Kara Voght

"Process" is a word we throw around a lot at the Vassar College Writing Center. The required Writing Center course is called "Process, Prose, and Pedagogy," we host faculty workshops called "Process in Progress," and our student-published academic journal, The Oak Door, serves to share an "exploration of the reflective process" necessary to create great undergraduate scholarship. To some unfamiliar with our Writing Center jargon, the term "process" sounds like it refers to strange tics each individual writer performs in the act of writing a paper. For those of you who know me, you know my way of going about this involves arriving at the library with way more books than necessary, several laps around the library to speak with anyone who will help me procrastinate, a good chat with LTRC Director Natalie Friedman, a stop in the Writing Center to commiserate with my fellow consultants, and several trips to the Retreat and/or Bean for many outrageously large cups of coffee.

While these ritualistic acts certainly bear influence on the writing I produce, they are not part of the "process" we advocate in the Center. Rather, writing consultants understand "process" as the development of a greater understanding of oneself as a writer, not only through writing one particular paper, but taking what we learn about our writing and ourselves from that one paper and carrying it into the next assignment we attempt. "Process" can also involve revising an old paper with a fresh perspective and new experiences that may help us tackle the challenges we struggled with before. In this sense, the act of writing a paper is never really over—the writer can always revise phrases, rethink transitions, and try on different ideas to decide, for themselves, what best suits the assignment at hand.

This is the basic philosophy that informs the way we approach consulting writers in the Center. When I try to explain this to writers during my Center shifts, I am often met by blank stares and questions like, "But once my professor grades this paper, isn't that kind of the end?" For this particular paper—maybe. Some professors allow revisions on rough first attempts, and some give valuable feedback, noting that they look forward to seeing how that student will incorporate the feedback into following assignments. But no writer should expect a paper to be a means to an end; each attempt at a paper, rather, should inform our process and invite us to bring what we learn into the next assignment.

The reason I think it's important to stress this philosophy so much is that it is not just the chosen principle of the Vassar College Writing Center alone; it's the philosophy that Vassar, as an institution, encourages among the members of its community. Vassar advises its students to try out new ideas and take on new challenges, reminding them that if they fail, they fail, but there's something valuable to be gained from trying because we learn something about ourselves in the process of trying.

In the classroom, my "process" took awhile. I came to college an adequate five-paragraph essay writer, only to find that this writing style wouldn't cut it in the academy. Professor Merrell took me to task my sophomore year, giving me several B minuses to show me the error of my ways; though discouraged, Professor Merrell offered wonderful constructive criticism and encouragement, giving me the balance of space and structure I needed to develop a more nuanced writing style. As a result, my paper grades definitely improved, and the following year, I found myself working as a consultant in the Writing Center. On the field hockey field, I was a mediocre athlete my freshman year; I was slow, not very skilled, and intimidated by my faster, stronger upperclassmen teammates—I thought I'd never make it through preseason. Despite my concerns, my teammates and coaches only supported me to perform better; the following year, I came to preseason in much better shape and, in my senior year, I became captain.

I'm not one for personal philosophies, but if I were to have one, this would likely be it: love the "process"—take risks, try hard, and learn from defeat. But, of course, such words to live by are always open to revision, and once I actually apply my supporting evidence they will likely need to be tweaked, and then I'll have to rework the conclusion…but that's what makes writing—and life—exciting and worth living.

—Kara Voght is the outgoing captain of the Vassar Field Hockey team, as well as a consultant in the Vassar College Writing Center.