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REVISION PROCESSES
OF FOUR SKILLED COLLEGE WRITERS

presented by

SCOTT EARL MCNABB

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REVISION PROCESSES OF FOUR SKILLED COLLEGE WRITERS

BY

Scott Earl McNabo

A DISSERTATION
Submitted to
Michigan State University
in partial fulfillment of the requirements
for the degree of
DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY
Department of English

1987

Copyright by
SCOTT EARL MCNABB
1987

ABSTRACT
REVISION PROCESSES OF FOUR SKILLED COLLEGE WRITERS
BY

Scott Earl McNabb

The purpose of this study was to examine how skilled
student writers write and revise (subjects identified by
their attempts to publish their writing in college
publications).

A second purpose was to describe, in their own words.
how these writers revise. A third purpose was to reveal how
they think they learned to revise.

A review of professional literature on revision shows
that calls for teaching writing as a process (and paying
more attention to how professional writers write and revise)
appear in the literature as early as 1921 (see “A Lesson
from the Masters of Prose.” _ngli§n_gguggal, 10.3, 1921).
Also, current interest in writing and rewriting as a way to
"generate" thought was at least anticipated by the "thought
approach" to teaching composition discussed in the 1930's
(see 31, 21.5, 1932).

The study of the writers revealed that three of the four

revised by a complex process of elaborations of previous

drafts. These elaborations at first did not appear to be

based on earlier drafts, but close examination showed that
they were clearly related to previous drafts. These
elaborations were not adequately measured by the Faigley and
Witte system for measuring revisions, and contradict the
idea that writers who rewrite, rather than revise, are less
efficient (see Flower and Hayes, "Detection, Diagnosis, and
the Strategies of Revision,” QQQQ 37, 1986).

These results suggest that skilled writers can appear to
start a paper over from I'scratch," but might be revising by
elaboration -- of building up or adding onto -- that only
seems unrelated to previous drafts. Such revisions can be
more complex than conventional, obvious, revisions.

Other findings were that these students found seeing
writers' revisions more helpful than reading about how to
revise, and that they found positive comments from teachers

more encouraging concerning revising than negative comments.

To my family and especially to

Grandma. . .

Who didn't see me finish

but always knew I would.

6/29/87

TABLE OF CONTENTS

IntIOGUCtion...00.0.0000...0.0.0....OOOOOOOOOCOOOOOOOOOOI

1.

3.
4.

Review of the Literature
Nineteenth Century Teaching of Writing..............2

Development of Revision, and Composing as
Process, As Professional Concerns (1912-—1964).....21

Contemporary Literature (1965--present)............36
Methods

General PrinCipleSOCCO0.00.00.00.00.00.00.00.000.0057
VJhat Counts as a ReViSion? O I O O I O O O O O O O O I O I O O O O O O O O .59
Writers StUdiedOOOOOOOCOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOCOOOOOOOOO61
How the StUdy Vlas conducted 0 O O O O O O O O O I C O O O O O O O O O O O .62
I‘IethOd Of AnalYSiSOOOOIOO OOOOOOOOOOOCOOOIOIIOO0.0.0.68
Description Of ReSUItSO O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O I O O O O O O O O .74

conCIUSionSOCOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO00.0.00000000156

SEleCted Bibliography.OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO00.0.000000000186

Appendix

Sample first pages from writers' drafts studied

vi

Table
Table
Table
Table
Table

Lfl-bWNH

LIST OF TABLES

Dave's Revisions.............................85
Jan's Revisions.............................101
Sharon's Revisions..........................127
Carl's Revisions............................l48
Total Changes in Drafts Studied.............l68

vii

Figure
Figure
Figure
Figure

hUNI—J

LIST OF FIGURES

Dave's changes/draft.......................l69
Jan's ChangeS/draft.0.000....0.0.00.0000000170
Sharon's changes/draft.....................l7l
Carl's changes/draft.......................l72

viii

lntroduction

The history of the last 100 years of teaching
composing reveals a gradual shift in the teaching of
composing as product to process, and a history of the
changing understanding of composing and revising's
relationship to composing. Since the primary goal of the
present work is to study if and how skilled student
writers employ revising in their writing, this review will
discuss the development of the idea of ”revision“ in
general, and of revision as it developed from a kind of
proofreading to the more complex, and integral part of
writing it is considered today.

The first section of this chapter reviews nineteenth
century composition articles and textbooks and shows that
the common approach of the period was mostly prescriptive,
one in which error-hunting and correcting by students and
teachers was typical. This approach sometimes required
little real composing by students. However. it appears
that teachers' reactions against this approach contributed
to beginning to change professional thinking about writing
and revising.

The second.section of this chapter reviews early
twentieth century literature on teaching composing and
reveals more concern with composing as process. that

slowly increases over the years. At about the same time,

2

beginning in the 1930's, there was a growing interest in

the relationship between writing and thinking, which
seems to have directly anticipated and influenced the
“writing as thinking“ movement in the 1960's and 1970's.

The third section of this chapter then reviews the
1960's and 1970's when process and revising are commonly
accepted in the professional literature as a more
effective approach than teaching composing merely as
product.

However. it should be noted that as this review
shows, current interest in writing process and revising
first began and developed over a much longer period than

is commonly believed.

fl' ! I] E ! T II E w 'l'

Impressions are rooted, and errors
eradicated by repetition (page 80).

James Hughes. fiistake§_in_2eashins
(1390)

Much of the instruction in composing in the
nineteenth century may be summarized in Bughes' simplistic
approach to teaching writing. for by 1890 such was the
rule rather than the exception. It seems fitting that
such a characteristic statement appeared in a book titled
flifitakg§_1n_1ggghing. for the statement. simplistic as it
is, reveals the period's most serious mistake in the

history of teaching composition: an overemphasis with

finished writing, or product-oriented teaching, which in
turn necessitated an overemphasis with two of the most
superficial qualities of a finished piece of writing:
rhetorical structure and correctness.

Composition teachers could see that good writing
possessed rhetorical structures and was correct and so
strove to teach these qualities to the exclusion of all
others; never thinking that the structure and correctness
of an effectively written composition were effects, not
causes: the results of a careful and time-consuming
process. Composing, a process that produces such effects,
among others, through an evolutionary method, was mostly
ignored; only a handful of teachers during this time
appear to have even toyed with the idea of composing as
process. On the contrary, students occasionally wrote
their compositions, sometimes as seldom as once a month,
submitted them to their teacher who then “evaluated” the
writing by correcting the errors, and then returned the
papers, usually requiring students to recopy (sometimes
called 'rewrite') the corrected version, occasionally to
submit the paper again for more teacher corrections.

All of this was usually preceded by instruction and
drill in grammar, usage, and punctuation, for what one can
only guess was a matter of weeks, months and years.
George Pyn Quackenbos, an early author of nineteenth

century composition textbooks, explained such an approach

in the preface to his 1862 edition of First Lessons in
Q 'I' :

In the first fifty pages, by means of

lessons on the inductive system, and

copious exercises under each, he [the

student] is made familiar with the nature

and use of the different parts of speech,

so as to be able to recognize them at once,

and to supply them when a sentence is

rendered incomplete by their omission

(page 4).
Quackenbos then continues to explain that once students
have successfully completed this study, they are ready to
begin the more “difficult” study of grammar, clauses,
sentences, punctuation, capitals, rules, explanations,
examples, and spelling. Quackenbos concludes his outline
of procedure by stating: “This done, the scholar is
prepared to express thoughts in his own language.“

Such an approach characterizes the teaching of
composition during the time. Quackenbos' conclusion that
students are finally ready to express themselves in their
'own language” only after such a prolonged and deadly dull
marathon study of the mechanics of language, is probably
more revealing than he ever meant it to be and summarizes
the attitudes of most composition teachers throughout the
nineteenth and, unfortunately, into the twentieth century.

Quackenbos' proceedure for teaching composition, and

most other nineteenth century approaches ignored composing

as process. Evaluation, if one could call it that, of

students' papers most often consisted of the mere
correction of superficial errors and was a method followed
by most teachers for several probable reasons: first,
because most people of the period believed in the inherent
correctness of their current standard English, they
assumed that students' writing would become more correct,
and therefore better, if students' papers were rigorously
corrected. Thus, repetition and “frequent review," as
many nineteenth century textbook authors prescribed,
became the favored proceedure.

Second, teachers' belief in an inherently correct
standard English made them feel they were neglecting their
responsibility as teachers if they did not rigorously
correct every error in students' papers.

Third, the idea that students could only improve
their language skills if they were shown where they had
erred was, and continues to this day to be, a stubborn
myth to expel.

And fourth, teachers ”evaluated" their students'
writing in this way, and continue to do so today, because
it is easy -- easier than reading and responding to
writing as communication between peOple, and certainly
easier to record and measure.

Thus, composition was ”taught” by drill and
monotonous repetition served up in grammar, usage and

punctuation textbooks. Good writing equaled correct

writing and the “evaluation" of students' writing
consisted almost entirely of the correction of errors that
stood in the way of this notion of good writing.

However, although this approach characterized the
teaching of writing in the nineteenth century, it was not
completely pervasive. Reviewing teachers' attitudes
toward evaluating writing and their attitudes toward the
nature of composing itself, as stated in textbooks'
prefaces, appendices, and pedagogical articles of the
time, reveals that while product-oriented thinking,
teaching and evaluating dominated the early years of
composition instruction, challenges to this thinking and
its methods began to surface as early as the 1880's.
Small in number and seemingly ineffective, critics of
traditional methods were nevertheless voicing their
complaints and questioning the effectiveness of the
traditional ways. This dissatisfaction was by no means a
major movement in the history of the teaching of English
and composition; in fact, most of those who seemed
dissatisfied with traditional methods of teaching
composition usually wound up supporting those same methods
by the completion of their discussions. But it was,
nevertheless, a time for discontent and perhaps even an
early sign that a progressive movement in the teaching of
English was stirring. In addition to this, such

discontent also represented the first changes in thinking

about the nature of composing and its teaching, and the
beginnings of a shift in concern from composing as product
to process.

The rather poor beginning in the early attempts in
the nineteenth century to teach writing springs, in a
large part, from an historical conflict about language
itself. This ancient conflict about the nature of
language, usage and what, if anything, makes certain
language “right or wrong,” is at the heart of the
nineteenth century product-oriented approach to teaching
composition. For it was prescribers of “correct"
language, such as Robert Lowth (1710-1787), who first
attempted to teach people about their English by writing
books that heavily relied on the methods of teaching Latin
because of the supposed "universal grammar” Latin was
thought to embody. Consequently, Lowth, and others who
followed his lead, established the precedent of teaching
the effect of correctness rather than any sort of process
that would, more realistically, produce such effects. In
short, the way to learn Latin was believed to be the way
to learn English and soon other textbook authors, like
Lowth, were producing such books.

Lindley Murray (1745-1826), another author of rule
mastery texts, merely ”borrowed” Lowth's format and in
1795 published WWW
§1a§§g§_gf_LgarggL§, first in England and then published

five years later in the United States. Since Murray had
borrowed Lowth's format, and Lowth had borrowed the Latin
textbook's format, the new English grammar texts were very
similiar to the old Latin textbooks: based upon the study
of the inflected Latin language and the notion that
pointing out and studying errors is more instructive than
actual practice. In addition to this influence, Lowth and
Murray, both religious men, regularly emphasized in their
books their belief that 'correct' language was a symbol of
morality and indicative of a moral and respectable way of
life; this instilled the belief that those who used such
language were somehow better than those who did not use
such language.

This belief, imbued in both Lowth and Murray's books,
established a powerful link between correctness and good
living and righteousness that to this day is still seen in
the pedantic interest and teaching of correctness.
Murray's book sold over two million copies in England and
the United States, with a life spanning over three hundred
editions and so obviously had profound influence upon the
teaching of composition. With such a prolific and
influential history, it is no surprise that books such as
Murray's had this affect on the teaching of English and
the infant subject composition. Textbooks claiming to
instruct students in composing were little more than

grammars served up in old formats. As in the study of

Latin, students were to become error hunters and faulty
syntax correctors of their own compositions, only after
having studied textbook situations which were quite often
unrealistic, invented examples that had little similarity
to their own writing problems.

An early text of this kind is Richard Parker's
greatessixe_§xersises_in_§aglish_§2m22sitien, Published in
1849. The majority of the book is, of course, the study
of grammar, usage, and punctuation, but a section titled
'Suggestions with regard to the mechanical execution of
written exercises, and the mode of correcting them,“
provides an implied attitude toward composing and
revision:

The pupil should be required to leave the

alternate pages of his paper blank; either

to make room for the corrections, or to

make a clear transcript after the

corrections have been made. The original

and the corrected exercises will then face

each other, and the writing over there a

second time will imprint the corrections in

the pupil's mind (141).
Parker's approach was the traditional one of correcting
only, proposing that students leave room on the opposite
page of their notebooks for the “rewritten,“ or corrected
version to appear: the idea being that the corrections
would be more easily imprinted in the students' minds if

students recopied the corrected version and could compare

the versions side-by-side. This approach, and others like

10

it, flourished during this time. The hope always being
that through enough repetition and recopying of papers the
teacher had corrected, students would sooner or later
catch on to the correct forms; to “imprint the
corrections," always the primary goal as Parker put it,
'in the pupil's mind." The idea that students should
leave their opposite pages blank so that corrections could
appear adjacent to the original writing, was only another
attempt to try to make the doctrine of correctness work.
Parker's suggestion number four then states that

”neglect of punctuation and errors in spelling should be
particularly noticed,” and then concludes:

He [the teacher] should accomodate his

corrections to the style of the pupil's own

production. An aim at too great

corrections may possibly cramp the genius

too much, by rendering the pupil timid and

diffident, or perhaps discourage him

altogether, by producing absolute dispair

of arriving at any degree of perfection.

For this reason, the teacher should show

the pupil where he has erred, either in

thought, the structure of the sentence, the

syntax, or the choice of words (141-142).
80 it was that with “arriving at any degree of perfection"
in mind that most teachers of composition during the
nineteenth century set out to teach their students how to
write.

Harvard's entrance examination, first given in 1873,

also revealed an attitude toward composing and its

teaching by emphasizing correctness in the writing of an

11

entrance examination essay and by including incorrect
sentences for students to correct. This, of course,
influenced other colleges and sent a clear message to
secondary schools about how Harvard thought English and
composition should be taught.

The test was originally designed by Harvard's own
Adams Sherman Hill, Boylston Professor of Rhetoric and
Oratory. Hill, and his successor, Lebaron B. R. Briggs,
spent much time reporting and justifying the entrance
exam. For example, an article in The_§ggggmy in 1890
called “The Correction of Bad English as a Requirement for
Admission to Harvard College,“ written by Briggs,
attempted to justify correctness as an important aspect of
composing. Briggs wrote: “Make a boy test every sentence
of his theme, and make him rewrite every sentence that
does not stand the test. . .' (312). Briggs, however, is
not specific about what sort of ”test” he means, but the
implied meaning is, of course, the test for correctness;
while the directive telling teachers to make their
students ”rewrite" sentences most certainly means to make
sure the sentences are correct.

Product-oriented thinking and teaching of composition
lasted, and continues to persist, into the twentieth
century. In fact, with the publication of ngghing

Ensli§h_ia_flish_§2h921s in 1924, the author, Russell
Sharp, appears to be taking steps backward into the past.

‘43:" "

12

Sharp, like the others, repeats for his readers in a
section called "The Problems in Teaching Composition,” the
doctrine of correctness and product-oriented thinking
about writing: “The value of written composition is
dependent upon what disposal is made of the composition
after it is written.” Or in other words, and as Sharp
goes on to try explain one more time, students would learn
to write better only if their writing was regularly and
rigorously corrected. Then Sharp takes his readers
backwards even further when he wrote that
'Rewriting...causes poor students to feel that care in the
first theme is not worthwhile, since they will certainly
have to rewrite." Finally, Sharp sums up the nineteenth
century approach nicely:

The teacher of composition soon realizes

that excellence in theme-writing is

dependent on two distinct kinds of

performance: first, the composition must

be mechanically satisfactory; second, the

content must be worthy (92).

Composition then, was thought of as being made up of
distinct qualities; correctness was of prime importance,
with no thought about how good writers achieved
correctness, or that possibly the effort writers put
forth, in order to communicate their content, was a means
that would foster correctness. On the contrary,

correctness was taught and monotonously reviewed and

repeated and recopied. Most teachers' attitudes toward

13

composing as a process left much to be desired, in fact
everything to be desired. However, the final years of the
century would begin to show the signs of altered thinking:
a few teachers would begin to question product-oriented
thinking, teaching, and evaluating.

Adams Sherman Hill, Professor at Harvard, was one who
questioned the concern with correctness above all else,
and in an article in Helpers, June 1885, expressed the

dilema other compositions teachers found themselves in:

A sound method would teach a young writer
that he should not, on the one hand,
purchase correctness of expression by
dullness, and should not, on the other
hand, be interesting at the cost of
accuracy in the use of language. Many
teachers, however, act as if they thought
it more important that a boy should spell
and punctuate correctly than that he should
write an essay which is a pleasure to read.
Others, in the fear of killing the life out
of a composition, pass lightly over errors
in grammar, and leave the spelling and
punctuation to take care of themselves.
Others still--and this I believe to be the
most numerous class-~try to achieve both
objects at once, and fail of achieving
either (122).

Hill's solution though, was that teachers who were afraid
of I'killing the life out of a composition,‘ and ignored
errors were wrong; he “would not frighten a boy with

'compositions,' so called, till he could form sentences

with tolerable correctness. . .' (124).

Hill, however, was not entirely alone in his

criticisms. As previously mentioned, a few other teachers

14

of the period were expressing similar reservations about
the emphasis placed on correctness in the teaching of
writing. And while these discontents were not yet
specifically advocating process teaching, their
dissatisfaction with established approaches was an
important development. Some showed signs that interest in
a process approach was forthcoming.

J. Clark Scott, Professor of English at Syracuse
University, was one such critic. In an article titled,
“The Art of English Composition,“ published in Thg_5gggemy
in 1889, Clark began by asking questions about the
then-current approach to teaching writing: “What are the
methods of teaching English Composition now generally
employed? What results are obtained? What are the
difficulties and the needs?"

His answers to these questions then followed: the
methods he found, through the study of several secondary
schools' curricula, and from his own observation of nearby
schools, consisted mostly of the study of rhetoric (the
memorization of definitions and examples), the memorizing
of usage, and "little if any composition. . .' (369).

Next Clark described how most schools evaluated
students' writing:

. . .wading through essays assigned to him,
correcting misspelled words, punctuating,

erasing, combining, rewriting, and turning
the whole into as nearly good English as

15

the circumstances admit. . . .Then at some
appointed time, these I'corrected" essays
are returned to the writers, who tear them
u§78§ burn them at the first opportunity

The results, as Clark discovered and just about
everyone knew all too well, were not satisfactory:
”fruitless or altogether too meagre in results.“ His
discussion then took the complaint a step further into
teachers' attitudes toward composing itself:

. . .teachers have too generally forgotten

or ignored the fact that ' '

' . We have

forgotten that, while this and all arts

rest upon certain scientific principles, no

man can become an artist by merely studying

those principles (371).
Clark's discontent prompted him to suggest that “revising
be required as a regular class exercise. . .in place of a
regular textbook lesson in grammar or rhetoric. . .' and
that students read their essays to each other in pairs or
small groups, mixing good writers with poor writers.
However, his ultimate goal is mostly the same as before:
to get students to write correctly in one draft.

Samuel Thurber, Master of the Girl's High School in
Boston, and chairman of the committee that would study the
teaching of English for the NEA's “committee of ten" in
1892, described in his article “Elementary Composition in

High Schools,” one of the most explicitly stated process

approaches to the teaching of writing during this period.

16

After initially explaining that responsible teachers
"would examine their students' work carefully, to see in
what stage of development they are, in order that his own
procedures may be rightly adjusted to the actual
conditions" (421), Thurber then outlines his approach to

the teaching of composition:

Announce to the class two or three days in
advance that on such a day they will write
a little composition. . . .

In short, the material for their exercise
must be got from their own experience. . .

. . .explain to the class that they will
have a certain number of minutes. . .in
’which to write the composition. . . .

[at home] they must rewrite their draft and
view it from every possible standpoint,--
spelling, punctuation, capitals,
paragraphing, expression.

When the hour comes for the school
exercise. . .you set them writing by your
watch, and you see to it that no pupil can
possibly practice the dishonesty of using
the home draft from which to copy. Each
writes from the prepared state of mind
which your directions should have secured.
When time is up. . .you give give five more
minutes for revision of the work (424-25).

Although rigid and more like a test than a composition,
this assignment must, nevertheless, be recognized as an
early process approach to the teaching of writing.
Thurber, as with other discontents, is concerned with

correctness as well, but shows a more realistic

17

understanding of it as one aspect of good writing, rather

than the single goal.

Other teachers of composition, writing at about the
same time, were beginning to question the product approach
and its concern with correctness as well. Reviewing
several other articles found in the journal The_A§adgm1,
between 1889 and 1890, reveals the following statements
displaying dissatisfaction with the teaching of writing at

the time:

Of course, pupils ought to punctuate with
tolerable correctness when they enter the
high school, but obviously they do not.
Shall we, then, begin with this subject,
and keep the class three or four weeks on a
steady diet of commas and colons and
interrrogation points? Let the subject of
punctuation be taught incidentally, a
little at a time. . . .Let us treat it as a
side issue and not as if it were the chief
end all of education to make every pupil
punctuate like a printer (Lockwood, p. 262,
1889).

In correcting exercises the aim is helpful
criticism by the teacher, and intelligent
remodelling by the pupil. Both are equally
important unless the latter takes
precedence. It should not'be forgotten
that criticism includes encouragement as
well as fault-finding since it is better
not to correct everything at once than to
discourage the pupil. The best results
come from reading each essay with the
pupil, explaining the reasons for changes
(Emerson, p. 235, 1889).

Criticism is not only unnecessary but
injurious. . . the errors of early
composition are soon naturally and
spontaneously outgrown through the constant
effort at clearness of expression and

18

through the rapidly increased power over
language gained by this continuous work
(Johonnot, p. 319, 1889)
Thus the seeds of dissatisfaction with product oriented
approaches had been sown, and some indications that an
interest in composition as process were appearing.

After 1892, when the NEA's ”committee of ten' report
established English as a recognized subject in secondary
school, a professionalism concerning the teaching of
English began to emerge as displayed by the appearance of
methods books and periodicals, and of course, the creation
of the NCTE in 1911. Faculty pyschology and the philosphy
of mental discipline were on their way out of favor, and

John Dewey's influence was beginning to be felt.

Another sign of early process approaches came from a

methods book titled The_Teashins_2f_§asli§h_in_the

Elemeneegy eed Secegdery Scheel by George Carpenter,
Franklin Baker, and Fred N. Scott. For one thing the

authors proposed conferencing besides mere correcting of
papers; and, in a small section titled “The Process of
Essay Writing,” they suggested a process approach to the
teaching of writing:
It is a mistake or a misfortune to think of
the teacher's work as beginning only when
the essay is handed in. It may, indeed, if
his method has been well thought out, and

his counsel good, be almost wholly
completed (241).

19

Some student textbooks about this time were beginning
to include "revision” under its own heading, and while it
usually referred to revision in terms of correcting
mechanics, a few authors were literally presenting
revision in real writers' terms. One such text, E 've
Englieh by Philander Claxton and James HcGinnis, published
in 1917, presented a chapter called “Effective Revision"
within the first third of the book (unusual because of the
texts to include anything on revision, such a section
would be found nearer the end than the beginning). The
chapter begins by explaining that 'omitting' is
important to revision, and then advises:

Revising-- There is no practical English
work more constantly applied in the
business world than t ' '
meeegiel. Nearly all successful writers of
English have perfected their style by
constant revision. Many have told how they
went to work, and you will find their
statements in the following pages (120).

The chapter then presents about four pages of quotes
from writers like Robert Louis Stevenson, Guy de
Maupassant, and Benjamin Franklin on their writing
processes.

Another text, Selfzimerexement_in_§aslish, by H-W-
Davis, published in 1925, first discussed revision in a
section called "Writing and Revising“ on page 32 (the

whole book is about 300 pages). In this section the

author explains:

20

Three processes in composition.--For the
young writer, the whole process of 3113133
involves, or should involve, three separate
and distinct kinds of work. The first is
the work of collecting and organizing
information; the second is the making of
the first draft, or the original, rapidly
written copy; the third is
revision--correction along the lines laid
down by the principles of Good English.

The author then continues to explain how one should
go about revising: first revise spelling errors, second

sentences, third paragraphs, until:

If revision reveals to the writer that he
ought to take a new viewpoint and re-write
entirely, well and good. He should go at
once and do so. Then he should revise
again, and perhaps again. Too many have
the idea writing is a gift, that some
people always could write and others never
can. We have confused the making of the
first draft with the whole process of
composition. The first draft is only a
portion, perhaps one-third, of the whole
process. The good writer is the one who
turns out a good composition after he has
carefully revised it, not the one who
dashes off a first draft with comparative
ease. Revision is the basis of most
self-improvement in writing (44).

Host textbooks, however (high school and college),
even into the 1950's, 1960's, and early 1970's, continued
to describe revision, primarily, as a chance to correct
mechanics, or improve “imperfections,“ as they are often
described. For the most part, questions and discussions
of revision and composing as process were to be found in

the developing professional literatures beginning, as

21

previously mentioned, in 1911 with the establishment of

the NCTE."
D ment R ' ' d C 'n P s
P s’ c n 9 2-1 64

As previously shown, discontent with the teaching of
writing had surfaced, at least in professional literature,
by the 1880's. Much of the discontent concerned the
overemphasis of the teaching of the products of composing
such as rhetorical forms and correctness. With
discussions around the turn of the century questioning
whether or not English teachers were even necessary, it is
surprising to see that the teaching of English, with
specific recommendations for the teaching of writing, had
been reviewed twice before 1920: first by the NEA's
"committee of ten" in 1892, and again in 1917 by the
'Reorganization Committee' comprised of the NBA and the
NCTE.

