Sample Special Exercise: No Horsing Around–I’m Fighting a Duck

What appears below is a response to the Special Exercise (SpEx) assignment required of the students enrolled in my ENGL 1213: Composition II classes during the Spring 2016 instructional term at Oklahoma State University. Circumstances surrounding the SpEx allowed students to do a fair bit of preparation for it; I have availed myself of similar opportunities by setting up the initial essay materials (such as this prefatory blurb), but I composed the actual text of the response (below) in roughly the same amount of time allotted to the students. I try to model the behavior I want to see.

I have studied Japanese martial arts since I was twelve years of age. Although my training in them has been inconsistent, it has spanned more than two decades and several styles: what is currently taught as taiho-jutsu, Kodokan judo, and Aikikai aikido. Consequently, I entertain the conceit that I have some idea what I am doing on the mats and, although I hope never to put it to the test, in an actual fight. Owing to that conceit, I assert that I would rather fight a single horse-sized duck than 50 duck-sized horses, if ever such a situation were to arise.

This does not mean I do not think I would do well against the horses. A decently-sized duck is perhaps a foot tall, a foot and a half long, and maybe three-quarters of a foot wide. Scaling down a horse to such a size would make what is normally a formidable animal far less so. It would still be able to kick, to be sure, but the kicks would be of far less power, driven by greatly reduced muscle mass, and although the similarly shrunken hooves would focus that force, it would be able to be delivered only to my legs and feet, perhaps up to just above the knee. Bites would be similarly restricted in power, scope, and range. Having studied judo, with such foot-sweep and -reap techniques as kouchi gari, de ashi harai, hiza garuma, and osotogari, I know that I am well able to endure abuse to the parts of my body likely to be affected–and to press on despite the abuse. In brief, I would be well able to endure what each horse could deploy against me, which would help me to fight successfully.

The horse would not be alone, however; 50 such animals would be arrayed against me, and any fight against multiple opponents is necessarily more complicated. Training in Aikikai aikido has shown me the truth of the assertion. But it has also allowed me tactics to use in such situations. Continual movement, so that the bulk of attackers cannot rush on at once, is key, and even if I do get cornered, there are only so many attackers that can reach me at once. More than a few will get in each other’s way, allowing me an avenue for reprisal. It might well be a brutal one, in which I use my superior size (for I am far larger than a duck-sized horse) to seize one attacker to use as a weapon against the others, adding (admittedly sickening) blows from above to the kicking and stomping that fighting such smaller opponents suggests.

Fighting the duck would be better, however. While such an opponent would be physically larger than I am, I am accustomed to working against larger combatants; I often worked with larger and heavier people than myself in judo and aikido. Also, a single opponent is generally easier to defeat, as there is less need to attend to other factors than the single opponent than in a fight with multiple attackers. And scaling up the duck to the size of a horse would take away one of the few combat advantages it might otherwise have; a bird so large would not be able to fly, certainly not from a standing takeoff such as it would have to use to be efficacious in a fight. Indeed, the duck’s mobility would be sharply limited, as ducks on land are ungainly and awkward; I would have no trouble maneuvering into favorable positions from which to attack the duck and strike it repeatedly until it either fled or fell.

Another factor that makes fighting the duck a better option than fighting the horses is the issue of cleaning up afterwards. Both horses and ducks are free with their excretions. Fifty sets of excretory organs will leave a large mess than one, or at least a more widely distributed one, so that cleaning up after the fight against the horses will be more of a chore than would cleaning up after the fight against the duck. And if the fights were to the death, rather than to unconsciousness or retreat, the disparity of cleanup would be greater. Fifty duck-sized horses would need disposal, meaning fifty broken bodies of animals would have to be handled. A single large duck, however, could be butchered for meat–and a fair bit of it, too, as well as far more readily and easily than the horses. There would be less waste from the duck, then, than from the horses, so that the end of the fight against the duck would be better than the end of the fight against the horses. The end of the fight is the thing that matters most about it, so a better ending makes a better fight; fighting the duck is the better option.

Either situation–fighting 50 duck-sized horses or fighting a single horse-sized duck–is unlikely. It is not as though a coruscating series of high-pitched whinnies or a resounding, mighty QUAAACK! will herald the coming of the horses or the duck, and it is far less possible that both will occur in such a way as to afford me the choice of which to confront. If, through some unintended consequences of genetic research or some malevolent machinations of a mastermind, the situation does arise, however, I know what I will do. I can only hope that others will attend to the other problems, though, while I ensure that the duck is defeated.

Some Remarks about My Writing Process

Much of the teaching that I do takes place in writing and writing-intensive classes. As much as I am able, I try to structure the assignments in those classes to promote writing as a process, working through cycles of drafting and revision in the hopes that students will benefit from time and attention paid to their work. (The Student’s Own Question assignment for the Spring 2016 Composition II class at Oklahoma State University–working through prewriting, a peer-review version, two instructor–review versions, and a final version–serves as one example.) Because I try to model the behavior I like to see from my students (as exemplified by the sample assignment responses I post), it makes sense to me that I would do something to explicate my own writing processes. Hence the discussion that follows, which works through a treatment of how I set up my writing situation before it looks at my drafting and revision processes. A few concluding comments follow afterward.

Setup

One common piece of advice given to writers is that they should find the circumstances most conducive to their compositional processes and produce them as much as they can when they make to write. It is not always feasible to do so, of course, but it is eminently desirable. When I sit down to write, I prefer to do so with a cup of coffee and music playing. The former is usually provided either by the office in which I work or by a helpful home pot; the latter typically comes from a streaming radio service to which I subscribe and which I have calibrated through long trial and error to give me the kind of music that works well for me. Others’ preferences will vary, and many are discussed in CCC 66.1 and 66.2, but this discussion treats my writing processes; the circumstances described are those I prefer.

Another part of my preferred setup is that it facilitates access to materials. I have written elsewhere about surrounding myself with scholarly apparatus; it is a habit I have not abandoned, despite the mixed valence of that surrounding as a symbol. I subscribe to a number of scholarly journals, and I make no small number of notes in the texts and margins thereof. Having access to them helps me to carry out many of the writing tasks that I do as a matter of course. Also, I still page through printed texts more quickly than I can scroll through electronic ones–and because I do not always remember the exact wording I seek, skimming the texts helps me to find the ideas I need to pull into my work. When I can, I set up my writing situation such that it allows me easy access to those materials; they may not be in arm’s reach, but I try to have them no more than a few steps away from me.

Much of the writing that I do is done in response to a call for papers, a freelance order, or an assignment such as I give to my students. This means that, in most cases, I am addressing a specific prompt, enacting in my professional and academic work much the same kind of thing that I ask my students to do. I am also generally provided with some idea of the writing that needs to be done, which soon leads me to the kind of idea I will pursue. Knowing what kind of idea usually gives me some indication of the structure I need to use to support the idea, and so I will generally set up the kind of writing I need to do by stubbing out sections. Sometimes, as in the composition of this piece or the summaries and commentaries I draft for freelance orders, those sections will take formal headings; how I handled doing so in the former appears below:WritingProcess1

Other writing tasks may not offer the kind of clear idea that allows for a formal outline, or they may not be of the sort that admits of formal section headings. In such cases, I still stub out the basic shape of my paper, usually using phrasing placed into square brackets as informal guideposts for how to move through what I write. Having such a structure in place helps me get through the paper, both in giving me direction and in giving me convenient breaking-points if I need to use them.

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Drafting

Once I have set up my writing situation as best as I am able, including generating the basic idea and stubbing out the structure of the piece, I sit down to write. I rarely compose in a linear fashion; while I typically draft an introduction in at least a working version when I set up my materials, I do not typically move through the first identified section into the second and on through the document. Instead, I jump around, moving from identified section to identified section as ideas come to me. For example, in this very piece, I moved from what is now the first paragraph of the Setup section to drafting this paragraph; the idea for it came to me at that point, and I made sure to set it down on the electronic page before I forgot it. In my freelance summaries and commentaries on popular works, I will usually draft front and back matter before moving through the summaries that occupy the middle of the ordered texts, moving back and forth among points in both. Again, it is a process that works for me and that has emerged across thousands of hours of writing. Others’ results may vary, but I seek in this piece to explicate my own processes.

I confess that I am often distracted in my drafting. The writing I do at home finds itself set aside in favor of family and household concerns; that I do at the office sees (usually welcome) interruptions by colleagues and others. Both sets of distractions do present threats to my compositional process; it is easy to get involved in other things than writing, even that writing done explicitly for pay. And my disordered compositional process is prone to the distraction, as well; returning from interruptions does not always come with a clear indication of what I was doing or where I was going with the paper. Even with such problems, however, I find that my process works reasonably well for me; I am able to get done the writing I need to get done, and in such a way that my freelance clients consistently rate my writing as excellent; my academic endeavors are reasonably successful, as well.

