It's TMI—and I don't care.

Yesterday, in a discussion about their upcoming research papers, my Intro to Lit class had some questions. "What do you mean about 'voice,' Professor?"

"Voice? Oh, like authorial voice, the writer's voice." Oops. They were still confused. "Hmmm. Do you know anyone who has a distinctive voice? Like, you could hear that person anywhere and know exactly who was talking?" Heads nodded. "Have any of you ever called your ex and tried to disguise your voice?"

A ripple of laughter spread through the classroom, and I laughed, too. "Right! It never works, does it? It's the same thing with writing. You get to a point where you can establish that tone, that phrasing, that word choice that will make your writing distinctive to your readers, no matter where they might read it. For example: you can probably spot the King James Bible style anywhere, even in a parody. Same for Ernest Hemingway." I saw the light go on in a number of eyes. "Now, I've posted in BlackBoard an example of my own acad—"

And I had an idea. Risky, but with a potentially large payoff. That is, if I weren't going astray with an act of ADD-induced random impulsiveness.

"Okay, hang on while I bring up something on the projector for you." The students fidgeted while I worked on the computer to put up another example of my writing to contrast with the scholarly article I published a few years ago. What would appeal to them that I've written lately? I wondered. Hmm, not actively working on any articles right now...needs to be really different, but with a real target, a real voice and point it wants to make. YES!

So I blanked the screen (so the class couldn't see what I was doing) and came over here to E&P. I copy-and-pasted part of last week's rant on "feminine deodorant sprays." By God, it was different enough, and it was the same author. Maybe it would work. And it was something a real person wrote, too. Highlight...CTRL + C...CTRL + V into a Word doc.

I edited out a few things, but probably not enough. While I know that nobody really wants to think that their college professors are real people with real bodies that do the real things that other people's bodies do, it still helps to think about it—to remind us that everyone we meet is human JUST LIKE US.

I read the excerpt aloud, and was a little embarrassed. I asked the students a few questions about the audience for whom the E&P text was intended (didn't give them the URL), the point I was trying to make in the text, and what changes I could make to present a similar argument to a more formal audience. Then I read a few paragraphs from different parts of my journal article.

"I apologize for any TMI, folks," I said as I was about to dismiss them, "but the difference in style and tone was something I felt you really needed to see." A few stayed after class to ask research paper-related questions, and then the classroom was suddenly empty and silent.

Yes, I'd left in Too Much Information. I could feel the flussshh-BURN in my face as I realized that I might have weirded out my class, or maybe diminished my own standing with them. I stood there, alone in the weirdly-quiet room, and changed a few more things so I could present this example to another class.

"Fuck it," I said suddenly. "It's just like Flannery O'Connor said. They were uncomfortable, and I don't give a damn."

Because in my experience, true learning never takes place when we're inside our comfort zones.