Tutoring Second Language Writers (33 page)

Beginning disciplinary writers often struggle to understand audience and purpose for their disciplinary writing, and it is easy to see why. Most beginning writers have only read textbooks in their disciplines, yet the genres they are asked to produce are modeled more on authentic, professional activities and discourses (
Stoller et al. 2005
). Thus, when asked to write a report or a proposal or a memo, beginning writers often flounder because they lack a clear sense of audience and purpose, a sense that is important in developing organizational and rhetorical strategies as well as style and tone.

Students writing in L2 may have an especially hard time focusing on a sense of audience and purpose since their sense of agency with language and their perception of cultural context may vary from their native English-speaking peers. For example, L2 writers from some cultures may be reluctant to write critiques, a skill commonly expected in Western-based academic writing. Or perhaps the L2 writer comes from a reader-responsible culture rather than a Western-based, writer-responsible culture. That writer will resist making explicit interpretations of data, feeling that such an action expresses some disdain for the reader. Thus, a tutor can begin by talking with a writer about the imagined audience (other than the professor) for such a piece of writing, by clarifying the purpose of the writing assignment, and perhaps by sharing cultural information that frames the context for the L2 writer (
Reid and Kroll 1995
).

Writers who are advancing in their disciplines are asked to write in genres that enact the disciplinary activities in which they are engaged. But often these genres are modeled on workplace formats unfamiliar to a student rather than on conventional academic genres. Moreover, the disciplinary activities reflected in the genre also are unfamiliar to the writer. Thus, native English-speaking writers and L2 writers alike may tend to see the top-level features of a genre as a static template they can fill with text, and they may be unaware of the nuance required within those top-level features. This lack of awareness is partly a consequence of not understanding the audience and purpose for a document, but even when the audience and purpose have been clarified, writers may not understand the rhetorical “moves” that are second nature to an experienced writer. For example, introduction sections in many disciplinary documents have three rhetorical moves: the writer establishes the context of the work; the writer then points to a need, a problem, a challenge or an opportunity for improvement; and then the writer positions her work in that gap in knowledge (
Swales and Feak 2009
). Without that insight and the language that allows her to make those moves, a writer’s introduction section can become an unfocused mass of description.

When a tutor works with an L2 writer on genre features and the rhetorical moves within those features, it can be useful if the tutor has reviewed several exemplars in that discipline. For example, proposals or technical reports in STEM fields may be unfamiliar, and thus knowing something about that genre helps a tutor guide an L2 writer in noticing not only those features but also the more subtle language within those features. Once those elements begin to emerge in a student writer’s text, a tutor can then suggest transitional words and phrases or perhaps organizational patterns that allow a writer to move skillfully through a text. Exemplars in particular disciplines can be collected from disciplinary professors and kept up to date by writing center staff. Strong student exemplars can be used effectively but should be used only with explicit permission of the writer and should be kept at the writing center and not distributed.

All advanced writers at the university level must learn how to use sources in their work since that ability not only acknowledges the intellectual work of others but also allows a writer to establish context, achieve
credibility, and craft powerful rhetorical strategies. Thus, writing centers, writing teachers, and tutors often are ready with a primer on citation styles. That material is relatively easy to transmit. However, it is much more difficult to teach students not only
how
to cite but
when
. In addition, tutors who do not perceive the cultural attitudes behind those citation practices have a challenging task since L2 writers’ perceptions about how to use the work of others are often culturally influenced. For example, students from collectivist or communal cultures argue that using the work of others, verbatim, is only a mark of respect and not an unethical act of plagiarism (
Bouman 2004
). Also, L2 writers may lack the facility with language necessary to summarize, paraphrase, and critique. Thus, they use the text of others inappropriately, including chunks of text as block quotes or copying text without any attribution.

Moreover, knowing when to cite the work of others can be influenced by the discipline. For example, theoretical perspectives or broad methodological approaches usually are not cited in engineering literature reviews while peer-reviewed research is always carefully cited. An L2 writer can be caught not only between her ethnic culture and that of her current university but also between general academic culture and the culture of her discipline. And if that is not confusing enough, principles of citation practice may be upheld in theory but interpreted differently by different engineering faculty.