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Revision

I work from an idea of writing as a recusrive process, following training I received as a graduate student in English. This means that not only does my drafting not proceed in a necessarily linear fashion, but also my process of adjusting and correcting the writing proceeds in an other-than-lockstep pattern. At the sentence level, I correct and adjust wording continuously as I move through the writing (something that electronic writing facilitates much better than manuscript, which is one argument in favor of it). It happens frequently, almost with every sentence that I write, and it goes beyond correcting my occasional typographical error to rethinking wording and phrasing as I go about placing ideas on the page.

At the structural level, I find that I sometimes reconsider not only my formal headings but how I will move into and through each. For example, when I initially set up this piece, I had thought I would do a simple three-heading structure. As I have moved forward with it, I have added a formal fourth heading (for the conclusion, below), as well as aligning with prevailing online compositional practice and embedding links into the document to help navigate it. I had not initially thought to include them, but the piece has grown somewhat larger than I had first expected, and adjusting the composition to ease the reader’s burden seems a thing worth doing.

In addition, I realized that I needed to include information about my broader setup practices. Initially, I had thought to begin the Setup section with the paragraph starting “Much of the writing,”but further consideration prompted me to adjust the idea. Similar things often happen while I am amid my writing, and so I make similar revisions, inserting new materials into places that seem to need them. It usually works out well for me, helping me to address my readers more usefully, whether in clarifying materials for my students, satisfying my clients, or explicating materials more fully for fellow scholars.

That I do revise amid composition does not mean I do not revise after generating what I think is an acceptable initial draft; I certainly do so. Often, I do so by printing out a physical copy of the document I am drafting, reviewing in print what I see thereupon. Changes I note to myself as needing to be made are incorporated from the end of the document back; doing so makes it easier for me to find the places in the earlier version of the document I note as needing alteration. I also have at least one other reader look at what I write, usually another person with degrees in English but whose area of expertise is other than mine. Doing so allows me not only to have my basic argumentative or iterative form examined, but also the clarity of my writing–if I am writing clearly enough that a non-specialist can easily understand what I am trying to convey, then I am writing well, indeed.

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Conclusion

There is doubtlessly more I could say about my writing process. The variations of it I deploy to meet specific writing tasks could each be given a section or a whole post to itself, and even for the things I have discussed, there are more details that I could include. What I hope to have given is a useful summary view of my writing process, one that will perhaps be of benefit to my students now and in times to come.

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Edited on 21 March 2016 to account for vanished media.

For 9 March 2016

As it happens, I do occasionally get ill such that I cannot take the risk of coming in to work. Such a thing has happened to me today; I know what it is, and I am getting it taken care of, so I should be able to be back to work when I am next scheduled to be. In the meantime, however, there are some things that need to be discussed for my students at Oklahoma State University and Northern Oklahoma College. They should appear below.

Oklahoma State University

Students of mine at Oklahoma State University should be working on their Infog, of which the RV is due before the beginning of class time on 11 March 2016. That RV is supposed to consist of a statement of goals and purposes, a raw-form infographic, and a digital-original form of the infographic, all in a single Word document. Compiling the document will require students to insert graphics, and legibility of the graphic may require resizing pages. I had meant to cover one method of doing so in a single document with my students today; since I am not in the classroom, that will not be possible, so I am putting together this commentary to help with that task.

Please note that the directions below are written from the perspective of a PC user; commands for Mac and other platforms will be different. Please note also that the directions below work from previously existing materials, the sample infographic provided for students, here.

Drafting the statement of goals and purposes should work much as previous assignments for the class have; the text should be left-aligned in double-spaced 12-point Garamond, Georgia, or Times New Roman type, with paragraphs indented half an inch from the margin and headings, title, and page numbers in place as normal. It should look something like this:G. Elliott Spring 2016 ENGL 1213 Infog Example Img. 1

After completing the text of the statement, hit the enter key once to move the cursor to a new line. Then start a new section of the paper. To do so, go to the “Page Layout” tab at the top of the screen and select it. Next, select “Breaks,” which should offer a drop-down menu. On that menu, under the heading “Section Breaks,” select the “Next Page” option, which will move the document to a new page, with that new page being a new section of the document able to be adjusted independently of the other parts of the text. The selection should look something like this:G. Elliott Spring 2016 ENGL 1213 Infog Example Img. 2

Once the selection is made, the screen should look something like this:G. Elliott Spring 2016 ENGL 1213 Infog Example Img. 3

Page numbers will need to be inserted into the new section; the document is continuous, and the pagination needs to reflect it. And it will be helpful to have a subject heading that indicates what content will be in the new section; my sample post on the blog called it “Raw-Form Infographic,” which seems a useful label. I put it into my document, changing the spacing on that line to “Single” to facilitate image placement. (It is a variation from “normal” formatting, admittedly. Visuals introduce changes.) A problem arises, however, in that my hand-drawn raw-form infographic is on letter-size paper, as are many done by students. Inserting that image into another letter-size page will shrink it, making it more difficult to read than it needs to be.

To allow the image to show up at full-size, then, the page into which it is inserted must be made larger. (Keep in mind that it has to fit onto the page along with its label.) Margins will do well to remain at one inch, so the page will need to be two inches wider than letter-size: 10½ inches. Height will need to accommodate the label; an inch in addition to the two added for margins should suffice, making the overall page height some 14 inches.

Making the adjustment necessitates returning to the “Page Layout” tab at the top of the screen, selecting it, and selecting the “Size” button thereupon. Doing so will produce a drop-down menu, at the bottom of which is “More Paper Sizes,” which is the appropriate choice. Selecting it brings up something like this:G. Elliott Spring 2016 ENGL 1213 Infog Example Img. 4

The “Height” and “Width” boxes can be adjusted by selecting them and putting in new values. For mine, they are the 14 inch height and 10½ width noted earlier. Also, in the “Apply to” box, I selected “This section,” which I recommend to others. Upon making the adjustments and selecting “OK,” I received a message about the printable area, which I opted to ignore for the present purpose. That done, my document came to look like this:G. Elliott Spring 2016 ENGL 1213 Infog Example Img. 5

Students whose raw-form infographics are oriented horizontally rather than vertically will also need to adjust their page layout to suit. This is done by going to the “Page Layout” tab once again, this time selecting it and selecting the “Orientation” option appearing thereupon. Normally, documents will be in the “Portrait” orientation; a horizontal layout will need to be adjusted to the “Landscape” orientation, done by making the appropriate selection. (Keep in mind that room still needs to be accorded to the label on the page; the page will need to be 11½ inches high and 13 inches wide to accommodate.) Something like the following should appear:G. Elliott Spring 2016 ENGL 1213 Infog Example Img. 5.1

With my page set up appropriately to accommodate the raw-form image, the time came to insert the image into the document. To do so, I placed my cursor where I need the image to appear: the next line of text after the label. That done, I selected the “Insert” tab at the top of the page, clicking on the “Picture” button beneath it; the following appeared as I did so:G. Elliott Spring 2016 ENGL 1213 Infog Example Img. 6

A file-selection menu appeared, and I selected the raw-form infographic I had drafted and scanned in. (I used my home scanner; scanners are available to students in the Edmon Low Library, and their use is intuitive. I do recommend saving images as .jpg files, however.) Doing so placed the raw-form infographic in the document where I wanted it to be, as shown below:G. Elliott Spring 2016 ENGL 1213 Infog Example Img. 7

That done, I went to the end of the document (hold “Ctrl” and press “End” on the keyboard) and repeated my earlier process of starting a new section of the document to facilitate insertion of the digital-original form of the infographic. I also repeated my earlier process of adjusting the page size to suit the digital document. Because I formatted the digital-original version as a tabloid-sized document (11 inches wide, 17 inches high), and I still needed a label (“Digital-Original Infographic,” after the online version), I set my page size to 13 inches wide and 20 inches high. Afterwards, I inserted the label and the image, with the following result:G. Elliott Spring 2016 ENGL 1213 Infog Example Img. 8

The resulting document appears here: G. Elliott Spring 2016 ENGL 1213 Infog Formatting Walkthrough Result.

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Northern Oklahoma College

I had intended to discuss more citation styles with my students at Northern Oklahoma College today; my absence will prevent that from taking place. That said, I can point them again to the Purdue OWL discussion of MLA standards, here. I can also offer them some questions to ask about sources when determining whether or not they are likely to be valid for the AnnBib on which they are to be working.

I have noted before that information is not neutral; the selection of what information is to be presented is a deliberate choice, one stemming ideally from considered judgment and therefore interpretive decisions. Concerns of ethos attach themselves to such interpretations; knowing what types of information the expected audience is likely to consider reliable and presenting those types helps writers to present themselves to their audiences as being reliable and worth attention. Academic audiences are likely to consider primary source materials reliable (although there may be quibbling over which edition of a given primary text is the best to use); one cannot discuss a thing without reference to that thing. That primary materials are so necessary, however, means that they are not appropriate for inclusion in an annotated bibliography in most circumstances. Secondary and tertiary/critical sources, however, are–provided they are of sufficient quality.

