Hey there! Welcome to the Writing Studio. My name is Seth, and before I ask you about your day and how stressed you are relative to whatever point we’re at in the semester, I want to clear up a few things you might be thinking, like:

I’m not really a writer.

Haven’t you ever stubbed your toe, worked an equation, loved someone..?  You have. Everyone loves, a little; works, sometimes; hurts, a lot. So, you’re a writer. Writers, you know, are not people who wear funny clothes, smoke pipes, obsess over caffeine, and get interviewed on TV. (Those are bloggers or “thought leaders.” It’s different.)

Writers, actually, are people who say things. Good writers say things on purpose; bad ones say things without thinking. But everyone writes, because everyone speaks, and writing is thought made concrete. If you loved someone, ever, whether or not they knew it, you’ve written. Maybe it was a poem you composed on a napkin, or maybe it was as simple as “Hey! I, uh, noticed you’re drinking skim…” but either way, it was writing. If you’ve worked an equation, you know if this, then that, which is writing, too. If you’ve stubbed your toe, I’d imagine you made some thoughts concrete, and although it was likely bad writing, it may have passed for mediocre rap.

Is “Everyone is a writer” a metaphor? Sort of. Does it work? I think so. Do you disagree? Write me about it—you are a writer, after all.

I’m not much of an outliner.

Everything written, everything spoken, and everything done, is outlined. Football games are outlined. Church services are outlined. Calling home to mom is outlined. Heck, lunch orders are even outlined. Don’t believe me? Look:

TITLE: My Chick-fil-a Order

INTRO: Hi there! Yeah, I’d like

A. the number 2 meal:

           1. spicy crispy chicken sandwich,

           2. waffle fries,

           3. and a shake
                       3a. (like, a peach one, I mean-)

B. and if I could get that with

           1. napkins and

           2. some chick-fil-a sauce, that’d be lit.

CONCLUSION: No, it’s *my* pleasure.

… which doesn’t seem like such a big deal, except when you walk up to the register, ask for napkins and fries, say “hello,” thank your server, say “a peach one,” and request a sandwich, shake, and sauce— remembering hastily, at the end, “number two.”

Outlining matters, and everything is outlined, *especially* your papers. Even if you don’t think you’re outlining, you are—it just might end up looking more like order “number two” than order number one. Make sure your outlines look, and sound, intentional.

I just need you to fix my grammar …

Listen, and hear this from the depths of my English-majoring heart: Writing is not about grammar. What? I know. And he wants to be a teacher some day… I know, I know—stay with me.

Trains aren’t about gears, either. Walls aren’t about bricks, nor is justice about laws, or food about salt, or health about medicine… Am I starting to make any more sense? The whole isn’t “about” its parts. Which isn’t to say that grammar isn’t important—after all, what’s a brick wall without bricks?—but that there is so, so much more that comes first. Like a blueprint, for example (your outline), or some concept of where everything needs to go (your prompt). Grammar is intrinsic to everything you write, but it isn’t the reason for writing. Don’t get so focused on your bricks that you put a sculpture in your dining room when what you needed was a wall outside your house.

I don’t need the Writing Studio, but [my teacher sent me, I get extra credit, etc.]

This time you’re wrong and confused.

“Need” isn’t really the point of the Writing Studio. Since we aren’t about grammar, and you’re already a writer (and an outliner, mind), you could theoretically just write your paper, turn it in, and forgot all about us. You’ve probably done that before. (I know I have.) So in a sense, no one needs the Writing Studio.

In a more important sense, though—if you came to Concordia for the right reasons, you came to learn. You came because you believed that sometimes other people know a little more, have chosen a different road, or are better equipped than you are for some of the things you want to learn. You thought maybe the differences between you and me meant that we could help each other, think better together than we could apart, and accomplish things that neither of us could accomplish on our own. And in that sense, you do need the Writing Studio. And so do I.

So, welcome. I’m glad you’re here.

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Seth Skogerboe is a junior English major and Global Cultural Studies minor with experience in creative writing, travel writing, formal and research essays, public speaking, and Nepali haircuts. Ever since he learned to read, he’s been passionate about words, and he hopes to one day be an English professor. Good writing, like good literature, tells a story, whether “creative” or no. Come talk to Seth if you want help saying what you mean in a way that people will listen to.