So What?

Yesterday I asked each of my Business Communication students to stand up in front of the class and say four specific things about the term papers they are going to turn in on Tuesday:

* State your thesis/findings/proposal.
* Briefly describe the evidence you used to support your assertions.
* Explain why your evidence supports your assertions.
* Tell us why your assertions are important.

Students saw the first three requests coming, but when I asked them to explain the importance of their work, several of them looked confused - enough of them that I decided to explain I meant by 'important.'

To do so, I borrowed a lesson from my one-time fiction writing professor, Lynn Freed. Back when I was walking the halls of Voorhies at UC Davis, Lynn's name evoked anxiety in many of the fiction writers. We liked hearing what she had to say, but what she said often hurt. She's not one to pull punches during workshop. If she thinks your being a lazy writer, she'll call you out on it. If she thinks you've lost control of the story, she'll tell you just that. But the reason she was feared - the reason people were nervous about enrolling in her workshop was not what she said in the classroom; it was what she wrote on the final page of so many people's submissions that scared us. She scratched two words across the whole page: "So what?"

A young man might be drawing on deeply personal experiences to write about how a girlfriend humiliated his fictional self in front of family and friends, and at the end of the story all Lynn wanted to know was, "So what?"

She explained that this is the most important question a writer can ever ask about his or her work. If a writer is going to take up a reader's time and energy, then there sure as hell better be a pay off. And Lynn carries herself in such a way that you know she probably has better things to do than read your short story. That really drives the point home.

And so, in my classroom I asked my students to explain why their term paper was important. "Why should I spend my time reading it? How will my life be affected if I accept or reject your assertion? In short, so what?" The class laughed. Then the presentations began.

Then just before the first break, I had to push one presenter a bit on the "so what" issue. I asked her, "Why should I read your paper?"

Before she could answer, one of the other students exclaimed, "I hate that question." He was adamant. I asked him why, and he told us that whenever there is a message, there is always a 'sender' and a 'reciever,' and that relationship is defined by pre-established positions of power. He suggested that you shouldn't compose a message if you are not in a position to make someone read that message. The relationship must be in place before the reader's eyes fall upon the first word: Boss & subordinate, journalist & news customer, politician & citizen, parent & child, and the list goes on.

It was a fascinating misconception of the reader-writer relationship, and I think it's one many students have. After all, many students only read because they are told to read. Reluctant readers get to school where they are told what to read, and if they fail to read the book, an authority punishes them. This 'teaches' reluctant readers that "We read because we have to."

Now, I don't want to do away with that system. I think teachers should force reluctant readers to read. The Great Gasby may feel like 'eating your vegetables' to a 15-year-old, but it's good for you AND eventually we all learn how delicious asparagus is (it's in season here, and soooo good).

But we also need to teach about the reader-writer relationship. The reader is giving time and thought to a writer's work. That writer better bring something to the table - something worth the time and energy - something that offers a satisfying answer to the question, "So what?"