Determining whether they are happens through developing answers to a series of questions, of which a selection appear below. Each source will need to prompt some questions of its own, so there is no way to account for all of them that might do well to be asked. Also, there is no guarantee of reliability, as it is possible for error to persist despite the best and most sincere efforts of those producing work–whether because new data is uncovered later or elsewhere or because, as the adage has it, “Even Homer nods.”

Keep in mind that there are multiple people involved in the dissemination of information. For most reliable secondary and tertiary/critical sources, there will be an author, an editor or editors, and a publisher or publishers. Similar questions will apply to each, with one or two others worth asking, as well; the first of them is “Is the author/editor/publisher identified?” While there are circumstances in which anonymity is desirable or even necessary, people are generally less willing to associate their names with what they know is wrong; having those involved in the production of a source identified is therefore an easy, early indicator of whether the source can be a quality source. (Admittedly, many hold sincerely to cockamamie ideas. Again, answers to such questions move towards reliability; they do not guarantee it.)

Related to that question is that of “What background does the author/editor/publisher have with the subject being described?” While past performance is not an absolute predictor of current or future performance, it is the case that someone who repeatedly does well with a thing is likely to continue to do well with that thing. The reverse is also true.

Also related, and of perhaps greater importance, is “What does the author/editor/publisher gain from others?” This can be rephrased in part as “Who pays?” It can also be “How does the author/editor/publisher benefit?” While admittedly cynical, the idea that people will work to suit their interests and act in ways that benefit them–whether those ways are generally ethical or not–is one that needs to be considered, as it skews perspectives as much as if not more than any other concern.

Less cynically, having identification of the author/editor/publisher allows for the question of “Who/what else works with what the author/editor/publisher produces?” If materials known to be good use the current piece or others produced by the same agency, and they do so favorably, the materials under review are more likely to be good, as well. Conversely, if good materials disparage the work done by the agency responsible for the reviewed material, that material is likely to be less helpful. Again, the reverse is also true.

A similar question, albeit one oriented towards the past, is “From what does the author/editor/publisher work?” If the material being reviewed uses good materials and commends them, it is more likely to be good. If it disparages them, it may still be good; one of the things that scholars accept is that their work may be supplanted by further study and the revelation of new information. Sometimes, advancing that new information requires the outright rejection of the old.

Two other questions present themselves for particular attention. One of them is “What is the medium of presentation?” Marshall McLuhan famously quips that “The medium is the message” in Understanding Media: The Extensions of Man, and he is, in large part, correct. The manner in which information is presented influences how it is received, and, as dominant communicative theories hold, the reception determines what information is actually transferred–not only in terms of the explicit data, but also in parallel concerns that do much to influence perceptions of reliability and applicability of the information to other venues. The degree of adherence to the conventions of a particular medium deployed in a given source help speak to its credibility and reliability (although, again, they do not guarantee it)–particularly in the case of scholarly literature, which is conventionally peer-reviewed (i.e., the materials are blind-assessed by experts in the field, and usually substantially adjusted based on those assessments, before being allowed to proceed to publication).

The other is “How timely is the source?” Timeliness does not necessarily equal recency, although a more recent source will generally be more helpful than an older one, as it allows for more information to have been uncovered. That said, enough time for fact-checking needs to be allowed to avoid things happening like the CERN neutrino kerfluffle in 2011 and 2012. Also, projects that track historical progressions (and many will need to do so, if only to provide adequate surveys of prior treatments of the material) will necessarily need to examine earlier sources.

There are, as noted above, other questions that can be asked–and that should be asked. Those noted above, however, should offer a useful beginning from which students can work on the AnnBib and other projects, both in my class and in their writings yet to come.

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Updated 1 April 2016 to adjust grouping.

Sample Annotated Bibliography: Why Not Have a Rhetoric Requirement among UL Lafayette PhD Students in English?

What follows is an annotated bibliography such as my students are asked to write for the AnnBib assignment during the Spring 2016 instructional term at Northern Oklahoma College. As is expected of student work, it treats an issue of its writer’s curriculum. It also adheres to the length requirements expressed to students (they are asked for a two-paragraph introduction that contextualizes the project and outlines the methods for selecting materials, as well as six annotative entries, exclusive of heading, title, and page numbers; the sample below provides them), although its formatting will necessarily differ from student submissions due to the differing medium. How the medium influences reading is something well worth considering as a classroom discussion, particularly for those students who are going into particularly writing- or design-intensive fields.

Please note that the bibliography below treats the same topic addressed in earlier sample assignments written throughout the Spring 2016 instructional term; it is, in effect, an expanded version of the T&S assignment required of students at Oklahoma State University, for which a sample assignment has been provided (here). Some materials will be duplicated from the earlier version.

I hold a doctorate in English from the University of Louisiana at Lafayette (ULL). Earning it obliged me to take many hours of coursework, draft and defend a dissertation, and sit for a battery of comprehensive exams. Those exams are described by the ULL English Department as helping to prepare students for teaching and research–but most of the teaching that I have done since leaving ULL has been in rhetoric and composition, and the training the exams promote and assess did not require me to make much if any formal study of that area of English studies. That a combination of logistical and disciplinary factors contribute to the lack of a rhetoric requirement in a battery of generalist English exams seems likely, but more investigation is needed to ascertain whether or not it is.

Conducting such an investigation suggests looking at discussions of comprehensive exams, generally, as well as of the disciplines in which the specific exams being discussed might exist. Those discussions are easily found in a number of disciplinary-education journals, such as are available through the Oklahoma State University library and through subscriptions to publications of organizations invested in English education, such as the National Council of Teachers of English. A few prominent results of searches through such materials are related below; they, and other sources yet, argue for a dominant format of comprehensive exams and a view of the field into which graduates of the ULL English PhD program will enter, highlighting some of the disconnections between how the program prepares its students for their likely career paths.


Hassel, Holly, and Joanne Baird Giordano. “Occupy Writing Studies: Rethinking College Composition for the Needs of the Teaching Majority.” CCC 65.1 (September 2013): 117-39. Print.

The article argues against perceptions among writing scholars that devalue the work done by most writing teachers, who work in two-year and open-admission institutions. After defining a number of its terms, the authors note that studies of such teachers are not proportionate to the work they do. They continue with discussions of the two-year teaching environment, the focus of writing scholarship on four-year and elite institutions and the concomitant problems associated with community colleges, and what benefits would accrue to teachers and scholars from a reconsideration of such positions as they outline. The article concludes with a few recommendations of how to proceed, namely the support of research by and about two-year and open-admission institutions.

Of particular importance in the article is a quotation from a  Chronicle of Higher Education article by Schmidt, one noting that non-tenure-track faculty account for more than three quarters of teaching positions (119). While it does not discuss the comprehensive exam as an item, it does point towards the ubiquity of writing instruction by those with graduate degrees in English, irrespective of their specialization; it is a point the article reiterates. As such, it helps provide context and support for the need for graduate students in English to take exams and concomitant training in rhetoric, since it is from rhetoric that the practice of teaching writing emerges.


Nolan, Robert E. “How Graduate Students of Adult and Continuing Education Are Assessed at the Doctoral Level.” Journal of Continuing Higher Education 50.3 (Fall 2002): 38-43. PDF file.

The article encourages discussion of the forms comprehensive examinations in doctoral coursework should take to increase completion rates and more accurately reflect the expectations placed on those who pursue advanced graduate study. After explicating then-current demographic data among graduate students, the piece lays out its purpose and summarizes previous studies of the topic. It then lays out its methods–noting the group surveyed and describing the survey used. Findings follow, identifying major trends about the timing, format, and intentions of comprehensive exams. The article concludes with notes that indicate no consensus among programs about how to hold comprehensive exams and what they ought to do.

The article may suffer somewhat from concerns of age, and repeated mentions of what various things “presumably” do weaken some of the rhetorical force of the piece. The brevity of the piece may also be of some concern. The article does, however, provide a useful summary of tendencies in how examinations have been conducted at the doctoral level across disciplines. In that regard, the article offers a useful starting point for discussion of any topic treating comprehensive exams at the doctoral level. As background material for framing investigation of the comprehensive exam, then, it is worth reading.


Palmquist, Mike, and Sue Doe. “Contingent Faculty: Introduction.” College English 73.4 (March 2011): 353-55. Print.

Introducing a special issue of College English they edit, Palmquist and Doe note the centennial of the National Council of Teachers of English, the quarter-century anniversary of the Wyoming Resolution (one of the major statements regarding contingent those members of college and university faculties with the least protection), and the many statements made by scholarly societies calling for improvements to the working conditions contingent faculty face. They then lay out the contents of the special issue of the journal, summarizing three articles and three discussion forums that occupy the following pages.

