Dr. John Algeo was Carmen's major professor at UGA. A world-renowned linguist, he taught grammar from an organic perspective. These are all quotes he shared with Carmen: "Grammar is to language as constellations are to stars in the Milky Way." "All grammars leak." "To make a grammar is like making tiger soup. First you must catch the tiger." I am grateful that Dr. John Algeo was my mentor and Ph.D. director. We also worked on linguistic books together. John helped me dive into grammar as an imperfect, human-made way of trying to understand what is in essence a mystery, language, which is itself ever evolving because we humans use it and change it as we do.
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As Bay Area author Anne Lamott puts it, all writers make "shitty first drafts" (20). Anyone's initial words typed or written down on paper (mine included) are usually a mess. One draft doesn't cut it. That's because writing is revising. Or, as a successful CWR1A student said in an end-of-semester reflective essay: "Officially, my single draft days are over." Click the Batman meme to read a brief passage from Lamott's chapter "Shitty First Drafts" in Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life.
Together, let's gently end self-floccinaucinihilipilification (self-flaak-suh-nah-suh-NIGH-uh-luh-pil-uh-fuh-KAY-shun) or self-harshness. Researcher Kristin Neff says in Self-Compassion: The Proven Power of Being Kind to Yourself: “Treat yourself like a good friend” (65). Self-compassion can ground our sense of self-worth and belonging in “simply being human” (69). You matter simply because you were born. You are not your grades, not even your “A” grades. Self-compassion knows our imperfections affirm that “we are card-carrying members of the human race and [that we] are therefore always, automatically, connected to the whole” (69). Self-compassion remembers that we all have problems and challenges—that is normal (79).
We have a supportive class environment and no curve. We support each other. Self-compassion or self-kindness helps us experience that we are not our anxiety. We can move from a reactive habit of self-criticism to responding to our anxiety with kindness: It is a well-prepared writer who thinks, I’m nervous, that’s normal, but these are my fellow humans and friends, I can revise, I can meet with Carmen, and it’s just an essay (87). What causes writing anxiety? Fear of rejection and isolation. Everyone gets nervous when they write. Self-compassion remembers that you are supported by your teachers, classmates, family, and friends, and you belong here. See Carmen’s article on handling writing anxiety, written for students, and found here.
Where does our self-harshness come from? We are designed biologically to feel affection and interconnection—to care and to make healthy, supportive community. Self-compassion reflects on our early attachment bonds with parents and how those affected the development of our “internal working model” (45) of self in relation to others. Self-compassion is being mindful, as Neff says, of the “unconscious, deep-seated mental portrait of who we are and what we can expect from other people” (45) that formed early in our lives. Self-kindness is knowing that this early “mental portrait” is also dynamic, supple, and shapeable. I am an encouraging, supportive, and positive teacher, and self-compassion's power is one reason I ask you, when you self-reflect on your work, to first describe your writing’s strengths before considering where you’d like to improve for next time.
Self-compassion also understands that we are largely “physiologically programmed to avoid” (81) pain and anxiety, to run from uncomfortable feelings such as before drafting an essay. Self-compassion encourages us to turn toward these and give ourselves “a kind, caring response” (81) to these stressful feelings. Self-compassion is pausing and embracing silently and often: “I love and accept myself exactly as I am” (47). Self-compassion is sometimes giving myself a gentle hug (49). Self-compassion is expressing empathy towards myself rather than condemnation (52). Self-compassion is developing my “inner soother” (55).
So, the next time you feel nervous before or during writing and/or researching, offer yourself compassion. Engage in meditation of whatever kind you prefer. Some meditation and self-kindness practices are at the button above. Be mindful of your thoughts and sensations, recognize your common humanity by noting that writing anxiety is part of being human, and offer yourself a kind phrase (“May I be well”) or gesture (a hand on the heart). One thing I have done and do when my heart is beating hard as I am writing is to breathe in my nose slowly and out my mouth. Do so for your self. Since I practice breathing meditation regularly, this connects me with my calmest feelings. Doing so will help you remember that you really are safe and connected, that we all support you, and that writing isn’t nearly as stressful as it might feel. We all want to know what you have to say.
Self-compassion is embracing the powerful fact that the only person available 24/7 in my life to provide me with care and kindness is . . . me (60). Self-compassion is gradually developing “the habit of self-kindness” (60) so nerves or suffering becomes “an opportunity to experience love and tenderness from within” (60). Through self-compassion, you and I can thrive and be happy (8) and make strong community.
Together, let's gently end self-floccinaucinihilipilification (self-flaak-suh-nah-suh-NIGH-uh-luh-pil-uh-fuh-KAY-shun) or self-harshness. Researcher Kristin Neff says in Self-Compassion: The Proven Power of Being Kind to Yourself: “Treat yourself like a good friend” (65). Self-compassion can ground our sense of self-worth and belonging in “simply being human” (69). You matter simply because you were born. You are not your grades, not even your “A” grades. Self-compassion knows our imperfections affirm that “we are card-carrying members of the human race and [that we] are therefore always, automatically, connected to the whole” (69). Self-compassion remembers that we all have problems and challenges—that is normal (79).