A review of NCTE professional literature, between
1912 and 1970, shows that a concern for revision and
composing as process existed almost from the beginning of
the literature's creation. What was to become the
profession's established concern about teaching writing as
process in the 1970's, seems to have resulted from various
concerns over the last fifty years. First, there was the

continued discontent of some teachers about the

22

overemphasis of mechanics; second, there was a continuing
development of concern for composing as process, with
discussions of process growing more and more sophisticated
through the years; and third, there was a growing concern
for composing as a means of thinking.

Complaints concerning the overemphasis of mechanics
in the teaching of writing were some of the first
criticisms of the profession, and have already been shown
here as beginning in at least the 1880's in the
professional literature. These complaints continued in
the literature into the twentieth century, and even
continue to this day in the form of discussions of the
role of “grammar," (often a misnomer for correctness), in
the teaching of writing. Even as early as 1923, research
published in an article in finglieh_fleu;nel titled 'How
English Teachers Correct Papers,“ had shown that “many
teachers do constantly and seriously miscorrect' students'
writing, and that I'teachers who try to correct everything
are certain in their strenuous effort and inevitable
fatigue, to overlook more essential matters,” (518-20).

In fact, so much had been written on the overcorrection of
papers, that by 1965 Paul O'Dea would refer to it in his
“Five Myths in the Teaching of Composition,“ as the myth
that I'students learn to write better by taking into

account extensive teacher criticism” (330).

23

It is not my intent to chronicle this debate here;
suffice to say that the argument concerning the correction
of papers and the idea that overcorrection inhibited
students from becoming really engaged in their own
revisions, contributed to the profession's growing
interest in composing as process and revision, as teachers
explored new more efficient ways to teach writing.

The second primary concern out of which interest in
process and revision developed, was from literal
discussions of process itself. These articles usually
consisted of one, or a combination of two approaches:
first, descriptions of published writers' accounts of
their processes; and second, writing teachers' accounts,
descriptions, and speculations of writing process in the
classroom. These articles appear in the NCTE's journals
as early as 1918.

In an Englien_gee;ne1 article titled, “The Philosophy
of Real Composition,‘ Homer A. Watt describes his teaching
of writing to businesspersons, and uses this experience to
infer about the ways real writers write:

A real writer does not write upon a subject
in which he has no interest. . .or upon a
subject which he knows little or nothing
about. . . .But in college composition
courses student writers are frequently

asked to violate this practice (155-56).

And on the writing of a paper:

24

Even the general conditions under which
themes are written are far from real. The
student is often given only a day or two in
which to write a presentable paper on a
subject which he has not thought about
before. What opportunity does he have for
gathering evidence or even allowing this
ideas to ripen and adjust themselves one to
another? The papers of real authors are
usually the products of long experience
which has been steadily growing into
conviction and crystallizing into form.

The practice of allowing students to
express hasty judgments based on little or
no evidence and unripened by any real
reflection results in their acquiring wrong
conceptions of how real papers are
constructed. . . (160—61).

In “A Lesson from the Masters of Prose,“ published in

finglieh_flen;gel in 1921, R.W. Cowden suggests that

teachers of writing had much to learn from the ways

authors wrote:

The great writers of prose bear varied
testimony on the question of actual
composition. They may be most readily
classed in two groups, those who depend
wholly or partially upon inspiration and
those who depend upon unremitting toil.
Such a classification need not overlook the
fact that many of those who wait for the
inspired moment before writing labor
diligently afterward in revising nor that
those who usually labor in the first
writing occasionally have an inspired
moment (132).

Cowden then spends pages quoting various writers including
Thackeray, Eliot, Thomas Macaulay, Henry James, Thomas
Huxley, Cardinal John Henry Newman, Lafcadio Hearn, and
Dostoevsky on their writing processes. His conclusion

after all the references is that:

25

Perhaps the first possiblity that occurs to
one is that of giving the student the idea
of the way in which lasting composition has
been written. There is a vast deal of
skepticism on the part of most students in
regard to this matter. They form the idea
that the great work needs have been done in
the great way, and that they themselves
are, therefore, shut away from the final
attainment of any sort by the difficulties
in the method (139).

The process, Cowden concludes, by which most writers
write is revision: “The student needs to see how rare is
the method of inspiration and how common the method of

hard work.“ And that:

If the suggestions of Hearn were followed,
the student upon receiving his manuscript
with critical comment would be expected to
work his material over with the criticism
in mind, return the new manuscript for
further criticism, and continue this
process just so long as he was capable of
improving distinctness of outline of his
idea or the form of words for the
expression of the idea. Surely such a
practice is not impossible at least once or
twice during a term in any class in English
composition. . . .If one is to follow the
teaching of James and Hearn, of Huxley and
Macaulay and Newman, he will give his
students an opportunity to face the problem
of composition as it exists for most normal
men, and to find their way to clear ideas
and satisfactory form through rewriting
(140-41).

Surely this is an article that was ahead of its time. If
the authors whose processes were investigated were changed
to Hemingway, Faulkner, and Porter, it might easily have

been written in the 1950's or 1960's.

26

One of the problems with early attempts to teach
rewriting was that students usually handed in their papers
for teacher to correct, then the papers were returned and
the students were then expected to incorporate the
teacher's corrections; in short, teachers were doing part
of the work of revision for the students (proofreading,
not to mention any other more complicated revisions the
teacher may have suggested the student make in the paper).
An article in Englieh_geeeeel in 1922 by Allan H. Gilbert,

addressed this problem:

The laborious and minute correction of

a great number of papers is so commonly
admitted to be injurious to the teacher
that his position need hardly be discussed.
But is it good for the student--if anything
injurious to the teacher can be good for
the taught? Overworked teachers of English
are likely to fall back on a general
feeling that it should be done, or be
content with saying that the head of the
department requires it. Yet it is true
that the teacher who carefully revises, and
in effect rewrites a student's paper, is
doing the student harm rather than good,
for he is flying in the face of the
principles of all good teaching (393).

Gilbert's concern was that in their haste to teach,
and their desire for students' writing to improve,
teachers were short-circuiting the learning process by
doing too much of the work of rewriting for their
students:

Much of the good derived from English
composition comes from the doing and not

27

from the being corrected. . . .We all know
that a student who is corrected, no matter

how thoroughly, does not at once become a
satisfactory writer. The process of
improvement is a slow one, and goes on
within the student's own mind. The
teacher's power to bring about a change in
the writing of students is limited by their
minds and only what springs from within
them counts in making good writing. It is
of no consequence that the revised c0py of
the theme the teacher corrected is better
than the first copy. The important thing
is that the student has gained power within
himself to make a theme better than its
predecessor. A teacher must not ask, How
much more to my taste is this theme than
the other? but, Does this theme more
adequately express the student's own
genius? If we see on the pages the marks
of a growing man, we can afford to forgive
many crudities (396).

Thus Gilbert was proposing that “the slight improvement in
a halting theme that results from a student's own efforts
is better than all the polishing of the most zealous

teacher“ (403).

By the 1930's and 1940's articles in Englieh_gee;ne1
and its companion journal Qellege_§mglieh, quite regularly

refer to process and rewriting, although as previously
mentioned the references usually describe revision as
“correction“ and little more. However, there were some
authors whose insight deserve some mention in the
development of the profession's interest and expertise in
revision and composing as product.

In 1934, as the result of some informal classroom

research using his own students as subjects, Ernest G.

28

Bishop published a brief description of his “informal
talks on composition method“ that he had with several of
his better student writers. Students' processes were

described as follows:

. . .shaping up material by first making a
rough outline; beginning the first draft,
paying no attention to sentences or
punctuation at this time; going over this
rough draft critically--changing, adding,
deleting, and inserting the simpler
punctuation marks; putting the work aside
for a time, and then another revision for
the improvement of spelling, punctuation,
usage, and sentence structure; testing for
clearness and directness of expression;
reading the revised c0py to some family
member for constructive criticism; and
'making final corrections before copying on
theme paper (767).

Although still concerned with correctness, or at least
confusing the word “correcting“ with the more meaningful
changes a writer makes during revising, this teacher
displayed an interest in the actual composing processes of
his own students.

By the 1950's, articles by authors whose eele concern
was composing as process were relatively common in NCTE
college and high school journals. In 1951 Ken Macrorie,
in an article in Englieh_gee;gel titled “Words in the
Way,“ asked:

How does a writer ordinarily communicate
his ideas? First of all, he writes only
about what excites him or what has

repeatedly forced itself into his
consciousness. As Samuel Butler put it, he

29

lets.his subject choose him. Second, he
agonizes over at least five drafts before

he has a final one. In this revising he
may rewrite the article completely

or cut it in half, until the cutting
sprouts new sentences and new ideas.

Third, he reads his writing aloud to
himself after letting it cool for a while.
He reads it to another person. He has a
friend read it to him. He and several
others painstakingly proofread it before it
sees type. . . .But do our students write
through this process? . . .If we are
teachers who want to teach, we should take
every possible step toward insuring some of
these conditions for our own students when
they write (382-83).

Barris Mills, writing in 9911§2e_§asli§h, in 1953 in

an article titled, “Writing as Process,“ might probably be

credited with being the first to literally suggest the

advantages of teaching writing as “process“ rather than

product:

I believe the basic failure in our teaching
centers, in my judgment, in our
unwillingness or incapacity to think of
writing in terms of process. Too many
teachers, in spite of new developments in
pedagogy, still think of communication in
terms that are static, atomistic,
nonfunctional (19).

By the mid 1950's enough references to teaching

rewriting had occured in publications that some

teacher/writers were realizing that many others were

confusing rewriting with proofreading. In a 1954 Qellege

Englieh article titled “Some Facts on Revision,“ Herman

Struck attempted to differentiate between the two:

30

I mean revision not to improve mechanics

but to improve such qualities of writing as

coherence, clarity, and exactness (279).
Struck had studied various professional writers' drafts of
articles and classified changes in terms of words added,
deleted, substituted, and transposed. Revisions were also
classifed according to the quality of writing they
affected such as coherence, emphasis, tone, and meaning.

His conclusions were made with the freshman composition

teacher in mind:

The foregoing material indicates the
persistent effort that accuracy demands
from even practiced writers. Their work
on other qualities such as concision,
emphasis, and coherence, could further
illustrate the essential role that revision
plays in writing. With such evidence, it
seems foolish for instructors to demand
clear and effective writing from students
while at the same time permitting them
little or no time to revise (283).

Up until this time, teaching composing as process was
for the most part only a phrase, with very few writers
actually attempting to describe or outline the process.
However, in the 1960's, descriptions of writing as a
process began to appear. One of the first was described
by Helen F. Olson in a 1961 Englieh_gen;nel article titled
“What Is Good Teaching of Written Composition?“:

Good teaching of written composition
requires regular use of an established
routine, or basic composition process.

This statement does not imply that all
writing done moves through every step of

31

the entire process. . . .Carrying through
such a process may require a class period

or two, a week, or two weeks or more.

Young persons need to know how to think
through a subject and develop it logically.
They profit by establishing a routine of
planning, writing, and rewriting. The
steps of a basic composition process

or routine are these:

1. Reading and thinking together

2. Discussion and planning of the
writing to be done

3. Writing, proofreading,
revising, sharing, and
rewriting

4. Evaluation of the writings and
preservation in the individual
student folders

5. Direct teaching, testing, and
reteaching of needed language
skills to see that the
students have acquired the
ability to use them (242).

Another model of the composing process appeared in a
1965 finglieh_fieegnel article by Louise Smith titled
“Composition Teachers: Pick Up Your Pens and Write.“
Smith explained that she was taught to writing as process
by a former college teacher who used to outline the
“writing process“ on the board. Smith then continues to

explain what learning writing as a process meant to her:

What ie the writing process? I found out
by d 'n , and I would have found out
ne_e§he;_ney. But I didn't know this as

I sat down at my desk to write. . .Finally
I was back at my desk writing out the first
draft -- the second draft -- the third
draft -- the fourth draft, each time
clarifying my ideas by refining my words.
Each succeeding paper that I wrote required
hours of agonizing and frustrating
re-writes (870-871).

32

However, as previously mentioned, the development of
interest in teaching writing as process was also directly
influenced by a “writing is thinking“ movement or “thought
approach,“ (as it was labeled in the 1930's).

At first it seems that this concern for writing as a
way of thinking was a result of some of the complaints
teacher/writers had against the dominance correctness and
rhetorical modes had had for decades in the teaching of
writing. Teachers, reacting against this dominance, were
suggesting that besides writing correctly, or writing in a
certain mode, one of the more important reasons someone
writes is to make sense. The early 1930's seem to have
been a period when interest in writing as thinking first
appeared regularly in the professional literature.

Whether this interest was directly influenced by Piaget's
1926 study Lengeege_eng_zheeghe_efi_ehe_§hilg is difficult
to say; there are no direct references to it in any of the
articles of the period addressing writing as a way of
thought.

The May, 1932 Eeglieh_lee;nel contained three
separate articles on “writing as thinking.“ The first, by
Luella B. Cook, titled “Reducing the Paper Load,“ warned
against allowing technical matters to overshadow the
thinking that should have been taking place:

But accuracy is only one composition aim;
it is not the only composition aim. Yet it

33

is frequently allowed to obscure all other
aims. In our zeal to be practical we

mistake the obvious function for the
important function. . . .There is a time
and place, surely, for accuracy, but no
adult setting his thoughts down on paper
would tolerate the continuous interruptions
with which we harrass our students in the
name of duty. He would sweep aside
ruthlessly the carping criticisms about
syntax and usage, buzzing about in his ear
like a gadfly, and say, “Wait! Wait until I
have pinned down my thoughts!“ (365).

Cook's concern for writing as a way of thinking does not
just express concern for the process of composing, but an
interest in teaching writing with some understanding of
why writers write and how writers actually use writing to
make sense.

Helping students use writing to make sense was also a
concern of George Johnson, author of the second article on
writing as thinking in the May, 1932 Englieh_leg;nel.
Johnson was also interested that teachers understand that
students' ideas “may be meager; they may be immature; but

from these, and these only, will he write.“ And that:

The ability to think and write effectively
cannot be developed entirely by analysis of
somebody else's sentences; it must begin
with what the Freshman knows best -- his
own ideas, whatever they may be. Only when
the student has tasted the labor and ardor
of setting his own thoughts in order can he
aggieciate the flavor of matured skill

34

And Rachel Salisbury's article “Themes Again,“ was
the third piece in the same issue of Englieh_len;nel to

directly address the issue of writing and thinking:

Language, then, is the servant of thinking.
May it not be that in our zeal for service
we have magnified expression at the expense
of what is being expressed? . . . Not that
correctness and originality are not
important parts of the composition course,
but are they rightfully given in turn, or
together, more emphasis than is given to

tgelthinking which is to make use of them?
8

Salisbury would refine her own thinking on the subject and
later in 1936 publish another article in Englieh_fleegnel,
“The Psychology of Composition,“ in which she again
emphasized students' thinking over “grammar“ as she called
it:

Children have no natural desire to analyze

language. Until forcibly obliged to

consider parts of speech, they are ignorant

of their existence. All they want of

language is to use it. Their minds are

centered in thought, not form. . .(358).

Interest in the “thought approach“ to the teaching of

writing would continue throughout the 1930's. Thus, in
the section on the teaching of composition in the 1934
report, “The Contributions of Research to Teaching and
Curriculum-Making in English, January, 1933, Through June
1934,“ prepared by the Committee on Research of the NCTE,

Chairman Dora V. Smith and others wrote that “the trend is

to look upon English as a tool of thought and of

 

35

expression for use in the everyday activities of public
and private life.“ However, the report continued:
Yet the specific aims of written expression
reveal what is, perhaps, an alarming
emphasis upon mere technicalities of
expression. Results of classroom
observation throughout the country indicate
a similar preoccupation with grammar and
drill pad, with correspondingly little
opportunity for the actual expression of
ideas (718-19).
Thus, as has always been the case in the profession of
teaching English, innovations described in the literature

seldom seem to become pervasive approaches in the schools.

The “writing as thinking“ movement, begun in the
1930's, directly influenced the gradual shift in the
teaching of writing from product to process by emphasizing
that writers write for more important reasons than
correctness or to master forms or modes. By attempting to
shift the focus of writing instruction from the products
of correctness and modes, to the ways writing can help
writers think, the stage was set for teachers to ask the
questions that would make teaching writing through
“process“ the dominate focus of the profession in the
1960's, 1970's, and into the 1980's; and this interest in
the process of writing would eventually lead to the
interest in revision as a primary means writers use to

write and write to make sense.

36

65-

Although such designations are arbitrary, the mid
1960's seems an especially suitable time to call the
beginning of contemporary work on revision in the
professional literature. First, the 1960's were a
relatively progressive period in education and the
teaching of language arts was no exception to this
influence. During this progressive period, models of the
composing process were created that directly influenced
interest in revision.

Second, it was a period in which it was realized that
not much was really known about the actual process of
composing; this realization helped generate two decades of
essays and research on writing process and revision until
the present (where today there is some evidence of a
backlash concerning process and revision).

The 1960's has proven to be a relatively progressive
time in American education, and this directly affected the
teaching of writing and the developing concerns of writing
process and revising. Changes in how educators were
thinking about Children and language would change the
nature of teaching language arts forever.

What has perhaps become the quintessential statement

of this period in the teaching of language arts, is John

37

Dixon's firesth_thrgugh_English (subtitled “set in the

perspective of the seventies“), published in 1967.

The result of what has come to be called “The

 

(

——

Dartmouth Conference,“ (a joint Great Britain--North
American conference, according to the book's cover, of
English educators held at Dartmouth in 1966), Dixon's book
sets forth the main characteristics of what would become
the major influences of this progressive movement: the
relationship between language and personal growth, and how
language is learned through operation, not “dummy-runs“;
the role of process in language learning, and how teaching
must begin from respect for children as individuals; the
harm that comes from “splitting“ aspects of language
(writing, literature, reading, etc.), rather trying to
integrate them; and questioning the role and usefulness of
tests.

Other progressive statements soon followed:

Hoffett's WW, (1968):
Britton's Lengeege_end_§ee;ning, (1972); and Elbow's

W ‘ ' W' t T , (1973), all supported and
gnerally promoted the philosophy explored at Dartmouth.

In addition to this, ghgmekyls work concerning the
nature of language, the inadequacy of the behaviorist
framework to describe language acquisition and use, and
his idea of the “creative“ use of language (language is

not a “stored set of patterns“), also contributed to the

38

changing understanding of the teaching of language arts
that would eventually affect the teaching of writing as
process and revision's role in it.

All these influences created a climate which promoted
the questioning of traditional approaches, and the
creation of new methods, attitudes, and models of
composing. These new approaches continue to define and

redefine composing process and the nature of revision.
Contemporary Models of Revision

Contemporary models of revision usually result from
research that investigates the writing process, or more
specifically from research on revision itself. The
literature chronicles the subject of revising from its
status as mere proofreading or correcting, to its place as
a synonym for composing itself. How our understanding of
revision has changed so radically in the last 20 years is
the focus of this part of this review. What follows then
is a review of what seems to be the more significant
models of composing and revision, some of which have been
suggested from research.

One of the most influential models of the composing
process was published in 1965 by D. Gordon Rohman in a
Wish (99.9) , article
titled, “Pre-Writing: The Stage of Discovery in the

Writing Process.“ It was in this study, a result of the

39

Project English program, that Rohman described the writing
process as “pre-writing,“ (everything done before the
writing idea is ready for words and the page); and
“Writing,“ and “Re-Writing,“ as everything done by a
writer after that point in the process. In addition to
this, “pre-writing“ was defined as “the stage of discovery
in the writing process when a person assimilates his
'subject' to himself“ (106).

In a way Rohman's work was only an extension of what
had come before him, for he too was reacting against the
tradition of teaching writing by emphasizing writing as
product: his essay began by listing several important
assumptions, one of which was that students' study of
“good prose“ and “rhetoric“ were only “standards to judge
the goodness or badness of their finished effort. We
WWW“
[Rohman's emphasis] (106).

However, it now seems that Rohman placed too much
emphasis on pre-writing, and even went so far as to write

that:

Writers set out in apparent igorance

of what they are groping for, yet they
recognize it when they find it. In a sense
they knew all along, but it took some sort
of heuristic process to bring it out. When
it is “out,“ they have discovered their
subject; all that is left is the writing of
it (107).

40

However, that Rohman misinterpreted the struggle efee;
writers “discover their subject,“ (if, in fact they do),
is not important here; what is important is the use of the
labels “pre-writing,“ “writing,“ and “re-writing,“ to
describe the writing process and also the linee; sequence
these terms implied. For this model would dominate
professional thinking on process for at least fourteen
years, until Nancy Sommer's suggestion in, “The Need for
Theory in Composition Research,“ that “the artificial
segmentation of the composing process into stages has
created perceptual boundaries for composition teachers and
researchers“ (46).

One of the earliest and most sophisticated
descriptions of what happens when someone revises appeared
in a 1967 gellege_§nglieh article titled “Writing as
Thinking,“ by Taylor Stoehr. First, Stoehr described what
it is like to be compelled to say something, yet not be
able to find the right words:

Something is on the tip of the tongue,but
they cannot say it or write it. An idea is
knocking around in the head, but won't come
out (411).
This leads Stoehr to question the assumption that ideas
sit, fully formed in writers' minds, waiting to be
written:

It is misleading to imagine that there is
an idea in the mind, for which we try in

41

vain to find the appropriate words. A more
accurate way of putting it would be that
sometimes the words which express (go with,
are) our thoughts simply do not satisfy us
-- we know we can do better than that,
indeed will do better in just a minute if
we keep at it (412).

And this leads to an elaborate speculation about how

writing and revising generates and clarifies thoughts:

Although one could imagine a writer
carefully planning out an essay of this
sort, preparing an outline of themes to be
introduced and interwoven, and of effects
to be achieved, it is really very unlikely
that our student worked in this way. What
ordinarily happens is that an idea comes to
an author, and then another occurs to him,
fired off by the first, and then still
another, suggested by the last. Sometimes
the idea is a natural development of the
preceding one; sometimes it is a corollary
notion suggested by the defect noticed in
the original, or some imagined objection to
it. One thing leads to another.

At a certain point the sentences begin
to have an overall shape or pattern. The
writer sees a drift or tendency, probably
only implicit, perhaps intended from the
outset, perhaps not, but now clearer and
more obvious. It is like watching an
artist draw a picture: at a certain
moment, with the addition of one more line,
the object being represented suddenly
becomes “visible.“ And, just as with the
artist, at this moment a whole new range of
choices and possibilities opens up. Some
parts of the work must now be deleted, as
not contributing to the overall effect,
while others must be elaborated, since they
seem more crucial to the whole than first
appeared. Empty areas are seen, gaps in
the argument, which is fast growing to
completeness now that it can be
contemplated as a whole.

In all of this process the writer is,
in a sense, at the mercy of his thoughts.
He does not direct them at this or that

42

point; instead, he follows them with more

thoughts, spontaneously, naturally. It is

hard to say whether he has the thoughts, or

they have him. In any case, at this

moment of creative activity a formal plan

or outline would only be in the way, or

even worse, it might leeg the way too

strictly and narrowly, not allowing the

thoughts to move in their own direction
Again, the connections made between writing as a way of
thinking and revising are important: the writer writes
and rereads, over and over again, judging what has been
said and comparing it to the original notion. Sometimes
it is acceptable, sometimes it is not; when it is not
acceptable the writer changes it by deleting, elaborating,
or by striking off into new areas that were only implied
before.

Donald Murray, in the 1970's, continued to focus
attention on revision as a way writers make sense, by
creating more explicit models and descriptions of how
writers write and revise. First in “The Internal View:
One Writer's Philosophy of Composition,“ in 1970, and then
made more specific in “Internal Revision: A Process of
Discovery,“ in 1978, Murray emphasized re-writing as the
process by which writers make sense, rather than through
pre-writing as Rohman had suggested. However, both
approaches seemed to mislead the profession because they

once again relied upon a linear model (pre-write -- write

-- re-write), as it was originally described by Rohman in

43

1965. Even Janet Emig's important study describing
students' writing processes published in 1971 relied to
some extent upon this liner concept of composing.

As previously mentioned, Nancy Sommers, in an article
titled, “The Need for Theory in Composition Research,“
published in 1979, was one of the first to question the
linear model of composing. Using the idea of revision as
an example of how the “segmentation“ of the composing
process into stages had mislead teachers to teach writing
in stages she wrote:

It is not that a writer merely conceives of

an idea, lets it incubate, and then

produces it, but rather that ideas are

constantly being defined, and redefined,

selected, and rejected, evaluated and

organized. The pre-writing, writing,

re-writing model of the composing process

better describes the written product than

the process, as it identifies stages of

the product and not the operations of the

process (47).
The similarities here to Stoehr's description (1967), of
what happens as writers write are obvious. However,
Sommers then takes it a step further as she explains that
the linear model had mislead teachers to think of revision
as only “cleanliness,“ “to groom, to polish, to order, and
tidy-up one's writing.“ Describing her investigations

into published writers' accounts of their processes, and

how she began to question the linear model, she wrote:

44

What was clearly absent was any discussion
of a revision or rewriting stage of the
process. What became clear to me was that
if writing itself is an exploratory and
investigative act and if as Joyce said, “It
is in the writing that the good things come
out,“ we might begin to understand the
entire composing process as a process of
revision (48).

What Sommers had done was to point out that the
general stages of writing, and especially their proposed
sequence, were not quite as prominent when one writes as
many had believed. This was perhaps one of the earliest
suggestions that the stages of pre-writing, writing, and
re-writing were more Leeeeeiye, occuring more
similtaneously and overlapping amongst each other, than
the linear sequence Rohman's model had suggested.

About this same time, another important model of
composing was described, with implications regarding
process and revision. Linda Flower's article “Writer
Based Prose: A Cognitive Basis for Problems in Writing,“
appearing in gellege_§nglieh in 1979, was in fact another
discussion following in the tradition of the “writing as a
way of thinking“ theme. Flower, relying upon Lev vygotsky
(Theusht_aad_Laasuase). and Jean Piaget (The_Lansuase_aad
Theusht_9f_the_§hild), began by repeating the familiar
idea that writers do not simply express ideas:

An alternative to the “think it/say it“
model is to say that effective writers do

not simply express thought but transform it
in certain complex but describable ways for

45

the needs of a reader. Conversely, we may
say that ineffective writers are indeed

merely expressing themselves by offering up
an unretouched and underprocessed version
of their own thought. Writer-Based prose,
the subject of this paper, is a description
of this undertransformed mode of verbal
expression (19).