Of particular note in the piece are cited comments from the American Association of University Professors and a committee of the Modern Language Association of America. Combined, the comments speak to the prevailing conditions faced by those who will teach English. Most postsecondary teaching positions are contingent, and most composition teaching is done by contingent faculty. The chance that a graduate of any English PhD program will teach composition off of the tenure track is therefore substantial, making preparation for that work all the more important–and its lack all the more curious.


Ponder, Nicole, Sharon E. Beatty, and William Foxx. “Doctoral Comprehensive Exams in Marketing: Current Practices and Emerging Perspectives.” Journal of Marketing Education 26.3 (December 2004): 226-35. PDF file.

The authors identify and explain then-current and -emerging practices regarding doctoral comprehensive exams in United States marketing programs. After offering a general introduction to the topic, the authors review available literature on the topic, focusing largely on Bloom’s taxonomy. Methodology follows, with a survey described and the process of its dissemination, completion, and interpretation articulated. Results detailing the perceived purposes of doctoral comprehensive exams, structures of those exams, and changes to the latter are presented, and less traditional emergent structures–an “original papers” approach, an “extended take-home,” a “specialist,” and a “no exam–no paper” approach–are explicated. Results are discussed, and a conclusion suggesting that the traditional closed-book format of comprehensive exams will be less common in marketing schools finishes the article.

Although Ponder, Beatty, and Foxx discuss marketing, specifically, many of their assertions are likely applicable to other fields. Despite common perceptions of advanced education as liberal and socially deconstructive, academia tends to remain wedded to older structures, so the “traditional” examination structures discussed in the article are likely to be represented in other fields and programs entirely. If such points of correspondence are in place, then others may also be, making the conclusions reached by the article at least provisionally applicable to other areas of advanced education. Also notable in the article is the concern voiced by some faculty that changes to traditional exam structures “are depriving students of the opportunity to integrate a broad range of knowledge at a deeper level than they will ever have an opportunity to achieve again” (234), offering an unusual perspective on the comprehensive exam that may well bear examination.


Schafer, Joseph A., and Matthew J. Giblin. “Doctoral Comprehensive Exams: Standardization, Customization, and Everywhere in Between.” Journal of Criminal Justice Education 19.2 (July 2008): 275-89. PDF file.

The authors describe general tendencies regarding treatment of comprehensive exams by programs awarding doctoral degrees in criminal justice. The need for systematic study of criminal justice programs is articulated before the doctoral comprehensive exam is contextualized. Exam procedures are described and historicized. Study methods–largely focused on conducting surveys and interviews–are described and findings articulated, the latter focusing largely on the forms the exams take. Findings are subsequently discussed, identifying and commenting on the patterns that emerge from the study and treating relative merits of several exam formats. The article concludes with questions about the ongoing utility of curricular standards to both the discipline and the broader community the discipline serves.

Although Schafer and Giblin treat the discipline of criminal justice, specifically, they ground their article in information deriving from studies of other fields–notably including rhetoric–and assert that their own discipline largely follows the structures of others. The conclusions they reach about their own field therefore present themselves as able to be generalized back to those other fields, so that what they say about comprehensive exams can be applied to other areas than their own. Additionally, their relatively recent (to this writing) article allows their conclusions to be taken as more timely, and their relatively extensive bibliography offers useful insights as to further reading.


Scott Shields, Sara. “Like Climbing Jacob’s Ladder: An Art-Based Exploration of the Comprehensive Exam Process.” Arts & Humanities in Higher Education 14.2 (April 2015): 206-27. PDF file.

Following an epigraph taken from Scripture, Scott Shields explains that her piece is a reflection on the experience of doctoral comprehensive exams. The reflection is framed in terms of the general shape and purpose of the doctoral exam, described as having ritual aspects that are not clear to graduate students who will soon take such tests; the author notes desiring to explicate the ritual through narration in reflection. Excerpts of exam questions and answers, as well as visual and verbal materials taken from personal journal entries relating to the exam experience follow; reflections on individual exam components accompany each set of materials. Ultimately, the author arrives at the notion that the value of the comprehensive exam is in its facilitation of individual focus on personal growth leading to shared experiences.

While the piece is unconventional, it is of value in that it offers an inside perspective on comprehensive exams; most treatments of the subject look at them from the perspective of having long completed them. The anecdotal and idiosyncratic nature of the article may read to some as lessening the effectiveness of the piece as a whole, but that same individualistic narration does much to remind readers of the deeply personal nature of the comprehensive exam. It bespeaks the overall engagement with subject matter inherent in the comprehensive exam, making it all the more important that the exercise is directed to good effect.

Sample Infographic Portfolio Assignment: Context to Answer a Question about the Comprehensive Exams for UL Lafayette PhD Students in English

What follows is an infographic portfolio such as students are asked to write for the Infog assignment during the Spring 2016 instructional term at Oklahoma State University. As is expected of student work, it treats an issue of its writer’s curriculum. It also adheres to the length requirements expressed to students. (They are asked for a statement of goals and purposes of approximately 500 words, exclusive of heading, title, and page numbers, as well as for a hand-drawn and digital-original version of an infographic; the statement below is 498 words long when judged by those standards). Its formatting, however, will necessarily differ from student submissions due to the differing medium. How the medium influences reading is something well worth considering as a classroom discussion, particularly for those students who are going into particularly writing- or design-intensive fields.

The sample below treats a question voiced in the earlier “Sample Developing a Topic and Locating Sources Assignment: Questions about the Comprehensive Exams for UL Lafayette PhD Students in English,” continuing the same project being treated for the benefit of students in classes at both Oklahoma State University and Northern Oklahoma College. Because it is a continuation of the same project, some phrasing will likely be similar to that of sample assignments written for both sets of students.

Earning a doctorate in English from the University of Louisiana at Lafayette (ULL) obliged me to sit for a series of comprehensive exams. Like my contemporaries, I had to take four five-hour tests over such areas of inquiry within English studies as English languages and literatures to 1500, early modern English literature, American literature to approximately 1900, and contemporary fantasy literatures in the US and UK. The idea behind such exams, according to how the ULL Department of English describes them on its website as of 23 September 2015, is to facilitate both teaching and continued research, ensuring that students who complete the program adequately reflect the generalist orientation of the program. Yet while the expressed requirements for the exams note that coursework across literary areas and periods must be taken, many of the students in the program are not obliged to range outside of literary studies, and most graduates will teach outside those areas–namely in rhetoric and composition. Why this is so is unclear; such a lack of clarity merits investigation.

Finding out why the PhD program in English at ULL acts as it does prompts looking at peer institutions of that school. The most immediate peers are the other members of the University of Louisiana system, given that they are unified at their higher administrative levels and therefore operate under many of the same constraints and restrictions that will affect ULL. The problem with doing so is that ULL is the only institution in the University of Louisiana system that offers a PhD in English. A slightly less immediate set of peers is the membership of the Sun Belt Conference, the schools against which ULL competes in athletic events; conferences tend to be organized to bring comparable schools into competition, so the member institutions are likely juxtaposed fairly. Too, more of the schools have PhD programs in English than in the University of Louisiana system, offering more useful data for comparison.

In composing the infographic, I sought to connect my presentation to the materials being presented. Consequently, I strove initially to mimic the color scheme and typefaces used by my focal materials, the description of the comprehensive exams hosted by the ULL English Department; the idea therein was that the treatment of the subject would reflect the subject itself. The infographic title was put at the top center to foreground it most prominently. Information was positioned to move from broad to narrow, leading readers down the page along a single center line. Alignment and grouping were seen to via tables, into which the increasingly narrow data-sets were set for ease of reading; while the focal information was placed near the bottom of the infographic, the plethora of earlier information serves to balance the document. Citations follow typical online practice, providing URLs for the materials collected and grouping them under a single heading at the bottom of the page; they need to be present but unobtrusive, and the placement and smaller typeface conduce to that end.

Raw-Form Infographic

G. Elliott Spring 2016 ENGL 1213 Infog Raw Form

Digital-Original Infographic

G. Elliott Spring 2016 ENGL 1213 Infog Digital Original Form

Some Remarks about Grading

Questions arise from time to time in my classes about the way in which I assess work submitted to me by students. My practices are at variance with many others’, as I well know, and the divergence sometimes leads to confusion. Some explication therefore suggests itself as worth conducting. As such, I describe my grading practices below, with comments about the practical and philosophical underpinnings and a short conclusion following. Notes are also appended.

The remarks below are provisional and represent my thoughts at the time of writing. I will doubtlessly return to them in the future; I expect that, if and as I continue to teach, my opinions of how to assess my students’ work will change. They should, certainly, if I am paying attention to things as I ought to be.

