Writing Sample: King Cole

Troy Croom

English 717

Prof. Jennifer Trainor

14 April 2014

King Cole

In his book “The Plural I,” William Cole depicts himself as the unrelenting taskmaster who refuses to accept any writing not emanating depth and voice.  I must confess I found his approach unduly idealistic when he announced his intention to teach “writing as art,” even if he admits this means teaching “what cannot be taught.” (11)  Then again, I found some of the essays he rejected far less offensive than he did; some were quite good, though clearly lacking a feeling of personal expression.  Any teacher would envy Coles’ unapologetic nerve, especially when it turns out to be a successful pedagogical model.  Of course, were he teaching at a community college in this state now, even in higher-level comp courses, I’m afraid his high expectations might end in crushing frustration; he takes for granted that his worst students can write with competence and clarity, when over 60% of college students in this state require developmental aid.  Still, it’s great to set a noble goal for students who are ready and able.

The values that undergird Coles’ work begin with the title “The Plural I.”  In Richard L. Larson’s Foreward he explains that we all have various identities or selves, and that “it’s possible to choose a self with which to confront experience.”  This, then, is a “choice of a self and a stance.”  This would indicate that the journey extends beyond the classroom to life itself: Coles is leading his proteges to choose a self that “will affect the course of their lives.” (x-xi)  Coles himself, in the Introduction, is less grandiose, describing what he offers as a “style performed in such a way as to enable others to make for themselves, or to make better, styles of their own.”  Modestly, he says his book doesn’t pretend to call for “A Fresh Awareness of Fundamental Questions,” yet he declares that, “unless a fundamental question is being seen freshly it isn’t being seen as a question at all.” (2)  Coles is demanding that teachers as well as students continue to ask, to probe, to learn.  Nor is the author himself exempt, and his transparent discussions of his own gaffs and revisions prove he’s determined to remain open to learning.  More concretely, the author’s values can be seen in his praxis.  He values writing that is specific, clear and simple; this is why he blanches when faced with a “put-on” in student writing.  The design of his classroom interaction shows how much he values cultivating student awareness of audience; constant whole-class interaction with student papers would naturally lead to students’ understanding of their readers, especially when the stakes are high.  Cole also values an integrated reading-writing curriculum; daily readings of student papers would force students to focus sharply, knowing their paper could be the next under scrutiny, and knowing, therefore, that they need to absorb all they can to improve their writing.

Coles’ early assignments centering on defining “amateur” and “professional” are far from arbitrary; in fact, they provide a kind of metaphor for learning and a sequencing for his book.  This is reminiscent of the Zen notion of constantly maintaining the “beginner’s mind,” and is reflected chiefly in his decision to use (almost) nothing but student writing as the reading text for his course.  Coles’ unit design sequencing echoes this theme as well, moving from amateur/professional, to advice (vital for amateurs), to rhetorical analysis (necessary for developing writers), to nonsense (wisdom includes making meaning and establishing control over the cliche), to multiple disciplines (practical application of writing across the curriculum).  In terms of writer development, the step-wise sequencing grooms students by raising their awareness of Coles’ high standards for clarity and simplicity, then helps them develop voice, then introduces them formally to more academic discourse in a variety of disciplines.

In responding to student writing, Cole portrays himself -- especially early on -- as a cross between a tough drill sergeant and Holden Caulfield, often caustically reprimanding his students and insisting that they “come clean,” drop their “game,” their “set-up,” implying that formulaic Themewriting is worse than dull and superficial -- it’s a lie, lacking the authenticity that can only emit from a writer who a) knows who she is and b) knows when her writing reflects her own truth and when it doesn’t.  This, then, is the drill sergeant’s strategy: destroy your soldiers’ superficial confidence, then re-build it based on solid training.  The result, it would seem, is a much more durable self-confidence strengthened from a source of self-examination and self-knowledge.  This, even more than his ability to re-train young writers, fills me with awe, even if I doubt its foolproof application in real life to turn a teacher into the revered “O Captain, My Captain” that we all might like to be.

His philosophy on reading is, as I mentioned before, integrated with writing.  Aside from some non-specific annotation exercises, his approach to reading is rooted in his fundamental choice to (largely) omit all readings from the course, except student papers.  While this honors student work as “art,” it also requires that they read very closely and unforgivingly their own work and the work of their peers.  While I question the choice to omit professional models of writing, I personally improved my own writing in a class that was, similarly, very student-centered and used only student papers and a healthy dose of brow beating to winnow out weak writing.  I’m a witness to its potential to produce critical thinking, clear writing and a fortified self-confidence.