What Flowers described was very similar to Sommers,
but in a much more specific way. And in addition,
Flower's speculation suggested that audience was the
primary reason writers revised writing from writer-based
to reader-based prose.

The most recent model of revision comes from the work
of Flowers, Hayes, Carey, Schriver, and Stratman in their
1986 QQQ article, “Detection, Diagnosis, and the
Strategies of Revision.“ In this article the authors
first establish the theoretical perspective on revision
that it depends upon “Knowledge,“ or the ability to
recognize complex features of a text, and “Intention,“
whether a reviser uses that knowledge (19-20). In
attempting to create a guide to research in the
differences between expert and novice writers, they
describe revision as an “active interplay,“ between
evaluation and strategy selection, and kinds of knowledge
(goals of the writer, the way the writer represents the
textual problem, and the strategies the writer develops).

In short then, this model proposes that revision is a

process in which writers detect problems in a text through

46

evaluation, diagnose the problem through representation,
and then select some strategy to deal with it.

This model suggests several interesting points.
First, that writers, even expert writers, do not deal with
ell the problems that they might detect in a text, but
rather appear to operate under either a “precedence rule,“
that says “'If you find an important or global problem,
let it take precedence; stop the search for minor
errors,'“ or a “density rule,“ that says “'If your see a
growing number of difficulities, stop looking for
individual problems and just write'“ (38).

Second, this model suggests that revision strategies
often fall into one of two categories: detect/rewrite, or
diagnose/revise. The detect/rewrite strategy is where
writers detect that the text does not fit intentions and
so rereads for the gist of it, then literally rewrites the
whole thing. The diagnose/revise strategy is where
writers discover problems and, using a variety of
strategies connected to the problem as defined, revises
the original. In the opinion of the authors,
detect/rewrite is a limited option, usually employed by
novice writers; diagnose/revise, because it is a process
in which writers consult their own “means-end table which
offers strategies ranging from simple fix-it routines to

global planning,“ is usually employed by more expert

47

writers. The essential difference between detection and
diagnosis is that they lead to different actions (41-42).
Other research generally falls into one of three
categories: studies that attempt to explain what
influences writers to revise; studies that attempt to
describe how writers write and revise; and studies that
suggest methods of analyzing writer's revisions. Of
course, I realize such categories are arbitrary, and much
overlap occurs between the research reviewed here.
Richard Beach's two studies, “Self-Evaluation
Strategies of Extensive Revisers and Non-Revisers“ (1976),
and “The Effects of Between-Draft Teacher Evaluation Vs.
Student Self-evaluation on High School Students' Revising
of Rough Drafts“ (1979), found that students' revisions
are influenced by their textbook's and instructor's
presentation of revision, teacher evaluations during
students' process, and familiarity and interest in the
topic. Hillocks, in “The Interaction of Instruction,
Teacher Comment, and Revision“ (1982), attempted to take
Beach's work a step further and found that these
influences did indeed provide for significant changes in
students' writing, but was uncertain about retention of
the gains over long periods of time. Also, Hillocks was
surprised that when such influences as topic, teacher

comment, and pre-writing activities were used in

48

conjunction with each other, they did not provide the
greatest gains.

Research that attempts to describe how writers write
and revise, such as Graves' “An Examination of the Writing
Processes of Seven Year Old Children“ (1975), Calkin's
“Notes and Comments: Children's Rewriting Strategies“
(1980), Berkenkotter's “Decisions and Revisions: The
Planning Strategies of a Publishing Writer“ (1983), and
Hilgers' “How Children Change as Critical Evaluators of
Writing“ (1986), usually tend to classify different kinds
of revisers among different writers, or classify different
kinds of revisions an individual writer makes.

Probably one of the earliest and most influential
taxonmies created in order to study and analyze writing
and rewriting was Emig's mode of analysis devised for her
study of composing published in 1971. In this study Emig
described “reformulation“ as one “dimension“ of composing,
and identified correcting, revising, and rewriting as
reformulation tasks. In addition she also identified
“addition,“ “deletion,“ “reordering or substitution,“ and
“embedding“ as “transforming operations“ performed during
reformulations.

In 1980, Nancy Sommers published “Revision Strategies
of Student Writers and Experienced Adult Writers,“ and
basically used Emig's taxonomy, with some alterations that

included a provision for levels of change (word, phrase,

49

sentence, and theme or idea). Bridwell's method of
surface, lexical, phrase, clause, sentence, and
multi-sentence level changes in “Revising Strategies in
Twelfth Grade Students' Transactional Writing“ more
specifically defined these categories.

Faigley and Witte (1981), continued to refine the
means by which rewriting is analyzed by differentiating
between “surface changes“ (changes that do not bring new
information to a text, or remove old information), and
“meaning changes“ (changes that add new content or delete
existing content). This method, in one form or another,
has continued to serve researchers to the present, as seen
in the current issue of Reeee;eh_1n_ehe;1eeehing_ef
Egglieh, which contains a study of the effects on

rewriting by writers' use of computers.

g l E E . .

While Rohman (1965), was describing pre-writing as
the discovery stage of writing, and also stating that once
writers discover their subject all that was left to do
(writing and rewriting), was the writing of it, another
author at about the same time was suggesting a more global
view of composing; this view pre-dates Sommers and Flowers
(previously mentioned), by fourteen years.

Equating writing to revising is a notion usually

attributed to writers of the late seventies, such as

50

Murray (1978), Sommmers (1979), and Flowers (1979). In
fact, an often quoted line is Donald Murray's “Writing is
rewriting,“ from his “Internal Revision: A Process of
Discovery,“ published in 1978.

However, the same exact line actually appeared
thirteen years earlier in Matthew F. Doherty's 1965
English Jenrnal article titled “The Missing Link:
Rewriting.“

As Cowden (1921), had done forty-four years before,
Doherty relied upon contemporary writers' testimonies
concerning the importance of revising, and then wrote that
students “are learning the wrong lesson“ about composing
if they are not rewriting:

These are harsh words, perhaps, but we

would be unmercifally ridiculed if we

attempted to teach reading without books or

speech without speaking. Writing 1e

rewriting, and there exists no really valid

shortcut or panacea (848).
The equating of writing and rewriting is explicit, and
actually a kind of contradiction to what Rohman was
proposing. In fact, the next ten to fifteen years of
essays published on revision fall into two general
categories: those that seem to have adopted Rohman's
notion of rewriting as an after-the-fact, cleaning up,
kind of work; and those articles that seem to contradict

Rohman's lead and more thoroughly define the nature of

revision as it related to composing.

51

Essays of the first category, such as Howard Van
Dyk's “Teach Revision -— It Works,“ (1967), George
McFadden's “An Exercise in Rewriting,“ (1976), Barbara
Hansen's “Rewriting Is A Waste of Time,“ (1978), or
George Thompson's “Revision: Nine Ways to Achieve a
Distinterested Perspective,“ (1978), usually limit
“revision“ to superficial operations for students to
perform such as changing verbs or transitions, revising
thesis statements, or simply equate rewriting to

proofreading for errors. Actually, of all the essays I

reviewed in Easli§h_leuraal, Qallese.§aslish, 999, and
Lengnege_n;ee for this period, those that deal with

revision in such a perfunctory way are really in the
minority.

However, by the sheer number and sometimes zeal of
the sound of the writers of essays trying to combat the
perfunctory approach during this period, I have to
conclude that although the perfunctory approach to
teaching composing and revision was not pervasive in the
literature it was probably pervasive in the typical
classroom (and probably still is today). Some of these
articles take the straight-forward approach to combating
the perfunctory, and are more in tune with Doherty's
thinking than Rohman's. Bernard Tanners' “The Writer's
Paradox,“ (1968), is one of the earliest to subtly

contradict Rohman:

52

We know that in the act of writing a person
is likely to discover the most signif cant

things he has to say. One writes his way
to clarity, both in the first flow and in
the second thoughts and revisions. As we
write, something in the written word --
both in the grammar of the language and in
the rhetoric of the situation -- insinuates
its persuasive influence on our mind even
as we seek to effect a similar influence on
the mind of our reader. As a person
writes, he looks over his own shoulder, and
not infrequently is amazed at what he sees
(858).
Notice that Tanner does not distinguish between any stages
of writing, and that in fact he goes on to contradict
Rohman's suggestion that writers discover meaning early,
and then merely write it.

Other articles such as Murray's “Why Teaching
Writing? and How,“ (1973), Baird Shuman's “What About
Revision?“ (1975), Lee Odel's and Joanne Cohick's “You
Mean Write it Over in Ink?“ (1975), and Robert De
Beaugrande's “Moving from Product Toward Process,“ (1979),
all attempted to more carefully and realistically describe
revision, not as a tidying-up process, but rather as a
means writers employ to make and clarify sense. In fact,
such articles have been so common in the last ten years,
that recently there has appeared a kind of small backlash:
Kaye E. Hink suggests in “Let's Stop Worrying about
Revision,“ (1985), that there is too much emphasis on

revision and that if students are encouraged to write

53

about topics that really interest them, revising will
happen naturally.

Others, such as Raymond Rodrigues' “Moving Away from
Writing-Process Worship,“ Dianne Lockwood's “An Open
Letter to Writing Conference Speakers,“ and Vannessa K.
Roddy's “I'm sick of Reading about Writing,“ all appearing
in the September, 1985 issue of Englien_flen1nel complain
about the emphasis placed on writing as process. However,
after reading these articles carefully, it is my
impression that most of these writers' understandings of
process teaching were misguided to begin with; and that
they, like others, had jumped on the process bandwagon
without fully understanding it, and are only now coming to
understand how it works and relates to other approaches to

the teaching of writing.

Summarx

Professional interest in composing as a process did
not originate in the 1960's or 1970's. This review of
professional literature shdws that concern for writing as
a process, as opposed to product, existed in professional
journals of teaching (1880's), even before the teaching of
writing had developed into a discipline of its own.

At first, the concern shown for process in the
nineteenth century seems to have grown as a reaction by

teachers against the over-emphasis of correctness, which

S4

was rooted in the reliance upon instruction in Latin by
early textbook authors. This reliance helped create a
prescriptive approach to the teaching of English and
writing, one result of which was the over-emphasis on
mechanics and product which continues to this day.

A second element that helped promote concern for
composing as a process was that a few teachers realized
writing as it was taught in the schools showed little
relation, if any, to the ways published writers wrote.
While this idea seems contemporary, this review has shown
that ennlieie descriptions of published writers' processes
(and calls to teach writing as a process) existed in
professional literature as early as 1921. This interest,
in part, seems to anticipate the models of the composing
process that began appearing in the 1950's and 1960's.

A third influence that helped move the teaching of
writing from product toward process, and anticipated the
new understanding of revising, is what I have called the
“writing as thinking“ movement of the early 1930's. This
“thought approach,“ as it was called at the time, directly
affected professional concern in writing as process
because it helped shift interest in writing as product to
writing as a way to generate and clarify thinking. This
would eventually lead to the profession's interest in

process and especially revision in the 1960's and 1970's.

55

If this review has shown anything, it has illustrated
the fact that the profession has constantly struggled, and
continues to struggle to this day, with what it means for
one to write. Recent discussion about composing as
process, and confusion about the nature of revision and
how it relates to composing, while adding to that
confusion, has helped the profession expand and better
define its understanding of composing and how it may be
more effectively taught.

We have come a long way. From teaching writing as a
means to learn correct language, to teaching writing as a
means to understand and make sense. Thus, the goal of
this study is to contribute information to the discussion,
and specifically, to try to contribute to what is

presently understood about how writers write and revise.

'

Chapter 2
Methods

The primary purpose of this study is to examine the
ways in which skilled student writers write, with specific
attention paid’to the revisions of their writing (the
terms “skilled student writers“ and “revision“ are defined
later in this chapter). Thus, the primary questions
addressed through this study are 1): To what engene do
skilled student writers revise their writing? and 2): If
and when revising is revealed, he! do these writers revise
their writing?

In addition to these questions, a secondary goal was
to attempt to identify, describe, and analyze these
writers' own understanding of their revisings (in short,
to hear how they revise in their own words). A third

concern was to try to reveal some information about how

,they learned (or at least how they think they learned), to

revise.

Results obtained from the various approaches to the
investigation are then described and analyzed using the
the methods of analysis put forth in this chapter.

Finally, conclusions drawn from the study, and their
implications for writing instruction, are discussed in the

last chapter.

56

57
G P ' ' es

Research on writers' revisions has usually focused
upon comparisons of skilled and unskilled writers --
describing the differences between the activities and
techniques of the two groups -- while other research has
described the writing processes of professional writers,
attempting to show how good, professional, writers write.

Recent research on revision that has focused on the
differences between the revisions of skilled and unskilled
student writers (Beach, 1976; Perl, 1979; Pianko, 1979;
Monahan, 1984 and others), attempts to describe revision
in terms of the different behaviors and skills that are
discovered between the two groups.

Although valuable and, of course, in many ways
necessary, such comparisons do not always thoroughly
explore the processes of one group or the other and their
revisions as much as we might wish. This research also
seems somewhat limited by the implication that the two
groups generally represent all writers, thus
oversimplifying the issue by placing all writers in one
category or the other. Such an implication can then
result in having writers of varying skills lumped into one
broad category. Other research on revision has used
professional writers as subjects, studying their drafts

and revisions.

58

The present study, however, by focusing only on
“skilled“ student writers and if, when, and how they
revise, attempts to more specifically explore revising as
it is learned and used by a single group of student
writers. Thus, by zeroing in on one group, namely
“skilled student writers,“ rather than comparing two
groups (skilled and unskilled), against each other, this
study attempts to more specifically focus on one group and
provide more information about them as writers and
revisers. Since previous research has shown that any
group of similarly skilled writers exhibit differences in
their abilities, I hope that this study will be able to
add some specific information about this particular kind
of writer.

Crucial to this study was the guiding principle that
its results were to be descriptive: as different subjects'
writing and writing processes were studied, the
expectation was that revising in some form, or in various
manners and degrees, would be revealed.

Also crucial to this study were the following
questions: How much do skilled student writers revise?
How do they think they learned to revise as they do, or in
other words, What influences to revise have they
experienced? How have teachers influenced them to revise?
Has reading about how to revise encouraged or helped them

to revise? What do skilled student writers do when they

59

revise? Do they revise in similar ways or exhibit similar
stages or processes?

In order to attempt to answer these questions, I
decided to try to collect data in several different ways:
first, to directly question such writers about their
writing and processes in tape-recored interviews
(transcribed later); second, to study drafts of their
writing and analyze the revisions; and third, to videotape
the writers in the process of revising a writing of their

choice.
5 R v' ' ?

As the review of the literature indicates, there has
been, and continues to be, some confusion about what a
“revision“ is.

Taken literally, “revision“ means to see again or to
see in a new way. Thus, when applied to writing
processes, revision generally refers to changes writers
make as a result of rereading (or seeing again) what they
have written before.

This general definition of revision as a way of
seeing writing again suggests several important points:
first, that writers' revisions must depend as much on
their ability to read, as it does on their ability to
write. In fact, the word revision (or seeing again),

really seems to mean more of a reading than writing

60

activity. Literal rewriting, or new written versions of
previously written material, probably cannot be
meaningfully accomplished until some rereading -- probably
careful rereading -- has taken place.

A second point this definition raises about the
nature of revision is that of enenge. Change is probably
the crucial characteristic of revision, and as the review
of the literature suggests, this is probably the point
that has been most confusing about revision. For a long
time revision was associated only with changes in spelling
or punctuating (proofreading: a stage of the writing
process that was performed after everything meaningful had
been done -- a time to polish the writing, and detect and
change superficial levels of language).

However, when distinctions are made between editing
(changing content and, therefore, form), and proofreading
(changing spelling, mechanics, and usage), a more accurate
picture of revision is revealed. Revision in general
begins to encompass ell changes writers make as they
reread, and involves making changes (one hopes for the
better, although it is not always guaranteed), in major
ways (editing), or in “minor“ ways (proofreading).

[I hesitate to call proofreading “minor“ because it
suggests that proofreading does not influence content. Of

course, that simply is not always true, as in the case of

61

punctuation that, when done properly, can enhance or even

change a text's meaning.]

Wrieers sendied

Student writers studied for this research were picked
for two reasons: first, because they had already
published, or had expressed an interest to publish their
writing in a college publication; and second, for their
willingness and availability to participate. The
necessity of their willingness to participate is obvious;
the first reason requires further explanation.

By publishing or attempting to publish their writing
in a college publication, these students identified
themselves as skilled writers to study that bridged the
gap between studies of student writers in general, and
studies of professional writers. Thus, this group
provided some realistic and pertinent value as student
writers, but also provided some value as persons
interested in and motivated to write.

Initially, subjects were sought through the college
publication itself. Writers of previously published
material were sought, as were writers of recently
submitted material. While many were solicted, only two
responded positively. It became necessary to find other

subjects by asking colleagues to refer writers who were

62

working on writing for the college publication in their
courses.

Altogether, six writers were approached and asked to
participate. However, one had not saved any drafts and so
could not provide the valuable record of her work the
study required. A second subject decided later he could
not continue. (No compensation was involved.) However,
the writers had all expressed interest in publishing their
writing in a college literary magazine of fiction,
non-fiction, and poetry (one story was studied in this
research, no poetry was used). Students who ultimately
volunteered to participate were informed in writing of the
study's scope and purpose, and were asked to sign a
consent form as outlined by the University's Office for

Research and Graduate Studies.
W C d ed

Once the group of writers to be studied had been
determined, I met with each writer individually to explain
the general procedure. At a first meeting with each, I
simply stated that I was interested in their writing, and
wished to study and talk with themfzt. I also asked them
to save any and all writing they produced.

It is important to note that “revision“ or

“rewriting“ was nee mentioned at these introductory

meetings as a particular focus of the study. This was an

63

attempt to not reveal to the subjects that it was their
revisions in which I was most interested. However, later,
as the analysis of drafts and interviews proceeded, and as
revisions became apparent in the writers' processes,
revision became the primary focus of the study.

Once I had met with each participant and had
established some initial procedures, I set up the first of
several interviews with each. I asked them to come in and
talk with me about what they had written or were writing
at the time, and to bring whatever they were currently
writing so we could look at it together and discuss it. I
also asked them to bring in whatever papers they had been
writing lately, such as papers written for classes or
college competitions or publications. These writings and
the drafts that were subsequently revealed in these
collections were discussed as well. The interviews were
tape-recorded and later transcribed, always with the
writers' full knowledge and permission from the very
beginning.

A field study was planned with one of the primary
subjects in order to test the methodology and refine it.
This process reVealed several procedural and technical
problems. For example, from the results of this first
interview, I decided that it would be better to begin the
interview by reviewing the drafts the subject brought,

rather than by merely beginning with general questions.

64

Another problem the field study revealed was that I
had placed the microphone recording the interview too far
away from the subject, which made it difficult to hear and
transcribe. This was immediately corrected.

A third problem arose when I began to analyze some
drafts using Faigley and Witte's taxonomy (discussed later
in this chapter). Some terms seemed confusing and
unnecessarily complex, so I changed the term
“permutations“ to the simpler “rearrangements.“ This made
it easier for me when I was counting changes because I did
not have to think so much about what “permutation“ means.
I also created my own chart to refer to of Faigley and
Witte's taxonomy (included later in this chapter when the
taxonomy is discussed in detail).

Fourth, after completing and replaying the videotape
of the subject revising his paper, I realized that placing
the video camera across from the writer forced me to turn
my monitor upside down when replaying it (if I wanted to
actually see what he was doing). I thereafter set the
camera behind and over the shoulder of future subjects.

Also concerning the video taping, I discovered that I
needed to mark off the area of the table on which the
writer worked so that the copies of the drafts and
revision remained within the camera's view. While this
was not a big problem in the field study, I realized it

could happen with future subjects.

65

The problems identified in the field study were

corrected for the remaining subjects, and because I
decided that these problems were not serious enough to
discount the field study subject's results, I used these
results as the first of the four cases in the study.

The remaining interviews with each writer were
completed approximately one per week, in sessions of from
two to four hours. Subjects came to the interviews with
drafts of their writing, and in some cases provided drafts
0f Pr9V10351y written papers. From each writer's
collection of drafts, the most complete series for one
paper was used and analyzed for the research.

Once the interviews were completed, I also asked them
to participate in a video-taping of them as they revised.
By this time in the overall research, the writers had
exhibited the fact that they all revised in one way or
another, to one degree or another, so video taping them as
they revised did not unnaturally introduce the idea into
their processes.

However, I did tell the writers that while they were
revising their writing it would be helpful to hear what
they were thinking, and so did introduce at least one
unnatural element (talking aloud) into the proCess besides
the taping itself. To help with this aspect of the data
collection I relied upon information presented by Heidi

Swarts, Linda Flower, and John Hayes in “Designing

66

Protocol Studies of the Writing Process: An
Introduction,“ in the book New Direeeiene in gemnoeitien
Reseercn published in 1984.

The authors describe that the process of asking
writers to say what they are thinking while writing and
then using it to help describe and understand their
writing processes, or “protocol analysis,“ is sometimes
criticized for interfering with, or changing, the way the
writer thinks, and thus interfering with how one writes.
However, Swarts, Flower, and Hayes argue that the
technique not only allows the researcher to observe
cognitive processes, but to also see the development of
ideas in the writing. The process also provides more data
to analyze than the mere study of writers' drafts alone.

Swarts, Flower, and Hayes' article provided several
good ideas such as making copies of drafts before and
after revising sessions, and specific information about
how to direct subjects to talk aloud as they write. The
primary purpose of this taping was to examine how they
revised first-hand, and compare it to how they field they
revised during the interviews.

First, I introduced the idea to them, explaining that
I wished to record whatever they did as they revised, as
the study of their drafts had revealed during the
interviews. It was then that I also told them that

actually being able to hear what they were thinking as

67

they revised would be helpful, so I warned them that I
hoped they could “think it out loud“ for me while they did
it.

I secured an empty classroom and video equipment for
the sessions and scheduled each for a different time,
whenever it was most convenient for them. I asked them to
bring whatever they usually used while writing and
revising, for example thesaurus, dictionary, handbook, and
any materials such as paper, pencils, pens, etc. The
classroom was typical with a desk in front, and chairs and
tables for students.

When_the students arrived I made photocopies of any
writing they brought which they were in the midst of
working on. I also had already set up the video equipment
at a table off to the side of the room. The student sat
at the table, with the video camera set behind him or her
and off to one side, with the camera focused on the table
on which the writing took place. Thus, when replayed, the
video tape actually shows the papers the students worked
on and no more than their hands and arms as they wrote.

Once subjects were in place and prepared to begin, I
left them with very brief, simple instructions: to do
whatever they usually did as they worked on their writing,
and to as much as possible think out loud while they did
it. I gave them no time limits, only telling them to come

and get me when they were finished. I offered to lock the

68

door so no one would interrupt them, and most accepted
this offer. When they were finished, I made photocopies
of their writing again and of any other writings produced
during the session, in order to record whatever happened
to the drafts during the session. This provided copies of
drafts before and after the video tapings, and proved
helpful when the tapes were analyzed, making it easier to

see exactly what the writer was doing at the time.
M d A i

The study of the writers and their processes produced
more than enough data to analyze. The interviews, being
straight question and answer sessions about drafts and
processes, were later read and studied. The video tapes
of the writers writing, were used to compare how they
actually revised during the session to how they said they
revised in the interviews.

The drafts themselves, however, required the
application of some sort of method of analysis. Through
reviewing literature and research on revision, I decided
that Lester Faigley and Stephen Witte's work in revision
research provided the most up-to-date method of analyzing
the drafts, although I considered Emig's (1971), Sommers'
(1980), and Bridwell's (1980) research methods as well.
The primary reason for choosing Faigley and Witte's system

was that it was the most recent and seemed to rely on the

69

best characteristics of all the others previously

mentioned.

Faigley and Witte's method used to analyze the
revisions of writers originally appeared in Qellege
Qenneel;len_end_§ennnnlee§len in December, 1981. In this
article they explain that although revising appears to be
easily studied because the process leaves a record, the
actual understanding of the complexity of writers'
revisions and problems researchers encounter when trying
to study them is a recent development. The authors cite
Rohman's 1965 study on “pre-writing,“ as one reason
revising was misconceived almost entirely as polishing,
and this supports my own conclusions drawn at the end of
the review of the literature.

g/// Revising, Faigley and Witte explain, has been studied
either through examining the effects of revision, or by
speculating on the causes of revision. Their study
focused on presenting a “simple, yet robust, system for
analyzing the effects of revision changes on meaning“
(401). Generally, this system is based on an important
distinction: the difference between revisions that
affect the meaning of the writer's text, and those
revisions that do not affect the meaning of the text.
This distinction, as the authors explain, is not always as

simple as it may seem, as circumstances in a sentence can

70

make mechanics such as capitalization or punctuation
meaning-making, or meaning-changing details.
The taxonomy created through this concept of how

revisions affect text meaning, is then based upon “nhether

n ' f ma ' 's t t x o d
informetign is removed in euen a way enet i; eannet he

c ve d u aw'n 'n e nces“ [authors' emphasis],
(page 402). Thus, changes that do not bring new
information to a text or remove old information are
labeled “Surface Changes.“ Changes that bring about the
adding of new content or the deletion of existing content
are labeled “Meaning Changes.“ (See a copy based on the
authors' model on next page.)

The category “Surface Changes“ contains two kinds of
revisions: “Formal Changes“ and “Meaning-Preserving
Changes.“ Formal changes are the conventional copy
editing revisions that take place such as spelling.
punctuating, format, abbreviations, and tense. The other
kind of Surface Change, “Meaning-Preserving Changes,“ are
changes writers make through paraphrasing their text but
not actually changing its meaning. Examples of
Meaning-Preserving Changes would be additions that make
the text more specific, deletions that make the text more
concise, or “substitutions,“ “permutations,“

“distributions,“ or “consolidations,“ which are terms to

71

describe changed words, rearrangements, and

‘ sentence-combining revisions.

