By Elisa Douglas
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“I am not a writer.”
More times than I can count, I’ve had students come in and preface the session with this phrase as if to warn me of some abomination in the paper. Before I knew everyone was a writer, I did the same thing, so I understand berating oneself and one’s hard work to cushion the blow of the assumed degradation associated with critique. Every time a student comes in and says they aren’t a writer, I always respond with, “You got this far. That must mean something.” Writing is such an intimate act, communicating one’s thoughts in a physical form for others to see. It’s revealing and scary to share something with someone other than the instructor. Nevertheless, we write in so many ways every day, from texts to emails to essays and love letters. Therefore, I genuinely believe everyone is a writer now, regardless of their presumptions.
I used to hate writing; I thought it reflected my incompetence at communicating in general. There was a disconnect between the thoughts in my head and the words on the document. It was just a jumble of letters and phrases that tried to convey a lackluster thesis. At least, that’s how all of my English teachers throughout high school made me feel. By the time I got to college, I was so insecure in my writing that I submitted papers and expected the worst. Most might feel relieved after submitting a paper they have worked hard on. Whether it was meticulously drafted or crammed thirty minutes before the deadline, finishing the essay and sending it off should lift the weight off your shoulders. You’re done with the assignment and don’t have stress for the time being until the eventual next essay. I, on the other hand, felt a new wave of nerves—the anxiety associated with the inevitable insufficient feedback. I always assumed the worst: my professors would criticize my lack of punctuation or question my argument and, thus, my intelligence.
I never thought I could be a writer, let alone help people see their potential. Throughout high school, I didn’t think I was a competent writer. I followed the guides my teachers had instilled in me—the five-paragraph structure and the repetition of the thesis throughout the essay. However, the lack of attention to the student’s individual writing process made growth feel unattainable. A block period was never enough time to fully dive into the questions or concerns that might arise when exploring a new way of thinking. I internalized these feelings for a long time, repeating the same claim of “not being a writer.” This led me to believe that any writing tutor is a corrector or what I call the Red Ink Monster—marking the page with all the errors and suggestions that can come across as harsh critiques. So, when I had the opportunity to become a tutor, I was at a standstill. I didn’t want to be like my teachers in the past, hiding behind the letter grades stained in red. I had convinced myself for years that writing was a means to an end. Do the work, get the grade, and move on to the next, but what if it wasn’t?
My tutoring career started well before I even applied for the position. It began in Jeffrey Roberg’s Introduction to International Relations course. He was and continues to be one of my favorite professors because he believes in the education process. He treated the classroom like his stage – preaching to the class as he dived into whatever topic we were discussing. He thrived on student participation and often turned our questions around on us, trying to engage our minds. His class was guided by a semester-long term paper, and one of the assignment’s requirements was scheduling an appointment at the Writing Center. At this point, it was the first semester of my freshman year of college, and I had heard about it as one of the resources on campus, but I had no interest in having someone look at my written work. Therefore, my first session, like most people who come into the Writing Center, was required as part of a course; I didn’t plan on going there on my own because of fear of the Red Ink Monster.
Nevertheless, I scheduled an appointment, not wanting to risk the points over my insecurities. I walked into the office with a rough draft and no real direction on how to move forward. I was greeted by a now alumna and motioned to take a seat. As soon as I sat down, we jumped right into it. We went through what I later learned was the standard flow of a session: rapport building, a couple of questions, reading the work, and finally, making a game plan. The hour went by faster than I anticipated, and by the end of it, I was pleasantly surprised despite my preconceived notions. While I expected to be berated and my competency questioned, I was greeted by questions that made me think harder about my work. At first, they frustrated me because I didn’t know how to answer them, I slowly started to understand their function. Accustomed to the automatic critiques that professors and teachers threw my way, I would immediately address them for their approval. Yet, the tutor provoked me in a way that prompted me to expand my way of thinking.
As our session ended, the tutor told me they were hiring and suggested I apply. I brushed it off and thought that she probably told a lot of people who came in to apply as a form of recruitment. I was not a writer, let alone a tutor. To my surprise, I later received an email from the tutor personally saying the same thing, inviting me to apply, along with the application link. Following this, during a meeting with my professor, we discussed my writing progress, and he commended my efforts, suggesting I apply and even going as far as to write me a recommendation letter. I thought it had to be a coincidence, but surely, if my professor and tutor told me the same thing, I should listen. Sometimes, it takes the belief of others to make us believe in ourselves.
