In the previous chapter, I presented five different strategies for enacting access- centered pedagogy, and in the chapter that follows, I offer in-depth analysis of two additional dominant themes that emerged from my data: time and presence. The students in my study had considerable experiences to share that focused on their relationship to time and their ability/willingness to maintain presence in the writing classroom. If time is considered to be the progress of existence and presence is defined as the state of existence, then the relationship between these two themes might be understood as the ways in which students advance through and inhabit in the space of a classroom. Composition instructors need to consider how normative constructions of both time and presence may negatively impact students with disabilities.
Cripping Time: Flexible Approaches to Normative Time Frames
One major theme that resulted from my study was the issue of time. A
consideration of time is a top concern for disability services; extended time is one of the most frequently used accommodations. However, extended time, as it is most often conceived in accommodation models, is associated with exams. Extended time on assignments is far less common. In fact, while working as a graduate research assistant in the Office of First-Year Composition at my university, I requested a meeting with the staff at my campus disability services center. One of the questions I asked them
centered on offering extended time on essay assignments as an accommodation that might be applicable to the writing classroom. They were extremely resistant to this idea, arguing that students would take advantage of such an accommodation and that it
wasn’t fair to the other students. In my experience, students are not attempting to take advantage of the accommodations system; they are trying to succeed and have
honorable intentions. To make this point more forcefully, I would argue that the very notion of the “shifty,” manipulate student seeking accommodation-as-advantage is a disability myth, a trope with deep rhetorical roots. In his recent book, Disability Rhetoric: Critical Perspectives on Disability, Jay Dolmage presents extensive analysis of the many myths that inform rhetorical constructions of disability. He writes, “We have always had disability myths, and these myths have always been rhetorically significant and rhetorically contested” (11). I’ll take up the accommodation-as- advantage myth more deeply in chapter five, but it’s important to keep in mind
throughout this chapter as well, due in part to the frequent rhetorical association of extra time and unfair advantage.
Many of the students I interviewed expressed a desire for flexibility with deadlines and with processes of writing, along with a resistance to timed writing. This raises the question of whether or not writing teachers obstruct access when they assign timed-writing prompts in their classrooms. In the case of timed writing, access might be inhibited because some students might not benefit from composing in a restricted time frame in the same way that other students might. In other words, SWD might be at a disadvantage when asked to compose within strict or normative boundaries of time. “Crip” time offers an alternative approach to conceiving time in composition classrooms.
Crip time is a concept in in disability culture that “refers to a flexible approach to normative time frames” (Price, Mad at School 62; see also Zola; see also Gill).
Margaret Price points out that classrooms adhere to such normative time frames, almost by definition. She writes, “Students are expected to arrive on time, absorb information at a particular speed, and perform spontaneously in restricted time frames” (63). She asserts that adhering to crip time means “recognizing that people will arrive at various intervals” and that people “are processing language at various rates and adjusting the pace of conversation” (63). Alison Kafer, in her book Feminist, Queer, Crip, theorizes crip time and crip futurity, or the ways in which the “future” is constructed as
compulsory ablebodiedness (27). Kafer draws particular attention to the “compulsory” deployments of futurity, or the curative imaginary. She makes clear that desires for cure are not anti-crip, but that curative imaginaries are problematic (and ableist) when they are constructed as compulsory, viewing ablebodiedness as the ultimate, ever-desirable end. Cripping time in composition pedagogy requires inquiry into the effects of normative time frames as well as into the tacit curative imaginaries that undergird our classroom practices, our assignments, and our policies. The following section examines the barriers to access that such time strictures construct for students with disabilities. I focus on timed writing during class, what Price might refer to as “spontaneous” performance, but also on writing assignments themselves. While assignments do not have a number of class minutes, the nevertheless exist within strictly defined boundaries of time that are controlled by the instructor (or sometimes by departmentally
standardized curriculum). Finally, I look at specific moments in my interviews in which students reported contradictory relationships to time, inconsistent and often conflicting notions of being in time and performing in time. These contradictions expose the fissures between crip time and academic time, thus revealing academic resistance to the
cripping of time, a resistance grounded in ableist notions of intelligence, performance, and ability.
While extended time on an exam is a very common “conventional” accommodation, few writing classrooms rely on timed essay exams as a common component of their pedagogical approach. Rather, students are assigned essays (textual or perhaps even multi-media) that they complete throughout the course of a given semester. Although this common accommodation doesn’t typically apply to the writing classroom, composition instructors need to carefully interrogate the ways in which we construct timed writing in our classroom activities and in our assignments. In my own teaching, I never assign an essay exam, but I frequently ask students to “take ten minutes and please write about…” Strictures of time exist by definition in a classroom; every class has a first day and a last day. Every class has due dates, measures of time for when students should complete a task and a stop-time for their work on that task, at which point the teacher takes control of that text and begins the evaluation process. To regard the (seemingly) inevitable boundaries of time that mediate student experience and student production as de facto standard, however, obscures the normativity that supports such strictures. In other words, we must pay attention to how we construct time; otherwise, we may enforce normative time frames upon students whose
experiences and processes exist in contradiction to such compulsory measures of times. The students with whom I spoke offered several insights into their experiences with in-class writing. Amber, for example, had the following to say:
Whenever we would have our mini-essays in class, because we only had 50- minute classes, and then she’d allow 15 minutes in class. When the 15 minutes was up, I’d be like, I finally know what I can put on this paper! So that would’ve helped for the essays in class. If I had extended time on that, it would have
helped…When they put a time on it, then I start getting anxious. And then it gets harder.