Revision Changes

Surface Changes Text-Base Changes

Formal Changes Meaning-Preserving Microstructure Macrostructure

Changes Changes Changes
Spelling Additions Additions Additions
Tense Deletions Deletions Deletions
Abbreviation Substitutions Substitutions Substitutions
Punctuation Permutations Permutations Permutations
Format Distributions Distributions Distributions

Consolidations Consolidations Consolidations

fin;feee_ehengee: does not bring new information to a text; does not
remove existing information from a text.

Formal Changes: most proofreading operations; format.

Meaning Preserving Changes: changes that paraphrase existing
concepts but do not alter them. Implied information is
added, deleted, or somehow changed.

I:xt:fleee_§henee§: adds new content, or deletes existing content.
May or may not affect the sense of the whole text.

Microstructure Changes: a change that does not affect a

summary of the whole text (does not affect the reading of
other parts).

Macrostructure Changes: a change that affects a summary of the
whole text (effects the reading of other parts).

Faigley and Witte's revision changes taxonomy, Qellege_genneelelen
end gemmnnieetien, December, 1981. Page 403.

72

As opposed to the general category “Surface Changes,“
the category “Meaning Changes“ refers to changes made in the
text that add or delete existing content resulting in new or
different meanings. As the authors point out according to
their own research, most meaning changes are of “small
consequence for the overall text“ (403), suggesting that even
though a “meaning change“ may sound significant, it usually
is not in relation to the meaning of the entire text when
complete. However, provisions must be made for such major
changes as those which do change a whole text significantly.

It is this necessity for a distinction between major and
minor “meaning changes“ that prompted Faigley and Witte to
develop the sub-categories of “Microstructure Change“ and
“Macrostructure Change.“ Simply put, a “Microstructure“
meaning change is one that would not affect the summary of a
text, while a “Macrostructure” meaning change would affect
the summary of a text. The authors then go on to explain
that “the most reliable way to separate Macro- and
Microstructure Changes short of constructing summaries for
entire texts is to determine if the concepts involved in a
particular change affect the reading of other parts of the
text“ (405).

As an example of this, the authors reproduce an original
and a revision of a paragraph written about how cities are
changing. In the original paragraph the unplanned growth of

a city is described, which the entire paper then comments

73

upon. In the revision however, the writer includes the idea

that because government spending on cities has slowed down,
cities' planned renovations may go unfulfilled. Faigley and
Witte state that because this change in the paragraph's idea
“strongly enough suggested in Draft 2 to influence a reader's
understanding of the rest of the essay, is nowhere even
hinted at in Draft 1,“ that this is an example of a

Macrostructure Change (405).

This chapter reviewed the methods employed to organize
and conduct this study. The next chapter reports the results
of the study of the writers and includes conclusions about
the writers and their revisions. Results of the use of
Faigley and Witte's system, and its validity are discussed in

the last chapter.

Chapter 3
Description of Results

This chapter presents the results of the interviews
and writing studied and analyzed for this research. Each
writer is profiled in a separate section, and each profile
begins with a brief description of the writer, followed by
a summary of what was discussed during interviews with the
writer about his or her writing and process. After this,
the results of the analysis of collected drafts and
video-taped writing sessions are described. Analysis and
conclusions then follow for each subject; general
analyses, conclusions, and implications are in Chapter 4.

Interviews with the writers began after basic
introductions and information was exchanged. As stated in
the previous chapter, the subjects were simply invited to
talk with me and answer questions about their writing. At
first no specific references were made to “revising,“ but
after initial meetings, discussions, and reviews of their
writings revealed revisions, the nature of the revisions
and the subjects' understanding of the revisions became

the primary focus of the inquiry.

74

75

Dave was a recent high school graduate whose writing
and revising process were studied for this research. Dave
had been attempting, since enrolling as a freshman about a
year ago, to publish some of this writing in the college
magazine that is published each semester. Some of his
writing originated as course assignments, which involved
autobiographical and fictional writing.

Dave was a good writer and exhibited an unusually
strong commitment to his writing, even though he sometimes
did not think of himself as a good writer. A high school
teacher had told him that the only thing that would
prevent him from “going anywhere in life“ was that he was
a poor writer. He took this as a kind of challenge, and
admitted that this made him want to learn how to write,
although he often referred to not learning much about how
to write while in high school. When asked about it he
said:

High school courses don't show you how to
write. They show you good writing and they
say this is what it is. And you look at
that and you see how far away you are from
it; and they don't show you any means to
approach that. Good writers are mystical
in that respect. . . .

At first, I simply told Dave that I was interested in

studying his writing and how he got things written, not

76

wanting to suggest that it was revision in which I was

most interested. But soon into the interview, a review of
the writing Dave was working on at the time revealed that
his writing involved much revising and once the revisions
and drafts became apparent, they became a primary focus of
the study.

Dave's revising process was interesting because by
his own admission it was not something he had learned over
a period of time, but rather something he had been doing
only a few months, since becoming a college freshman. His.
sudden interest in revising, he explained, had come
entirely from his first semester composition course, where
the instructor had assigned Donald Murray's essay, “The
Maker's Eye: Revising Your Own Manuscripts,“ (an essay
Murray wrote specifically for students, explaining
revising and containing professional writers' descriptions
of how they revised). Dave cited this information as a
“revelation“ because it was the first time anyone had told
him that writers “accomplish their writing as though it
was work, not necessarily a gift. . . .Because you didn't
have to be born with good writing skills -- you could work
toward them and at least be confident.“

When Dave read in this article that writers sometimes
rewrote their writing many times, and when he read that
Ray Bradbury (a writer he admires), puts some writing away

for a year before working more on it, Dave was convinced

77

that rewriting was something he had been neglecting in his
own writing. This information was something he mentioned
several different times during the three to four hours I
interviewed him, and it was obvious that Dave had been
strongly influenced by this single essay on revising. In
his own words: “that article gave me hope to say that all
it takes is work, not necessarily a gift to be born with
it.“ Later he repeated how enlightening the article had
been by saying that what he read and learned in the
article was “like discovering something new -- it's
essentially discovering and understanding something that's
been hidden from me.“
When asked if anything else in his writing course
influenced him to start revising, Dave explained that
because rough drafts of a paper were sometimes due, and
not just finished drafts as had been the case in high
school, he had begun to revise:
I don't remember doing a lot of rewriting
in high school. . .I don't think just
because I was lazy, I think it was because
it wasn't necessarily required as part of
the class. It was just like a one paper --
one date type of deal. . . .The processes
of rewriting were not encouraged or even
brought up. I guess it was simply
understood by the teacher that you were
going to do it.

Dave also explained that his college instructor awarded

“points“ for revisions and that these points contributed

to final grades; when asked if he thought this

78

contributed to students marking up drafts unnecessarily

simply to earn points to raise a grade he said:

That one is an impossible thing to answer
because who establishes what isn't a
necessary revision? I know in my case that
I began to see the necessity for revision
and there are probably times that I crossed
something out and then later realized it
was better the first way but certainly not
with that [unnecessarily revising] in mind,
to make red spots to get a grade.

Another aspect of Dave's first freshman writing
course that encouraged him to revise was that his
instructor assigned “some personal papers,“ as he called
them. Dave explained that these papers encouraged him to
be more committed to the writing because the “ideas were
important to us.“ Also, all papers assigned in the class
were eventually read to other students in the class, and
Dave reported that this influenced him to take more care
toward what he wrote. Finally, Dave reported that he
learned to “write differently“ from reading stories
assigned for his class: such qualities as narrative point
of view and dialogue, he explained, had given him
different “ways to approach it.“

When asked to talk about his process of writing and
revising, the first thing Dave mentioned is that “there
are some things that I try to keep in mind when I'm

rewriting.“ First, that it was “important to keep the

purpose of the paper in mind when you start out.“ Second,

79

that he always tried to “keep characters true to form.“
And third, wordiness:

I think that unnecessary words are probably

the biggest thing when I do my rewriting,

because when I write a thought down

sometimes I'm unsure what I want to say,

and I don't have the exact sentence so I

write it out -- this kind of long thing --

and I kind of back my way into the idea,

and when I see it again I say, “Well this

whole idea means this,“ and I can scratch

the whole thing out and rewrite it in a

sentence-and-a-half so it's the condensing

of the original form of the copy which is a

lot of what I do.
He also mentioned that “seeing it in type“ helped him
rewrite because “it's not your writing anymore, it's like
paper writing, and the words are not your handwriting.
That makes you more critical.“

The writing of Dave's that was primarily studied for
this research was a fictionalized story loosely based on a
personal experience; Dave hoped to submit it to the campus
literary magazine for publication. Dave was quite
committed to it, and it had developed through work done
off and on over a period of four weeks. It originated as
a hand-written draft of six to seven pages, and then
passed through five revisions.
During the interviews I realized that the original

hand-written draft had been almost completely unused in
later drafts. From looking at it, it was obvious that

Dave had reread it and had made some minor changes in it,

80

but that these changes in no way approached the level of
change in later drafts. When asked if there had been any
point in the entire four month process where he felt the
writing was “lost,“ or could not tell where it was headed,
Dave identified the hand-written draft: “I said that
doesn't even approach anything that I'd like to do with
it, and so I just threw it away.“

Dave proved to be quite critical of his writing,
sometimes referring to parts he did not like as
“disgusting stuff.“ When we specifically discussed the
story, some of the strategies of writing and revising he
explained in the initial, general, interview showed
through. Thus, one of the first things he mentioned as we
looked over drafts of the story was how he had reread the
second draft for “character development“:

I went through this and I said to myself,
“I've got characters here. Now who are
they, and what are they? Does this give
any description of them at all?“ And it
didn't and I felt at that point that it was
important that I give some kind of
description of the characters.

Dave explained that when he reread his story he would
keep different criteria in mind, but sometimes returned to
a scene several times with the same criteria in mind.
However, he was explicit about not trying to deal with

more than one thing at a time: “I can get lost in

different things if I change back and forth, so I like to

81

keep my mind on one concept as I go through,“ he said.
Thus, in order to avoid getting lost while working on one
aspect of his writing, he would write notes to himself in
the margins about changes he wanted to make based upon
other criteria that he was not considering at the time.
Marginal notes he wrote to himself about future
changes he wanted to remember sometimes actually addressed
himself (as though talking to himself), and other times
looked like teachers' marks (e.g. “AWK,“ “DESCRIBE MORE,“
“REWORD' etc.). Once, in a section of the story in which
characters discussed something at length, he returned to
the dialogue to mark characters' names in the margins, as
if it were a script. When questioned about it he said:
“I went back and clarified for myself what was going on.
I established who was saying what to help me read a little
faster, and to separate who was saying what.“
Another problem Dave specifically looked for while

rereading was what he called “lazy“ or “easy“ sentences“:

Then there are attempts to go through and

eliminate easy sentences. Like there are

times when I'm writing and I can't think

how I want to put something, or I really

don't.know. Like I'll write lazy things

down. . . .kind of a catch-all sentence

that got me from point A to point 8 without

much effort. . . .and then I looked at that

and said “just reword it,“ and I give

myself little notes that I'm going

to come back and attempt to do something.

If I've got one thing in mind, say

character development, and I'm looking
through it and I come across something else

82

that strikes me as interesting, rather than
change my train of thought, I'll just write
something and come back to it so I can keep
in mind that I'm trying to do one thing.

Attempting to get Dave to generalize about his
process, he was asked how often he might reread a draft
and make changes in it. The answer was “probably three or
four, and each time I would do a little something else,“
explaining again that he did not feel he could make all
the changes he might want in one sitting, so he would work
on “character development“ in one sitting and “wording“
later, during another. “That's why I write notes to
myself sometimes -- so I can go back at a later time and
look for things like that and add things. . . .at the time
I'm so close to it that I know what changes I'm making.“

Dave explained that he continued to do such work

until he had the impression that

I've made some kind of significant
improvement or change in at least each
page. . . .I think in each page [you'll]
find some type [of] derserving change to it
-- some type of either manipulation of the
order or the actual writing. . . .When I
hit a dead-end on each page then I stop

and I rewrite it and type. Then when you
see it in type, then it becomes a
completely different story. Then, now it
becomes tough because you've got this basic
concept in your mind and you're limited to
your own ideas and your own thoughts as to
how you see this story develop. This same
story can be written a million different
ways by a lot of different writers, but you
have this sense of how it should be
written. . . .

 

83

Finally, the review of Dave's drafts indicated that
he sometimes moved from making minor kinds of changes in
one draft, to major changes in the next, to minor changes
in the next, and then back to major changes in the next.
Dave explained that he thought this approach helped him:

I think this stage is important to get

out of the way things that might influence
your ability to see what's wrong with the
story rather than what's wrong with the
gramatics [sic] or the structure. So in
this draft I attempt to really clean it up,
make it finished for its structure, then

I can look at this and I don't have to
worry about what the structure is. Okay,
it's all structured for me, now what does
it say. . .is it doing that?

D v '

As previously mentioned, the writing of Dave's that
was primarily studied for this research was a story.
Originally, it had been done for a course, but Dave was
now working on it in an attempt to publish it in the
college literary magazine. The story in final form was
about 1,750 words; it went through at least six revisions,
in which a new version was printed (the story was produced
using a computer and printer after the original
handwritten draft).

Dave's original draft was almost completely unused in
later drafts, so this original was not analyzed as the
others. After thinking about it, I came to classify this

original “false start“ draft in terms of a “macrostructure

 

84

consolidation“ (a change that affects a summary of a
text), because the entire original draft was, by the
writer's own explanation, consolidated into just a couple
sentences of the first paragraph of the second draft. In
short, the original six page, hand-written, draft was
reduced to just a couple sentences because the writer had
decided that the original was explaining the story too
much. As he explained:
Dave: Those two sentences essentially are
that whole paper.
Interviewer: The first sentences?
Dave: Yea, because this is [as] close as I
ever come to telling you what's
going to happen. The rest of it lets
you make that decision for yourself.
The results of the analysis of Dave's drafts using

Faigley and Witte's method of analyzing revisions appears

on the next page:

85

 

 

 

 

Table 1: Dave's Revisions
Draft Number 1 2 3 4 5 total
Wes
Formal Changes
Spelling 1 16 9 0 0 26
Tense 7 5 3 0 0 15
Abbreviations 0 0 0 0 0 0
Punctuation 0 77 37 4 3 121
Format 0 8 19 2 1 30
totals per draft 8 106 68 6 4 192
Meaning Preserving Changes
Additions 9 13 ll 3 3 39
Deletions 38 8 21 6 2 75
Substitutions 31 11 9 4 4 59
Rearrangements 2 4 0 0 l 7
Distributions 0 0 4 0 0 4
Consolidations 0 0 l 0 0 l
totals per draft 80 36 46 13 10 185
Isst:§ssed.§hsnses
Microstructure Changes
Additions 39 9 15 26 6 95
Deletions 75 11 26 4 9 125
Substitutions 14 6 9 8 0 37
Rearrangements 5 1 3 l 0 10
Distributions 0 0 0 0 0 0
Consolidations 0 0 l 0 0 1
totals per draft 133 27 54 39 15 268
Macrostructure Changes
Additions 0 0 2 5 1 8
Deletions 5 l l 0 0 7
Substitutions 16 l 0 0 0 l7
Rearrangements 0 0 0 0 0 0
Distributions 0 0 0 0 0 0
Consolidations 1 0 0 0 0 l
totals per draft 22 2 3 5 l 33
total changes 243 171 171 63 30 678

86

The review and analysis of Dave's writing process
revealed a great deal of revisions of varying kinds and
degrees. The first draft (not counting the original that
was mostly unused), shows barely a single line of its
six-and-a-half pages unchanged. The second draft, printed
out by computer, reveals much less complicated revisions.
The third shows a return to more complicated, but fewer,
kinds of changes, as do the fourth and fifth drafts.

These general observations of the drafts are supported by
the totals of changes as counted using Faigley and Witte's
method of analysis.

To begin generally by looking at all five drafts at
once, the most frequent kind of changes the writer made
was 268 text-based, microstructure changes (changes in
meaning that do not affect the sense of the whole text),
the most of which were deletions (125) and additions (95).

The second most frequent kind of change was surface
level, formal changes (192), the most of which were
associated with punctuating (121) and format or
paragraphing (30). I

The third most frequent change was surface level,
meaning preserving changes (185), the most of which were
deletions (75) and substitutions (59).

And the least frequent kind of change was the 33

text-based, macrostructure changes, (changes that do

87

affect the sense of the whole text), the most of which
were substitutions (17) and additions (8).

Much of what Dave said during the interviews about
focusing on a specific criteria while rereading and
revising his writing is supported by the analysis of
drafts. For example, in draft number one the writer made
only eight surface level, formal changes, but 133
text-based, microstructure changes. Then in draft number
two formal changes jump to 106, while microstructure
changes drop to 27. In draft number three, the priority
appears to reverse itself again, with formal changes
dropping to 68 (from 106), and microstructure changes
rising to 54 (from 27). This also supports the writer's
explanation during the interviews that he found it helpful
to remove what he called “nit-picking“ problems in the
writing so that it would be easier for him to see “major
problems.“ In short, what seems to be happening here is a
kind of back-and-forth movement between surface changes
and meaning changes.

However, on the other hand, the total changes show
another process as well: that is, a definite reduction in
the number of changes as the work continued from one draft
to the next. Thus, Dave made 243 changes in the first
draft; 171 changes in both the second and third drafts; 68
changes in the fourth; and 30 in the fifth. This suggests

that generally the writer is performing at least two

88

activities similtaneously while writing this story:

narrowing down the kind and number of changes as he works
from beginning to end, while at the same time occasionally
moving back and forth between kinds of changes
(selectively increasing and decreasing specific kinds of
changes). The numbers show, though, that while there is
some moving back and forth between several criteria, the
primary activity, generally and specifically, is a kind of
narrowing down.

More specifically, in draft number one the majority
of revisions were text-based, microstructure changes
involving additions (39), deletions (75), substitutions
(14), and rearrangements (5). These changes constituted
the greatest number of changes of one kind in any single
draft of the paper. Draft number one is also the draft in
which the most number of text-based, macrostructure
changes were made (22). Compared to Faigley and Witte's
results this is a high number of such dramatic changes,
but it is also somewhat misleading because just about all
these changes involved pronoun revisions the writer made
as he changed the paper from a first-person
autobiographical account to a third-person piece of
fiction. In other words, although changing pronouns (from
I to he, him, or a proper noun), seems minor, it was

actually altering the sense of the entire story.

89

In draft number two Dave was obviously concerned
about correctness, while he largely postponed attention to
other criteria. Thus, of 171 changes in draft number two
106 were surface level, formal changes, 77 of which were
punctuation corrections. Thirty-six other changes were
surface level as well, being only minor additions and
substitutions. And only 27 text-based, microstructure
changes occurred in the entire draft, in contrast to 133
in draft number one. Only two text-based, macrostructure
changes occurred in draft number two, in contrast to 22 in
draft number one.

In draft number three the writer continued to make
surface changes, 68 formal and 46 meaning-preserving
changes, but the number of text-based, microstructure
changes doubled from draft number two (from 27 to 54).
Three text-based, macrostructure changes occur in this
draft. Thus, while the total number of changes in draft
two and three are constant, the kinds of changes are quite
different and this result suggests that the writer is
consciously shifting his attention from one criterion to
another from draft number two to three.

In draft number four the writer's attention once
again shifts to meaning changes (44), as opposed to
surface changes (19). But it is also obvious that changes
in general are fewer, almost one-third fewer than in the

previous draft (63 changes in draft number four, and 171

90

in draft number three). It is also interesting to note

that text-based, macrostructure changes increased in the
fourth draft from three in the third to five in the
fourth, and that one of these changes was clearly intended
to alter the sense of the entire story.

In the fifth draft where a total of thirty changes
occurred, text-based, microstructure changes are again
most frequent (15). Ten other changes occurred in surface
level, microstructure changes, four in surface level,
formal changes, and one text-based, macrostructure change,
but this last revision was related to the text-altering
change mentioned in draft number four.

Since he was in the midst of writing this story, I
asked Dave if he would mind if I video-taped him while he
worked on it. I told him I wanted to see what he did
while he revised it, and I also asked him if he thought he
could “think out loud“ while he was doing it. He said he
thought he could, so I arranged it.

The taped session took place in an empty classroom.
Before Dave arrived I set up the video cammera across from
the table where he would sit. When he arrived I briefly
explained again that I just wanted to see what he did as
he revised, and that he should try to “think out loud“
while doing it. I told him he could take all the time he

wanted, and that he just needed to come and get me in my

91

office when he was through. I offered to shut and lock
the door when I left, and he accepted the offer.

The video tape shows Dave revising the fourth draft
of his story. When replayed it revealed that he did
reread and revise this paper with certain criteria in
mind. However, the taping also revealed, at least during
this particular revising session, that he did not focus on
one particular criterion quite as exclusively as he said
he did during the interviews.

He did start by saying at the beginning of the taped
session that he had a particular “intention“ in mind for
his paper and how he hoped it would affect readers, and he
did begin rereading it to himself with the idea of
evaluating his characters and “how vague“ they were so
that he could “touch that up.“ But within a minute or two
he was also explaining that he might do some brief
“rewordings“ while at the same time work on characters.

The pattern of his revising during this video-taped
session consisted primarily of 20-40 second periods in
which he reread a part, then changing something on the
page, or writing a note to himself in the margin about how
he should change it at a later time. He continued to work
in this way, slowly moving through the draft from
beginning to end. While finishing up some changes on the

last page, he returned to an earlier page and crossed out

92

four to five lines, but did not say anything about what he
was thinking at the time.

While thinking aloud about what he was doing, Dave
mentioned several different reasons for making changes.

In his own words what had been written was “too general,“
“awkward,“ “overkill,“ “sounds bad,“ “cheap,“
“unrealistic,“ “not flowing,“ “stiff,“ and “mushy.“

Notes he wrote to himself in the margins occurred
much more often during the video-taped revising session
than their mere appearance on the pages had suggested. In
fact, it seemed that many of the revisions Dave intended
for the draft did not actually take place during this
session, but were noted in the margins as work that he
wanted to perform later. I concluded that one possible
explanation for this was that it was simply easier to note
the kind of change to take place on the page and
incorporate it later using the computer than it was to
actually write it in-between the lines. It should be
noted, though, that Dave did add a scene on the last page
of the draft, consisting of several paragraphs, but
probably did so because there was the room to write it at

the bottom of the page.

Conclusions

It is not surprising that Dave, according to his own

explanation, did not learn much about revising, and

93

writing as a process in high school. The fact that
current professional theory, research, and practice about
the teaching of writing is not prevalent in K-12 schools
is a problem widely acknowledged. So it is not too
surprising to hear Dave say that he was not taught much
about how to revise.

Dave himself dramatically compared his high school
writing experience to his college writing experience as
the difference between being shown, and being ehenn_heg.
This amounts to the difference between showing students
what good writing is, and showing students one way hex
good writing is written. This difference seems to have
made all the difference in the world to Dave.

What is also surprising is that Dave was so
influenced to change his writing habits by the reading of
a single article, the Donald Murray article on revising.
Personally, I would not have guessed that a single article
could have had such an influence over a student, but
Dave's frequent references to it during the interviews
suggests it had a strong affect on him and how he writes.
(We can only take Dave's word that he had just recently
begun to revise his writing, and there is no reason to
doubt him.) The combination of being “shown how,“ with
writers' testimonies about how they revise, appears to
have been an important part in Dave's change of attitude

about his writing. Other influences, such as that of

94

audience (peer editing), and topic (familiarity to,
interest in), positively affected Dave's process and this
tends to support other research previously done (Beach
1979, Monahan 1984).

Dave not only appeared strongly influenced by the
Murray article, but also strongly_influenced by his
writing teachers in general. His marginal notes to
himself about changes he wished to incorporate in later
drafts often resembled teachers' “corrections,“ and were
even occasionally written in English teacher code such as
“AWK.“ In fact, I sometimes got the impression while
interviewing Dave about his writing that I was hearing
previous English teachers talking about writing rather
than him; this was usually because of the vocabulary he
chose to use, which occasionally sounded like words he had
picked up from teachers.

Dave's process of writing the story studied for this
research was marked by his conscious movement back and
forth between making surface level changes and text-based
changes, while at the same time making fewer total changes
until he was satisfied with his writing. Dave explained
that periodically eliminating minor problems in his drafts
helped him see major problems. For the most part, Dave
had a clear understanding of what he was doing when
revising: he had certain criteria in mind as he reread,

and he usually stuck to it when revising.

95

However, the video-taped session showing him revising
draft number four also revealed that he was not quite as
concerned with individual criterion as he thought he was,
because he wound up making more than one kind of change
(according to his own criteria), during one rereading. On
the other hand, his contention that he would sometimes
clean-up a draft of its mechanical errors, before
preceding, as a way to more easily see more complicated
problems in his writing, was clearly revealed by the
results of the analysis of his drafts. This was obviously
something he did, and knew he did, when rewriting.

The numbers of changes Dave made, resulting from the
application of Faigley and Witte's method of analysis
showed a writer making a third of the total changes in the
very first draft, and a great majority (585 of 678), in
the first three drafts out of a total changes made in five
drafts. In looking at specific kinds of changes, most
macrostructure, microstructure, and surface level changes
were made in the first couple drafts as well. On the
whole, total changes decreased on a relatively even rate.

In following and analyzing Dave's drafts from the
beginning of his process to the end, a kind of classic
revision is revealed, the kind that is probably most
familiar, most expected, and most taught of any at all:
namely, while chaos seems apparent in many of the early

drafts, it is eventually and methodically eliminated as

96

the writer narrows and whittles away at meaning to the

point where late drafts have few changes.

97

P of' : Jan

Jan is a thirty-five-year-old returning student whose
writing was studied for this research. She was referred
to me by a colleague. During the time I interviewed and
studied her writing, she was writing with the idea to
publish some of her writing in the college literary
magazine. Some of the writing she did originated as
assignments for her English class.

