Student Essays and Learning to Lie
A student came into the writing center, distraught over an assignment. The assignment was to write about the most traumatic event of their life and how it had changed them. I suggested that perhaps the teacher would be willing to let the student write an alternate assignment, but the student had already asked, and the instructor had not been willing to do so.
The student showed me the attempted essay. Yes, it was personal and traumatic. It was also choppy and disorganized, not so much stream of consciousness as tiny pools of consciousness scattered randomly across the pages, which fits with what little I know about how people may react to truly traumatic events. One of the hardest aspects of my job is being faced with therapy-grade outpourings, but being constrained to adress only the writing aspects of the story. It can be very difficult to separate content from style, discussion of story from discussion of a personal nature.
I suggested that the student didn't have to tell this story. "But, that's the assignment. That's what we're supposed to do."
I asked whether, given that the first draft was already written, the student wanted to go ahead with working on this story.
But, no, this was simply not something that could be turned in. "Don't you think it's wrong that we should be given an assignment like this? And I couldn't possibly share this with the class."
"Perhaps you could choose another event, one less traumatic, and tell that?" But, that wouldn't work either.
"I just can't cope with all these emotions! I don't want to be a victim anymore. I don't want to write about awful things."
So, I tried again. "Lie. Your teacher doesn't know what your life has been like. She's not going to try to track down whether the events actually happened. So, just lie."
"I can do that? What if she finds out?"
"Of course you can do that. You have that right to decide what you are willing to write about and what you're not willing to share. You don't have to share anything you don't feel comfortable sharing."
"But, how can I do that? What would I write about?"
"Well, you've heard other stories, and you've watched a lot of movies."
"But, I just don't want to deal with all those emotions!"
"There are different kinds of trauma. What about people who've gotten themselves into some kind of accident. For example, kids playing on a hillside, only to have the ground give way and trap them."
"Oh! Oh, I've thought of something..."
Ten minutes of writing later, the student wails, "I feel so guilty!"
"Why?"
"Five people died! I just killed five people."
"No people died in the writing of this story," I replied.
"Would you like to read it?"
I did. Then I pointed out that the worst hadn't yet happened to the main character. What if this little tweak here meant that the main character could have prevented all those deaths, but had kept quiet instead. Then, I worried that I'd gone too far, gotten too caught up in the writing lesson and forgotten the underlying need to avoid unpleasant emotions.
But no, the idea was wild fire. There was more writing, which culminated in glee. "I never knew I could lie in an essay. This is so much fun!"
* * *
I think I may have created a writer.
The student showed me the attempted essay. Yes, it was personal and traumatic. It was also choppy and disorganized, not so much stream of consciousness as tiny pools of consciousness scattered randomly across the pages, which fits with what little I know about how people may react to truly traumatic events. One of the hardest aspects of my job is being faced with therapy-grade outpourings, but being constrained to adress only the writing aspects of the story. It can be very difficult to separate content from style, discussion of story from discussion of a personal nature.
I suggested that the student didn't have to tell this story. "But, that's the assignment. That's what we're supposed to do."
I asked whether, given that the first draft was already written, the student wanted to go ahead with working on this story.
But, no, this was simply not something that could be turned in. "Don't you think it's wrong that we should be given an assignment like this? And I couldn't possibly share this with the class."
"Perhaps you could choose another event, one less traumatic, and tell that?" But, that wouldn't work either.
"I just can't cope with all these emotions! I don't want to be a victim anymore. I don't want to write about awful things."
So, I tried again. "Lie. Your teacher doesn't know what your life has been like. She's not going to try to track down whether the events actually happened. So, just lie."
"I can do that? What if she finds out?"
"Of course you can do that. You have that right to decide what you are willing to write about and what you're not willing to share. You don't have to share anything you don't feel comfortable sharing."
"But, how can I do that? What would I write about?"
"Well, you've heard other stories, and you've watched a lot of movies."
"But, I just don't want to deal with all those emotions!"
"There are different kinds of trauma. What about people who've gotten themselves into some kind of accident. For example, kids playing on a hillside, only to have the ground give way and trap them."
"Oh! Oh, I've thought of something..."
Ten minutes of writing later, the student wails, "I feel so guilty!"
"Why?"
"Five people died! I just killed five people."
"No people died in the writing of this story," I replied.
"Would you like to read it?"
I did. Then I pointed out that the worst hadn't yet happened to the main character. What if this little tweak here meant that the main character could have prevented all those deaths, but had kept quiet instead. Then, I worried that I'd gone too far, gotten too caught up in the writing lesson and forgotten the underlying need to avoid unpleasant emotions.
But no, the idea was wild fire. There was more writing, which culminated in glee. "I never knew I could lie in an essay. This is so much fun!"
* * *
I think I may have created a writer.