1. Last week, a student researching her Writing 102 essay was highlighting. A lot. Way too much. I looked down at her printed page of research about JFK (she was investigating the context of his inaugural speech) and saw mostly orange. The lines she left white were few.
I asked her why she was highlighting all of that. She told me that she was going to possibly use it later. I then explained that she would simply be reading through lines of orange-and-black, not the white-and-black original, to find what she wanted to use. The work she would be doing later would be the same as the work she was doing right then (perhaps more because she probably doesn't read from orange pages that often).
I told her to simply highlight keywords and dates and leave the rest white. Then I drew this on the white board
__________ _______________ _____ ___
________ _________________ ________________ ____
________ _________________ _________ ___
________ _____________
to illustrate my point. The first part is highlighting as she was doing it. The second part is the highlighted keywords, which are much easier to spot and distinguish from other highlighted keywords.
She said, "Nobody ever told me that before. Highlighting keywords." I told her that one of the advantages I have in the Writing Lab is that I see people working. I see the formation, not the formed, so I get used to helping that formation happen more efficiently. I really do think this is making me a better teacher.
2. A panicky student who often drinks enough caffeine to make her leg shake* came in last week and calmly ran through her plan of attack for her research paper. She knew each section she wanted to cover, and her sections grew more specific as she proceeded through her paper. I was impressed. This student had cried earlier this semester. Writing overwhelmed her. It was too much and she had to leave for awhile. And here she was, calmly speaking from the notes and visual organization she put down on sheets from a legal pad.
All I could do was say, "That's great" and watch her go. She had no questions. She just needed time to work.
3. I love watching people think. At breakfast with a friend this Friday, he asked me if I would be busy that day. I said yes and no, that there would be people in working on research papers and they would be working working working, only asking questions when necessary**. I love when students sit down with their piles of research or plop down and type away at their drafts. I feel like they are understanding what it means to write. They aren't worried so much as focused. There will be time for revision after a conference with a teacher or a peer review. This is the time to forge ahead, and I love being in the room when that happens.
*Not a hyperbole. I've seen it. Although I suppose the stress of writing a paper contributes, she does drink a lot of caffeine.
**Like swimmers breathing only when necessary and concentrating on their stroke, their goal.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Monday, April 20, 2009
Good Day So Far
What I've helped with so far:
The project on mental illness + creativity: going from the student saying, "Yes, there is a connection" to figuring out what connection she sees. Specifics!
Research on Dr. Seuss + historical/social context: looking for direction and questions, narrowing the focus, learning that Cat in the Hat was written to combat illiteracy.
Rhetoric: explaining logos, pathos, and ethos to those about to persuade; getting four students knee-deep into their potential arguments.
The project on mental illness + creativity: going from the student saying, "Yes, there is a connection" to figuring out what connection she sees. Specifics!
Research on Dr. Seuss + historical/social context: looking for direction and questions, narrowing the focus, learning that Cat in the Hat was written to combat illiteracy.
Rhetoric: explaining logos, pathos, and ethos to those about to persuade; getting four students knee-deep into their potential arguments.
To Call It an Article or To Not Call It an Article
Good question today: Are the Question & Answer features in magazines called articles?
A couple of students working on responses to articles in The Aztec Press wondered if the Q&As were "articles." I looked up explained what people usually mean when they use the word "article" to describe writing in a newspaper or magazine, and I looked up "article" on dictionary.com to show them the true definition of the word. We talked about all the small lists or graphs or blurbs that magazines publish and how they are different than the articles those same magazines publish.
I liked the question, and the follow-up was even better: If not "articles," what are they called? I'm not sure. I suppose Q&A would apply, but not all of those little bits in the fronts of magazines are answers to questions. Do those have a name? I'm not in the magazine publishing business, but I suppose they do. I'll see if I can do some digging.