Students who advance in their disciplines are expected to develop higher-order critical-thinking skills, specifically analysis and synthesis. Moreover, we expect those skills will be reflected in the writing students are asked to do. While advanced L2 disciplinary writers usually can do the analysis, they often have a harder time synthesizing those ideas and explaining both analysis and synthesis in clear prose. For L2 writers, this challenge may arise if they are still thinking in L1 and then translating and trying to write in L2. Also, as they struggle with the complex ideas involved in analysis and synthesis, they may have difficulty finding accurate language to represent those ideas.

Organization of disciplinary writing is a skill closely linked to a writer’s ability to analyze and synthesize information for a reader. In addition, disciplinary communication standards have specific and often implicit patterns for organization of information. Thus, if a disciplinary writer has only a slender grasp of audience and purpose and little
awareness of disciplinary standards, she may struggle with clear, coherent organization. Students writing in L2 especially may fall back on nondisciplinary patterns of organization, and again, culture often influences the choices they make.

Most disciplinary writers must learn to interpret data, often writing about it or creating graphics that explain the data. In Western contexts, a reader of disciplinary prose expects a writer to interpret that data. However, L2 writers working with data may be challenged in two ways. First, there may be cultural patterns that constrain them as they make claims about data, especially if a writer comes from a reader-responsible context in which readers are expected to draw their own conclusions. Second, a writer may not have the language to make an appropriate claim about the data. She may understand the information well enough, but qualifying that claim may be difficult for her. For example, an L2 engineering writer writing about data must learn how to modify various claims. Does the data show X? Or does the data
seem
to show X? A writer working with this challenge needs to have not only thought critically about the evidence but also to know a range of transitional phrases and have a clear command of verb tenses and modifiers.

Informative graphics are another challenge for the L2 writer. An expected communication element in most disciplines, graphics pose both linguistic and cultural challenges. We cannot know what cultural perspectives on graphics that the L2 writer brings with her, but now she must conform to the expectations of graphics in her current disciplinary community. Almost certainly, those graphics must contain substantive information that will support the reader’s cognitive task. Yet how does an L2 know the possible options unless she has seen similar graphics? And in addition to choosing the right graphic that shows the necessary information clearly, she must also create the textual language that supports and interprets that graphic. Here, a tutor will see that several challenges converge: understanding audience and purpose, creating rhetorical strategies, and using language to interpret data.

One or more of the entry points described earlier usually give a tutor a useful way to begin working with a writer. Wisely, we avoid beginning by addressing sentence-level errors. As tutors, we want to see a writer create meaningful text, and while correcting all errors may produce ‘clean’ text, it cannot produce substantive, meaningful writing. Yet, those errors present a distraction for a tutor. L2 writers tend to make more sentence-level errors than do native English speakers, and these errors tend to be different from the ones native-speaking writers make. Sentence-level errors can range from a few minor mechanical problems to errors so severe they disrupt the meaning of the writing. Dana
Ferris (2002)
terms these “local” and “global” errors. The tutor who is working on writing may feel distracted by local errors and confused by global errors. In both cases, the tutor may be puzzled about how to address those errors in a logical, timely way. Moreover, it can be more comfortable to spend time correcting the sentence-level errors and feel competent than it is to tackle the tougher issues with the text and feel confused. Generally, experienced tutors of L2 writers learn to set aside sentence-level errors and instead assess how successfully the writer is creating meaning (
Matsuda and Cox 2004
). Writing, after all, is about creating meaning, and we can understand a lot about a student by observing whether she is able to transform facts into knowledge and put together a coherent argument or organize information (
Scardamalia and Bereiter 2006
). However at some point in our work with an L2 writer, we must decide if the sentence-level errors interfere with the clarity of her disciplinary writing and, if so, how and when to address those errors.