Like Amber, Andy experienced difficulties when asked to write in a timed setting. For example, when asked to freewrite, he reported that he didn’t do very well because, he said, “I didn’t know what I was gonna say, and it was really rushed for me. They didn’t really give me enough time to think it out.” For both Andy and Amber, their own sense of the time required to complete a writing task existed in conflict with the teacher’s expectations for performance. Andy also informed me that one of the reasons he didn’t think he needed accommodations in writing classes was due to the fact that the bulk of the work happened on his own time at home: “Everything was outside of class, the writing. None of it was time in class really. So that was kind of nice. I was able to do it outside of class and take as much time as I needed. So I don’t think I really used anything in there, any of my accommodations.” With this quote in mind, composition classes might seem conducive to cripping time due to the fact that so much work occurs on the student’s own time (outside of class). However, later in our interview I asked Andy how his disability impacts him as a student, and he again reiterated time. He said, “I feel like it impacts me a lot. Just because I feel like sometimes and just in general with everything I do, I feel like somehow it takes me a long time. I have to drill it in…it takes me a while to realize, to sit down and write. What do I want to say, how can I say it? And that’s a majority of my time right there.” Andy went as far as to tell me that when he is asked to write in a timed environment, he is filled with so much anxiety his hands shake. He experiences a bodily reaction to the compulsory time strictures placed on student performance in timed writing.
Many of my research participants discussed the connection between anxiety and in-class writing. Like Andy, Charles reported significant anxiety with being forced to participate in timed writing. He said, “Short time makes me panic. But say it’s given over a couple class periods, I’ll feel a little better about it.” Later in the interview, Charles made a distinction regarding when he felt timed writing was appropriate. I asked him if he felt that writing teachers should avoid timed writing, and he responded, “They’re good in a way, if it’s self-reflectant, because you know about yourself. But if it’s a topic, I wouldn’t suggest a time limit.” For Charles, if timed writing is over a topic with which he has familiarity (his own experiences, for example) then he feels it can be productive, but if the topic is unfamiliar, timed writing creates anxiety and is therefore less beneficial for him. A teacher would never know this about Charles, however, unless Charles himself disclosed these preferences and requested (non-sanctioned)
accommodations. In my instructor/faculty survey, 69% of respondents confirmed they would grant accommodations without documentation, stating reasons such as “the legal requirements are terribly minimal and all students need access” and “some cannot afford to be tested for disabilities.” Of the 10% who answered that they would not provide any accommodations without documentation, one respondent stated, “The registration process is clear and I am not a disability professional.” Another respondent also exhibited complete deference to a medical model of disability, stating, “It is appropriate to let trained disability specialists assess whether there is a genuine
disability and what the appropriate accommodations might be.” By and large, however, instructors seemed flexible and dedicated to ensuring access to all students, with respect for (but not complete reliance on) disability services but with a sensible understanding
of the complexities of disability documentation, disclosure, and the nature of accommodations in writing classrooms.
These complexities emerged consistently in my conversations with students. James explained how his experiences with multiple disabilities create a connection between anxiety and time. He said, “It is hard for me to focus with my ADD but my OCD I get really nervous about time and everything and making sure everything’s correct. And when I do that and I get nervous, my Tourette’s goes off, and it makes me more self-conscious about people hearing.” The anxiety that James experiences due to time strictures creates a confounding of multiple disabilities that results in significant discomfort for him. Very similar to James, George reported on the experience of embodied disability and timed writing, stating that, “One of the issues that I have whenever I’m doing timed writings or even just writing an essay in general, I’ll be sitting there, and I won’t think that I’m going into enough detail. Or I’ll get really nervous, and I’ll think I’m going into too much detail.” He also reported that OCD routines impact his performance on timed writing:
I was constantly doing things in groups of three. Even like essay responses, I’d be sitting there and I’d go over the question like three times. And if I didn’t feel like I did it correctly the first three times, I would do it again and again. And eventually my [teacher] picked up on it and she said you can’t do that on timed writings. So then she got me to talk to my parents and then I went and got a psychiatric evaluation.