A couple of students working on responses to articles in The Aztec Press wondered if the Q&As were "articles." I looked up explained what people usually mean when they use the word "article" to describe writing in a newspaper or magazine, and I looked up "article" on dictionary.com to show them the true definition of the word. We talked about all the small lists or graphs or blurbs that magazines publish and how they are different than the articles those same magazines publish.
I liked the question, and the follow-up was even better: If not "articles," what are they called? I'm not sure. I suppose Q&A would apply, but not all of those little bits in the fronts of magazines are answers to questions. Do those have a name? I'm not in the magazine publishing business, but I suppose they do. I'll see if I can do some digging.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Links of Note
1. Stupidity in Research: an article by a microbiologist (and they don't just let anybody do that) about the necessity of that I Don't Know feeling. If I were to make a pie graph of my job, which I have considered doing, I imagine a fairly large chunk of that circle would be labeled, "Telling People It Is Okay To Not Know." I ask students this question: What do you think? They reply: I don't know. I counter: I know you don't know, but I didn't ask what you know; I asked what you think.
2. John McPhee: an NPR piece and a Princeton Weekly Bulletin article on my newest authorial discovery. I think this guy is cool. The foundation of his livelihood is his curiosity. He is not a specialist in anything other than nonfiction. I just finished his first book, A Sense of Where You Are: Bill Bradley at Princeton, which follows now Senator Bill Bradley during his college basketball career and paints him as a sort of savant on the court, hyper-aware and capable of physical feats others don't know are possible.
Part of what I love about this book is that it came naturally to McPhee. He has lived most of his life in Princeton, and Bradley's presence slotted right in. The book grew organically from their intersection at the school. Another part of what I love is that McPhee is not a sportswriter. He is a writer who covers anything and everything (read the articles; you'll see), and this book happened to be about a basketball player.
2. John McPhee: an NPR piece and a Princeton Weekly Bulletin article on my newest authorial discovery. I think this guy is cool. The foundation of his livelihood is his curiosity. He is not a specialist in anything other than nonfiction. I just finished his first book, A Sense of Where You Are: Bill Bradley at Princeton, which follows now Senator Bill Bradley during his college basketball career and paints him as a sort of savant on the court, hyper-aware and capable of physical feats others don't know are possible.
Part of what I love about this book is that it came naturally to McPhee. He has lived most of his life in Princeton, and Bradley's presence slotted right in. The book grew organically from their intersection at the school. Another part of what I love is that McPhee is not a sportswriter. He is a writer who covers anything and everything (read the articles; you'll see), and this book happened to be about a basketball player.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Eats, Shoots, and Leaves
I'm currently reading Eats, Shoots, and Leaves by Lynne Truss. I have completed the introduction and the first chapter on the apostrophe. I'm ankle-deep in the second chapter, covering the comma. Here are my two favorite observations:
1. Various grammar books have various rules. Some say "Keats's poem" is correct. Others say "Keats' poem" is correct. I love that. The rulemakers can't even agree on the rules. How then can we expect non-rulemaking college students to follow them?
Everybody always comes in asking about grammar. One student came in today with a sheet of feedback from his teacher. Nowhere in that feedback did she mention anything about his grammar. She asked for focus, for clarification, for specifics, but said nothing of commas or sentence structure. I read the feedback and read over his essay. His teacher was 100% correct, and as I began to discuss her feedback with him, he waved his hand over his paper and asked if I could just look at it and tell him about his grammar.
I don't him he doesn't care about grammar at this point and explained that ideas come first. Most people think in this manner: writing=grammar. That is not true. Grammar is an aspect, not everything. I think that is driven home by Keats's poem/Keats' poem; does it really--really--matter? Not particularly. We still know who wrote the lines.
2. Truss quotes Sir Ernest Gowers: "The use of commas cannot be learned by rule." True. I can't remember a single writing student who learned where to put a comma based on an explanation of a rule. Rule + example is the minimum. The rule is theory, but the example is practice.
I can always tell readers when they come in. Their sentences bounce and flow with rhythm. They can't necessarily explain the placement of a comma, but they usually don't need to because their commas are properly placed. They have seen the tool in use enough to understand how it functions in live action.
