What are We Writing For?
In fact, as I have often
discussed in my blog posts this semester, much of the knowledge or information we
acquire is a “simulation of its predecessor” (Toffoletti, Baudrillard). What Johnson-Eilola & Selber are
suggesting is that student writers are being constructed to simulate and hide
their “genius”. The authors state that “[w]hat
we want to suggest…is that the whole issue of plagiarism is still tied to the
idea of the lone, creative genius. In
other words, at least one set of social forces suggests to students that using
citations and quotations from sources materials will be valued less than their
own original text, a situation that may encourage them to conceal their sources”
(378). They propose a redefinition of
creativity; one in which “[c]reativity…shifts into assemblage: Take what already exists and make something
else, something that works to solve problems in new, local contexts” (400).
To this I say “yes” and “no”
We
spend our class time theorizing and philosophizing
these ideas of agency, embodiment, consciousness, and originality. And we often leave the room realizing that
all that we know, anything that we perceive to be an original idea, is actually
a copy of something that came before it.
In a nutshell…it is all plagiarized.
Yes, students are taught to recognize the current version of the box or
wheel. Teaching and instructional
practices utilized in this age of accountability ensure that they learn to
understand, interpret, and reiterate whatever society deems to be the current standard or
model at the moment for a particular subject because at the end of the day anything
we believe is the product of social construction. Let’s face it, to what extent can we really
believe that anything we think is original?
At the end of the day the responsibility of students, teachers, and ultimately
society is to think critically about their social constructions. However, one is also apt to disagree with the
idea that students are not being taught to construct or make meaning of their
own. If anything the student has more
creative license, more agency to make meaning than the author. The work of the author is often open to more interpretation
than he/she may have ever intended and readers are free to glean what they will
from it. Roland Barthes suggests that “literature
is [the] neuter, that composite, that oblique into which every subject escapes,
the trap where all identity is lost, beginning with the very identity of the
body that writes” (2). Writers are
essentially put into boxes or wheels. They
are constrained or confined by meaning.
The identity of the writer is constructed by interpretation…the meaning
made of his/her writing. At the end of
the day producing a final product is a part of a cycle of constructing
meaning. Barthes states that “a code
cannot be destroyed, it can only be “played with”…by abruptly violating
expected meanings” (p. 3). As I work to
interpret Johnson-Eilola & Selber, I want my students to work toward
producing original work that affects social change. I want to be honest about the issues that
plague, corrupt, and destroy society…I want my own writing to change the world
and change the lives of those who encounter my theories and ideas for the
better. But regardless of intent simply
by constructing meaning and knowledge to some extent our work has some type of
social effect. We add new knowledge to
the field, we affect the lives of those studied, we stir old archives, and we
create “new” knowledge, if only for ourselves; to some extent we have a social
effect on the world no matter how small.
As
a student, as well as someone journeying into the world of publishing to
further her academic success and professional reputation as an academic, I can
no longer write for myself (the real question is will I always have the courage
to be this honest – or will I develop a fear of honesty in favor of being
published?). My ideas and
interpretations of theories are no longer just mine…come to think of it they
were never mine to begin with…no matter how revolutionary I ever thought they
were. Instead like the writers and
theorists who came before me and those who will come after me I am “a mediator,
shaman or speaker, whose “performance” may be admired (that is, his mastery of
the narrative code), but not his “genius”” (Barthes 2). Producing a final product, whether this means
writing for academia or the great American novel, is simply a part of a cycle
of constructing meaning in which we take an “original” idea make it the model,
teach to the model, change the meaning, and do it all over again.
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