Grading Practices

Most of my classes assess student performance on assigned writing tasks. There are some few assignments that follow different forms, usually quizzes to ascertain whether or not students have done the assigned reading and paid attention to prevailing classroom discussions. Even those, however, are usually written–or at least involve writing–rather than being only or even primarily multiple-choice, completion, or fill-in-the-blank.

Assessing writing is always problematic, given the demands and expectations of students, programs, faculty in other programs, and other stakeholders. Although I acknowledge problems in doing so, I tend to apply explicit rubrics to my grading, identifying a number of categories in which I mean to assess students and assigning different weights thereto; I also offer representative questions that indicate what I mean in noting each category, trying to make explicit the expectations I have of my students’ work. The individual categories will vary by the assignment, although a few are relatively consistent across courses and tasks. For example, because I often operate under programmatic requirements for page length and word count, I explicitly note students’ adherence to those quantities. I also generally look at whether students have followed formatting standards I make explicit to the students and whether their usage adheres to a particular style manual–almost always that of the Modern Language Association of America, given my membership therein and disciplinary commonplaces.

More fluid categories focus on informational content and quality, explanatory thoroughness, organizational principles, and the like; the phrasing and standards of each category depend on the specific assignment. Different assignments act in different genres, and different genres have different conventions they are expected to follow. They should be assessed differently therefore, and I work to reflect that in the categories I include in the rubrics I use to assess papers.

A category I try to include in assignments is one I label as “Engagement Developed.” I offer it as a sort of extra-credit component of my assignments, one that is admittedly subjective (even more so than most writing assessments). I typically define it as identifying whether the paper offers something unusually compelling or innovative for the level of class being taught (so lower-division classes are more likely to see it awarded than upper-division or graduate courses, given appropriately different expectations of performance based on prior training and experience), although I am relatively open about what that “compelling or innovative” can be, and I tend to reward a sincere attempt even if it is not entirely successful.Note

Each category–standing, fluid, or extra-credit-like–is framed in a binary of sufficient proficiency and its lack; I tend to err on the side of success when I have questions about whether or not it has been achieved, particularly in earlier assignments and earlier versions of later assignments. Success or failure in each category results in an adjustment of the grade by a number of “steps,” as judged against a common grading scale I use throughout my classes. On that scale, I start all papers at a grade of C, assuming base-line competence from my students and asserting that base-line competence as a criterion-referenced average performance. The final grade for each paper–or each component of an assignment, as sometimes happens–results from the total number of steps changed, as outlined in the table below.

Reported Grade Steps Change Numerical/Percentile Equivalent
A+ +7 or moreNote 98
A +6 95
A- +5 92
B+ +4 88
B +3 85
B- +2 82
C+ +1 78
C +0 75
C- -1 72
D -2 65
F -3 or more 55
0 (Zero) SpecialNote 0

Category scores are not reported in isolation; giving only indications of success or failure is not helpful for students who seek to improve the quality of their work, whether out of a sincere desire for betterment or out of a local and immediate desire for higher grades. On my formal assignments, those which prompt formal rubrics, I offer not only an indication of whether the category has been successfully addressed, but notes about why I have arrived at my assessment thereof. I also offer overall comments at the end of the assessment rubric, a filled-out copy of which I append to each student’s work as it is returned. The comments with each category address issues specific to it, while those at the end of the rubric encapsulate my more readerly responses to the work. (I flatter myself a good reader after three degrees in English.) Students therefore receive comments at multiple levels of readership, which they can then use to improve their future writing if they are inclined to do so.

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Practical Reasoning

My grading practices have developed as a result of the institutional pressures under which I have worked since beginning to teach college classes in 2006. I attest to some of that history on “About Geoffrey B. Elliott,” here, but what does not show up clearly on that combination of resume and CV is the amount of work done in each position. As a graduate student on campus, I taught one or two classes each term–while taking my own. Once off campus, in New York City, I taught five classes a term until my promotion to full-time status, at which point I began to teach six or more–sometimes for as many as twenty-four hours of coursework–in addition to working on my doctoral dissertation; most of my classes started with thirty or more students in them. In Oklahoma, I have carried a 4/3 teaching load, supplemented by a fair bit of outside labor. In brief, I have done more classroom work than many others who teach at the collegiate level, and it is to such pressures that my grading has responded.

Because I have carried the teaching loads I have, I have had to learn to compress my grading. Rubrics facilitate that compression, although, as I note above, they do have problems.Note Similarly facilitating is the reduction of categories to acceptable or unacceptable completion, although I admit that reduction is also a problem. Marvell’s comment to his coy mistress would apply here, however, and I have never had world enough or time. The practices do, however, have the advantage of being easy to understand. Calling attention to specific categories allows for targeted effort and improvement, and identifying successful completion is something that registers decently enough for the students with whom I have had experience over years of teaching. Too, such things tend to read well with administration outside my own teaching areas, and while there are certainly problems with accountability cultures, multiple audiences are involved in any communicative act, and those that are known or can be guessed at should be addressed as much as can be done.

Some students have noted that my category-specific comments are not always helpful in that they are not exact. This is particularly true for those comments treating adherence to standards of usage articulated in whatever style manual prevails in the class. And it is true that I do not perform a line-by-line proofreading of student papers, which is what the students who make such comments generally reference and expect. There are instructional reasons I abstain from doing so. When I have done so, students have tended to address only those things explicitly marked, “fixing” their papers at a surface level without revising for the more important concerns of structure and content noted; I see no point in “correcting” words that I expect to be changed or removed. Too, the students who attend to the comments I leave inevitably ask questions about specifics, even when I leave more detailed line-item comments; since they will come to me in any event–which is preferable, in all honesty–I see no point in laying out an initial effort that will be repeated for those who seek to benefit therefrom, or offering it to those who will not respond favorably. Finally, if I do all of the work of proofreading my students’ papers, they will not learn how to do so for themselves; they have not yet in years of having others proofread their papers for them, as I see in their work and as many have told me mouth to ear.

It will likely be noted also that the grading scale I use assigns numbers ending in 8 to -plus grades. That is, a C+ translates to a 78, a B+ to 88, and an A+ to 98. (I have always regarded D+ as an oddity, and F+ seems inane.) This is, in part, to minimize arguments. Were I to assign numbers ending in 9 to -plus grades, I have no doubt that I would be inundated with requests for “just one more point”; in the past, when I have graded on a point-build system, I have gotten such requests from students earning 59, 69, 79, 89, and 99. The answer was almost always “no,” but having to handle the requests took up time that could have been better spent on other things–such as helping students to improve their performance rather than the rating assigned to performance already completed and observed. With -plus grades ending in 8, however, such requests are vastly reduced, freeing up time for lesson planning, assessment, reflection, and the work I do outside the classroom in the hopes of excelling inside it.

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Philosophical Reasoning

That I give some thought to the principles underlying my pedagogical practice is, I think, a good thing. It is also something I have discussed before, as attested here and in the reports of course surveys I post in this webspace (here, here, here, here, and here as of this writing). More targeted discussion of those principles seems in order, hence what appears below.

The most important idea undergirding my practice is that I mean to help my students. My own educational background and classroom experiences tell me that students benefit from having some explicit guidance, which my grading practice provides. It does not prescribe in detail what students are expected to do, however, allowing them room to try approaches I had not considered previously, which is good, as well as obliging them to consider critically what they must do in addressing the tasks I set before them, which is also good. And if I do grade somewhat strictly, as a binary system tends towards having happen, I also maintain that if there is no challenge, there is no reason to improve–and improvement is eminently desirable.

Something else to consider is the purpose to which education is directed. The present document does not admit of enough space to treat the many, many arguments about what that purpose is or ought to be–and there are many, indeed. Those I have seen tend to push for education to prepare students for the workforce or for active and engaged citizenship. My grading practices serve to help prepare students to face either case. Workplace writing does tend to work in terms of success or failure, and common genres of workplace writing do fairly narrowly prescribe what documents should look like and contain. Active and engaged citizenship demands that people attend closely to forms and figure out what is being asked of them, much as my grading tends to do. So if education is directed toward either of those ends, the way I assess student work befits the end goal.Note

It will be noted also that the regular grading scale in my classes (as distinct from that imposed by the institutions that employ me) caps at A+, which I tend to define as 98 points on a 100-point scale. That the number ends in an 8 is simply an artifact of my usual grading pattern, put in place because grades ending in 9 tend to prompt pleas for “just one more point.” That the number is not 100, however, has attracted some comment and so bears a bit of explanation.

