However, when I was first starting out, I found that I was often feeling guilty after some of my sessions, like I had let my writers down. I learned that many consultants, especially in their first semester, can feel guilty about the way that they’re handling sessions. It can be very easy to feel that we’re letting our writers down during a session, particularly when we might be feeling that our practices aren’t always affording enough flexibility to help a writer meet their needs or accomplish their goals.

These feelings of guilt can come from a lot of different places, but I felt them the strongest when I felt that non-directive approaches were letting our writers down. I can recall working with an EAL writer and trying to focus on global concerns and non-directive, open-ended questions. But that approach ultimately confused the writer and didn’t help bring her any closer to feeling more confident and comfortable with composition.

As time went on, and I grew more comfortable in the writing center, I began to grow more comfortable with occasionally employing directive practices in sessions, particularly for writers who speak English as an additional language, or who are less experienced with college-level composition. Allie Degner, my co-consultant, authored an excellent blog post on working with EAL students where she touched on similar themes, especially the occasional need for directive practices.

My goal with this blog post is not to say that we should do away with non-directive or global, higher-order tutoring; instead, I simply want to suggest that directive approaches are a part of our toolbelt that we should feel okay employing, when it best suits the writer and the session.

Am I Letting My Writers Down?

When we feel like non-directive approaches aren’t working, it can be easy to feel like we’re failing our writers. “Got Guilt? Consultant Guilt in the Writing Center,” a survey on the subject by Jennifer Nicklay, found that writers are most likely to feel guilty in a session after employing directive practices. But should we?

Nicklay certainly doesn’t think so. At the end of her survey, she reminds consultants and administrators that conversations about our collaborative practices are important, and that we should work to re-evaluate how we teach, talk about, and frame directive practices.

It’s also important to note that recent studies, like “Directiveness in the center: L1, L2, and generation 1.5 expectations and experiences,” by Eckstein,  have shown writers often expect directive sessions, especially when said writers are EAL. Other studies suggest that writers less experienced in composition can benefit greatly from directive sessions and practices, especially when we use those practices to model how we compose at the graduate level.

We all want to help our writers reach their goals. Sometimes achieving those goals can require stepping outside of what’s comfortable or typical practice. What’s important is that we engage with deliberate action and careful forethought, always making sure to respect the writer and their boundaries.

What Do Directive Practices Look Like?

 Directive practices come in a variety of forms. A favorite approach by some of my coworkers is “directive non-directiveness.” This happens when we directly instruct or ask students to make certain decisions. For example, at the start of a session, we might ask a student if they’d prefer to read their paper silently, to read it aloud, or to have the consultant read it aloud. Sometimes, a writer might defer, saying that they don’t care or want the consultant to choose. In that instance, a consultant might simply choose for the student, or instruct them that they have to pick. By being directive in our instruction, we’ve taken steps to make sure that the session can continue smoothly and that we can begin to tackle the piece the writer has brought in.

At our writing center, we’ve settled on this method of directive non-directiveness, and to great success. By embracing this approach, we’ve managed to offer our writers structured, supportive sessions, that center their wishes, remain productive, and help us feel more confident in our roles as consultants.

 There are other conceptions, too. In her article “The Balance Beam: Directive and Non-Directive Tutoring Approaches,” Savannah Price encourages us to trust our advice as experts. While students should always remain in control of their papers and their writing, we can still offer direct, specific forms of feedback and constructive comments. By leaning on our expertise and writing experience, we can offer invaluable insights for students seeking help at the writing center.

 In a recent session, I recall working with a writer who was feeling very overwhelmed by a literary analysis assignment. She had never written a thesis statement before, and didn’t know where to start. I decided to model what thesis statements often look like: I wrote out one abstract example, separate from the topic, and then wrote one based on her topic, and how she described her position and analysis. From there, we were able to rework the basic statement; the student was able to write one on her own, in her own words, and feel confident doing so, but she never could have if I hadn’t first been directive in describing what thesis statements ought to look like. If I had relied solely on leading questions or non-directive guidance, the student likely would have left the session frustrated and feeling like she hadn’t made any significant progress on her paper. The directive lesson didn’t just help with her specific assignment, either, but also gave her a good foundation for theses she’ll need to write in the future.

In the past, that session would have made me feel guilty. Even though the writer expressed increased confidence in her abilities and satisfaction with the session, I would have felt like I let her down by being directive. But the reality couldn’t be any more different. By treating directiveness as any other tool in a session, we can better help our writers. When we act in accordance with our ethos, our intuition, and our writer’s established goals, we can engage in directive practice while still respecting writers’ integrity. We aren’t helping our writers by feeling guilty. Rather than doubting our intuition, it’s worth recognizing the tightrope we walk, and that no one approach works for every writer

• Working in the Writing Center