The initial review and study of Jan's writing
process, made during her interview sessions, revealed that
she was generally a “rewriter,“ as Opposed to a “reviser,“
meaning that she would literally rewrite pages of a draft,
rather than introduce changes to a page of a draft.
However, it was noted that she did sometimes reread and
introduce changes to a page rather than literally rewrite
the whole thing and speculation attempting to understand
this shift in her approach is included.

Generally, Jan explained how she went about writing
in the following way:

I just try not to think about what I'm
writing. I just let my hand move. . . .
That's probably when I write the best --
when I can just let my mind not worry about
what I'm doing. Then I go back and say,

“Well, gosh, that's not possible.“ So I
go back and cross that out.

98

Although not especially sure of herself as a writer,
Jan exhibited much interest in her writing. She admitted
she liked to write and that, “if you [the reader] enjoy
reading it that's nice. The reason I write is for me. If
you like it, fine; if not, too bad.“ Toward the end of
the interviews she also concluded that her job as a
typesetter had influenced her interest in writing:

I always thought that I wanted to write,
and at work certain people just had a way
of putting things together, and you'd sit
there and type it up, and you'd stOp. I'd
end up stopping typing and reading two or
three pages because I liked the way
whatever he was saying, however he said it,
and it kind of got to be in love with the
words and how they got to be put together.

Being out of school for over ten years had not
diminished her memory of the writing she had done in high
school. She admitted that she had not been required to
write much in school, and that when she had written it was
“what he [the teacher] wanted to hear.“ Actually, she had
been in honors English classes throughout high school, but
the only paper she could remember writing was “something
on Shakespeare, but that was just a cataloging [of] all
his plays -- nothing that I wrote on it.“

Thus, something in her college writing course that
had influenced Jan was that her instructor allowed

students some freedom in the topics they wrote about. “I

picked what I wanted to write about, and the style I

99

wanted to write about it in. It didn't seem like it was
an assignment. It was something that I enjoyed doing
because I picked what I wanted to do.“ Other times she
admitted that when she did not like a topic she had “a
real hard time,“ and “just wanted to be done with it
because I didn't want to write it.“

Another classroom influence Jan talked about was that
her instructor showed writers' revisions on an overhead

projector:

I don't know why that helped, but it did.
It was like finding out other people went
through the same thing -- that it was okay
to make a mess of it. I don't know why but
I was really interested in that. . .I don't
think I understood up until that point what
it meant to revise. When I thought of
revising I thought of rewriting the whole
thing, and it couldn't be the same, the
paragraphs couldn't be the same, you
couldn't take a chunk of this and say, “I
really like this,“ and leave it in. When I
saw that, Oh you can like a particular part
of something and you can save that or you
can change a word here and there, then it
just seemed to click in.

Actually showing revisions then, appeared to have had
quite an influence on Jan's understanding and perception
of writing and rewriting. For as Jan explained, “Once I
found out how to revise something, how some people do it,
then it was like, 'Okay, let's try it that way. Because
no one's terribly critical, you can go and do something
completely off the wall, something you wouldn't normally

dare to do.“

100

When asked if reading about how to write and revise
influenced her writing (as it apparently had with Dave),
Jan admitted that although she had liked her textbook, and
although the advice in the book made writing seem like
“something I can handle,“ actually reading about how one
might revise did not help:

I don't think it helped that much to read
that chapter on revision. I think I had to
see it done.

Jan also explained that she sometimes had certain
people read her drafts as she wrote, but that she was very
particular about who she shared it with and what kind of
response they gave her. These readers were trusted
individuals because she explicitly stated that she would
only let “certain people read my work.“ In one case she
explained that although the reader was someone she
trusted, she had to “train“ the reader to give her the
kind of response she wanted:

I gave it to my girlfriend and she
corrected all the spelling, all the
grammatical errors, and I thought, “Don't
do it; rip it in half and give it back. I
just wanted to know what you thought about
it.“ I kind of had to train her not to do
that. Now she doesn't try to correct it at
all.

However, what was probably the single biggest

classroom influence on her writing according to Jan was

that she felt her instructor had not been overly critical

101

of her writing, especially in the beginning of the course.

With her it was a matter of “confidence“ in her writing,
and the fact that her confidence had not been “crushed“
because “somebody came down really hard on my writing.“
When asked to try to describe how she wrote, Jan
explained that she always tried not to think too much
about what she was saying while she wrote, but that she

did think a lot about it when she was nee writing:

Once I start to write a paper, once I get

a first draft down, then it never leaves
me. While I'm working at work or doing
anything I can go back and start thinking
about it, like “Oh yea, I know what I can
do.“ Write down my idea on a piece of
paper or something. Then I can go home --
this is weird -- I can come up with an idea
while I'm working and remember it, then
I'll go home and turn everything off and
replay that idea over and over and over
again until I can go back to that thought.
I'd write down a sentence or two so I would
remember a thought, then I'd just play it
over in my head all day long until I got to
a point where I could sit down and write
something.

Jan knew she was a rewriter, a recopier of the whole
draft, whether it really seemed to need it or not. In
fact several times during the interviews she referred to
herself as a “perfectionist,“ and she explained that her
interest in perfection is why she often rewrote whole
pages instead of introducing changes on the page:

Sometimes I just throw things out in the

middle and start over again because I
didn't like it. Then usually the final

102

draft will be a combination, and I'll say
“Okay, this wasn't as bad as I thought it
swas,“ and I'll go back and take that, use
pieces of it or, say there was an idea in
this paper that I wanted to develop, but
I didn't get it, and so I said, “I can't
work it out here. I'm going to take a
completely different approach.“

But sometimes she admitted that the tiniest mistake
might force her to rewrite the whole thing:

I tend to want everything neat and if

I make a mistake or misspell a word I'll
start over again. But maybe I'm starting
to break that habit because that's not
really a good habit. It's not anything I
would recommend to anybody else because
it ruins my creativeness.

When I first started to interview Jan she had already
published an essay in the college magazine, and was then
just finishing work on a story, which was submitted to the
next edition of the magazine as well. The essay had
originated as an assignment for a class, but after it
served that purpose Jan decided to continue working on it
to submit to the college magazine. Fortunately, she had
saved all the work she had done on the essay that had been
published, and I was interviewing her while she was
completing work on the story.

The story Jan was finishing up was one in which she
was very personally involved. She explained that she had
had “an idea in my mind how I wanted it to feel, and in

the end it came close to that,“ but that she also usually

did not “know where it's going.“ In fact she said that

103

after the first draft she “didn't even want to put names

on it because it was so much me.“ But she did, and
continued to be very committed to it. She explained that
when she started it she said to herself that “this is
going to be the one I write that's perfect. I'm going to
work on it and work on it until I really like every part
of it. The punctuation and everything is going to be
really perfect.“

The writing of the story, titled “Elizabeth,“ caused

Jan a lot of trouble:

At some point “Elizabeth“ fell completely
.apart. It was three times longer than it
turned out to be and the sequence was all
screwy. One part would fit and the next
part wouldn't. . .I would read a paragraph
and say, “Okay, I like this paragraph or I
dislike this paragraph.“ If I disliked the
paragraph what do I have to do to make it
something that I liked? I would forget
about the rest of the paper and just work
on that one paragraph. And after I'd do
that with two or three paragraphs, I would
tie it all together and read it and if it
flowed smoothly I left it alone and if it
didn't I would work on it.

The drafts of the story appear to have gone through
different kinds of revisions: at first there are few
changes from one version to the next, but then in later
drafts many changes occur:

When I first started writing “Elizabeth“ I
didn't know what I was writing. I didn't
know where I wanted it to go, and I didn't

know what I wanted her to say, and so I
kept building up the story. Then I finally

104

got something that I liked and it was a
person. Then I went back and said, “It's
got to have more.“ So once I got the
character all established and once I could
kind of see her in my mind, then I wanted
her to grow. I think I was trying to
figure out something for myself. The first
draft was very personal, and then I
separated myself from it because I didn't
want anybody else to see that.

In fact “building up“ is a technique that Jan seemed
to rely on for much of her writing. In another story she
had written that she showed me during the interview, the
same kind of process revealed itself, and when I asked if
she had been starting the story over again from scratch
she said, “No, it's actually growing. It's getting longer
every time I write it. . .It's like this one was the
skeleton, and every time I wrote it, it ended up with more

flesh on it.“
An '5 an' D a ts

A review of the work Jan did on the first essay she
published, “The Best Place of All,“ revealed that at first
she did literally rewrite drafts. In fact, there is very
little similarity between what is said in draft number one
and what is said in draft number two. It is as if the two
drafts are really two different approaches to the same
tOpic, with little connection between the two. Both
drafts one and two have only a total of 15 and eight

changes respectively.

105

Draft number three is a typed version of draft number

two, while draft number one appears to have been
completely abandoned. Draft three shows some changes
made, mostly corrections, additions and some
substitutions.

Draft number four is also typed. A few more changes
have occurred, mostly surface level. This draft is a
little longer than draft number three.

Jan submtted the next draft to her instructor and the
response from the instructor was encouraging and positive
(one of things that Jan mentioned that influenced her
writing).

The sixth draft is also typed with some minor changes
made in it. Then an interesting development occurs: Jan
returns to handwriting. A one-and-a-half page handwritten
draft of entirely new ideas, not related to ideas in any
previous drafts. Then a seventh draft, handwritten again
-- a rewrite of the fifth draft that incorporates some of
the additional writing done after draft six.

An eighth draft, also handwritten, rewriting the
sixth occurs next. Then a ninth draft followed by the
final draft, typed.

The results of the analysis of Jan's drafts of this
essay using Faigley and Witte's method of analyzing

revisions appears on the next page:

106

Table 2: Jan's Revisions

Draft Number 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 total
Serfaee Cnanges

Formal Changes

 

 

 

 

Spelling 10 2 8 7 2 8 4 1 0 0 42
Tense 0 0 0 0 0 2 0 l l l 5
Abbreviations 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 l 1
Punctuation 0 0 l4 6 3 l l 3 2 2 32
Format 0 0 0 2 0 2 6 0 0 0 10
totals per draft 10 2 22 15 5 13 ll 5 3 4 90
Meaning Preserving Changes
Additions 0 0 l 2 l 3 1 3 2 0 13
Deletions 0 0 l 6 0 2 3 4 1 3 20
Substitutions 5 2 5 7 3 2 7 6 3 3 43
Rearrangements 0 0 1 2 0 0 3 2 l 0 9
Distributions 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 l 0 l
Consolidations 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
totals per draft 5 2 8 l7 4 7 14 15 8 6 86
T x -B s d C a s
Microstructure Changes
Additions 0 0 4 13 2 23 18 16 6 26 108
Deletions 0 l 3 12 2 l 23 14 ll 7 74
Substitutions 0 2 3 1 0 l 31 13 5 3 59
Rearrangements 0 0 0 2 0 0 1 3 4 0 10
Distributions 0 0 0 2 0 1 2 3 2 1 ll
Consolidations 0 0 0 3 0 l 3 2 1 1 ll
totals per draft 0 3 10 33 4 27 78 51 29 38 273
Macrostructure Changes
Additions 0 1 3 4 0 4 6 0 0 2 20
Deletions 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 3 6 l 10
Substitutions 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 l 0 1
Rearrangements 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 l 0 1
Distributions 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
Consolidations 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
totals per draft 0 1 3 4 0 4 6 3 8 3 32
total changes 15 8 43 69 13 51 109 74 48 51 481

107

As previously mentioned, Jan's writing process

revealed a writer who seemed to prefer to rewrite a whole
page rather than introduce any change to that page, and
the analysis of her drafts using Faigley and Witte's
method supports that observation. However, Jan also
appeared to be going through some kind of transition in
her writing process. This appeared so because first, she
realized she was rewriting the same thing over again
without changing it too much, and even said herself that
she thought it was not an efficient process. Second, she
appeared to be attempting to change that process as the
results of the review and analysis of her drafts of this
essay shows.

In looking at all ten drafts at once, the most
frequent kind of changes the writer made was 273
text-based, microstructure changes (changes in meaning
that do not affect the sense of the whole text): the most
of which were additions (108) and deletions (74).

The second most frequent kind of change was surface
level, formal changes (90), the most of which were
spelling corrections (42).

The third most frequent change was 86 surface level,
meaning-preserving changes (changes in meaning that
paraphrase, and do not change, existing meaning), the most

of which were substitutions (43) and deletions (20).

108

And the least frequent kind of change was 32
text-based, macrostructure changes (changes that do affect
the sense of the whole text), the most of which were
additions (20) and deletions (10).

The pattern of Jan's process on this particular essay
is one in which she writes a draft, makes few changes on
it and then writes a new draft based on the first but not
actually a “revision“ of it as is commonly understood --
it seems more of a rewrite based on her memory of it.

This seems to be the case because changing any part of the
first draft does not seem important at this stage in her
process. The same thing happens with the second draft.

In the third and fourth drafts the number of changes
introduced into the drafts increases, but in the fifth
draft the changes decrease almost to zero (a total of 9).

But then the changes in the drafts begin increasing
again, the “building up,“ as Jan described it, to 51
changes in draft number six, and 109 changes in draft
number seven. It is important to note here that it was
between drafts number six and seven that Jan stopped the
process to compose an entirely new writing, a kind of
elaboration of ideas in the previous draft, parts of which
are then incorporated into the seventh draft.

Generally, the total changes Jan made during the
writing of the ten drafts of this essay begins slowly. In

the first draft, f or example, she made a total of only 15

109

changes, ten of which were corrections in spelling. The

second draft, based upon the first but not a literal
rewriting of it, contains only eight changes. The third
and fourth drafts, actual revisions of the second, contain
more changes -- 43 and 69 respectively. But then the
fourth only contains 13 total changes, most of which again
are surface level. The sixth, seventh, and eighth drafts
contain the most changes of all -- 51, 109, and 74
respectively.

The kinds of changes made during this process reveal
that in the early stages of the writing, Jan seems most
interested in making surface changes on her drafts.
However, this is not all the rewriting that she was doing.
The differences between the first and second drafts are
almost the differences between two totally different
approaches to the same subject, almost as if she were
rehearsing different approaches to how she would write
about it. Thus, while the total changes that can be
counted using Faigley and Witte's method are minimal
between these early drafts, the difference between them is
great.

This is what appears to have happened between the
sixth and seventh drafts. Jan seems to have set draft
number six aside for the moment and set down a completely

new approach to the subject. An example may help explain.

110

In draft number six, at the end of the second paragraph on

page one, Jan wrote:

It's so quiet on the shore; just a few
people walking around, no loud summer
sounds.

Then, in the writing that occurred immediately following

draft six, Jan wrote in the first few sentences:

Waves washing the shores, sand in shoes,
dead fish on the beach, cold water,
undertows. The pier and the catwalks. The
tall grass that grows through the sand.
The persistance of the sounds of water,
wind, birds in the summer are muffled by
the people, radios blarring, hot summer
music, the guys playing frisbee over the
prettiest girls. The flirting and
whistling. There are so many people
laying, baking in the sun you can almost
hear the skin burning.

Obviously, this writing is not based on, or a revised
version of, draft six. Nevertheless, it is related to the
topic, and much of it then winds up incorporated into
draft number seven:

It's so quiet on the shore; just a few

people walking around, no loud summer

sounds. You know them, radios blarring,

people and their summer voices, loud,

happy, in a hurry to catch all summer has

to offer. There are so many laying in the

sun, baking. . .you can almost hear skin

burning!

Draft number seven, then, appears as a “conventional“

revision of draft six. However, in-between the two, an

entirely separate, 300 word, elaboration is written which

111

is then incorporated at various places in draft seven.

This is what appears to have happened between draft
numbers one and three as well.

It is also interesting to note that most of the
text-based, macrostructure changes the writer made during
this process occurred in the last few drafts, rather than
the first few. These are changes that, by definition,
affect the sense of the whole writing. Of the total
changes at this level, 20 of the total 32 were made in the
last four drafts, while only eight macrostructure changes
were made in the first four drafts. Since 20 of these 32
macrostructure changes were additions, it seems safe to
conclude that Jan's notion of “building up“ her essay as
she proceded was a fair assessment, even to the very end.

A video-tape of Jan revising another essay, different
from the essay analyzed and discussed here, generally
confirms that Jan would prefer to rewrite whole sections
of a draft, rather than revise writing previously written.

At first she skimmed the draft, and also reread
comments made on the draft by her instructor, saying that
this process “gives me insight into what I didn't get
across the first time.“ After rereading a section of her
draft and what her instructor had said about it, she then
set it aside and began writing on a blank piece of

notebook paper, explaining that she was going to write

112

about it “to cpen up what I think about it, and how I
didn't show it in this last paper.“

After a few minutes of writing like this, Jan stopped
at the end of the page and said:

After I've written some thoughts, I go

back over it and read what I've written

before and try to incorporate that, and

see how it would fit in and where'd be the

best place to put it in.
She then continued to write, continuing on to a second
page. A later analysis of this particular writing
revealed that what she was writing on page two was, again,
a kind of new version of what she just written on page one
-- a literal rewriting of the same topic, based more on
her memory of the previously written page, rather than
being based on a rereading and revision of that page. She
never flipped back to page one while writing page two,
even though they were obvious attempts to address the same
issue.

After finishing the writing on page two, Jan stopped,
drew a vertical line in the margin alongside what she had
just written, and said:

This is a general idea, but I don't
necessarily like the way it's worded yet.
But I'll leave it there, and start
something else, just because sometimes it's

better for me if I don't try so hard to get
everything perfect the first time through.

113

After a few more minutes of writing, Jan stopped,

skimmed what she had written and said:

I realize I've gotten off the track --

kind of on a soapbox. And now I try to

bring myself back to the main topic by

asking myself what all this has to do with

excellence [the subject of the essay].
And so she once again began to write, writing at the top
of a new page, “What does all this have to do with
excellence?“ She then listed four answers to her
self-imposed question, wrote several more paragraphs
underneath the list, and then stopped just past halfway
down the page. Then, on another piece of paper Jan began
writing about herself and how she is trying to achieve

exellence in her own writing. This takes up another half

page, and then she was done.

c 3' ns

Although an honor student in English in high school,
Jan appeared uncertain and timid about her ability to
write. This feeling seems to have been somewhat
alleviated by her college instructor who provided her with
encouragement and positive, constructive, responses. Jan
was convinced that this was conducive to her being able to
write well, and revise, and that this was probably most

influential compared to anything else.

114

Other contributing factors to Jan's interest in her
writing and revising were having more freedom of choice of
topic than she remembers having in high school, and
actually eeeing revised drafts of writers (mostly
professional), and getting the chance to talk about them
in class with her instructor. Jan stated that actually
being able to “see it done,“ rather than read about how
one revises was more effective for her.

Jan's process seems to be characterized by
intermigtence. She clearly knows when a draft does not
communicate what she wants it to, but she also has
difficulty in trying to change it, or revise it, so she
sometimes just starts over. She also seems to think that
this is not as efficient as it could be, because on
several different occasions she mentioned that her
“perfectionist“ approach was not an approach she would
recommend to other writers.

The total number of changes that occurred in Jan's
drafts reveal a complex combination of rewritings
(recopyings), and revisings. The pattern of the changes
in Jan's process of writing this essay is, generally, one
of building as she admitted herself. This is a process of
adding to, since the primary kind of change Jan performs
in her writing process is that of addition; nearly
one-quarter of the total changes she made during the ten

drafts of this essay were additions.

115

Beyond that observation, however, the analysis also

shows that at several points during her process she stOps
the adding-on to elaborate on some portion or point raised
in the previous draft; this stopping of her process of
adding on in order to write brand new, but related
elaborations, occurred after the first and sixth drafts of
this essay. It also appeared that the video taped
revision session revealed this same technique, but on a
much smaller scale.

Jan's process has little in comparison to the more
“conventional“ revising of Dave's, and shows little
evidence of the same kind of narrowing or whittling away
at meaning. However, this is not to conclude that Jan is
not clarifying herself and her meaning through her
writing; she just achieves it through a much different
kind of process. Dave narrowed his writing to more
closely communicate his intended meaning primarily by
changing it less and less until satisfied it said what he
wanted; Jan appears to “narrow“ her writing to more
closely communicate her meaning by adding to it, and
sometimes elaborating upon it, until satisfied with what
it says to readers.

Although Jan's process would be classified a
“detect/rewrite“ approach, according to Flower, Hayes and
others (1986), I must disagree that this is a process

generally employed only by “novice writers,“ or writers

116

who “try to say it again, say it differently with little
or no input from an analysis of the problem“ (26).
Clearly, the publishable quality of her writing, and the
way Jan reread and added to previous drafts, forces me to
conclude that the “detect/rewrite“ strategy, although
appearing inefficient, should not be dismissed as only the

strategy of novice writers.

117

P o ' e 3- S a n

Sharon is a recent high school graduate. Her first
semester of college she published some poetry in the
college literary magazine. At the time of this study,
Sharon was completing her second semester of a required,
two-semester freshman composition sequence. She was also
considering publishing more writing in the college
magazine, and it was some of this writing that was
reviewed and studied for this research. The writing she
was working on included fiction and non-fiction, although
it was primarily the non-fiction that was used for this
research.

After spending some time reviewing her writing
products and process, I realized that Sharon had just
completed a great deal of work on a personal essay about
religion. The work on this essay was used for this study.

Early in the interviews Sharon said that the first
thing she did when working on a paper was to “look through
and read it and I pretend I'm somebody else.“ However,
she also admitted that she “used to be terrified to reread
my own writing,“ but that she was getting better at it.
She explained that her writing course was helping her
rewrite by having students go over drafts in class and

talk about them:

118

I like to hear from other poeple how

complete they think it is or how much
they think it means. It generates

pressure on me, where I might be stuck.
I saw other kids' papers getting a lot
better after revising them, and thought
maybe I should try it. I was just so
afraid of what it would take.
Thus, Sharon was beginning to revise her papers more
than she had in the past, and even admitted that she had

not recently expected her papers to only need one draft:

It would be nice to be able to that,

but since I've started to figure out how

to revise, my writing comes out no where

near being right the first time.
When asked if she knew how or when she had begun to learn
how to revise her writing, Sharon was uncertain. She
explained that she did not know exactly how she had begun
to revise, but she did know that she had not revised her
writing much before college writing courses. She repeated
that she thought that reading other students' papers
during class editing sessions, and seeing their writing
improve due to revising was the only influence of which
she was aware.

When asked to generalize about her process, Sharon

said:

I write a paper about seventeen times I

think before I finally get down to typing

it. Then I read it again after I type it

to correct any typos or gramatical errors.

I think about it like it's somebody else's.

At least I try. It's easiest when it's
in type. When that one paper was in

119
Qlepley [the college magazine], it was just
like reading somebody else's paper.

And in one of the last interviews conducted with
Sharon, she revealed even more about how she reread her
writing when trying to revise it. The writing she was
working on at the time was another essay, this time about
the death of her sister. She was not happy with its
progress, and called it unfinished, even though it
appeared relatively complete, although still handwritten.

When asked why she thought of it as unfinished she said:

Because I wasn't really happy with it when
I read it. . .it really didn't communicate
what I wanted it to communicate. . .I
didn't like the ending at all, I could have
done more with it. . .it's too quick. . .I
just didn't feel done with it when I wrote
it. I can't really explain why.

However, in trying to pursue some more specific
response about why the piece seemed unfinished to her,
Sharon was asked if she was thinking about it in relation
to some audience. It was then that more information about

how she reread her writing was revealed:

Interviewer: When you say it doesn't
do what you want it to
do, are you thinking of
who will read it, or are
you thinking of yourself
--what it does for you?

Sharon: I think I'm thinking of
both. Mostly of what
other people feel when
they read it.

120

Interviewer: How it might affect a
reader?

Sharon: Yea. I tried to remove
myself and read it. It's
hard to remove yourself
from a situation like
that, but I tried to
remove myself and read
it. I don't know, I
just didn't get a very
good feeling of how
alone we were [at the
funeral], how disjointed
everything was.

Interviewer: It doesn't do that for
you yet? Or you don't
see it doing that for
your readers?

Sharon: No. I'm not really
sure. I'm not a Leel
reader of it [her.
emphasis].

Interviewer: Is that what you mean
when you say that you
remove yourself from it?
That you're trying to be
a reader of it as
opposed to the writer of
it?

Sharon: Yea. I try to do that
with a lot of my work.
With this it was almost
impossible. I guess
that's why I feel it's
not done, 'cause I
wasn't able to do that.

Again, I asked Sharon if there were any other
influences that encouraged her to rewrite, and this time
Sharon said that her instructor helped by:

telling me all the good things and not the
bad things [about her writing]. That's

121

the stuff I really want to hear about.

Like on my papers she always writes what's
good about it, and also what could use some
work.

The essay on religion, which was the writing by
Sharon primarily studied for this research, had been
difficult for her to write. She admitted that it was
probably one paper that had been the most difficult for
her to revise. She considered submitting it to the
college magazine for publication, but ultimately decided
that it was too personal a paper to share with such a wide
audience. When asked to explain what kind of trouble the

paper gave her, Sharon said:

I had myself stuck in this rut, you know.
I had written this thing, and I was
trying to look at what I'd written, and
it just wasn't working. . .It was
inconsistent. I'd start at the beginning
talking about how I didn't want to be
pointing a finger, and then I ended up
doing just that. . .It didn't fit with

my original statement that I wrote in

the beginning. It didn't fit my original
intentions, and I didn't like the way it
had changed [while writing it].

Sharon was then asked how she tried to deal with this

problem:

I shelved it more than one time. Then I
took out some paper and started looking
for my original stuff -- drafts -- It was
totally different and I went through and
looked at my original drafts and looked
through some stuff. The second time I
wrote it -- I was much happier with that.
It was doing what I wanted it to do.

122

It was at this point that she decided to do some reading

on religion, but this complicated the process because what
she found in the reading did not compliment what she was

saying in her early drafts:

I started reading up on it. As I started
writing stuff down, I felt my opinion
changing. I didn't want to put that in the
paper, but that is way my thinking was
starting to go. It surprised me when I
went back and read through it all.

