By Shannon Stephens
In March, Brook and I led a workshop for the editorial board of Encounters, Baruch’s undergraduate literary magazine, on best practices for respectfully establishing editing goals with writers whose work has been accepted for publication.
We began the workshop by providing a poem that had been submitted to Encounters, and setting the editors in a hypothetical situation. We told them that they had been assigned to work with the writer of the piece to edit it for publication, and asked them how they would introduce their editing goals to the writer. Some editors framed questions like “why did you choose to include this metaphor?” or “what did you mean by this?” before they introduced their suggestions; others jumped directly into a summary of the “problems” with the poem. Each editor had a pretty long list of things they wanted to adjust.
Even though all of their changes were well-justified, I was overwhelmed by the litany of suggestions on the table, partially because each editor took the plunge into goal-setting before framing the work they were going to do with the writer. This is understandable; I empathize with the urge to encounter a piece of writing and begin work immediately, especially when I want to prove my expertise to the writer. However, had I been a writer presented with such a long list of editing goals from the get-go, I might have wondered, “why have they chosen to accept my work at all?”
The experience reminded me of the important steps we take before negotiating goals in the writing center. Granted, our work is driven by a different set of institutional goals than the work of the Encounters editors. However, the underlying principle applies to both consultants and editors: the way we initially approach a writer radically changes the way they will engage with us, with our suggestions, and with their revision process.
Though our workshop was originally meant to focus on goal-setting, the conversation Brook and I had with the Encounters editors also centered around the crucial work that happens before the goal-setting process, and the various ways to negotiate authority from the first moment of meeting with a writer. The workshop made me realize that when I reflect on my consulting practice, I often breeze over the moves I make when introducing myself and welcoming the writer into my space. Yet these steps are crucial. Ultimately, how a writer feels about me, the session, their work, and their overall writing skill is very much a result of how each of us enters the session.
In order to make the writer feel comfortable at the beginning of a session, I often like to come out into the waiting area to greet them myself, and walk them back to my desk. Especially when the writer is new to the center, I find it helpful because it has the effect of limiting my authority – the writer does not have to approach me in my space. Instead, we enter a shared space together. Plus, the time it takes for us to walk to the desk and get settled gives us a chance to shake hands, meet each other’s eyes, smile, and exchange first names, which are all things that seem so small, but which enable us to feel comfortable with each other before we start talking about the work.
I often get stuck on the term “authority” in relation to writing center sessions, as it raises a paralyzing number of questions: who has it? who doesn’t? who has the most? how much should everybody have? where does it come from? While authority often involves complex issues of identity and experience, I find that some issues of authority stem from something much simpler. Sometimes, helping a writer feel enough agency to voice their concerns about their writing, to set goals for a session, and to counter my goals is pretty simple: I just have to be kind. It sounds like an obvious principle, but the Encounters workshop reminded me how beneficial it can be to set ourselves up for goal-setting by focusing first on the little steps that turn a consultation into a meeting between humans.
Published April 6, 2015