This is same way I learned to use a semicolon. I saw enough of them in print and it sunk in that they pair sentences.
1. Various grammar books have various rules. Some say "Keats's poem" is correct. Others say "Keats' poem" is correct. I love that. The rulemakers can't even agree on the rules. How then can we expect non-rulemaking college students to follow them?
Everybody always comes in asking about grammar. One student came in today with a sheet of feedback from his teacher. Nowhere in that feedback did she mention anything about his grammar. She asked for focus, for clarification, for specifics, but said nothing of commas or sentence structure. I read the feedback and read over his essay. His teacher was 100% correct, and as I began to discuss her feedback with him, he waved his hand over his paper and asked if I could just look at it and tell him about his grammar.
I don't him he doesn't care about grammar at this point and explained that ideas come first. Most people think in this manner: writing=grammar. That is not true. Grammar is an aspect, not everything. I think that is driven home by Keats's poem/Keats' poem; does it really--really--matter? Not particularly. We still know who wrote the lines.
2. Truss quotes Sir Ernest Gowers: "The use of commas cannot be learned by rule." True. I can't remember a single writing student who learned where to put a comma based on an explanation of a rule. Rule + example is the minimum. The rule is theory, but the example is practice.
I can always tell readers when they come in. Their sentences bounce and flow with rhythm. They can't necessarily explain the placement of a comma, but they usually don't need to because their commas are properly placed. They have seen the tool in use enough to understand how it functions in live action.
This is same way I learned to use a semicolon. I saw enough of them in print and it sunk in that they pair sentences.
Friday, March 6, 2009
It's Not Brain Surgery
I try to get out of the Writing Center at least a couple times a day and take a walk around the outside of Desert Vista's two-building campus. These walks remind me that I do not live in a windowless box*, that the sun shines and there are mountains and breezes--all of which are good things to be reminded of from time to time.
Last week, I passed Evelyn Martinez, one of our counselors here at DV, and we shared a quick conversation about helping people, persevering in helping people, and remembering that we cannot do it all for them.
Evelyn is a generally upbeat and encouraging person. She told me that she'd had a tough beginning of the semester, but was reminding herself that what we do is not brain surgery and that the power belongs in the choices people ultimately make, not solely in our advice. With that, she went her way and I went mine.
I've been reminding myself over the past couple weeks that what I do here in the Writing Lab is not brain surgery. It helps me keep work simple and to remember that I can't teach someone everything there is to know or think about writing in twenty minutes or three hours or even a few weeks or an entire semester. I can't go in an connect wires or smooth out wrinkles to fix thought processes in a short amount of time. I can suggest and model and guide, but the choice belongs in the writer.
But then, this morning, I was thinking about what I do kind of is brain surgery. I'm not a surgeon in the sense that I use my knowledge and skills to fix problems, but I do root around in writers' brains, challenging them to use the mass of cells they carry around in their skulls as more than an instrument of instinct. So often writers present me with their problems or questions, I turn it back to them in some form or another as an opportunity for them to ponder and explore, and they crumple into their own lack of knowledge, waving I Don't Know like a white flag, pleading for terms of surrender.
I suppose what I do is brain personal training. Not surgery to repair, but challenge to build up--both the ability of a person's brain and the belief a person has in the ability of their brain. Student writers say, "I have no idea," and then I push them further and their idea pops out like a just-born foal, shaky but trying to stand and closer to walking than it may appear. It usually finds its feet (hooves, to be consistent with the metaphor) fairly quickly, and they have seen that I Don't Know is not a stop sign.
They have either been taught that I Don't Know=Stop Thinking (I always tell them, "I didn't ask what you know; I asked what you think") or they have never been taught that there is more to life than Not Knowing. I suppose, if we want to wax philosophical, we could say that much of life is not knowing and that we must learn to push forward through that or be crippled by the blank page that is tomorrow and the next day and the next day, etc. That is the More: keep on going.