And later in the same interview, Sharon explained the
process of the religion paper's writing, but spoke more

specifically about it:

Sharon: that one has been
revised a lot --
Thousands of revisions.
There's one, two, three,
four, five, six drafts
[seven actually].

Interviewer: So there's about six
drafts? What happened
here, at the end of this
first draft? You went
back here and started
over again?

Sharon: After I did some
research I started
thinking more
differently.

Interviewer: Do you remember what you
were thinking when you
decided you needed to do
some library research?

Sharon: That's one of the first
things I did. I knew at
the beginning of the
paper that I didn't know

123

enough about it, so I
went and read some and
ended up reading way too
much.

Interviewer: Do you think you did
your rough draft before
you went to do some
reading?

Sharon: No.

Interviewer: Did you do the rough
draft nnlle doing the
reading?

Sharon: Yes. First I start out
in one direction, then
I'm sort of unsure, then
in the other direction
in the end. There were
things that I'd tack on,
like here where it's
different colored ink.

In short, what had happened is that just about in the
middle of her first draft Sharon had decided to do some
reading, so that when she got back to continuing the draft
she began it by writing, “Upon researching, I find my
thinking turning topsy-turvy.“ At this point she felt so
confused and angry about what she was beginning to say and
think in the paper, that it affected her writing of it:

In my initial drafts, when I got right
down to writing the drafts, I was just too
angry about things that were bothering me
to write a decent paper. . . .I was too
angry to make it work. Then I left it
alone for a while and brought it back out
and wrote some more on it and I was more
calmed down.

We then reviewed the second draft, and upon studying

it I realized it really was not a conventional revision of

124

the first, but rather a new approach to the same topic.

At the top of the first page of this second draft was
written the words “False start“ which were then crossed
out. Next to this the word “Keep!“ was written. When
asked if it was new writing or a revision of the first
draft, Sharon said:
Sharon: I think most of it's
new. It's a way to sort
of get into this I think
[pointing to the first
draft].

Interviewer: What do you mean by
that?

Sharon: It's kind of like an
introduction.

Interviewer: It's new writing?
Sharon: Yes.

Interviewer: Why did you call it a
“false start“?

Sharon: Because I didn't like
it.
Interviewer: Did you ever end up
using it? You've got
“false start“ crossed
out.
Sharon: Yes, I did. In the
final draft. It's in
there.
In fact, another so-called “false start“ followed
this one, although this false start had been reread and
revised, and contained many changes made on it. When

asked, Sharon described the process of working on the

125

second false start as, “Crossed out, wrote more, read it.
Crossed out, wrote more, read it.“

Sharon explained that the first false start seemed
too impersonal to her while the second false start seemed
too personal. Ultimately, the first false start became
the introduction to the paper in its final form; the
second one was used in the final draft as well.

Another characteristic of Sharon's process that was
exhibited during the review of her papers and the
interviews was how she often revised her papers by writing
various kinds of notes to herself in the margins. These
notes varied from one-word comments to full-blown notes,
and were different from actual revisions made in the
drafts.

Comments she wrote in the margins often appeared to
be reactions she was having to her writing while she
reread it. Thus, the pages' margins held comments such as
“expand,“ “later“ (referring to writing she wanted to
include at a later point in the paper), and
“uncomfortable.“ Sharon described these comments as, “On
the side. Something I'm thinking while reading it.“

Other comments written in margins at first looked
more like the result of someone else's reading of the
draft. These comments were actually written in the
third-person as Sharon referred to herself as “you,“ or

“Sharon.“ In fact when I first saw the comments I asked

126

her who was reading the drafts and writing comments to her

about them. When she explained it she simply said, “I

stick myself outside it.“

A l ' S a n' D a s

The results of the analysis of Sharon's drafts using
Faigley and Witte's method of analyzing revisions appears

on the next page:

127

Table 3: Sharon's Revisions

Draft Number 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 total
S ac an 3

Formal Changes

 

 

 

Spelling 2 13 7 3 0 4 0 29
Tense 0 7 2 1 0 2 0 12
Abbreviations 0 l l 0 0 0 0 2
Punctuation 0 3 6 2 0 l 0 12
Format 0 1 0 l 0 0 0 2
total changes per draft 2 25 16 7 0 7 0 57
Meaning Preserving Changes
Additions 0 ll 8 3 l 14 5 42
Deletions 1 22 15 14 2 26 2 82
Substitutions 3 21 9 15 2 16 8 74
Rearrangements 0 1 l 0 0 0 l 3
Distributions 0 S 0 0 l 0 6 ll
Consolidations 0 2 4 4 l 0 0 11
total changes per draft 4 62 37 36 7 56 22 223
Text-Beeed Qhengee
Microstructure Changes
Additions 1 23 15 l3 13 10 14 89
Deletions 4 25 11 10 8 5 5 68
Substitutions 2 7 3 1 9 3 7 32
Rearrangements 0 0 0 l 0 0 0 1
Distributions 0 l 0 0 3 0 1 5
Consolidations 0 2 0 2 2 1 0 7
total changes per draft 7 58 29 27 35 19 27 202

Macrostructure Changes

 

Additions 1 0 3 6 20 2 4 36
Deletions 1 4 2 0 l 0 0 8
Substitutions 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
Rearrangements 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
Distributions 0 0 0 0 2 0 0 2
Consolidations 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
total changes per draft 2 4 5 6 23 2 4 46

total changes 15 149 87 76 72 84 75 S28

128

The review and analysis of Sharon's writing process
revealed a complex series of rewritings, somewhat similar
to the process Jan employed.

To begin generally by looking at all seven drafts at
once, the most frequent kind of changes the writer made
was 223 surface level, meaning preserving changes (changes
that paraphrase existing concepts but do not alter them),
the most of which were deletions (82) and substitutions
(74).

The second most frequent kind of change was
text-based, microstructure changes (202), the most of
which were additions (89) and deletions (68).

The third most frequent change was surface level,
formal changes (57), the most of which were spelling (29)
and tense (12) and punctuation changes (12).

And the least frequent kind of change was the 46
text-based, macrostructure changes (changes that do affect
the sense of the whole text), the most of which were
additions (36) and deletions (8).

To review the actual drafts of Sharon's essay
provides more insight into the way in which it was
written. Draft number one, approximately 300 words long
was abandoned and originally labeled a “false start.“

Still, the draft was apparently reread since it shows a

129

total of 15 changes incorporated, two of which were at the
most complex level (macrostructure level).

Draft number two, approximately 2,000 words long, is
really not a revision of draft number one, but a whole new
approach to the same topic. This draft contains the most
changes of any of the seven drafts (149 changes), the most
of which were surface level, meaning preserving changes.
However, this draft was also labeled at the top of page
one as “Another false start“ by the writer. “Don't like
this angle“ is also written at the top of page one of this
draft.

While the first paragraph of draft three is actually
a revision of the first paragraph of draft two, the writer
does not follow through to conventionally revise draft
three as we might expect. The approach taken in the first
paragraph of draft three is recognizable as the same
approach in draft two, but Sharon had decided to expand
upon it, as a comment she wrote herself next to this
paragraph in the margin of draft two shows. But once she
had expanded upon the first paragraph in the beginning of
draft three, she does not appear to explicitly use draft
two's concepts again. In short, draft three starts out
like a “conventional“ revision of draft two, but it seems
that once the expansion of the first paragraph takes
place, the approach taken in the second draft is mostly

forgotten. However, draft one does not seem forgotten

130

anymore because a note Sharon wrote to herself at the top

of draft three instructs her to “use false start here“ as
an introduction.

Draft four does not yet incorporate the “false start“
as an introduction, and it does not appear to be based on
draft three, but rather based on the second draft -— at
least the first two pages of it. After the first two
pages, draft four no longer follows draft two and once
again becomes another new approach to the subject. This
draft does, however, contain an elaboration of an addition
made in the margin of page two of the third draft.

The fifth draft is typed and is six pages long. It
appears to be a combination of drafts one and three,
incorporating the original “false start“ draft as an
introduction, with the third draft then making up the
balance. It is within this fifth draft that the most
number of complex changes -- macrostructure changes that
affect the sense of the whole thing -- takes place. Also
within this draft some parts of the fourth draft are
incorporated.

Draft six is handwritten. A note at the top of page
one of this draft reminds Sharon to use “whole first page
here excluding final paragraph“ at the beginning of the
draft. This reminder is followed through upon, but the

remaining pages are another new approach, until the last

131

page which incorporates the last two paragraphs of the
fifth draft.

Draft seven, the final draft, is typed. It begins by
using the first page of draft five; then follows through
using draft six, until the last two paragraphs, which
orginated as the end of the fifth draft.

A video tape of Sharon revising a story shows that
she does generally make minor changes on previously
written drafts, but also had more complex changes in mind
as she reread the draft. Sharon described this process as
“marking parts to prepare it for rewriting.“

She began the revising by rereading the draft from
the beginning, but soon stopped reading straight through
and began to flip repeatedly from one page to the next as
if she were trying to keep something in mind. While doing
this, she made some changes between lines as she made her
way through the whole draft. When completing this
process, she returned to page one and began reading it
again, saying, “Now I'll check to see if changes work
better. Then I'll start rewriting it on different paper.“

It was at this point that she stopped, and spoke
directly about how “ideas come“ while she reread the draft
to herself. Then she took out some blank paper and began
to recopy the previously written draft.

Occasionally while recopying the draft Sharon stopped

and changed something just written, describing it as

132

“changing the language.“ She also took notice of

reminders written in the margins of the previous draft,
and it was at these points that she would generate whole
new sections of writing prompted by the reminders she had

made for herself.

Conclueiens

Sharon seems to have admitted that she is a “perfect
draft“ writer who has recently been employing more and
more revision as a way to improve her writing, rather than
relying upon a draft to come out right the first time she
attempts it.

But Sharon does not appear to revise her writing in
the ways we have come to expect. “Conventional“ notions
of revising tend to suggest the writer writes, rereads,
and then changes what has already been written. While
additions and substitutions contribute to this kind of
revising, we do not usually think of these activities as
being so dominate that writers are constantly starting
over each time they write a draft. But while this is not
a conventional kind of revising, is it any less a
revision?

Several different activities influenced Sharon to
revise her writing. Positive encouragement, readings, and
comments made by her instructor helped her for one thing.

The fact that her writing would be read by peers helped

133

her, as she herself explained, by giving her an idea of
how complete her writing is, or what it means to readers.
However, she also explained that even if as trusted a
reader as her sister disagreed or disliked her writing,
she would proceed with it if she liked it.

During the interviews with Sharon she said that, “I
write a paper about seventeen times before I finally get
down to typing it.“ Although this is obviously an
exaggeration, it appears this is a somewhat accurate
generalization about how Sharon wrote the essay studied
for this research.

Literally, Sharon wrote the essay on religion seven
times. In fact, she wrote the essay from scratch more
often than she revised drafts of it. In the third draft
she revised the first paragraph of draft two, then wrote
eight new pages; in the fourth draft she revised the first
one-and-half pages, then wrote three new pages; in the
fifth draft she began by revising the first parts of
drafts one and three, then finished by writing one to two
new pages of writing at the end; in the sixth draft she
used most of the first page of draft five without revising
it at all, then wrote four pages of new writing except for
the last two paragraphs, which came from draft five; and
the final draft is probably the most “conventional“
revision of all, using the first page of the fifth draft,

and a revision of the sixth draft, except for the last two

134

paragraphs, which came from the end of draft five. In

short, Sharon's process is marked by the tendency to
“start over,“ and although it appears she did not base one
draft upon a preceding draft, there is evidence that she
occasionally calls forth from memory previously written
passages to incorporate them in new ways.

However, Sharon's process really seems more
complicated than one in which she just keeps starting over
and over again until she feels finished. While the drafts
are not generally dependent upon one another, they appear
to contribute to the final product in a cumulative kind of
way. Like Jan, Sharon's process is characterized by
adding on; but Sharon's process is different in that she
adds on throughout the entire process, and what is added
on often seems quite new compared to what has been written
before it.

Sharon realized what she was doing. Her comments
such as the one previously mentioned about writing a paper
“seventeen times,“ and how she described her process as
one in which she was always “tacking stuff on“ shows she
basically understood how she wrote.

However, occasionally Sharon inserted into one of
these new writings a sentence or paragraph called forth
from an earlier draft, and not always from the draft
immediately preceding the one she was working on at the

time. This tends to suggest that although she was usually

135

writing brand new approaches to the same subject, she was
also capable of calling forth from memory “old“ passages
from earlier drafts, almost as if she had all her previous
writing in mind at once and was cutting and pasting it in
her head -- revising, adding new pieces, and deleting old
pieces in her head as much as on paper.

Sharon wrote extensive notes to herself in the
margins of her papers to help her revise, by reminding
herself about what she wanted to do in future drafts.
These notes were apparently reread later because she
usually ended up following her own advice in one way or
another, although her new drafts were not conventional
revisions of preceding drafts. Sharon also said that
typing her papers helped her revise, because it helped her
become more objective.

Both these activities -- typing drafts, and notes she
wrote herself -- also influenced (or were influenced by),
Sharon's ability to detach herself from what she had
written. In fact, Sharon seems to have been successful at
detaching herself from her writing because she tried to
see it from readers' points of view. It was this strategy
that prompted Sharon to write notes to herself in the
third person, referring to herself as “Sharon,“ so that it
appeared another person had read the drafts. And it was
the leek of this position that kept Sharon from revising

and finishing another essay she was writing at the time

136

(on the death of one of her sisters), because as she said,

“I'm not a {eel reader of it yet.“ It is also important
to note that, at least in the writing of the essay studied
for this research, Sharon did not write notes that
referred to herself in the third person until the fifth
and sixth drafts. She did, however, write notes to
herself throughout her process, they just were not always
cast in the third person.

The numbers of changes Sharon made in the writing of
this essay, using Faigley and Witte's method of analysis
reveals a writer making the largest single number of
changes in the first couple drafts, but then making a
large number of changes throughout the rest of her
process until she felt finished. The numbers also show
that a majority of the most complex changes Sharon made
during the writing of this essay (26 macrostructure
changes out of a total of 46), were edditione that came in
the last three drafts. This statistic tends to confirm
the primary characteristic of Sharon's process: that of
relying on new writing, at least based on her memory of
previous writing -- other times entirely new -- that is
used almost as if she was starting over, several times.
Other times the new writing is incorporated into the old.

The video tape of Sharon revising a story showed her
making some changes to a draft, but spending most of her

time rec0pying the draft. While rec0pying this draft she

137

added sections of brand new writing that were sometimes
suggested to her by notes and reminders she had written
herself when rereading the previous draft.

Sharon's process, in general, seems influenced on the
one hand by her habit of expecting her writing to come out
“right“ the first time she writes it, and on the other
hand by some new strategies she is attempting to employ
about rereading and revising her writing. Perhaps because
of these differing influences, Sharon's process is marked
by times when she tries to reread and revise previously
written drafts, but at other times when she relies on
generating whole new passages, even whole new approaches
to the same topic.

In general, what seems most important about Sharon's
writing is that she appears to literally rewrite each new
draft, but actually goes through a complex process of
adding on to drafts “new“ writing that is either
explicitly or implicitly related to what was said in these

previous drafts.

Prefile 4; Carl

Carl is another recent high school graduate.

138

He was

recommended for the study by his freshman writing

instructor because he had expressed an interest in trying

to publish some of the writing he had done for class in

the college magazine.

Carl's high school writing experience had been

limited to writing papers about literature and a research

paper or two and he had found this work discouraging:

Interviewer:

Carl:

Interviewer:

Carl:
Interviewer:

Carl:

Did she [his senior high
English teacher] give
you specific things to
write about?

Poetry.

You had to write about

poetry? Was that it?
Yes.
Alneye about literature?

I never wrote anything
else. When you have
such stringent
guidelines, it didn't
give you a whole lot of
encouragement.

In fact, encouragement was not something Carl came to

expect from his senior high English teacher; rather, Carl
found her to be exactly the opposite, and during the

beginning of the first interview he often referred to his

139

lack of confidence in himself that seemed to stem, at

least in part, from his high school teacher's attitude:

When I was in high school I had no
confidence in myself. And that was almost
the thing that my English teacher projected
too. 'Cause she said when “you get to your
college class, most of you will probably
get C's“. . .That really scared me at the
time. I expected to come here and pull
maybe a 3.0 or so, and it's been quite
different from that.

From what Carl describes, his senior English teacher,
although requiring drafts of papers, adhered to the old
notion of teaching writing through the “thesis sentence“
approach. Carl also mentioned that it did not seem to him
that his teacher thought much of writing drafts, so he was

not too impressed with draft writing either:

She was the type of person that just sat
down and wrote something and it was good.
She said [when she was] in college, that's
the way she did it. . .She didn't do it
[revise] herself, but she wanted us to.
Her main stress was, “This is what a
paragraph looks like, and these are the
rules to follow.“

And later in the interviews, Carl summarized his

attitude toward his high school writing class:

I just wrote my thesis and did this and did
that, and threw out anything that was against
the rules. That usually got me A- or a 8+
paper. That's really what she graded on.

She didn't grade on the actual writing itself.
She just stressed the mechanics of it.

140

The difference then, between Carl's high school and
college writing experiences seems to have had something to

do with his chance to commit himself to his writing:

As far as high school and college, I guess
she [his senior high English teacher]
wanted us to do revisions, but we revised
to make the paper better. Now I'm doing
the same thing here, only I guess I'm
thinking about it in different ways, and
dealing more with myself.

When Carl's writing was reviewed and discussed with
him in the initial interview, I discovered that he often
began by writing out what he called “goals“ for the paper
he was about to start. The paper he was working on at the
time was an essay about technology and how we sometimes
rely too heavily upon it (Carl was an engineering
student), but it did not begin that way. At first, Carl
was not certain what the “perspective,“ as he called it,
would be for this essay, and this seemed to be a pattern
he had been through before. In a journal he was required
to keep for class, he had written about it:

I want my heart and soul in this paper.

Not necessarily in spirit, but at least

in blood and sweat. I've been disappointed
with my last paper. I'll give it a little
more time and try for a different
perspective. Once I find the right
perspective, it should really go nice, but
until then . . .Once I get going I'm fine.
It's the starting out that gives me so much

trouble. This has given me trouble all
semester.

141

In fact, Carl so relied upon writing these “goals“

for whatever paper he was working on at the time, that he
once even faked the success of the written goals to help

him get started:

One time I wrote -- I had no idea of what
I was going to do [in the paper] -- and I
just wrote that I knew what I was going to
do. I didn't say specifically what I was
going to do, but I went through and wrote
all these things down like I was going to
do all these things to this paper and it
was going to be so great. . .I was just
making up lies, like to just kind of kick
it in gear. . .I was just getting so
frustrated so I said, “Hey, I'm really
doing great on this.“

When asked about how he thought he got papers written
in general, Carl explained that he would often stop
writing a draft in order to write down tangential ideas on

separate pieces of paper:

If something just pops into my head that
may be tangent to something that I'm
writing on another sheet, I'll just grab
another sheet and start writing about that.
In this particular time [the essay on
technology], I came up with ideas that I
wanted to use in a different part of the
paper, other than what I was thinking about
at the time. I thought I just better quick
write it down before I lose it. Whenever I
have anything that just comes to mind
sometimes , it may not have a lot to do
with it, but I write it down anyway.

Maybe I'll start to change my feeling about
it, and it will fit in later.

My review of Carl's writing revealed that he made

marginal notes to himself about changes he wanted to make

142

in revisions of his drafts, and that he had even devised

his own coding system for incorporating the changes:

Interviewer:

Carl:

Interviewer:

Carl:

Interviewer:

Carl:

Is that a note to
yourself?

Yea, I always write
little notes to myself,
like here there was
something I wanted to
bring out.

A little reminder to
yourself to change it
later?

So often I'll think of
these things and then
when I finish another
draft I think, “Oh darn.
I wanted to do this and
I forgot.“ Here are
some more [referring to
more motes written to
himself in margins].
There's a “B“ here.

Oh, I see. It's a code?
Yea. Then a “C“ here,
and I splice those in. .
.Sometimes I'll talk
[referring to what's
written in the marginal
notes] about the
problems I'm having or
talk about the situation
[the draft presents].

Another strategy Carl described that he employed when

he was revising was how he thought about his writing once

he began to revise it.

This amounted to his attempt to

detach himself from what he had written, and to become as

objective about it as possible:

143

When I first start I try to get down_as
much writing. . .and then I sort of jump

into my little revising suit and start
slashing and putting it together. . .If I'm
in love with my paper I can't chop it up.
I got to be pretty detached before I get
nasty and say, “Hey, this is not working.“
In the beginning when I'm writing I think
about it's sort of a puzzle that you're
making, and you got a lot of pieces but
you're not going to use them all. Some of
them fit, and some of them don't. You got
to decide which ones you're going to use
and scrap the ones that don't fit.

Other influences that Carl mentioned that helped him
while he revised were having drafts typed and audience.
Carl explained that, “If I think I need help on it [a
draft] I type it.“ Audience influenced Carl to revise,
but he described this as something that influenced him
more in the later stages of his process than in the

earlier.

A ' C ' D

Carl's essay studied for this research was on
technology. When asked to describe how he had written the

essay, Carl said:

I was typing up a draft of another paper
and then I started getting different ideas
about it so I decided to start over, so I
didn't use it. There were some things in
there from my journal that I decided to go
on and that was about the space shuttle
crash. Then I guess I had an idea when I
started the last paper about how I was
going to end it. I just went through

and got out as much of my rough draft
writing as I could and anything that I

144

thought would deal with it [technology] and

then I made up a rough draft of it and

cleaned that up a little, and then I

made another draft.
Thus, Carl had been working on one paper, when he began to
get ideas for another, using sections of the first in
other ways. According to this explanation, he never did
use the first paper in the way he originally thought he
would: that paper, although relatively finished, turned
into a kind of draft of the essay on technology. Carl
summarized the situation as: “In this particular paper I
started seeing other things that I thought would be more
effective so I started getting away from it. But I always
had something in mind while I was writing, whichever way I
was going.“

A review of the work Carl did on his essay on
technology confirms that he did begin it by using portions
of a previously written paper. A couple paragraphs on
Americans' overdependence upon today's technology (remote
control TV's and garage doors), used as an example in the
original paper, led Carl to consider doing an entire essay
on the subject.

The review of the work done on the essay revealed
that Carl had written much more informal writing to help
him write the essay than just the “goals“ that were

mentioned previously. In fact, as Carl worked on the

essay from the first draft through the seventh and final

145

draft, he periodically stopped writing and revising the
drafts to write informally about the essay's progress at
least five times. During another informal writing besides
these, Carl wrote informally and then wound up using parts
of the informal work in the next draft. However, it
appears that generating writing that might possibly be
used in his essay was not the primary reason for doing it.
Instead, he appears to have written these primarily to
help him clarify his thinking for when he was writing the
essay. In short, and as James Britton would label it,
this was classic “expressive“ writing.

In fact, before he even started draft one, Carl wrote
three expressive writings: one, already quoted here,
about trouble he usually had getting papers started: a
second writing explored various topics and angles the
essay might take; and the third was a writing labled
“Goals for this paper,“ in which he literally gave himself
a pep-talk about it:

I think I'll start out with the space

shuttle disaster, and look at that, then
draw that into our lives. This is GREAT!
I'm starting to get excited about this

paper. I can see things evolving in my

mind. The wheels are turning. This is

how I turn out some of my better stuff.

He then wrote an exploratory kind of draft, and in a

second draft revised the first part of it, but generated

new and additional writing and deleted sections of the

t...” __..I-‘1

146

first. After this he stopped to write informally of his

progress:

I've just about sewed up all the loose
ends, but one or two. Right in the middle,
when I change direction for my conclusion I
had to eliminate a few phrases that no
longer worked.

The third draft was typed, and although primarily

based on draft two, sections from draft one that had been

eliminated in the second draft were reinstated. Draft

If .-"'i1' 92». rm...“

four was typed and was turned in to his instructor.

However,

Carl was not satisfied that it was finished and

it was at this point that he considered submitting it for

publication.

He then wrote a four page expressive writing in which

he not only considered his progress, but wrote things he

apparently intended to use in the essay. Thus, the top of

the next draft, the fifth, contained a note he wrote

himself:

“Start with example“ -- the example generated in

the latest informal writing; almost no other revisions are

incorporated in this draft. Following this, another

expressive writing was done, in which Carl talked to

himself about his progress:

I guess I'm still sorting out my main
themes. I thought I had it pinned down.
Now I'm not so sure. I think I like the
things I'm doing with it. Where am I going
with it?

147

In the sixth draft Carl again incorporated few

revisions, but in the seventh and final draft he performed
several major changes to the whole essay.

The results of the analysis of Carl's drafts using
Faigley and Witte's method of analyzing revisions appears

on the next page:

:11"? Yin; “fl

Table 4:

Draft Number 1
Sur an 5
Formal Changes

Spelling
Tense

Punctuation
Format

148

Carl's Revisions

total

ONON

 

6
0
Abbreviations 0
0
0
6

total changes per draft
Meaning Preserving Changes

Additions 0
Deletions 4
Substitutions 10
Rearrangements l
Distributions 0
Consolidations 0

N OCOON
SD OHONO‘
l--' CHOOO
N OOOON

OOOWWN

0 00000

C 00000

20

H
OODb‘Dw

 

total changes per draft 15
T -B d n s
Microstructure Changes

Additions
Deletions
Substitutions
Rearrangements
Distributions
Consolidations

m OONONH
C) 000000
0 000000

13

H OOOl-‘OO

O OOOOOO‘

35

ooowwxo

 

U OOOHI-‘H

total changes per draft
Macrostructure Changes

Additions
Deletions
Substitutions
Rearrangements
Distributions
Consolidations

b COCONN
co OCONubN
N OOOOON
w OOOOWO

COCO-5H

w COOONH

N OOOOHH

25

OOOOO\H

 

O OOOOOO

total changes per draft

total changes 24

\l OOOOHO‘

15

C.” N OOOOON
U" 0 000600

34 30

ab 0 000000

U! be OOOOI—‘N

27
107

149

In looking at all seven drafts at once, the most
frequent kind of changes the writer made was 35 surface
level, meaning-preserving changes (changes that paraphrase
existing text without changing it), the most of which were
substitutions (19) and deletions (4).

