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Nervous, weren’t you? That anxious first-day-feeling of not knowing what to expect—from the tutee, from the center, from yourself—built up like the fizz of a soda until—POP—the pressure was released. But sometimes that feeling doesn’t fade, and then what? The new, uncomfortable, shaky first-day jitters turn into second and third and fourth day nervousness until you worry that maybe the problem isn’t the butterflies in your stomach, but rather—you.
Being a writing center tutor, or any kind of tutor for that matter, is initially a nerve-racking business. More than once, I have finished a training session with a student who had placed complete trust in me, only to feel as if I have completely destroyed his paper and worse yet, his sense of writing. I knew how I felt when professors had marked on my less-than-perfect papers, and I didn’t want to unintentionally cause those feelings in other students. Even more so, I feared that I really had no clue what I was talking about and thus gave these moldable students the wrong information that would just create more problems in their progress as developing writers. I had plenty of paranoid moments of doubt with the “Do I really know what I’m doing?” question running through my head. But, after all, is it really possible that ten and some years of schooling failed me? After identifying my paranoia, I moved on to the next step: getting over it.
In the writing center world, I learned to be very keen on “monkey see, monkey do:” just sit back for a few moments and take it all in, then imitate it. Besides tutoring during actual sessions, I found nothing was so valuable as observing other tutors, especially the older veterans who stalk through the center like lions in the jungle. It’s their territory and they know it inside and out—they talk the talk and walk the walk. Their experience makes them powerful, but until a new writing center tutor gains enough practice to get that comfort—which may not come the first, second, third, or even fourth session—how does he/she imitate her more confident comrades?
First, veteran tutors aren’t afraid to use the resources. We’re not masters of grammar and we know that there are more important things to remember than MLA, APA, and Chicago citation styles. Yet we tend to forget that we, too, are students and clench up at the thought of having to prove ourselves as masters of the written word, which we are not. One of the better aspects of the center is that the student-student cooperative environment allows for a dual learning process. You don’t know exactly what a comma splice is? Ask around; learn from your peers. We all have our fortes—share them. If this doesn’t prove fruitful, look it up with the tutee and learn together. Not only does this inform both of you for the next time, but it also equalizes the relationship. The tutee might also be more comfortable knowing that he’s dealing with a human being rather than a walking, talking grammar book.
Just as the experienced tutors know not to pretend to be programmed with the proper use of the English language, they also know not put on the stolid face of complete comprehension. No one understands everything, especially the unsaid ideas of a writer. Those poking, prodding, annoying questions that you’re just itching to ask—ask them. As a fellow tutor once told me, while we talked about our high school years and the annoying comments (Why? How? AND?) on our papers, our teachers were on to something: clarity. Make the writer clarify himself, even if you know the general direction in which he’s going. Pull out those invisible details. Like a game of tug-of-war, you and your tutee might be so in sync that your opponent of stubborn ideas gives in right away and the thoughts come launching over the muddy pit of confusion in the middle. However, the two of you might relentlessly tug on a bit that just won’t come across and either you find yourselves at an impasse or the ideas get dragged through the muddy pit. It’s okay to call a time out, stop, and come back—“don’t sweat it,” as a grad student tutor often says in our center, if one little detail doesn’t come through.
Don’t sweat it? What kind of words are those coming from a tutor?! —The realistic and well-informed kind. As tutors, we tend to share this notion that for some reason, EVERY LITTLE THING MATTERS. But it doesn’t: not every teeny-tiny, itty-bitty, nit-picky thing. The “don’t sweat it” attitude, when used properly, honestly alleviates a lot of the jitters and recaptures the goal of center. The papers that students bring to us are like houses, and they are not going to become top quality just with some new wallpaper and a fresh coat of paint. Rather, we work with the house builder and give him skills to craft sturdy and sound homes for his ideas. True, a house may not be significantly better after a session or two, but little by little it will improve, hopefully, with further visits to reinforce application of theory.
Though this advice may sound trite, watch your fellow tutors, recognize their individual styles and talents, and generate your own style from combining elements of each of theirs. “Monkey see, monkey do” works in the writing center; some of the most important lessons that I learned came from being a silent observer. So the next time you go in for a shift, take five minutes and cap your pen, close your mouth, open your ears and eyes, and let the tutors tutor you.