Many L2 writers need only a cue to help them notice the error. Those errors tend to be invisible to them either because their native language doesn’t have a corresponding feature or because those errors have become fossilized to the point that they seem normal. Also, L2 writers are often so taxed by trying to write and make meaning in complex disciplinary prose that they have no more cognitive space for error identification. But once they can locate the error, many L2 writers know how to correct it (
Ferris 2002, 2009
). In these cases, gentle guidance and the revision process help writers remove most of the errors from the prose.

However, there are L2 writers who cannot locate the error, nor do they know how to correct it. Students who have learned English by ear are usually in this category. When this occurs, the tutor may find himself delivering a mini-lesson. Scholars in both language-acquisition
pedagogy and in writing studies point to the necessity for those of us who work with L2 writers to be able to respond in knowledgeable ways to both rhetorical issues and sentence-level language problems. (
Ferris 2002
;
Johns 1986
;
Linville 2004
;
Matsuda and Cox 2004
) In fact, learning the correct grammar rule in the context of meaningful writing is thought to be one of the more successful ways to help L2 students learn correct grammar (
Ferris 2002
).

Paula is a third-year engineering student who has brought a draft of her engineering research proposal to Louis, a tutor at the writing center. She is knowledgeable about engineering theory, but her disciplinary writing has been limited to short answers on exams, a short collaborative lab report, and her lab notebook. This proposal is her first piece of extended writing about her engineering work.

Louis has been working at the writing center for a year. He is not an engineer, but he has worked with a number of engineering writers. Moreover, he has studied some of the exemplars collected in the writing center. As Louis meets Paula for the first time, he asks her about the assignment and about the course. He is not an engineer, he tells her, so it’s important for him to understand specifically what she is trying to accomplish. Louis is wise to begin in this way. First, he puts her in the position of being the knowledgeable one, which helps her relax a bit. Second, he learns more about this assignment and discipline. Third, he can assess her verbal language and her listening comprehension.

“Where would you like to begin?” Louis asks. “What is most challenging for you?”

Paula tells Louis, “I know my English is not good.” This apology about writing is not surprising; many L2 writers are accustomed to think first of sentence error rather than composition and meaning.

Louis reassures her that they will talk about correctness of language, but he redirects her attention, asking, “Where shall we start?” When Paula seems hesitant, he asks, “Can we begin with this introduction section?” As Paula has been telling him about the course and her research project, Louis has paged through the draft of the proposal. He thinks the introduction section seems underdeveloped based on some of the
exemplars he has read. Also, since the section is relatively brief, he thinks they can do some focused work in the time they have. He also knows clarity and focus in that section will help her develop and organize the rest of the proposal. Thus, he decides to explore Paula’s thinking about that section. “What can you say about this section?” Louis asks. “What do you want this section to do?”

As Paula explains, she produces more language than Louis sees on the page, and moreover, she gives specific details that contextualize her research plan. What she says is a little unfocused, and her language is hesitant, but Louis helps her by asking a few guiding questions. Then he comments, “What you just said was full of good details, but not much of that content is here on the page.” Paula tells Louis, “I was afraid I would make mistakes.”

Second language writers often produce compressed text for one or more reasons: they have too little vocabulary, so they only write what they know they can write correctly; in their efforts to write correctly, they write so slowly they run out of time to produce text; or they cannot transfer their knowledge and critical thinking from L1 to L2. Paula’s skimpy introduction may be the result of those issues, but it’s also possible she does not understand the material fully because her receptive skills of reading and listening may be minimal. Also, depending on the clarity of the professor’s assignment, she may not fully understand the audience and the purpose for the proposal. Thus, Louis’s discussion with her functions as a kind of prewriting activity.

As he talks with Paula, Louis explores her understanding of the genre she is being asked to produce. He thinks Paula has a limited understanding of the purpose of an introduction section and does not know how to move the reader through that section. He encourages her to write down some of the things she said in their discussion. Then, together they outline an expanded introduction section that better reflects her knowledge. As he does this with Paula, he points out some of the rhetorical moves common in introductions in engineering.