The second most frequent kind of change was 27
text-based, macrostructure changes (the most complex kind
of change that affects the reading of the whole text), the
most of which were additions (21), and deletions (6).

The third most frequent kind of change was 25
text-based, microstructure changes, the most of which were
deletions (13), and additions (9).

And the least frequent kind of change was 20 surface
level, formal changes the most of which were spelling
(16), and tense (2) and punctuation (2).

The pattern of changes made during the writing of
this essay reveals most changes in general are made within
the first three drafts. In addition, meaning-preserving
changes and macrostructure changes were almost all made
within the first three drafts as well.

A video tape of Carl revising the sixth draft of this
essay reveals that he was still in the midst of making
major changes to the whole (three macrostructure changes

were identified between the sixth and final drafts).

150

He began this work by looking over all his previous
drafts, and by rereading the goals he had written for the
paper before he had even written the first draft, and also
the informal progress writing he had written after the
second draft. After then rereading the sixth draft, he
announced that he no longer liked the introduction and
would “probably add some to it.“ At this point he brought
out some blank paper and began writing, explaining that he
was going to “try to generate some new thinking,“
presumably about the introduction.

The writing that followed turned out to be a mixture
of a pep talk, a set of directives about what he wanted to
do next, and several passages that were obviously written
with inclusion into the draft in mind.

The pep talk came early in this writing. Right after
beginning the new writing, Carl stopped and said:

This is what I need. I'm beginning to see

different things in my mind that are good.
He then proceded to talk for five minutes about what he
planned to do with the essay. Then began to write again,
listing possible examples he could use to introduce the
essay. After a few more minutes of writing, he stopped
again and said:

I'm beginning to feel good about this

paper. It feels like I just opened a door.

It was all a matter of finding the right
key. It was all these different things

151

that I started to see. I guess that's what

I feel like when I start a paper: I can
have a topic and everything but I won't.

It's like I'm in this room surrounded by
all these locked doors and I just have to
find the right key. Sometimes I know where
it is and sometimes I don't. And once I
unlock a door it usually starts flowing.
I've been trying to figure that out because
sometimes I can sit down and -- bang -— it
flows: and other times if I can't find that
right key -- like when I started this paper
I was still looking into the doors that
were already opened. I didn't see anything
new. I had to find the key to unlock
another door. As soon as I unlock that
door, and focus on what was behind it, it's
really been helping me.

The writing on page two then became a set of
directions -- a listing of ideas he wanted to incorporate.
An empty line or two separated the examples from the list
of directions, and each direction from the other.

Following the list of directives, only four to the
page, Carl then skipped more lines and began writing what
looked like a possible introduction to the essay. After a
few minutes of writing he stopped and said:

I'm not entirely sure it's what I want.

But it's getting closer. It's getting

closer.
Carl then mentioned how he thought he needed to return to
his idea of people's overdependence on, and impatience
with, technology. So he took out a blank piece of paper
and in large block letters wrote “BE IMPATIENT.“ He

explained it in the following way:

152

I've done that before for papers. Wrote
myself messages that I want to keep in
mind. And if I'm always looking at it, it
helps me to keep it in mind. One
particular paper -- it was more research
-- I wanted to keep it as simple as I
could, so I took a piece of paper and wrote
on it in terrific block letters: “Think
Simply“ and propped it up on my desk. It
helps me because I often get off the track.

Sesslusigns

Carl appears to have found his senior high school
writing experience limited because as he says, he usually
only wrote about literature, and mostly poetry at that.
From what he said, this seems to have had a discouraging
effect on his interest in his writing. The fact that his
freshman college writing course offered him more freedom
to write about his own interests and feelings seems to
have allowed him to be more personally involved and
committed to his writing. He said this himself when he
explained that, in terms of writing drafts of papers,
there was not much different between his high school and
college courses: but in college he was thinking
differently about it and “dealing more with myself.“

Besides this limited experience with writing, Carl
explained that he found his senior high English teacher to
be discouraging about writing, because she told him and
his classmates that they would probably earn C's in
college English. He also commented that what she taught

about revising and writing drafts did not seem that

153

important because she really did not seem to believe it

herself. All this seems to have contributed to a negative
effect on Carl's self-confidence about writing, because
“confidence“ in himself as a writer is something he talked
about several times during the interviews. It also
appears to be something that he continually had to
convince himself about, even to the point of making
pep-talks a part of his process by writing about his
confidence in himself in informal expressive writings.

Carl's writing process depended a great deal upon
these expressive writing sessions. Before even attempting
the draft of the essay on technology, Carl wrote at least
a half-a-dozen informal pages in which he not only
explored his potential topic, but literally wrote to
himself about how well he was doing, and how well the
essay was coming along. This process of not only talking
to himself, but talking himself into particular frames of
mind, was something he admitted he usually did when
writing: he even, as once explained, informally wrote
about how well a paper was progressing when actually it
was not progressing at all. This, as he described, was
just to “kind of kick it in gear,“ a rather startling, and
it seems somewhat unusual, procedure.

But goals and pep-talks were not the only informal
writings he made. Carl also wrote out one or two sentence

directives to remind himself, or direct himself to do

154

certain things to his writing. All these informal,
expressive, writings were mixed together, along with some
attempts to write passages that were obviously meant to be
considered as passages for later drafts. The different
kinds of writings were usually separated by several
skipped lines of blank space.

Carl's directives to himself, as he explained during
the video taped revising session, occasionally took the
form of simple block-letter signs, written on half a sheet
of notebook paper, and propped up in front of him while he
wrote.

Carl explained that typed drafts, rather than
handwritten drafts, helped him revise his writing more
carefully, and that thinking about his audience in the
later stages of his process helped him focus on what he
wanted to change in his drafts. In the early stages of
his process, he explained that he was usually more
concerned with making it clear for himself, and not so
much a public audience.

The total changes Carl made, according to the review
of his drafts using Faigley and Witte's method of
analysis, revealed that Carl made 107 changes in all seven
of his drafts of the essay.“ The kinds of changes were
very evenly distributed at 20 formal changes, 35
meaning-preserving changes, 25 microstructure changes, and

27 macrostructure changes. In all four categories of

155

changes, the most changes came within the first three

drafts out of the total seven drafts. It is also
interesting to note that three macrostructure changes were
made between the sixth and seventh draft.

The video taped revising session revealed at least
one characteristic of Carl's process that was not revealed
during the interviews, review of his drafts, or the
analysis of the drafts. This characteristic was that even
though Carl was almost finished with the essay (the taping
showed the revising of the sixth draft), he returned to
review the list of goals he had written for the paper back
before he had even written the first draft.

Another characteristic of Carl's process that was
substantiated during the video was that he relied heavily
upon informal, expressive, writing to not only help guide
him through his process, but to help him generate new
writing that was often incorporated into previously

written drafts.

Chapter 4: Conclusions

It is not my intention to suggest that the four
writers and processes studied in this project represent
large groups of student writers. Although this may be
possible, such a conclusion was not a goal of this study.
It would require many more interviews and analyses to even
begin to identify and classify groups of writers and
processes by their various characteristics.

However, while such broad conclusions cannot be
warranted by the nature of this study, it does seem safe
to assume that even though the study does not pretend to
identify types of writers or processes, that the
identification and analysis of one, or four, different
writers and processes can provide some valuable insight
into, and conclusions about, the nature of composing,
revising, and how these abilities are learned and
employed. It is with these qualifications in mind that
the following conclusions are made.

The primary focus of this study centered upon two
questions: 1) To what extent do skilled student writers
employ revising in their writing? and 2) If and when
revising of some sort is revealed through the study, how
do these writers revise their writing?

Secondary concerns involved identifying and

describing the writers own understanding of how they

156

157

revised, and also to attempt to reveal some information

about how the writers think they learned to revise.

These questions will be addressed in reverse order.
H w t W i e 5 Think T e L a n d Rev“

Generally, not much good can be said about the
writers' memories of their high school writing
experiences. And, I believe it important to temper these
conclusions with the knowledge that what we are dealing
with is mgmggie . Thus, I may not condemn these writers'
high school writing experiences as quickly as one might
think. As a teacher I know all too well the difference
between what I teach and what students learn. 4

However, these writers offered some information, and
some experiences concerning their high school writing
classes, compared to their college writing classes, that
must be discussed. Perhaps the best approach here is to
review what was said, compare the writers' experiences to
each other, and then carefully conclude.

Teachers' attitudes appears to have had quite a bit
of influence on these writers and their writing and
revising. While I might speculate that a vast majority of
the students' experiences with previous writing teachers
was at least satisfactory, even positive, it was a few
negative experiences with their teachers that seemed to be

most remembered. What is it about these experiences that

158

keep them so vivid in students' minds, and perhaps more

important, how do these negative experiences influence the
students' writing and revisings?

At least two of the four students interviewed for
this study specifically talked about negative experiences
they had had with high school writing teachers. Both Dave
and Carl mentioned how they had been told by teachers that
they were not good writers: Carl's teacher even went so
far as to predict that he and his classmates would not
earn better than grades of C in freshman composition in
college. And both Jan and Carl described how they often
wrote what they thought “the teacher wanted to hear,“
rather than what they really felt compelled to say in
their papers. Such teacher attitudes appear to have a
profound and lasting effect on students and their
attitudes toward their writing.

On the other hand, at least two of the four students
interviewed specifically talked about how positive
responses to their writing encouraged them and helped them
learn to write. Both Sharon and Jan said that the
positive responses they received to their writing, rather
than hearing only about the problems in the papers, made
it easier for them to commit themselves to work on it.

For Jan, positive responses by her teacher was the single
most important influence that encouraged her to commit

herself to her writing.

159

This information tends to be supported by previous
research (Stevens, 1973),.that found that negative
evaluation of student writing generally produces negative
attitudes in student writers, and positive evaluation
produces positive attitudes in student writers. Thus, it
seems safe to conclude that positive responses from
teachers to students' writing should positively influence,
and encourage, students' interest in revising their
writing, probably more than negative responses would. The
fact that several of the student writers studied here were
made in some way to feel inadequate about themselves as
writers, and the fact that these same students were on the
other hand made to feel more confident about themselves as
writers by other instructors seems to indicate the real
value of teachers' positive responses in relationship to
students' commitment to their writing. This “confidence
factor,“ I believe, is not one that should be taken
lightly by teachers of writing at any level.

Another issue raised by these subjects, comparing
their high school and college writing experiences, is
exactly how their teachers attempted to teach revising.
Two of the students interviewed told how they did not
remember much instruction or emphasis on revising, or
worse, that they did not remember being required to write
much at all. Carl, however, was expected to revise his

senior high English papers, but did not seem too impressed

160

with how his teacher taught revision. He described how his

teacher talked about revising, and even taught it, but
also that she did not subscribe to the process when she
wrote, and this seems to have suggested to Carl (at that
time), that revising was not that important.

Similarly, Jan talked about how important it was to
her that she was shown writers' revisions. Reading about
how one might revise had not impressed her: seeing drafts
of writers' revisions had turned the trick.

Dave was convinced that he had begun to consider
revising only after reading about how professional writers
revised. Coincidentally, one of the writers whose
revising process was discussed in the article was his
favorite, and by his own admission this had a profound
effect on how he thought about his own writing, and his
process. However, Dave considered this as being shown how
to revise rather than just having revising explained as
well as Jan, as he himself had described the difference
between his high school and college instruction as the
differene between being shown and being shown how.

And again, it seems that instructors' positive
responses to these writers' writing, influenced their
commitment to their work, and so influenced their interest
in, and willingness to revise their writing as well.

The kinds of writing these students were doing seemed

to have some positive effect on their commitment to their

161

work, and willingness to revise. Carl talked about how
the difference between his high school and college writing
experiences was that in college he was “free to write
something I would never consider writing before,“ and that
his college writing was “dealing more with myself.“

Dave's experience was similar to this when he described
that the fact that his college instructor assigned
“personal papers -- ideas that were important to us,“ and
this encouraged him to become more involved in the whole
process of writing the paper. This information tends to
support previous research (Beach, 1979), that showed that
students' involvement in revising is influenced by topic
(familiarity, interest).

Finally, another influence that seemed to have
encouraged these writers to revise was audience. Several
of the writers explained how they had come to rely upon
having students read, and discuss their writing with them
in peer editing situations. When such situations were not
available, they sometimes found friends or relatives to
read their writing and talk with them about it. In Jan's
case, she even went so far as to train a friend to read
and respond to her writing in ways she found helpful,
rather than to correct it for her. And Sharon explained
that seeing other students' writing improve through peer
editing and the revising that resulted from it,

contributed to her own revising process. And, of course,

162

the fact that these students were interested in attempting

to publish their writing in college publications often

motivated them to work more on their essays and stories.

Writers' Understanding of their Own Processes

 

The four writers' processes were marked by some
similarities in general, but also by individual,
characteristic, differences as well. The interviews with
each writer revealed, in the writers' own words, some of
these qualities of their processes.

One similarity among the four writers was the fact
that each appeared to have good insight into their own
process. Some of the writers seemed to know, quite
precisely, what they were doing when they wrote. Dave,
for example, knew that he periodically “cleaned up“ his
drafts because he thought that eliminating surface
problems helped him to see larger text-based problems.

Jan knew that her process was marked by periodic
addition, and elaboration, and that this characteristic
sometimes seemed, at least to her, less effective than she
thought it could be. She knew that she sometimes added to
previous drafts, or elaborated upon previous drafts, so
much that she would sometimes abandon large portions of
them (or their focus), in order to take a new approach.
However, this appeared to be, by her own description, a

way to improve upon what she was writing, and although

163

somewhat inefficient in terms of how we usually think
about revision, it worked well for her -- she produced
very good writing. Who am I to conclude that this process
is not the most efficient process for this individual
writer?

Sharon knew that she had usually relied on
“perfect-draft“ writing throughout high school, and that
she was just beginning to learn how to revise. She had
decided that revising her writing helped her write better,
and that she could no longer depend on writing it once to
produce her best work.

And Carl had very definite ideas about how he could
motivate himself to write. Writing out “pep—talks“ to
himself in informal writings, and even making block-letter
signs he would set in front of himself while he wrote were
aspects of his process that he knew he needed to create
for himself to help him write better.

Generally, I must conclude that I am surprised that
these writers knew as much about their writing and their
processes as they exhibited. I would not have guessed,
even though it was understood from the beginning that
these were skilled writers, that they would have been so

aware of what they did when they wrote.

164

H e W ' s R v sed

The primary concern of this study involved the
investigation of the writers' use of revising within the
overall process of completing a writing.

To answer the question generally, the writers revised
their writing quite a lot. The fewest number of revised
drafts any of the four subjects produced was five. The
revisions of each writer were often complicated and very
thorough. And the writers often displayed similarities
among their various revising processes.

Several of the writers relied on notations written in
the margins of their drafts. In fact, they sometimes
wrote as many notes about how they would later change
their writing than actual changes. Dave, Sharon, and Carl
in particular relied heavily on directives they wrote
themselves for future drafts. Sharon actually wrote to
herself in the third person, and sometimes referred to
herself as “Sharon.“ And Carl wrote emphatic directives,
and orders, to himself that helped him remember to
incorporate ideas in future drafts, or retain a specific
focus while he was writing.

Another similarity among the writers' processes was
how they (Carl, Sharon, and Jan), relied upon addition and
elaboration as a way to revise. This seems to be a

particularly unusual, and little discussed kind of

165

revision, even though not necessarily unheard of before.
Faigley and Witte's taxonomy, for example, seems to
address addition as such a possible revision strategy, but
I was quite surprised at how the strategy manifested
itself within these writers' processes (how Faigley and
Witte's taxonomy seemed inadequate to me regarding this
aspect of the writers' processes will be explained later
in this chapter).

Jan, Sharon and Carl all employed addition and
elaboration as their primary strategy of writing a paper.
In general, they wrote, reread and revised a little, then
wrote more new writing, reread and revised a little, then
wrote more new writing, over and over again, until they
felt satisfied with it.

Jan employed this technique at least twice in her
process of writing ten drafts of her essay. As she
explained it, the strategy resulted from her decision

to just throw things out in the middle
and start over again. Then usually the
final draft will be a combination. . . .Say
there was an idea in this paper that I
wanted to develop, but I didn't. . . I
can't work it out here [in the previous
draft], I'm going to take a completely
different approach.
Jan identified and described this process as a “building
up,“ or a “fleshing out“ of a “skeleton.“

Sharon's process revealed a dependence upon addition

and elaboration as well. But while Jan usually attempted

166

to base one draft on the previous draft, Sharon did not.
Sharon would begin a revision of a previous draft by
remaining faithful to it, but would soon depart from the
previous draft's ideas and direction as the rereading and
attempted revising would lead her into brand new thinking
she obviously liked too much to abandon, at least for the
moment.

In an early draft she would begin to revise it, but
after the first paragraph struck off into new writing: in
a middle draft she again began to revise the previous
draft, but after revising the first page or two, struck
off into new writing. Finally, the last draft became a
kind of “cut and paste“ draft of several of the last two
or three drafts she wrote.

Carl's process revealed a similar kind of elaborating
strategy. Just before his final draft was written, he
decided to add an introductory passage that was nearly as
long as the entire previous draft.

What strikes me about all three of these writers is
how they used a kind of expressiyg writing to help them
add to, and clarify, what they had written in previous
drafts. Thus, once they had written a draft, and reread
it, they then returned to the blank page and began an
elaboration of the previous draft as a way to more fully

express what they had attempted to say before.

167

Both Jan and Sharon clearly employed elaboration as a

way to revise what it was they were trying to write.
Thus, rather than write, reread, and rewrite as we have
usually come to represent composing, they would write,
reread, and write more, while occasionally revising what
they had previously written. In short, elaborating on
previously written drafts, rather than incorporating
changes through rereading, became their primary method of
revising. Rereading and incorporating changes then became
a secondary strategy in these writers' cases.

Carl elaborated too, although not as dramatically as
Jan and Sharon. However, Carl's reliance on expressive
writing took on another function in terms of how he often
incorporated what were certainly unusable expressive
pep-talks, which were intermingled with passages he

obviously intended for use in future drafts.

Considering the writers' processes using Faigley and
Witte's method of analyzing revised drafts provided other
insight into their processes. The total changes in the

writers' processes appear in Table 5:

Table 5:

168

Total Changes in Drafts Studied

 

 

 

 

Draft Number 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 total
Dave 243 171 171 63 30 688
Jan 15 8 43 69 13 51 109 74 48 51 481
Sharon 15 149 87 76 72 84 75 528
Carl 24 34 30 5 5 4 5 107

Line graphs

of the changes the writers made in each of

their drafts provide another way of looking at the writers'

processes, and appear in Figures 1, 2, 3, and 4 on the

following pages.

169

(Number of Changes)

250
240
230
220
210
200
190
180
170
160
150
140
130
120

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 (Draft)

Figure l: Dave's changes/draft

(Number of Changes)

250
240
230
220
210
200
190
180
170
160
150
140
130
120
110
100

3 4

Figure 2:

5

170

6 7 8

Jan's changes/draft

9

10 (Draft)

 

(Number of Changes)

250
240
230
220
210
200
190
180
170
160
150
140
130
120
110
100

3 4

Figure 3:

171

5 6 7 8 9

Sharon's changes/draft

10 (Draft)

(Number of Changes)

250
240
230
220
210
200
190
180
170
160
150
140
130
120
110

3 4

Figure 4:

172

5 6 7 8

Carl's changes/draft

9

10 (Draft)

173

The process employed by Dave to write the story studied
for this research was characterized by a clear narrowing of
meaning by introducing a majority of changes in early
drafts, and then working in a deliberate way to incorporate
those changes until he was satisfied with the result.
However, at the same time, Dave was incorporating fewer and
fewer changes.

From the review of Dave's drafts and the analysis of
the changes made in the drafts, it may be concluded that
Dave generally wrote, then reread what had been written,
making some changes and notes to himself about other changes
while he reread. In later drafts he incorporated these
changes, and although the focus (on a macrostructure level),
of the entire story may have changed several times during
the process, such changes in focus appear to have resulted
directly from this Write -- Reread -- Rewrite process.

Jan's process, as previously concluded, is
characterized by what I have labeled intermittggge: a kind
of occasional starting over that she employs. Some of this
seems to be caused by the writer's unwillingness to make
changes because she sees such work as a messy process. Jan
herself admitted that she would sometimes prefer to start a
page over than incorporate a change in the page.

In comparison to Dave's process, Jan's is nearly the

opposite in terms of total changes. Building up, then

174

starting over, several times, Jan's process includes more
changes as she proceeds until it levels off toward the end
and she completes the task. Most of Jan's changes come in
later drafts in the writing of this essay, with a majority
coming at one of the times she employed a complex
elaboration.

Sharon's process seems even more intermittent than
Jan's, to the extreme that Sharon appears to have begun her
essay over again nearly every time she wrote a new draft.
Total changes of Sharon's process is somewhat misleading
because a preceding draft was usually only partly based on
the previous draft. However, it seems that if each of her
drafts were completely separate from each other, she might
revise each about the same, and this is not so. In short,
while Sharon's process is not completely measured by Faigley
and Witte's methods, the fact that she revised some drafts
more than others, and that she revised more in early stages
than in later stages, suggests that there is a method to her
process -- a kind of narrowing like Jan's and Dave's, but a
narrowing that is more complicated.

Like Dave, Sharon made a majority of her changes in the
first few drafts, then leveled off to about 70-80 changes in
each of the last four drafts until she decided she was

finished. Of all the four processes of writers studied in

this research, Sharon's process seems the most complex and

 

175

the process that seems most inadequately described by
Faigley and Witte's methodology.

Certainly, Sharon does not simply start her paper over
and over again until she writes one that satisfies her: her
process is a complex series of drafts that approach the same
topic from different angles. It is almost as if she wrote
each draft, but in the process kept all of them in mind,
sifting and sorting them all, using parts of some here,
different versions of the same passage there, until it all
came out after seven writings. This is a tremendous
retentive accomplishment that is difficult to describe
specifically. One thing that is certain though, about
Sharon's process: her reading of her own drafts seems to
have so stimulated her thinking on the subject that she
would generate whole new drafts, not just sentences or
passages.

Carl's process as measured by Faigley and Witte's
system reveals the fewest number of changes, and is somewhat
similar to Sharon's as a look at the line graphs show. Most
changes occur in the first few drafts, and then level off in
the last few drafts until finished. The difference between
the two on a closer examination is that most of Carl's major
changes came in early drafts, while most of Sharon's major

changes were made in later drafts.

176

Writers' Processes and the Nature of Revising

Conclusions about the processes of the writers studied
also help contribute to conclusions that may be drawn about
the activity of revising in general:

What first comes to mind is that revising is a
complicated process in several different ways. It is
complicated because it is employed in different manners by
different writers, and yet as writers and teachers of
writing we need to be able to refer to it in a generic and
instructive way.

Thus, it is the complexity of revising that has
impressed me most about the results of this study. Although
I began the study with the idea that revising is an integral
part of writing -- that the two are actually the same
process, not that one is a part or stage of the other -- I
now think about revising, and therefore writing, in much
different ways than I did before the study. But such a
broadened view makes defining the subject even more
difficult.

If I were forced to define revising, I would still have
to begin by stating what I have said before: that revising
and writing are more one in the same than they are stages of
some larger process. Beyond this, there is also the fact
that change takes place as writers write and revise, and the

fact that these changes are made as a result of the writer

177

rereading what has been previously written. And of course

there is the fact that change is made by writers with the
hope that it improves what or how something is written.

In short, revising is writing and writing is a kind of
conversation with oneself: but unlike an oral conversation,
writers have the opportunity to examine what they have said,
and to change it before anyone reads it (or even to decide
that it will not be made public at all). While speakers can
change their mind about what they have said, and try to
qualify what has been said before (not a good thing “to go
back on one's word“), they do not have the option to decide
that what they just said should not be made public. For
speakers it is said, and usually done; for writers, it is
said, and still safely private as long as one wishes for it
to remain so.

Perhaps this is what writing (revising) is then: a
chance to ggglify through change, a chance to clarify, to
elaborate or delete, a chance for writers to match the words
to meanings. A chance to match the meanings to an audience.
A chance to decide that words do not match the meaning as
they should: a chance to see that the meanings do not match
the audience, or do not even need to reach the audience at
all. What this study has shown is that these writers
qualify their meaning by a process of continually adding on
or fleshing out want was previously written. Sometimes the

fleshing out is clearly based upon previous drafts, other

178

times the fleshing out is only implied in the previous
draft.

As an activity writers perform, revision is “cold“ and
“hot“ at once. Cold and objective as writers disassociate
themselves from what was previously written in order to see
it as readers see it, but hot with involvement and creation
as the objective point of view provides insight and ideas
about how what has been said can be changed and improved.
Thus, as writers revise they are objective and subjective
about their writing at the same time.

Revision is “ruthless“ and “sympathetic“ at once.
Writers cruelly slash and tear away at their words as they
attempt to qualify meaning. What appears unnecessary is
cut. What seems confusing is discarded or changed. Unlike‘
most other originals, an original or first draft of a
writing is hardly ever as good as the second, third, or
fourth. The original can be embarrassing and inadequate;
the culmination can be wonderful and complete.

These similtaneous, seemingly opposite, qualities are
probably the root of the idea of “stages“ in writing: and
probably one reason why revision has been, and sometimes
continues to be, considered only a “stage“ of writing:
“first writers create, then they revise,“ has been a common
way to describe how revising fits into the process. The
process is seemingly easily understood and explained, but

misleading and inaccurate. It really happens all at once.

179

The ways the writers in this study revised revealed
some basic similarities. They all wrote, reread, revised,
and then wrote more, and continued to do so until satisfied
their writing said what they wanted it to say. Three of the
four, in general, incorporated more changes in their early
drafts than in their later drafts. Three of the four relied
quite heavily on marginal notes they wrote themselves
directed to themselves about changes to be made in future
drafts. And, what seems most important, three of the four
writers (and to some degree even the fourth), narrowed
(pinned down) their meanings by making large gdgitiohs to
previous writings. This is a strategy that seems unusual to
me, even paradoxical and deserves further discussion.

