From what Webwords hears, your typical academic amanuensis or scribe is a flexible person prepared to work with a range of individuals with reading, writing, sensory, psychosocial or attentional challenges. Unlike Aunt Alexandra with her penchant for arranging advising, cautioning, and warning (Lee, 1960), the skilled amanuensis resists any desire to take over. He or she masters the art of writing or typing precisely what is said without correction or interpretation, performing important functions in a variety of settings that are as conducive as possible to the person being helped. One role of the amanuensis working with candidates entitled to special arrangements is to work at the student's pace in producing a verbatim record of words dictated by that individual during an examination, while simultaneously acting as invigilator. Another is to help when a student is composing assignments where using a recorder or computer will not suffice, where a student's typing is too laborious, or where a student has difficulty concentrating on typing and composing simultaneously.

Guidelines for amanuenses vary between institutions but essentially they should have a basic understanding of the subject in which they are scribing, and an appreciation of the student's preferred mode of working, and it is usual to have at least one briefing, familiarization and practice session prior to the first examination.

ROOFTOPS
Life being what it is, you can't always get an amanuensis who understands your subject and mode of working, or a proofreader , or a dictionary, or even a reliable spelling whiz when and where you need one. Take for example the plight of one determined graffiti exponent, and a writing project he conducted in the Broadway area a few convenient strides from the University of Sydney main campus. For most of 2007 and all of 2008 a Federation Romanesque building on the corner of Broadway and City Road was mischievously dubbed “MENS TIOLTE”. The new name, high in the rooftops against the skyline, in distinct black aerosol characters was clearly visible from the road. Lower down and harder to discern was the writer's tag, generated three times, in cheery wildstyle.

WILDSTYLE
Wildstyle is a complex form of graffiti with interlocking, merging letters, arrows, spikes and connecting points. It is difficult for non-graffiti artists to read, and it took Webwords (who does not indulge) several Sunday drive-bys at 60 Km/ph to make out “SVTN”, lightly crossed out (why ruin a nice piece of artwork?) and meticulously replaced with “STVEN”, and crossed out again. Below the two unsatisfactory attempts, and touching to see, was “STEVEN” in triumphant, 3D characters on a purple ground, painstakingly decorated - probably over a concentrated period of three or more days.

PREDICTORS
Invented spelling is the ability to use sound-symbol relations but not necessarily orthographic rules to write words - for example, “rd” for read, “bk” for book and “STVN” for Steven. The National Early Literacy Panel, in its widely circulated January 2009 report called Developing early literacy, glows pink with approbation for invented spelling abilities, along with decoding abilities in preschool and kindergarten, as early predictors of later spelling success.

The panel's report has been welcomed and praised as a needed tool for literacy instruction that includes training tips for parents. The same enthusiasm has not been universally afforded to their conclusion that teaching the alphabet and letter sounds in the preschool years strengthens children’s subsequent chances of conquering the task of learning to read. This finding has worried some commentators, raising images of tender 3- and 4- year olds grappling with skills-driven instruction like their infants or elementary school aged siblings and friends. But maybe that, plus a good serving of play, fun and common sense in its implementation, is just what little Steven needed.

Sidetracked in the link hunt by the problem of Who killed Angela Spelling? and the fascination of George Orwell's Why I write, and deep in thought, Webwords' sudden, unfitting (for a library) cry of, “Quick! Look!” made me jump. There parked below our third floor window was a purple Mini Minor. Webwords was beside herself. “I thought it was a sunroof! But look!” There on the little car's roof, in small but distinct black aerosol characters, clearly visible from the window, it said “ELAFNS”. “It's ELEPHANTS!” she enthused, her inner schoolmarm piqued. “It's an elephant joke. How many elephants can you fit in a Mini? He's so smart and funny!” Below the black capitals was a miniature, multicoloured tag. “STEVEN” it shouted in fearless 3D wildstyle on a purple ground. What was it with University campuses and Steven?

The Librarian was not amused. “Public humiliation is what that fellow needs,” he muttered grimly, “I know what I'd do if I found him.”

Page updated Tuesday, 23 March 2010

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