I will remind myself that I am not a brain surgeon. I will remind myself that I am a brain trainer.
*Okay, technically I do have a window, but it does not give me a view to the outside world or let in natural light. Instead, it functions like those large panes of glass at zoos, the ones that allow us to look in on the lives of captive gorillas and polar bears. It is a glass wall that passersby occasionally choose to tap or pound on, which reinforces my zoo metaphor and my conclusion that, while it is made of glass, it is not a true window.
Last week, I passed Evelyn Martinez, one of our counselors here at DV, and we shared a quick conversation about helping people, persevering in helping people, and remembering that we cannot do it all for them.
Evelyn is a generally upbeat and encouraging person. She told me that she'd had a tough beginning of the semester, but was reminding herself that what we do is not brain surgery and that the power belongs in the choices people ultimately make, not solely in our advice. With that, she went her way and I went mine.
I've been reminding myself over the past couple weeks that what I do here in the Writing Lab is not brain surgery. It helps me keep work simple and to remember that I can't teach someone everything there is to know or think about writing in twenty minutes or three hours or even a few weeks or an entire semester. I can't go in an connect wires or smooth out wrinkles to fix thought processes in a short amount of time. I can suggest and model and guide, but the choice belongs in the writer.
But then, this morning, I was thinking about what I do kind of is brain surgery. I'm not a surgeon in the sense that I use my knowledge and skills to fix problems, but I do root around in writers' brains, challenging them to use the mass of cells they carry around in their skulls as more than an instrument of instinct. So often writers present me with their problems or questions, I turn it back to them in some form or another as an opportunity for them to ponder and explore, and they crumple into their own lack of knowledge, waving I Don't Know like a white flag, pleading for terms of surrender.
I suppose what I do is brain personal training. Not surgery to repair, but challenge to build up--both the ability of a person's brain and the belief a person has in the ability of their brain. Student writers say, "I have no idea," and then I push them further and their idea pops out like a just-born foal, shaky but trying to stand and closer to walking than it may appear. It usually finds its feet (hooves, to be consistent with the metaphor) fairly quickly, and they have seen that I Don't Know is not a stop sign.
They have either been taught that I Don't Know=Stop Thinking (I always tell them, "I didn't ask what you know; I asked what you think") or they have never been taught that there is more to life than Not Knowing. I suppose, if we want to wax philosophical, we could say that much of life is not knowing and that we must learn to push forward through that or be crippled by the blank page that is tomorrow and the next day and the next day, etc. That is the More: keep on going.
I will remind myself that I am not a brain surgeon. I will remind myself that I am a brain trainer.
*Okay, technically I do have a window, but it does not give me a view to the outside world or let in natural light. Instead, it functions like those large panes of glass at zoos, the ones that allow us to look in on the lives of captive gorillas and polar bears. It is a glass wall that passersby occasionally choose to tap or pound on, which reinforces my zoo metaphor and my conclusion that, while it is made of glass, it is not a true window.
Monday, February 23, 2009
My Dilemma: There's No Home For You Here Idea, Go Away (There's No Home For You Here)*
I'm always getting ideas and trying them out (such is the life of someone who believes in the writing process). In my Summer 2008 Writing 100**, I tried out this idea:
1. I cut out words and phrases from the pages of magazines. There are always plenty of magazines lying about, so we might as well put them to good use: giving people a chance to work through the thought process*** necessary to develop an idea into an essay.
2. I put the now-separated-from-their-original-context words and phrases into a small white envelope.
3. Each student blindly chose a word or phrase from said small white envelope.
4. Each student set to work thinking of what they could**** write about based on this word or phrase. They brainstormed in whatever way worked for them. I walked around and gave feedback, mainly trying to get students to think sharply and specifically*****.
5. After each student had their list, which they posted on our class message board, they formed groups of three to choose one topic from their combined lists and then set to work outlining the main ideas for an essay on this topic.