Revising is conventionally thought of, and taught as a
“narrowing“ kind of process. Ostensibly, this process seems
most accurately explained and described as a kind of
“whittling away“ at meaning as if it were a lump of clay or
piece of wood, until the desired effect (specific meaning)
is left. In other words, conventional notions of revising
suggest that most meaning is present from the beginning, and
all that is necessary is for the writer to realize what
should be removed to leave what is desired. And clearly,
this conception of revising holds some truth, as this study
and the numbers and kinds of changes the writers made has

shown.

180

But we must also consider the kind of narrowing of
meaning that a majority of the writers studied for this
research have exhibited: that is, a narrowing of meaning
that occurs by a substantial adding to, or of building up,
sometimes once or twice (as with Jan or Carl), and other
times as the primary means the writer made sense (Sharon).
This is not the adding of a sentence, or even paragraphs in
most cases, but the adding of large sections of new writing,
often greater than the entire previous draft, and sometimes
not closely based upon the previous draft. Of course once
the building up takes place, the more conventional kind of
narrowing takes place.

This “adding to“ as a means to make sense and pin it
down, seems to me a kind of revising that, because of its
very nature, has been overlooked, perhaps misunderstood.
For example, such writers might be identified as
non-revisers, or re-writers (writers who literally rewrite
rather than revise), because it appears they start papers
over and over again until they get a draft they like. Of
course, this may be true for some; however, a closer
examination might reveal that such writers who appear to not
revise, actually do revise in the manner I have described
here -- by adding to. It is just that on the surface it
seems that such writers do not revise, perhaps because we
tend to think of revision only as a kind of “narrowing“ and

that we tend to think of narrowing in limited ways.

181

Personally, I never would have thought of “adding to“ as a

way to narrow meaning before doing this study.

However, although the writers showed some similarities
among their processes, the differences should also be
considered. Dave, for example, did not rely upon addition
as the primary means of revising his writing. His was
clearly a whittling away until he got what he wanted. The
other writers, although showing some similarities, also
exhibited some differences, especially in terms of when they
incorporated important changes.

Jan, for example, incorporated major changes
(macrostructure additions), about gyghly throughout her
entire ten-draft process. Carl incorporated nearly all his
major changes (macrostructure additions), in his figs; three
drafts out of a total of seven. And Sharon included a great
majority of her major changes (again macrostructure
additions), in the last three drafts of the seven she
produced. Also, the total number of changes each writer
produced varied, from 107 by Carl to 688 by Dave. From this
information I can conclude that such writers generally can
not plan when important changes will take place, but rather
incorporate these changes as they arise. It also tends to
suggest that the conventional notion that larger changes
take place in early drafts, while smaller changes take place

in later drafts is not necessarily always true.

182

Obviously then, while similarities exist, great
differences exist as well. In comparing Dave to the rest of
the writers, some difference might be attributed to the fact
that Dave was writing fiction, while the others were writing
non-fiction. As far as my review of the literature on
revision shows, I do not know of any research that has
compared the revisions of fiction and non-fiction. Dave did
not depend much on addition, but at the same time he made
more total changes than all the rest. From this it seems
safe to conclude only that these writers' processes are
different, not that they are different because of the kind
of writing involved. Comparisions of how writers revise
fiction and non-fiction could serve as the subject for

future research.

Im 'c t' n T c R sea e

Implications for teachers and researchers implied by
the results of this study must be made with the limits of
the study in mind. Thus, because of the small number of
subjects studied, direct prescriptions about how teachers of
writing should generally behave are not possible.

Therefore, implications drawn directly from the results
should be clearly differentiated from speculation and
questions outside the confines of the study.

For teachers it seems wise to understand that some

kinds of complex revisions are quite deceptive. In fact,

183

when it appeared that students in this study were not

revising at all, they in fact were revising a lot.
Specifically, when writers appeared to be starting papers
over and over again, they were in fact revising previous
drafts through an elaborate process of narrowing their
meaning by adding large sections of brand new writing to it.

If such complexity, and even what might be called
paradoxical appearances in revisions exists, it seems
important that teachers who profess to be interested in
writers' processes be aware of it. Traditional
understandings of revision as “write -- reread -- revise,“
do not sufficiently describe what these writers did during
the process of their writing studied here.

How these students say they learned to revise also
suggests some important considerations for teachers. On the
one hand, there were direct contradictions among the
subjects about how they learned to revise, or what
influences encouraged them to revise. On the other hand,
there was some agreement among them as well.

Subjects disagreed about how reading about how to
revise influenced them. For Dave, reading about revising
appeared to be the primary influence that encouraged him to
revise. For Jan, reading about revising was not that
helpful.

However, subjects agreed that actually being shown how

revisions take place, or what a revised page looks like, was

184

helpful. Subjects also unanimously agreed that teachers'
positive responses to students' writing was encouraging to
them.

Thus, the conclusion I draw from this sometimes
conflicting information is that using examples of revisions
to accompany classroom explanations of revising is better
than using just one approach or the other, and that teachers
will probably reach more students if they use various
approaches and include positive responses to students'
writing.

For researchers, one question that arose from the
results of this study is whether or not revising fiction or
non-fiction affects the kinds of revisions writers make.
This subject appeared very neglected in the research on
revising I reviewed, and seems a likely tOpic for future
studies.

Of course, other research suggested by this study would
be to improve upon Faigley and Witte's taxonomy of
revisions, since the results of at least one of the subjects
(Sharon) did not seem adequately measured or described by
this methodology. Specifically, the taxonomy does not
provide for differences in macrostructure additions when one
can be one sentence long, and another can be 20 sentences
long. Both are recorded in the same way, yet can affect
future drafts in much different ways, as Sharon's process

clearly illustrated.

185

And finally, future research could examine the ways in

which writers use addition, or building up, as a way to
refine meaning. This finding also seems neglected in the

research, and deserves further study especially in light of

its paradoxical and misleading nature.

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---. “The Internal View: One Writer's Philosophy of

Composition.“ ellege Cempesitieh ehd Cemmhnicatien 21
(1970): 21-26.

---. “Teach the Motivating Force of Revision.“ En 'sh

Je.rnal.67. 7 (1978): 56- 60.

---. “Why Teach Writing? and How?“ English Jehtnal 62.9
(1973): 123-1237.

---. A White: Teaches ngting. Boston: Houghton Mifflin,
1968.
National Education Association. Re C m' ee on

Secondary Studies. Washington D.C.: 0.8. Government,
1893.

189

i, O'Dea, Paul. “Five Myths in the Teaching of Composition.“

English Journal 34.4 (1965): 328-330.

Odell, Lee and Joanne Cohick. “You Mean Write It Over In
Ink?“ English Journal 64.9 (1975): 48-53.

Olsen, Helen F. “What Is Good Teaching of Written
CompOsition?“ English Jgurnal 50.4 (1961): 238-245.

Parker, Richard. Progressive Exetcises in English
Cempesitign. Boston: Robert S. Davis, 1849.

Perl, Sondra. “The Composing Processes of Unskilled College

Writers.“ Research in the Teaching of Ehglish 13 (1979):
317-336.

Piaget, Jean. T Lan ua and Th t ' d. New
York: New American Library, 1974.

Pianko, Sharon. “Reflection: A Critical Component of the

Composing Process.“ Cellege Compoeitien end ngmunicetien 30
(1979): 275-278.

Pufahl, John. “Response to Richard M. Collier, 'The Word
Processor and Revision Strategies.'“ 0 m s' ' n nd
Cemmghication 35 (1984): 91-95. .

Quackenbos, George Pyn. Fitst Lessgns in Cempositien. New
York: D. Appleton & Company, 1862.

Rohman, D. Gordon. “Pre-Writing: The Stage of Discovery in

the Writing Process.“ Cgllege Cempeeitign ahg Cgmmghieetion
16 (1965): 106-112.

Salisbury, Rachel. “Themes Again!“ Ehglieh Qggtnal 21.5
(1932): 380-384.
---. “The Psychology of Composition.“ Englieh Jogtnal 25.5

(1936): 356-366.

Schor, Sandra. “Revising: The Writer's Need to Invent and
Express Relationships.“ The Writer's Mind: Writing As A
Mgde of Thinking. Ed. Janice Hays and others. Urbana,
Illinois: NCTE, 1983. 113-125.

Schwartz, Mimi. “Revision Profiles: Patterns and
Implications.“ Cgllege English 45 (1983): 549-558.

Scott, J. Clark. “The Art of English Composition.“ The
Academy 4 (1889): 365-374.

190

Sharp, Russell. Teac in En l'sh ' H' h S . Boston:
Houghton Mifflin, 1924.

Shuman, Baird R. “What About Revision?“ E ' rnal
64.9 (1975): 41-43.

Smith, Dora V. and others. “The Contributions of Research to
the Teaching and Curriculum-Making in English, January, 1933,
Through June, 1934.“ English Joutnal 23.9 (1934): 718-731.

Smith, Louise. “Composition Teachers: Pick Up Your Pens and
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Sommers, Nancy. “The Need for Theory in Composition

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(1979): 46-49.

---. “Revision Strategies of Student Writers and Experienced

Adult Writers.“ College Composition end Commgnicatien 31
(1980): 378-388.

Stallard, Charles K. “An Analysis of the Writing Behavior of
Student Writers and Experienced Adult Writers.“ Reeeagch in

the Teaching gt English 8 (1974): 206-218.

Stoehr, Taylor. “Writing as Thinking.“ gellege Englieh 28
(1967): 411-421.

Struck, Herman R. “Some Facts on Revision.“ e En 'sh
15 (1954): 279-283.

Sudol, Ronald, ed. Rev 5' - N w E sa 5 T
Whiting. Urbana, Illinois: ERIC/NCTE, 1982.

Tanner, Bernard R. “The Writer's Paradox.“ Englieh Qghtnal
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Thompson, Geroge. “Revision: Nine Ways to Achieve a

Disinterested Perspective.“ Cellege Cempositien end
Qemmunication 29 (1978): 200-202.

Thurber, Samuel. “Elementary Composition in High Schools.“
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---. “The Correction of School Compositions.“ The_hgegemy 6
(1891): 254-260.

Van Dyk, Howard A. “Teach Revision -- It Works.“ English
gegtnal 56.5 (1967): 736-738.

191

‘»Vygotsky, Lev S. Thought and Language. Cambridge,
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Watt, Homer. “The Philosophy of Real Composition.“ English
goutnal 7.3 (1918): 153-162.

Witte, Stephen P. “Topical Structure and Revision: An

Exploratory Study.“ College Compositign and Cemmuhication 34
(1983): 313-341.

Sample first

Group 1:
Group 2:
Group 3:
Group 4:

APPENDIX

pages from writers' drafts studied

Samples
Samples
Samples
Samples

of Dave's writing
of Jan's writing

of Sharon's writing
of Carl's writing

 

 

192

 

     
   
    
 

          
  
  
 

 

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It is late evening he theAfi-ee circles Houston.“
m The lights of the city shine like stars reflected
on the still. dark waters of a deep lake.
“Hey Don. Hr. Nelson, look at that! m."
his is the first time Dave has flown. 5'
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ave) m Don,w1derx (rand and fellow competitor

 

and Mr. Nelson W, hire a taxi to take them to
‘
their hotel “This was to be a great meeting of the minds for ‘
— d
he most promising scientific youth from around the world.
It was here that Dave would meet Gina, the girl of his
the man who woul- -. - ’ -reat

dreams. and Dean.

    
  

     

SCENE

 

 

 

4

"Ne better try to get some sleep or we w'll. be dead
W "m

«tn-mow," redies m, '

   

Reluctantly Dave Mo an uneasy sleep.

“Holy cow! Look at the size of this place." says Dave."l
can barely see that guy on the stage." . I (
M W

The microphone squeal]; before an animated We begins:

Iv

191:

It is late evening as the Boeing 747 circles Houston.
The lights of the city‘shine like stars Ezagected on the
still, dark waters 04 a deep lake.

" , look at that ' This is the first
time has flown. Don looks anxious y out the window, “I
miss Jamie already." .

Hr. Nelson,their chaperone sinks further into his seat
and tugs the {IOpy brim of his blue terry-cloth hat even
lower as the plane touches down. He mumbles something
unintelligable, and pets his shirt pockets probably looking
{or the package of Tumes he had already consumed.

Dave, Don and Hr. Nelson hire a taxi to take them to

their hotel. lhggqh the tgip was long the excitement builds.

 

Thi was to ' reat meeting 04 the minds for the most3\4

 

Ezgmisino scientifii:§buth (rom arOund the wor4_L . was
ere that Dave wOuld meet Gina, the girl of his dreams, and
Dean, the man who would teach Dave a great lesson.

Dave sits upright in bed and nervously {lips through an

itinerary of the weeks event . {)ng
' ' . placegufir'g. 'h!’. the night stand
.I . ' I a

next to the bed and sa's
that {light he needed a drink. Didfiigr

 

       

   

s e e to or of his face?" ,hnyway tommorow we'v
welcoming ceremony at eight?

“We better try to get some sleep then or we will be dead
tomorrow,“ replies Don, he roles over and gives a light kiss
' ’ oirlirein- - -9 ni- tstand.
think I'm going to be sick "

The light goes out, and Dave dr:

  
   
  

  

s in e an uneasy sleep.

“Holy cow' Look at the size of this place," says Dave "I
can barely see that guy on the stage."

The microphone squeals, the vast audience hushes beicre
an animated voice begins: “Welcome to the 33rd annual General

Motors International Science and Engineering Fair. You have
been chosen from thousands at candidates to compete at this
most prestigious event. You here are considered to be the

{ive hundred best young scientists in the world today. It is
an honor to welcome all of you to this fair ard to the {air
city of Houston. You have travelled a long road to get here,
a road paved with hard work and dedication. Now it is time
to relax. Enjoy yourselves and good luck." 6'1
The auditorium begins to empty.

"I've never seen so many pretty girls in one place in my
life,“ says Dave craning his neck. "Hey Don I bet one 0‘ them

 

_

 
  
    
 

e”

could make you {or-get about Jamie for a while. W-pm‘,

aet—+n+eweseed-+-knew—+—ao." -
, g5 he who”

”0.K., love god you'll have plenty of time for that,

now you've got work to do. It's time to set up your

displays."
an adjacent hall, drills scream and hammers fly as

hundreds 0‘ kids prepare ior the competition. “Hey Dave," a
panicky voice shouts, "can you give me a hand?“

- - ~'- 1mm'vr” . v
‘ I

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197

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Listen. you can hear the crashing waves against the pier. fihe sound of
water against hard concrete. Over and over the waves hit; trying to
stash the prison of man-made walls. The noise brings a kind of quiet

peacefulness.

Listen, you can hear the crashing waves against the pier. The
sound of water against hard concrete. Over and over the waves hit;
trying to ssash the prison of man-made walls. Even on the shore
there is a steady rhythm. I like to go to Lake Michigan ... not

so such in the summer; but in the spring when the ice is

 

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a kind of peace, a lulling by the sound of the waves. It gives se
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of His creation.

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and crevices: the ice is loosing it's grip. Soon the sun will
melt it to nothing. It's so quiet on the shore: just a few
people walking around, no loud Misfit“: can hear the
water. the ice snap. feel the warmth of the sun, sense that
summer is not far off. The wind is a constant reminder of the
winter. It sakes my hands and ears hurt.

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the angry water lashing out at the shore. Inside of se there's a

weird kind of peace. It's a kind of quiet knowing. a belonging to

Ithe'place an‘ time.

198

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Listen, you can hear the crashing waves against the hard concrete of the

pier. There's a constant rhythum of water smashing against rock. trying to
free itself from the prison of man-made walls. Even on the beach,sand and
water are in constant battle. With each wave the sand is alternately swept
out into the water and then thrown back against the shore. I like to go to
Lake Michigan ... not so much in the summer; but in the spring when the ice
is breaking up; or in the fall when the wind and waves are high. The sound
and sight of the water fiellbinding; it draws me closer and closer. As I
walk along the shore there's a skind of peace. a lulling by the sound of the
waves. It gives me a feeling of closeness to God. I'm awed by the beauty and
/:::::r of his creation.

In the spring, as I climb over the ice I can see the crackfznd crevices:
the ice is loosing it's grip. Even now, in the very early spring the sun has
already claimed it's victory. The ice. no matter how isposing,will slowly
selt to nothing. It's so quiet on the shore; just a few people walking around.
no loud summer sounds. I can hear the water. the ice snap. feel the warmth of .

the sun, sense that summer is not far off. The wind is a constant reminder of

the winter. It sakes sy hands and ears hurt.
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and talk with me. We plan. daydream. wonder about our lives and what they will

be like tomorrow - maybe where we'll be in a year or two.

The fall is different. There's a kind or release in watching the angry

water lashing out at the shore. Inside of me there's a weird kind of peace.

199

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The Best Place of All

Listen, you can hear the crashing waves against the pier. The sound of
water against hard concrete. Over and over the waves hit; trying to smash
the prison of man-made walls.‘ There's the lighthouse. standing silently

. . like an old soldier. worn but still proud. It can recall another.
more useful life. I like to go to Lake Michigan . . . not so much in the
summer. but in the spring when the ice is breaking up; or in the fall when

the waves are high. The sound of the water draws me closer. There's a

 

kind of peace, a lulling by the sound of the waves. It gives me a feeling
of closeness to God.

In the Spring. as I climb over the ice I can see the cold, hard beauty.
So many interesting cracks and crevices to explore; I like to see all the
different ways the wind and water have shaped the ice. @ loosening its
grip. Soon the sun will melt it to nothing. It's so quiet on the shore;
just a few peoole walking around, no loud summer sounds. If I close my
eyes I can see peeple baking in the sun. smell the Coppertone and hear
the radios blaring. But now. in the spring. I can hear the water. the
snap of the ice. feel the warmth of the sun, sense that sumer is not far
off. The wind is a constant reminder of the winter. It bites at my hands
and ears. th can't I remember to wear a hat and gloves?

The fall is different. There's a kind of release in watching the angry
waves lash the shore. Every once in a while y0u hear about someone who
accepted the waves' challenge to walk the pier. A few have been quickly

swept into the lake. I'm afraid of the power of the water; I'm content

 

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20’4

EN 102 Assignment 3

7* Sharon_ QM“ ainisnei‘uraft wféb’? ‘1

Chi-381118 Lanes ® «Do wbiph :9
(T “ya“ K

There are no toll gates to insure passage. There are no naps. no
travel guides. and no call-ahead reservations. there is not a flight direct
from Cincinatti and there are no super-saver fares. the only inhabitant
ever available for questioning has since made his way, leaving only his
words for men to follow.

But these words are thousands of years old. originally spoken in an
obscure Israeli language, progressively translated into the various tongues
that have passed in and out with the fashions and the kings,ifinally to be
written down and translated some more. fhe words have crossed continents
and oceans. spellbinding millions along the way. Groups of people meet and
discuss the words. founding organisations based upon interpretation.

Iars have been fought. arguments started over whose interpretation is
better. Crest chasms separate sections of the original organisation, the
followers of the speaker of the words. the teacher. the Christ sent by God
to bring good news to the people of the earth.

But as 1 said before. all of this happened a very long time ago. Ien
today are faced only with this chasm and few concern themselves with the causes.
The) only argue the modern-day issues and ask themselves agonisingly difficult
questions. Catholic or Protestant? [he's right? Iho presents the best case
to God? As one brought up Catholic and now faced with a Protestant faith,

I find myself asking theta questions.

Iho does present the best case to God? It would seem to me that it is
not the church but the individual Catholic or Protestant who lust present
his case before God. the church. therefore. is not an organization for God
but an organization on earth for the people of God.

In the writing of this paper I have tried to expand upon what I have
already presented, relating it to my own personal experiences rather than
Pointing fingers and answering questions which I have no right even to

'ponder.
”,,’8' I remember being in church with my father when I was a child. I was

0’7 J):- fascinated by the liturgy. with all of its words, gestures. songs, and rituals.
'Qvar I remember watching. with a deep longing inside of me. all of the people
'5§’ stringing toward the altar at communion time. I remember having every

#0:” prayer, every 5’38””.46 memorized at ”yaw early age. It was clear to me

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sharon — Pinished Draft '7 L
EN 10] Assignment I3
Changing Lanes .
an,

rhere are no toll gates to insure safe passage. ‘I‘here are no maps. no ch-
travel guides, and no call-ahead reservations. ll'here is not a flight direct
from Cincinatti and there are no super-saver fares. the only inhabitant
ever available for questioning has since made his way, leaving only his
words for nan to follow.

But these words are thousands of years old, originally spoken in an
obscure Israeli JWWWMMm-I
it!“ he" ruled Mums! the ML“ 5‘
WUou_mn.M_hgp crossed oontinent_s__and
oceans, spellbindinggllions along “the 21,; Groups of people meet and
discuss the words, founding organisations based upon interpretation.

Iars have been fought, arguments started over whose interpretation is

 

better. Great chasms separate sections of the original organisation. the
followers of the speaker of the words, the teacher, the Christ sent by God
to bring news of salvation to the people of the earth.

But as I said before, all of this happened a very long time ago. len
today are faced only with this chasm and few concern themselves with the causes,
They only argue the nodern-day issues and ask themselves agonisingly difficuli
questions. Catholic or Protestant? Iho's right? Iho presents the best case
to God? is one brought up Catholic now being faced with a Protestant faith,
I find myself asking these questions.

Iho does present the best case to God? It would seem to us that it is
not the church but the individual Catholic or Protestant who must present his
case before Cod. the church, therefore, is not an organisation for Cod but L

an organisation on earth for the people of God. .l'n T

In the writing of this paper I have tried to expand upon what 1 have hi the“
alan presented. relating it to so own ‘personal experiences rather than rate.“ I m
t we‘

pointing fingers and answering questions which I have no right even to “N, "r,“
ponder. It is not w responsibility to judge which faith contains the nest in Nu .
correctness of doctrine, only to decide which one I wish to include weelf in.

 

 

 

is I stated previously, I have been asking ”self some pretty deep
questions about these organisations on earth set up for the followers of
Christ. 1 concern myself with the two major ones here in America: Catholic

and Protestant .

St;

206

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207

.[Hcil 3

It was 12:16 p.m. when my instructor mentioned the tragic
news. I first joked along in my mind waitigoa for the punch line.
It never came. I wished with all my soul that it would. It didn't.
The hour and a half seemed like an eternity. ffihrring the entire
lecture it was thecghly thing on my mind. My instructor seemed

cold and despondent. I didn't want to believe it was true. 1

couldn't wait to get out of class and prove everyone wrong.

"The space shuttle Challenger has been lost, all seven aboard

are missing and presumed dead." reported the newsman. Our
If, srrfl
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This particularsspace launch had been delayed several days.

Running out of time and faced with a tight schedule it was decided
that the ice covered craft would go up that fr§zing Jashary
morning before more bad weather could come in. Besides, space

missions had become commonplace. The craft had proven itself,

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208

Finished Draft, ASSignment 5
EN 102

E ypoc’ia'flb n6

It was 12:16 p.m. when my instructor mentioned the tragic
news. I first joked along in my mind waiting for the punch line.
It never came. I wished with all my soul that it would. It didn't.
The hour and a half seemed like an eternity. Durring the entire
lecture it was the only thing on my mind. My instructor seemed
cold and despondent. I didn't want to believe it was true. I

couldn't wait to get out of class and prove everyone wrong.

"The space shuttle Challenger has been lost, all seven aboard
are missing and presumed dead," reported the newsman. Our space
program had experienced its greatest disaster. Over and ower
again -1 watched in horror as the networks replayed that brightly
burning Spark explode into a million pieces and fall aimlessly
to the ocean. What happened? How could it of happeded? This
particular launch had been delayed several days. Running out of
time and faced with a tight schedule it was decided that the ice
covered craft would go up that freezing January morning before
more bad weather could come in. Besides, Space missions had become
commonplace. The craft had proven itself, almost.

Americans today expect a great deal from technology to satisfy
their pursuit of happiness. We live in a guaranteed society.

The more our technology gives us to ease lifes burdens, the more
we expect. Cars come with five- year warrantees and ovens are

self-cleaning. No one gets out of their car to open their garage

209

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It was 12: 16 p. m. when my instructor mentioned the tragic

news. I,&irst joked along in my mind-(gaiting for the punch line.2
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I wished with all my soul that it would. It didn' t.
Dujring the entire

IL

,IT

It never came.

The hour and a half seemed like an eternity.

lecture it was the only thing on my mind. Hy instructor seemed

 
    
 

cold and despondent. I didn't want to believe it was true

couldn't wait to get out of class and prove everyone wrong.

    
  
  
  
   
  
  

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are missing and presumed dead,"_rgported the newsman. Our space ~\\\
program had experienced its greatest disaster. Over and over

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burning spark explode into a million pieces and fall aimlessly

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The craft had proven itself, almost.

 

commonplace.
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their pursuit of happiness. We live in a guaranteed society.

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210
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’ Erpectations

It's been another exciting day in the life of m.
Got up; went to school; came home. There's not too much to eXpand
on there. This feels great to finally lay back in a comfortable
chair. I think I'll Just sip this tall, cool one and soak in the
evening. news. This should keep my mind off the day. Where's
the remote? who thought they were God and hid it under the
magazines? Ready, aim, fire.... .fire.... So the batteries are
dead. I should have expected this after the ticket dispensers in
the ramp were down and I was late for chemistry again. Then I get
caught between floors on the elevator.. I guess I wont ride that
anymore. And the atmosphere control system was still pumping cold
air into calculus. It's time I give that school a piece of my mind.
If they want to offer a quality education the least'they can do is
offer a guality enviroment. Moving on to the problems of the rest
of the world, how do I turn this TV on? And they delayed the
space shuttle launch another day. If they would have sent it up
the first day they delayed it, the craft would be on its way back.
Can't anyone do anything right??

It was 12:16 p.m. when my instructor mentioned the tragic
news. I first Joked along in my mind waiting for the punch line.
It never came. I wished with all my soul that it would. It didn't.
The hour and a half seemed like an eternity. During the entire
lecture it was the only thing on my mind. My instructor seemed‘

cold and despondent. I didn't want to believe it was true._How

.- m._."; z;- 3..--