In the classes I have taught and continue to teach (as of this writing), most of the grade comes from writing. There are some few other assignments given, usually completion grades of one sort or another, but the bulk of grading derives from what I see in the writing my students do. At the beginning of each term in my more writing-intensive classes (such as Composition I at Oklahoma State University and Composition II at both Oklahoma State University and Northern Oklahoma College), I make the comment to my students that writing can always be improved. Typically, I do so with a joking reference to Shakespeare; the Bard always plays well in English classes. But even couched in jest, the core idea holds: Writing can always be better. Those of us who write professionally struggle with the idea continually; the writing arrives at a point of “good enough to send off” rather than an actual “good enough,” and even piece that are published to great acclaim are often viewed later by their writers as deficient in one way or another.

Because the writing can always be improved, it is necessarily not perfect. To my mind, a grade of 100 out of 100 signifies perfection. Since no writing can be perfect, no writing can earn a grade that signifies perfection; to do so would be inaccurate at best and diminutive of the value of perfection at worst. This does not mean that the writing cannot be excellent, for which reason I offer a grade of A+ to my students despite what standard grading scales at my institutions allow, but there is a difference between excellence and perfection. And in such a case, the 100 remains in place as an ever-elusive goal, something towards which to strive despite its unattainability, asymptotically approached but never actually encountered–because getting better is a big part of the point of it all, if not the whole of it.

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Conclusion

I am aware that the way I work is idiosyncratic, emerging from my specific circumstances of work and background over many years. (Indeed, some of the underpinnings of how I assess students work now can be found in notes I took and projects I submitted during my undergraduate years, when I sought teaching certification.) They may well not work for others; I have, in fact, received complaints about my methods, largely based upon their differences from the practices of others. But they work for me, allowing me to look over student work and identify areas where they need support and additional reflection, as well as areas where they are doing well, so that they can address the former and enhance the latter. My practice does offer me something to use when institutional pressures act upon me, as they do upon most who teach at one point or another, but it does more to help those students who want to do more than go through the motions of credentialing, and that benefit is what matters.

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Notes

One example that comes to mind is a student who wrote an Evaluation Essay for Oklahoma State University’s Composition I class as I taught it;. The student’s paper looked at articles treating gun control issues, and the student framed the discussion through a target-practice metaphor, ultimately identifying the focal article as on target but outside the grouping of the other articles’ shots. The framing is perhaps awkward, but it still represents a sincere and thoroughgoing attempt to unify a paper via a consistent and thematically appropriate metaphor. It received points for developing engagement. Return to text.

The “or more” arises in a fluke on an earlier grading rubric, in which students could earn more steps above C than seven. Return to text.

Grades of zero (0) are awarded only for non-submission or violations of prevailing academic integrity principles. Return to text.

The same can be said, of course, for any practice. Each is a human product, and so each is necessarily flawed. The issue becomes one of negotiating the problems more or less successfully, whatever the practice. Return to text.

If the end goal is not one of the two noted, as it may well not be, then I am still confident that my practice will address what it needs to. How it would do so is beyond the scope of the current discussion, however. Return to text.

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Sample Exploratory Essay: Why Not Have a Rhetoric Requirement among UL Lafayette PhD Students in English?

What follows is an exploratory essay such as my students are asked to write for the Explore assignment during the Spring 2016 instructional term at Northern Oklahoma College. As is expected of student work, it treats an issue of its writer’s curriculum. It also adheres to the length requirements expressed to students (they are asked for approximately 1,000 words, exclusive of heading, title, page numbers, and any formal end-citations that may become necessary; the sample below is 1,000 words long when judged by those standards), although its formatting will necessarily differ from student submissions due to the differing medium. How the medium influences reading is something well worth considering as a classroom discussion, particularly for those students who are going into particularly writing- or design-intensive fields.

Please note that the essay below follows from the earlier sample topic proposal, here. Because it is a continuation of that same project, much phrasing will be similar to that in the earlier document.

Earning a doctorate in English from the University of Louisiana at Lafayette in 2012 required me to take coursework and complete a dissertation, both of which register in public consciousness. It also required me to do something perhaps less well known: sit for comprehensive exams. Widely required across disciplines, the exams serve several purposes; in most cases, they are prerequisite to beginning work on the dissertation. In the English department at my graduate school, they also serve to help reinforce the generalist nature of the department and suit graduates of the program to the work of teaching after they have earned their degrees. In the event, however, most of the teaching done by those who earn graduate degrees in English is the teaching of writing, and there is no requirement that graduates of the PhD program in English at the University of Louisiana at Lafayette demonstrate proficiency in the relevant area of English studies–rhetoric and composition–as there is that they demonstrate proficiency in one or more areas of literature. Why this is the case is not entirely clear, although some potential reasons suggest themselves.

One such is a logistical reason. Although it is not the case that coursework necessarily directly or fully prepares students for their comprehensive exams, it is not at all expected that students will sit for exams in areas outside their classroom experiences. That is, students rarely if ever take exams in an area in which they have not taken courses; examining in a given area effectively obliges sitting for coursework in it. Graduate classes tend to have low enrollment caps–which is good, given the relative intensity of the interactions between professors and graduate students. (In practice, the relationship is much more like a master/apprentice dynamic than the “traditional” teacher/student pattern in force at the undergraduate level, particularly at the doctoral level.) Having a doctoral rhetoric requirement would oblige either a raising of such caps, which would likely diminish the quality of instruction in rhetoric classes by diminishing the time each professor has available to interact with students, or the hiring of additional faculty in rhetoric and composition, which would likely not be feasible due to ever-tightening budgets. Although not perhaps the most pedagogically valid reason not to have a rhetoric requirement, it is a remarkably sound practical concern, and academics do well to recall that they must negotiate the tensions between the embodied and the intellectual.

Another reason may have to do with the disciplinary status of rhetoric in the Department. There is a prevailing tendency, albeit one that is diminishing, to regard rhetoric and composition as service disciplines. That is, rhetoric and composition are held not so much to have their own distinct identity, but to exist to enable other disciplines to do the work they do. This is reinforced by dominant teaching practices, which assign the common classes in rhetoric and composition–first-year composition classes–to the least experienced instructors–typically second-year graduate students, irrespective of their own concentrations within English studies. My own teaching at that institution was of such a kind; while I did teach first-year courses throughout my attendance at the University of Louisiana at Lafayette, I began to do so after completing but one year of graduate school. I was hardly typical, and the collective experience argues that the teaching of rhetoric and composition is devalued. If it is devalued, then a lack of a rhetoric requirement in doctoral examinations makes sense; the exams emphasize areas of study, and the devalued does not generally receive emphasis.

There is some vitiation of the point, however, as still another possible reason is motioned towards in the University of Louisiana at Lafayette English Department’s 2010 online English Graduate Student Handbook. The document, which includes the Department’s treatment of the doctoral comprehensive exams, explicitly notes that “Both the M.A. and Ph.D. degrees offered by the UL English Department are generalist degrees in English and American literature [emphasis added].” That is, they explicitly and specifically frame themselves as literature degrees primarily, falling in line with traditional conceptions of what an English department is and does. It would be expected that such degrees would de-emphasize rhetorical/compositional study in favor of their stated foci. A problem with accepting such an explanation uncritically emerges, however; were the degrees meant to be literary, there would not be options for students to focus their curricula and examinations primarily on non-literary fields. Yet it is the case that the doctoral program in the English department permits, and perhaps encourages, other approaches than literary study, as such. The aforementioned Handbook notes

In addition to the traditional M.A. degree in literature, masters students may pursue an M.A. with an emphasis in American Culture, English as a Second Language, Folklore, Linguistics, Reading, Creative Writing, Professional Writing, or Rhetoric; and in addition to the traditional Ph.D. in literature, doctoral students may pursue a Ph.D. with a concentration in Creative Writing, Folklore, Linguistics, or Rhetoric.

The avowed availability of other emphases and concentrations than literature belies the statement that the graduate English degrees are “in English and American literature”–specifically because not modified. More justification for such a reason, then, would be needed–although it may well be available.

That a few reasons there might not be a rhetoric requirement included among the doctoral comprehensive exams in English at the University of Louisiana at Lafayette suggest themselves does not mean no others are possible, of course. Any one analysis will be limited in what it can treat, and additional causes may arise from outside those limitations. In any event, however, whatever the reason that the doctoral comprehensive exams in English at the University of Louisiana at Lafayette lack a rhetoric requirement is, having that answer will prove of benefit to those students who mean to pursue a career in English studies; knowing what schools offer what curricula and why will help in selecting the most appropriate programs to try to enter. Since graduate school is arduous and expensive, careful selection is vital, indeed.

