This is nothing new - this is my life - it's what I signed up for - but I'm feeling particularly weary as the quarter nears its end, so I will indulge in a little whimpering.
I'll be receiving about 80 student essays this week (instead of the usual weekly 40 or so), half on Monday, half on Wednesday, and they'll all need to be read/responded to by next Monday morning, so it'll be a rough Thursday-Monday. 80 essays at 4-6 pages each = about 400 pages of mediocre to bad writing that I can't just skim. I have to pay attention every word and then respond in some useful, thorough way so that the student writer will learn something about writing, about thinking, about analysis, about communication.
A typical sample from a student's essay this quarter:
"As an artist you must not be bias, and dig deeper to understand the piece that you are engaging with rather than pass judgment. Art can deceive us in many ways and sometimes is meant to. A persons art work should always be taken into account, all the aspects that make it unique, including the amount of time spent on the piece itself. The spectrum of art, and how far it goes for those that are interested in its endless limits, can only be told through expression."
Also,
"Art is a part of everyone's lives as we know it, and sometimes we don't."
The rest of the essay is more of the same.
The English instructors I know talk about the piles of student essays as soul-destroying - that can be true - but they make me feel insane, too; I begin to wonder, is it me? am I just not able to read and understand what I read anymore? What's happening? Help!
Is it worth it? I do wonder sometimes. David Guterson (Snow Falling on Cedars) was here in town a couple of weeks ago, and a friend of mine went to hear him speak; when asked if he ever thought of teaching again, he said, he'd thought of it, but in the end, just couldn't go back to facing those repeating piles of 100 student essays again.
Yeah, exactly.
But then, I can't help caring about my students - it's a pile of mostly poorly written essays, but each essay represents one person, full of hopes and dreams, and I can't be dismissive. And I have those students, every quarter, who tell me how thankful they are that I took the time to read and respond to what they write, to help them on in their careers as students, as they've put it. And then, I think, it's all worth it.
Is it worth it?
I'm not sure I'll ever be absolutely sure.