"It wasn't the writing," I said. "It was the teaching writing."

What do I mean by pedagogy? Firstly let me explore one component, namely, teaching. I came across this moving, poignant and compelling story about teaching which encapsulated for me all that is good about teaching and all that is good teaching.


In The Australian Literary Review (5th March 2008) (a monthly supplement of The Australian newspaper), there is a short reflection/essay by Alex Miller, a well-known Australian novelist. Alex writes of him accepting a position to teach writing at La Trobe University in Melbourne. He said the question whether he could teach "was one that greatly occupied my thoughts for the next few months ..." In the meantime, he visited his 86 year old mother in England whilst collecting a literary award. Upon return to Australia and beginning teaching at la Trobe, he received a phone call from his mother in England. She told him of a visitation she had from "[T]wo figures dressed in white .." about an offer of death. Three weeks after the phone call, Alex received another phone call from England but this time from his sister. She informed him that their mother was very ill and was in hospital, and was not expected to last more than a week. In fact it took her mother 6 weeks to die and was according to his sister, a very long, painful and terrifying "dying". Alex could not fly to England because this happened during "my students' crucial seventh week of term." He could not bring himself to abandon his students ...

"I felt I had to stay with my students, who it seemed to me were relying on
me. The response of my students to the work we were doing together had been far
more compelling than I had ever imagined it might be. There were not many of
them and we had quickly become a passionately committed group of writers,
knowing ourselves privileged to read the vulnerable early drafts of each other's
work: a unique privilege, I believe, at that time, for most of us.
We were all learning a great deal about the business of bringing a piece of
writing out of its clumsy early stages and making of it a confident work. I
didn't feel I could leave my students without betraying the trust and the hopes
they had placed in me and in the process I had initiated."

Alex Miller ended his essay with a recount his visit to his sister some years after the death of his mother. He disclosed he had unresolved guilt over his mother's death and his regret he did not fly to England before she died. He got his sister to recount everything about their mother and at the end, his sister said, "Mum's last words were, 'It will be all right when Alex gets here.' " "She looked at me. "Sorry, " she said, "But Mum was waiting for you. That's why it took her so long to die."

Later, at the train station saying goodbye, his sister said, "It's all right, you know. Mum understood that writing meant everything to you." And Alex ends his essay with these poignant words, "It wasn't the writing," I said. "It was the teaching writing."

The essay works on many levels. On one, it tells of strong sibling relations, of the courage, faith in the love the siblings had for each other to be honest and decent. Of course, the significant level I am concerned with is the commitment to teaching, to students and to the process of teaching and learning. It is not just the impartation of skills, trade, knowledge, or mere information. It is investment of time, effort and of oneself in the students, in their development, in the enhancement of their skills, in the increase of their knowledge and development of their faculty.