At the beginning of this course, I believed that strong writing was mainly about structure—thesis statements, topic sentences, and transitions. While all those elements still matter, I’ve realized through the lessons in this class that powerful writing isn’t just about how you organize ideas coherently but how deeply you engage with them. Throughout this course, I’ve evolved in my ability to think rhetorically—not just consuming a text for its message, but understanding how the author’s identity, audience, language choices, and purpose all shape that message. This shift has made me a more intentional, confident, and emotionally connected writer.
One of the biggest breakthroughs for me this semester was learning to analyze texts rhetorically. I used to approach readings only by looking for what the author said. But now, I ask how and why they say it. We practiced this with writers like Vershawn Ashanti Young, June Jordan, and Jamila Lyiscott—whose work changed how I think about language and identity.
In Vershawn Young’s “Should Writers Use They Own English?”, he argues that using Black English is not a flaw—it’s a valid, expressive form of communication. At first, I was surprised by his unconventional grammar and sentence structure. But by looking closer—at his intended audience, tone, and rhetorical strategy—I realized that his language is his argument. By refusing to conform to “standard” English, Young challenges the very idea that there is one correct way to speak or write. As an ESL speaker, this resonated deeply with me. I’ve spent years worried about how my accent or word choice might make people doubt my intelligence.
Similarly, Jamila Lyiscott’s spoken word poem “3 Ways to Speak English” taught me how code-switching and language variation reflect cultural identity, not inferiority. She says, “I’m articulate because I code-switch,” which made me reflect on the times I’ve adjusted how I speak to match academic or professional settings. Her performance gave me permissionto value every part of my language journey—from Portuguese to English to the Spanglish I sometimes mix in. Analyzing these texts through rhetorical frameworks allowed me to understand how the medium (spoken word vs. written) and the speaker’s identity are key parts of their message.
These readings didn’t just make me a better reader—they transformed me as a writer, too. One of the most personal assignments this semester was the Language and Literacy Narrative, where I reflected on a moment that shaped my relationship with literacy. My first draft was heartfelt but mostly descriptive. I wrote:
“The scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the house, blending with the rich aroma of my grandmother’s cooking—a comforting mix of garlic, onions, and simmering beans. It was late afternoon, and we gathered around the table.”
This was a good start. It captured the setting. But I hadn’t yet tapped into the emotional layers of the moment. Through feedback, peer review, and inspiration from the authors we read, I learned how to use language more purposefully—to evoke not just images, but feelings. In my revised spoken word poem, the moment transformed:
“The scent of coffee drifts through the air,
rich and bold, mixing with the warmth of my grandmother’s stew,
garlic, onions, and beans simmering slow,
like time itself had decided to rest for a while.”
This version doesn’t just describe what was happening. It invites the reader to feel the moment as I did. The sensory details are layered. The metaphor of time resting adds a deeper meaning to stillness, memory, and connection. I learned that writing is not only about telling a story—it’s about building an experience for the reader.
Another major contributor to my growth was the peer review process. At first, I felt nervous sharing my work—I worried about being judged, especially as an ESL speaker. However, peer feedback became one of the most valuable parts of the class. It helped me see my writing from another’s perspective. Sometimes, I thought a sentence was clear, but a classmate’s comment would show me it was confusing or could be stronger. Other times, I doubted whether a line was impactful, and a peer would highlight it as their favorite part. This back-and-forth gave me confidence in my style and taught me how to revise with clarity and purpose.
One specific revision came after a peer mentioned they wanted to understand why my grandfather’s literacy mattered to me personally. In my final narrative, I added:
“This wasn’t just about words. This was about time. About years spent navigating life with nothing but instinct.”
That sentence only existed because someone asked a thoughtful question in a peer review session. The feedback didn’t just make my writing better—it made it more intentional.
If I had to summarize what this class taught me, it’s this: language is never just about communication—it’s about power and identity. This has changed how I read, how I write, and how I see myself. I now understand that rhetorical strategies are not academic tools for essays alone—they’re lenses through which we interpret everything from poetry to politics.
Writers like June Jordan and Lyiscott use personal experience as evidence. They blend emotion with logic. They use the form as a function—spoken word, non-standard grammar, and storytelling. These strategies taught me that my own voice can be both personal and persuasive, emotional and intellectual. As a writer, I now feel more confident weaving these threads together to make arguments that feel as strong as they sound.
I entered this class unsure if my writing would ever feel “academic enough.” I leave it knowing that my lived experience is a valid source of knowledge and my language is a powerful tool for making meaning. Whether I’m writing a personal narrative, analyzing a poem, or crafting an argument, I now pay closer attention to the rhetorical situation—who is speaking, to whom, and why it matters.
And most importantly, I’ve learned that writing isn’t just about mastering grammar or structure. It’s about telling the truth—my truth—and using every word, every detail, and every memory to bring the reader closer to it.