Sample Developing a Topic and Locating Sources Assignment: Questions about the Comprehensive Exams for UL Lafayette PhD Students in English

What follows are a topic proposal and annotated bibliography such as my students are asked to write for the T&S assignment during the Spring 2016 instructional term at Oklahoma State University. As is expected of student work, it treats an issue of its writer’s curriculum. It also adheres to the length requirements expressed to students (they are asked for 325 to 650 words in the proposal and several citations and brief paragraphs for the annotated bibliography, exclusive of heading, title, and page numbers; the proposal below is 388 words long when judged by those standards, and the annotations after the introductory paragraph are appropriate in content), although its formatting will necessarily differ from student submissions due to the differing medium. How the medium influences reading is something well worth considering as a classroom discussion, particularly for those students who are going into particularly writing- or design-intensive fields.

The text works in tandem with “Sample Topic Proposal: Why Not Have a Rhetoric Requirement among UL Lafayette PhD Students in English?” The text thereof is available here : https://elliottrwi.com/2016/01/14/sample-topic-proposal-why-not-have-a-rhetoric-requirement-among-ul-lafayette-phd-students-in-english/. 

To earn my doctorate in English from the University of Louisiana at Lafayette, one of the many things I was asked to do was sit for a series of comprehensive exams. Like my contemporaries, I had to take four five-hour tests covering knowledge selected from among twelve separate areas of inquiry within English studies. The idea behind them, according to how the school’s Department of English describes them on its website as of 23 September 2015, is to facilitate both teaching and continued research, ensuring that students who complete the program adequately reflect the generalist orientation of the program. Successful completion of the exams is required before advancing to work on the dissertation in which the doctorate concludes, and continued presence in the program hinges on passing the exams. They are therefore of singular importance.

Because the comprehensive exams are as important as they are, they are perpetual subjects of discussion, both for those who sit for them and for those who administer and assess them. They are described by the Department in part as being meant to demonstrate students’ mastery of various areas in support of the generalist nature of the program, and the expressed requirements do tend toward that goal–but there are areas in which the comprehensive exams could align more closely to the goals of the Department and to its students.

Investigating the comprehensive exams could easily follow several paths. One would be to ask why the Area 1 requirement is framed as it is. Focusing on English languages and literatures prior to 1500, it effectively covers multiple distinct languages, as the differences between Beowulf and Chaucer attest, and the separation of the area at 1500 seems at odds with prevailing understandings of changes to the language–the medieval in England is usually held to end at 1485. Another question to ask could be why all students are not asked to sit for an exam in rhetoric. All students are asked to sit for exams in literature, and there is certainly nothing wrong with such a requirement, but more students will teach composition classes, and having a background in that sub-discipline would be helpful. A third possibility, although by no means the last, would be to ask why the comprehensive exams retain their traditional on-site, in-the-room form, when so many other schools and fields administer them differently.

Answering any such questions will benefit from recourse to the many discussions of curriculum and exams that go on. Various educational agencies and organizations will have something to say about how exams are conducted, as will disciplinary organizations. Publications of the National Council of Teachers of English and the Modern Language Association of America suggest themselves as useful initial avenues of inquiry. So do pieces from such databases as the Educational Resource Information Center. A few selections from simple keyword searches of such sources appear below.


Hassel, Holly, and Joanne Baird Giordano. “Occupy Writing Studies: Rethinking College Composition for the Needs of the Teaching Majority.” CCC 65.1 (September 2013): 117-39. Print.

The article argues against perceptions among writing scholars that devalue the work done by most writing teachers, who work in two-year and open-admission institutions. After defining a number of its terms, the authors note that studies of such teachers are not proportionate to the work they do. They continue with discussions of the two-year teaching environment, the focus of writing scholarship on four-year and elite institutions and the concomitant problems associated with community colleges, and what benefits would accrue to teachers and scholars from a reconsideration of such positions as they outline. The article concludes with a few recommendations of how to proceed, namely the support of research by and about two-year and open-admission institutions.

Of particular importance in the article is a quotation from a  Chronicle of Higher Education article by Schmidt, one noting that non-tenure-track faculty account for more than three quarters of teaching positions (119). While it does not discuss the comprehensive exam as an item, it does point towards the ubiquity of writing instruction by those with graduate degrees in English, irrespective of their specialization; it is a point the article reiterates. As such, it helps provide context and support for the need for graduate students in English to take exams and concomitant training in rhetoric, since it is from rhetoric that the practice of teaching writing emerges.


Nolan, Robert. E. “How Graduate Students of Adult and Continuing Education Are Assessed at the Doctoral Level.” Journal of Continuing Higher Education 50.3 (Fall 2002): 38-43. PDF file.

The article encourages discussion of the forms comprehensive examinations in doctoral coursework should take to increase completion rates and more accurately reflect the expectations placed on those who pursue advanced graduate study. After explicating then-current demographic data among graduate students, the piece lays out its purpose and summarizes previous studies of the topic. It then lays out its methods–noting the group surveyed and describing the survey used. Findings follow, identifying major trends about the timing, format, and intentions of comprehensive exams. The article concludes with notes that indicate no consensus among programs about how to hold comprehensive exams and what they ought to do.

The article may suffer somewhat from concerns of age, and repeated mentions of what various things “presumably” do weaken some of the rhetorical force of the piece. The brevity of the piece may also be of some concern. The article does, however, provide a useful summary of tendencies in how examinations have been conducted at the doctoral level across disciplines. In that regard, the article offers a useful starting point for discussion of any topic treating comprehensive exams at the doctoral level. As background material for framing investigation of the comprehensive exam, then, it is worth reading.


Ponder, Nicole, Sharon E. Beatty, and William Foxx. “Doctoral Comprehensive Exams in Marketing: Current Practices and Emerging Perspectives.” Journal of Marketing Education 26.3 (December 2004): 226-35. PDF file.

The authors identify and explain then-current and -emerging practices regarding doctoral comprehensive exams in United States marketing programs. After offering a general introduction to the topic, the authors review available literature on the topic, focusing largely on Bloom’s taxonomy. Methodology follows, with a survey described and the process of its dissemination, completion, and interpretation articulated. Results detailing the perceived purposes of doctoral comprehensive exams, structures of those exams, and changes to the latter are presented, and less traditional emergent structures–an “original papers” approach, an “extended take-home,” a “specialist,” and a “no exam–no paper” approach–are explicated. Results are discussed, and a conclusion suggesting that the traditional closed-book format of comprehensive exams will be less common in marketing schools finishes the article.

Although Ponder, Beatty, and Foxx discuss marketing, specifically, many of their assertions are likely applicable to other fields. Despite common perceptions of advanced education as liberal and socially deconstructive, academia tends to remain wedded to older structures, so the “traditional” examination structures discussed in the article are likely to be represented in other fields and programs entirely. If such points of correspondence are in place, then others may also be, making the conclusions reached by the article at least provisionally applicable to other areas of advanced education. Also notable in the article is the concern voiced by some faculty that changes to traditional exam structures “are depriving students of the opportunity to integrate a broad range of knowledge at a deeper level than they will ever have an opportunity to achieve again” (234), offering an unusual perspective on the comprehensive exam that may well bear examination.


Schafer, Joseph A., and Matthew J. Giblin. “Doctoral Comprehensive Exams: Standardization, Customization, and Everywhere in Between.” Journal of Criminal Justice Education 19.2 (July 2008): 275-89. PDF file.

The authors describe general tendencies regarding treatment of comprehensive exams by programs awarding doctoral degrees in criminal justice. The need for systematic study of criminal justice programs is articulated before the doctoral comprehensive exam is contextualized. Exam procedures are described and historicized. Study methods–largely focused on conducting surveys and interviews–are described and findings articulated, the latter focusing largely on the forms the exams take. Findings are subsequently discussed, identifying and commenting on the patterns that emerge from the study and treating relative merits of several exam formats. The article concludes with questions about the ongoing utility of curricular standards to both the discipline and the broader community the discipline serves.

Although Schafer and Giblin treat the discipline of criminal justice, specifically, they ground their article in information deriving from studies of other fields–notably including rhetoric–and assert that their own discipline largely follows the structures of others. The conclusions they reach about their own field therefore present themselves as able to be generalized back to those other fields, so that what they say about comprehensive exams can be applied to other areas than their own. Additionally, their relatively recent (to this writing) article allows their conclusions to be taken as more timely, and their relatively extensive bibliography offers useful insights as to further reading.

Sample Strategic Reading: Bringing Forward a Way the Past Is Brought Forward

What follows are a summary and description of reading strategies used to create it such as my students are asked to write for the StratRdg assignment during the Spring 2016 instructional term at Oklahoma State University. As is expected of student work, it treats a document in the writer’s field (in this case, medievalist studies*, with the document itself appearing here), presenting it to first-year students in that field. (The text shows up with a Flesch-Kincaid grade level of 13.2, which indicates an early first-year college student.) It also adheres to the length requirements expressed to students (they are asked for a 300- to 500- word summary and a 700- 1,000-word description of reading strategies used, exclusive of heading, title, and page numbers; the sample below has a summary of 376 words and a reading strategies description of 1,000 words when judged by those standards), although its formatting will necessarily differ from student submissions due to the differing medium. How the medium influences reading is something well worth considering as a classroom discussion, particularly for those students who are going into particularly writing- or design-intensive fields.