In spite of myself, I took the risk and applied. I wanted to believe what my professor and the writing tutor saw in me. I still didn’t think I would be considered for the position. My application would get mixed with the rest, forgotten amongst the pile of more qualified applicants. Then, I received an email extending an opportunity to interview, and a couple of weeks later, I got my answer. The results left me speechless; I was in utter shock. I expected to open that email and read something along the lines of “We regret to inform you that your application was reviewed and denied.” However, it said, “Congratulations! I am excited to invite you to join the team of writing fellows at the Brainard Writing Center. The fellows you met with and I were impressed with your commitment to supporting student writers and your desire to improve your own writing skills.” I was so astonished and proud, and I couldn’t believe what I was reading. My professor and tutor were right; I was proved wrong in the best way possible.
During my new tutor training, I learned the general steps that one should follow while conducting a session, but as everyone does, they adapt it in a way that fits their personality and toolbelt of skills. As tutors, we each have our expertise, which makes each tutor and their tutoring practice distinct. I still like to observe other tutors’ sessions to see their interpretations of the same practices. It reassured me that I did not need to have all the answers but instead had the knowledge to guide the tutee in the right direction. Learning this made me look at tutoring in a whole different light. The session structure became apparent, and each question had a purpose.
Tutoring is the sharing of knowledge between people; it is easier to learn about something from someone who can relate to you. As a tutor, my biggest focus is listening. We can get so wrapped up in figuring out the thesis, finding quotes, or making citations that we can forget to have a conversation with the writer about their comfortability with writing. It is essential to listen to the experience of each writer. The Writing Center is more than the mechanics of the paper. I don’t care about the assignment. I care about the person coming in. I am not going to write your paper for you, but I will help you figure out how to write your paper for yourself. We are working on the person, not the paper. Peer tutoring is helping the person. The paper is merely a tool in the session.
What I was once afraid to express out of insecurity transformed into humility, and it made me a better tutor, allowing me to empathize with the people coming in. I made the same claims of “I am not a writer” to make myself feel better for my lack of confidence in my writing abilities. I’ve had a strained relationship with writing throughout my entire academic career. It took me a long time to realize that everyone is unique in their writing abilities, and many people have these same feelings of self-doubt. Asking for help is hard; in some ways, it feels like admitting defeat. I am not saying we, as tutors, experience any type of superiority towards writers coming in. We sit in the same classes and attend the same school. The only distinction between us is the position held, but anyone can do the training and possess the skills. However, the students coming in for help don’t know that. They perceive the Writing Center as a judgmental zone and an offshoot of their professor’s critiques.
Therefore, my goal in tutoring has been to help alleviate any stress students might encounter during the writing process. Sometimes, writer’s block rears its ugly head, and it’s hard to advance in any way; the feeling of paralysis as you stare at the screen and its blinking cursor can be so discouraging. My favorite thing to say during a session is that I am merely a passenger in their car. They are in charge, and I will try to navigate us because I have methods that will get us to where the writer wants to be. However, they are coming in with the knowledge of the course and the assignment, and I want to reaffirm that they are capable, they are competent, and they are the writer. I want them to leave feeling confident and eager to finish their paper after the session. They have a game plan and are prepared to conquer this assignment and every other one after that, one step at a time. The Writing Center is always a place to lean on if they ever feel stuck again.
As I have tutored, I learned that peer tutoring is about the people and that sometimes,
it takes somebody else seeing something in us for us to believe it.
That’s what peer tutoring is to me: belief. I believe in every single student who books an appointment, whether they are doing it to better themselves or meet a requirement. I want them to feel heard in the session and walk away feeling confident in themselves and their work, with a newfound confidence that they are writers. The Writing Center is more than the mechanics of the paper; it is the instilling of trust in ourselves and in our writing abilities.
About the Author
Elisa Douglas is a senior at Carthage College majoring in Communications with minors in Political Science and Graphic Design. She has worked as a writing fellow at the Brainard Writing Center since the Fall of 2022, which has sparked her passion for helping students develop their voices across various disciplines. She is an aspiring writer who hopes to pursue journalism while still fostering her love for poetry. In addition to her writing pursuits, she is a creative who enjoys painting and photography, recently taking on ceramics as a hobby.