We have a supportive class environment and no curve. We support each other. Self-compassion or self-kindness helps us experience that we are not our anxiety. We can move from a reactive habit of self-criticism to responding to our anxiety with kindness: It is a well-prepared writer who thinks, I’m nervous, that’s normal, but these are my fellow humans and friends, I can revise, I can meet with Carmen, and it’s just an essay (87). What causes writing anxiety? Fear of rejection and isolation. Everyone gets nervous when they write. Self-compassion remembers that you are supported by your teachers, classmates, family, and friends, and you belong here. See Carmen’s article on handling writing anxiety, written for students, and found here.
Where does our self-harshness come from? We are designed biologically to feel affection and interconnection—to care and to make healthy, supportive community. Self-compassion reflects on our early attachment bonds with parents and how those affected the development of our “internal working model” (45) of self in relation to others. Self-compassion is being mindful, as Neff says, of the “unconscious, deep-seated mental portrait of who we are and what we can expect from other people” (45) that formed early in our lives. Self-kindness is knowing that this early “mental portrait” is also dynamic, supple, and shapeable. I am an encouraging, supportive, and positive teacher, and self-compassion's power is one reason I ask you, when you self-reflect on your work, to first describe your writing’s strengths before considering where you’d like to improve for next time.
Self-compassion also understands that we are largely “physiologically programmed to avoid” (81) pain and anxiety, to run from uncomfortable feelings such as before drafting an essay. Self-compassion encourages us to turn toward these and give ourselves “a kind, caring response” (81) to these stressful feelings. Self-compassion is pausing and embracing silently and often: “I love and accept myself exactly as I am” (47). Self-compassion is sometimes giving myself a gentle hug (49). Self-compassion is expressing empathy towards myself rather than condemnation (52). Self-compassion is developing my “inner soother” (55).
So, the next time you feel nervous before or during writing and/or researching, offer yourself compassion. Engage in meditation of whatever kind you prefer. Some meditation and self-kindness practices are at the button above. Be mindful of your thoughts and sensations, recognize your common humanity by noting that writing anxiety is part of being human, and offer yourself a kind phrase (“May I be well”) or gesture (a hand on the heart). One thing I have done and do when my heart is beating hard as I am writing is to breathe in my nose slowly and out my mouth. Do so for your self. Since I practice breathing meditation regularly, this connects me with my calmest feelings. Doing so will help you remember that you really are safe and connected, that we all support you, and that writing isn’t nearly as stressful as it might feel. We all want to know what you have to say.
Self-compassion is embracing the powerful fact that the only person available 24/7 in my life to provide me with care and kindness is . . . me (60). Self-compassion is gradually developing “the habit of self-kindness” (60) so nerves or suffering becomes “an opportunity to experience love and tenderness from within” (60). Through self-compassion, you and I can thrive and be happy (8) and make strong community.
Writing as Recursive Process
Writing is not a linear activity. Writing is a recursive process. Its various steps "recur" in varying orders. This repetition (think weightlifting reps) is revising. When revising happens well, many times over many months, your essay's argument or purpose can gain strength and clarity for an outside reader. Also, the best-kept secret of composition courses is that students who invest their time into diligent revising discover that they are actually investing in their own self-actualization. In revising, you honor your unique voice. Good writers are also reader-centric. They keep their audience in mind as they revise. Click on the "Writing as Recursive Process" image above to read a blog in which educator Ketan Hein explains how "The Writing Process Isn't Linear."
The Writing Process chart is adapted and expanded from one by Dr. Janette M. Hughes. To download, click it.
The Perfectionist Scale < Self-Compassion
If "The Perfectionist Scale" makes sense to you, please be mindful that high-performing, smart students often feel their work must be "perfect." We humans find it easy to conflate our self-worth with what we do or with evaluation of our work. Please remember that you have value simply because you were born and exist, and an essay is, well, an essay. As an adjective, perfect means "flawless." The only thing I know that's really without a flaw in this world is my first cup of coffee in the morning. Does fear make it hard for you to start that shitty first draft we all write? Lamott says that "the main obstacle between you and a shitty first draft" (28) is perfectionism. May we who are recovering perfectionists remember together: "Perfectionism is the voice of the oppressor, the enemy of the people" (Lamott 28). Fortunately, a way out exists: self-compassion. It creates strength, resilience, and freedom. Psychologist (and Berkeley alum) Dr. Kristin Neff teaches us how to practice self-compassion as self-kindness, as an awareness that wrong turns are part of the shared human experience, and as mindfulness. In the UC Berkeley Greater Good Magazine: Science-Based Insights for a Meaningful Life, read Neff's brief article "The Power of Self-Compassion," and/or read her book Self-Compassion. I prefer the verb perfect, accent on the second syllable, to the adjective perfect. The verb perfect means, "take actions to improve." Within perfect is one of the most powerful words in the French language: faire, "do or make," from Latin facere, "create." The per- prefix suggests "forward" motion and a way "through," with the sense of an act done "thoroughly and completely." To perfect means "to do thoroughly, recursively." Writing has much to teach us about life, about second and third chances, which we invest in seeing again with new eyes, and trying again, revising.