Bonnie J. Erwin’s “‘Is This Winning?’: Reflections on Teaching The Two Noble Kinsmen” appears in the 2014 issue of The Year’s Work in Medievalism. In the article, Erwin asserts that teaching students about the medieval through the early modern that engages with the medieval is particularly effective, citing a reading of Shakespeare’s The Two Noble Kinsmen against its source in Chaucer’s Knight’s Tale as a useful case study of how such teaching could work. Following an epigraph from E. Talbot Donaldson and the presentation of the thesis, the article lays out the context of teaching: an introductory literature survey broadly treating the distant past and arriving at the idea that peripheral figures allow closer interrogation of the past. Erwin notes the self-positioning of the play as outsider to the medieval antecedent before glossing the in-class contextual materials given her students, namely chivalric literature and explications of its ideologies. She notes also that her students largely focused on the Shakespearean Emilia, using her as a means of entry into the work. Her contrast with her Chaucerian counterpart is noted, as are the differing narrative attitudes towards the characters. The article comments on the lapses in Chaucer’s Knight’s narrative control over Emelye and its contrast with the seeming self-actualization of Shakespeare’s Emilia, with prior student discussions references to illuminate assertions.

Afterwards, Erwin lays out a series of classroom activities she conducted with her students. They initially divided into five groups, each treating one of the characters most prominent in discussing love in the play. Groups were asked to interpret the assigned character’s stances on love and friendship, interrogating the particular position and its supporting evidence; the group focusing on Emilia receives special attention in the article, with comments from students related. Students were subsequently redivided into discussion groups and asked to debate from characters’ perspectives about the preferability of courtly love or early modern friendship; the latter was valued over the former, with Emilia held up as offering the exemplary critique of the former. Problems students identified in Emilia are also noted in the article, which concludes with note of an extension activity and the idea that the medieval and other pasts are still in dialog with modern ideas of the self, offering a conversation well worth investigating.

Selecting a medievalist text to summarize took a bit of doing. Most scholarship in the field is expansive, displaying both the interdisciplinarity common to the field and the attention to detail that bespeaks long-tended love of the subject. Neither makes for the most accessible text, although both do much to enrich prevailing understanding of how what has gone before works with what is going on now. The Year’s Work in Medievalism, however, tends to offer reasonably easily treated pieces, such that an article from the journal can be used to demonstrate how to approach scholarly reading, generally, and medievalist scholarly reading, in particular.

Before selecting the text, I knew I would be using it to draft a summary and description of my strategies for reading. Having an understanding of the uses to which a given scholarly text will be put helps inform the reading done, as it shapes what the reader will look for in accomplishing the reading. Since I knew what I would be doing with the text, I knew that when I looked through it, I would need to point out the thesis of the work, as well as indications of the major points of discussion and the ways in which those points were treated. I also knew that I would need to point out any paratextual features–that is, those parts of the article not necessarily included in the text proper but still necessarily related to it. With such ideas in mind, I plunged into the reading.

I quickly noted not the title, which seemed to my eyes a standard piece, but the epigraph from E. Talbot Donaldson. Its placement on the page, markedly different from that of the main text, attracted attention. Its source, one of the major critics of medieval literature, also attracted attention. Donaldson’s words carry weight with medievalists, so his deployment before the article even begins situates the article as engaging with some of the major threads of medieval studies. It also serves to position the article in tension with commonly received wisdom, identifying the context in which Erwin’s discussion takes place.

Pressing onward from the epigraph, I scanned the first paragraph, looking for the article’s thesis in one of the traditional places: the beginning of the first paragraph and the end of it. I found it in the latter, noting its presence in the margins and underlining it to call visual attention directly to it. I also underlined a few sentences earlier in the paragraph, sentences that bridge from the epigraph to the thesis and which seem to correspond to my own other interests; highlighting them will prompt later recall.

As I continued reading, I noted that the next paragraph serves to contextualize Erwin’s discussion. That is, it articulates the circumstances in which Erwin came upon the idea her article explicates. I highlighted a few key sentences that describe that context, but I largely passed on from the paragraph. Context is useful and necessary, certainly, but for my immediate reading purpose, it sufficed to note the presence of the context and a cursory image of it.

The article continues with a description of how The Two Noble Kinsmen situates itself as a medievalist text, something I underlined as being of interest to me as a medievalist. When it returns shortly after to a discussion of the class from which the article arises, it offers something else of interest to me as a medievalist: a comment about the lapse of a major medieval construct. I highlighted it and appended a bit of marginalia, connecting it to a conference paper I gave some time ago. Building the connection to my own prior knowledge helps me to place Erwin’s work in context, as well as to broaden my understanding of materials with which I was already familiar. Additionally, the simple act of writing helps cement the connection through engaging multiple means of recall. (Underlining does, too, if not as specifically and therefore less powerfully.) I also highlighted the citation embedded in the paragraph and its related footnote; the source referenced appears to be one of interest to me, so calling attention to it serves as a reminder of my ongoing need to read.

Erwin presses on to relate her students’ progress through the exercises associated with the reading, and I underlined the major assertions she makes in the piece. The specific support for those assertions I left unmarked, having skimmed over them. I need to know that there is support, and I may need to know what that support is later, but the immediate purpose of my reading does not demand that detail, so I let it lie. It results in some of the pages of my copy of the article being less heavily marked than others, to be sure, but that is not a problem now.

It had been, though, as I had skipped over more than I ought to have done, something I realized as I came initially to Erwin’s summation of classroom findings. They had not made sense to me on first reading, prompting me to recognize that I had glossed over vital details. At that point, I made a note in the margins indicating how far back I would need to read, and I re-read the text from that point. As I went through again, I paid closer attention, underlining details that illuminated the summation I had earlier failed to understand. The reading made more sense in the repetition, as is often the case, and I moved into the conclusion, underlining again the major points Erwin makes.

My own reading methods are idiosyncratic, certainly, developed over years of reading and reading in my field. They pull upon substantial background knowledge in determining what is important to highlight for the purposes I am about at any time. Knowing those purposes , though, is a useful first step; even reading slowly with “Does this inform what I am doing?” in mind helps make the reading go better, and practice helps with speed later.

*The term denotes studies of how the medieval is mis/used and mis/appropriated by later periods. Study of the medieval itself is necessary to study of the medievalist, but the medievalist study also has to encompass knowledge of the receiving period. More information can be found from the International Society for the Study of Medievalism and the Tales after Tolkien Society. Return to text.

Sample Topic Proposal: Why Not Have a Rhetoric Requirement among UL Lafayette PhD Students in English?

What follows is a topic proposal such as my students are asked to write for the Prop assignment during the Spring 2016 instructional term at Northern Oklahoma College. As is expected of student work, it treats an issue of its writer’s curriculum. It also adheres to the length requirements expressed to students (they are asked for 300 to 500 words, exclusive of heading, title, and page numbers; the sample below is 372 words long when judged by those standards), although its formatting will necessarily differ from student submissions due to the differing medium. How the medium influences reading is something well worth considering as a classroom discussion, particularly for those students who are going into particularly writing- or design-intensive fields.

I received a doctorate in English from the University of Louisiana at Lafayette in 2012, having completed a dissertation in late medieval literature and having passed with distinction comprehensive examinations in medieval English literature, early modern English literature, early American literature, and fantasy literature of the United States and Britain from 1950 to 2009 (when I sat for my exams). Composing the dissertation and studying for the exams, as well as taking the coursework that informed both, offered me rewarding experiences that I am glad to have had, as well as enabling many others outside the classroom that have been to my benefit.

Even so, they did not wholly equip me for the kind of work I have faced since leaving the school. The comprehensive exams, particularly, are discussed by the English Department that requires them in terms of both research and teaching, but most of the teaching that I and others who have earned graduate degrees through the Department has been in rhetoric and composition. Even those of us whose areas of interest and expertise are wholly literary are asked to teach more writing than anything else—and it is not something for which we are adequately prepared. Yet those students who concentrate in rhetoric and composition are prepared to teach literature, compelled to sit for exams in literary areas even as literature students are not obliged to sit for an exam in rhetoric.

Why no such requirement is in place bears some inquiry. The PhD program in English at the University of Louisiana at Lafayette is explicitly generalist in its orientation, and requiring all students to take an examination in rhetoric—effectively calling for them to take coursework in rhetoric, as well—would reinforce that orientation. Additionally, it would, as is gestured toward above, help students prepare more effectively for an academic job market that will call most of them to spend time teaching writing courses off of the tenure track, whatever their specialization may be. The Department and its doctoral students would therefore be better placed within the academy, helping the Department to continue offering its graduate programs and its graduates to secure employment in the short and long terms.