In George’s case, his behavior in timed writings led (at least partially) to his diagnosis. George told me, “I actually really love writing like a lot. I’m better at it when it’s recreational just because there’s not the pressure of it being timed.” Marie said,
If I’m put on the spot in the classroom, it’s just me like that and you say you have this amount of minutes, I automatically am thinking, oh my gosh, I’m not
what do you know, I’ve spent 15 minutes thinking about how I’m not gonna beat it.
When I asked Marie to elaborate, she provided some insight regarding how teacher delivery and attitude about timed writing shape her performance: “It’s more the way it’s presented. Like if a teacher says that in a relaxed way, like ‘Ok you guys are gonna do an in-class assignment,’ that’s fine. I just don’t like to hear that there’s a….” I asked, “Strict boundary of time?” She replied, “Yeah, because then that drives the anxiety up.” She later expressed that she doesn’t feel relaxed when she experiences performance in a timed setting and sees everybody else finishing around her. In the final moments of our interview, she advised writing teachers, “Be more cautious about making people feel pressured for time because that really does drive a lot of kids crazy. A lot of times I’ve felt like I’m just holding up a teacher’s day or something.”
The pressures and anxieties these students feel when faced with timed writing suggests that SWDs relationship with time exists in contrast to the ways in which composition classes (and academia, more generally) construct and value time— especially in relation to performance and production of assessable texts. Where this conflict exists, barriers to access arise as a result of compulsory notions of ablebodied composing processes.
In addition to the resistance to cripped time that exists within sites of timed writing, the duration of writing assignments themselves also warrant interrogation as to the ableist barriers constructed through manifestations of temporality. Several of my research participants described the ways in which disability disrupts their writing processes thus inhibiting their ability to adhere to normative, or “strictly” defined
with her disability interrupts her writing processes: “When a disability-related [illness] causes a long gap between times in which I am able to work on writing assignments, it makes getting back into the frame of mind and flow of papers difficult.” She told me that she relies on effective time management in order to improve her success in writing classes:
When it comes to writing, I am a perfectionist. I try to start writing assignments as early in my timeline as I can because I know how much I will scrutinize my work. Additionally, I never know when I might be ill. Since I don’t know when my disability issues will become serious, I know it is best to try and get ahead on writing assignments. Trying to have as much time as I can get is the most helpful thing for long writing assignments.
She went on the explain that:
Stringent deadlines make it very hard for me to complete assignments. I never know when I will be sick. I like to try and think that if today is going well, tomorrow will too. Unfortunately, simply wishing something doesn’t make it happen. I try to make the most use of time when I am feeling well, but because I don’t know when or for how long I will be ill, strict deadlines are quite difficult for me to adhere to.
While disability services allowed her “to have some leeway as to when assignment are due,” she reported that “the extent of this accommodation is usually dependent upon the professor of the class. Some professors in the past would give me an extension of a week. Other professors are extremely lenient and just wanted everything turned in by the end of the semester. My professors this semester are at various ends of the
spectrum.” When I asked Leah what she thought accounted for the variances of flexibility among her professors, she had this say: “I’ve found, in most instances, that older professors have been less accommodating than younger ones. I don’t think I can quite speculate on why that is.” Like Leah, Greg relies on extended deadlines in part due to the occurrence of disability-related illnesses. He explained, “Generally, I don’t
ask for a lot, just at times, I may be late with assignments and to please understand that there are health issues that are preventing me from being able to get my work in in the given time frame.” He further stated, “I kind of hate to ask that, but it is what it is. I got to do what I’ve got to do to make sure I don’t get penalized for turning in something late.” When I asked Greg why he hates to ask, he said, “I’m a proud person. I don’t like to ask for a lot of help. I just don’t.” The perspectives offered from both Greg and Leah demonstrate that at times, disability makes it difficult to adhere to frames of time
imposed by instructors, and while disability services might intervene with extended deadline accommodations, both Greg and Leah draw attention to the limitations of “conventional” approaches to access. Leah points out that even when the
accommodation for extended time is in place, the instructor retains authority over defining the boundaries of “extension,” and Greg foregrounds the ways in which a desire for independence further complicate the need for “cripped” time.
While Greg and Leah discussed “interruptions,” other students I spoke with explained how the designated stop-time on a given assignment creates an obstacle, those moments when the due date collides with disability. To be clear, I see this collision not as a problem related to each student’s disability, but as a problem with strict adherence to normative time frames. This is not to suggest that due dates, by their very nature, inhibit accessibility; I’m presenting these students’ experiences in the hopes that writing teachers are better able to consider the ways in which allowing a flexible approach to time (“cripping”) can benefit students. Diane associated her tendency for late work directly with her disability. She said, “The OCD is not as difficult as it used to be. I used to obsess over every little thing, making it perfect, and
sometimes I’d turn in assignments late because I’d have to make it perfect.” Like Diane, James also discussed delaying the moment of submission, stating, “Turning in
assignments is a very difficult thing for me. There’s been times when I can turn a paper