Louis also notices that Paula rarely chooses strong, active verbs, and often she writes in general rather than specific terms. Borrowing a strategy from English for Specific Purposes, a pedagogical focus within EFL pedagogy, Louis suggests to Paula that she add to her technical vocabulary. He guesses Paula does not have anything close to the vocabulary of a native speaker. She may acquire that over time, but what she needs right now is more technical vocabulary. He suggests that she make a list of twenty-five verbs and nouns she sees in the textbook the class uses or in journal articles she is reading or from lectures with her engineering
professor. “For example,” Louis says, “engineers use active verbs like
calculate
,
calibrate
,
characterize
,
model
,
simulate
,
quantify
. Find the common words used in your discipline. If you know the exact meaning, then you can use some of those words as you revise, and the writing becomes more precise.”

Louis suggests that Paula show a revised version of the introduction section to her professor or to the teaching assistant to gauge whether or not the revision meets their standards. Although he’s not an engineer, he has seen and read a number of engineering documents, and the revision fits the general pattern of organization. Still, he wants her to get confirmation from her professor.

The tutoring session is nearly over, but Paula is not ready to leave. She asks, “Can you help with my English?” She means her grammar, not her writing, and not only does she want this feedback, she also expects it (
Ferris 2002
). Louis has noted several kinds of sentence-level error in Paula’s draft, but he has not mentioned them since he does not want to interrupt her process of making meaning about her engineering proposal. Nor does he want to undermine her confidence. However, he guesses she is unlikely to find the errors on her own—she hasn’t thus far—and also she has made a direct request for his help. Louis decides to address errors he notices in the introduction section: sentence-construction problems that are producing a mix of sentence fragments and run-on sentences. He brings of few of these to her attention and asks her if she can correct them. By her quick correction and her articulation, he sees that she knows how to correct the errors. Paula says she will correct the other errors like that.

A week later, Paula returns to the writing center to see Louis. “The professor says my paper is better, but still he crossed things out
.
” Looking at the draft, Louis sees that Paula has begun her introduction,

Louis sees that the professor has crossed out lines of the paragraph, writing
Too flowery. Get to the point.
But the professor seems to approve the rest of the more-developed introduction. “I see what you’re trying to do,” Louis says. “You want to create a sense of context for the research,
right?” Paula agrees; it’s just as they outlined the introduction in the previous session.

Louis asks Paula if she thinks the professor crossed out any important information about her research project. “He took out all my words that I put there to make it interesting,” she says. “In engineering, it is more common to get right to the point,” Louis says. What she wrote is not incorrect, but it is not the way most engineers write. Paula says, “So . . . write more dry . . . empty. . . and kind of short but not the way I write in my language?”

Louis tells her, “Style and tone, the way sentences are constructed, the way that writing is organized—these elements of writing shift between different disciplines and between cultures.” He suggests that she pay attention to the style of engineering writing in articles she reads. “It isn’t only what you say,” Louis tells her. “Notice the style and tone that the engineering writers use.”

Paula’s dilemma is familiar to many L2 writers; “It doesn’t sound like me,” they say, even though they clearly have written the text. Yet the shift in style and tone and perhaps in organization make the text feel ‘other’ to them. All developing writers try to find a professional voice as they begin to write in their disciplines, but since they have little real-world experience, they often fall back on the strategies that have succeeded in other academic contexts. Thus, we see writers trying out literary or reflective styles or choosing the wrong register or perhaps being too enigmatic as they imagine how ‘real’ writers in that discipline would sound.

Writers writing in L2 also may show evidence of negative transfer—the influence of the first or primary language on the newer language. Sentences in their native language may be longer and more complex; paragraphs may be organized differently; style may be more formal or elaborate; composition habits may be influenced by inductive rather than deductive reasoning; and cultural expectations about rhetorical strategies in disciplinary prose may differ. Even when the transfer doesn’t produce error, the text can still bear the markers of the first or primary language and thus sound ‘wrong’ to a native speaker. Alternately, even when L2 writers can conform to disciplinary expectations in style and tone, their text then sounds ‘foreign’ to them.