They never actually turned these outlines into essays. That was not the point. The point was to help them develop as thinkers--which has to happen before they turn into writers. So much focus is placed on the final product in many classes that student writers don't concern themselves with learning to grow a small, simple idea into the complex, intricate thing that we call an essay. Thus, many students don't get their reps as Idea Developers. They rush through to finish because finishing a paper is finishing one more step along the way in finishing the class, which is one more step along the way to finishing their degree and getting a job.
I see that all the time in the Writing Lab. Honestly, it's one of my favorite things to work on with people. That's why I love having a whiteboard in the lab. We work out their essay together, and I show them what you can do with a blank page. But I wish I could do more of that. That's why I did that exercise with the random phrases. I wanted to give them reps. I would love to develop that exercise into a full-blown essay project that extends over weeks and allows us to examine stages of the thinking process that happen while writing. I just don't have a classroom environment to do that developing. I tossed the idea of a workshop around with Matt Matera, but we both know that workshops don't fly here because they are extra, and anything extra doesn't attract people who are learning+working+raising families, which many of our students are.
So the idea will be just that: an idea. Eventually, I hope to get a chance to see what could happen if I keep working on it. We'll see.
*This title is a modified version of The White Stripes' "There's No Home For You Here." I merely switched "girl" in the lyrics to "idea."
**The last class I was allowed to teach at Pima due to some new (I'm assuming budgetary) constraints placed on full-time staff who also served as adjunct faculty. That made me very sad. Hopefully that changes in the future.
***ESPN.com's Bill Simmons (The Sports Guy) has a theory that "it's all about getting your reps." This applies to basketball players, Miley Cyrus, and, I believe, people learning to think like people who write well; hence this exercise.
****This is about "could" because this exercise is about possibility. Most of writing is about possibility. Like Anne Lamott said, "Very few writers really know what they are doing until they've done it." We should focus on student writers' ability to work through the unknown and the possible toward a more finite product.
*****The best example of this, I think: a student plucked the phrase "Carve out some family time" (originally in an ad for Big Love). He wrote ideas about family. That is the obvious one. What he was neglecting was the idea of carving out time. We talked about what the word "carve" means, about what it implies when combined with the concept of time, and what those ideas meant for family. Often people ignore words that are right in front of their eyes.
1. I cut out words and phrases from the pages of magazines. There are always plenty of magazines lying about, so we might as well put them to good use: giving people a chance to work through the thought process*** necessary to develop an idea into an essay.
2. I put the now-separated-from-their-original-context words and phrases into a small white envelope.
3. Each student blindly chose a word or phrase from said small white envelope.
4. Each student set to work thinking of what they could**** write about based on this word or phrase. They brainstormed in whatever way worked for them. I walked around and gave feedback, mainly trying to get students to think sharply and specifically*****.
5. After each student had their list, which they posted on our class message board, they formed groups of three to choose one topic from their combined lists and then set to work outlining the main ideas for an essay on this topic.
They never actually turned these outlines into essays. That was not the point. The point was to help them develop as thinkers--which has to happen before they turn into writers. So much focus is placed on the final product in many classes that student writers don't concern themselves with learning to grow a small, simple idea into the complex, intricate thing that we call an essay. Thus, many students don't get their reps as Idea Developers. They rush through to finish because finishing a paper is finishing one more step along the way in finishing the class, which is one more step along the way to finishing their degree and getting a job.
I see that all the time in the Writing Lab. Honestly, it's one of my favorite things to work on with people. That's why I love having a whiteboard in the lab. We work out their essay together, and I show them what you can do with a blank page. But I wish I could do more of that. That's why I did that exercise with the random phrases. I wanted to give them reps. I would love to develop that exercise into a full-blown essay project that extends over weeks and allows us to examine stages of the thinking process that happen while writing. I just don't have a classroom environment to do that developing. I tossed the idea of a workshop around with Matt Matera, but we both know that workshops don't fly here because they are extra, and anything extra doesn't attract people who are learning+working+raising families, which many of our students are.
So the idea will be just that: an idea. Eventually, I hope to get a chance to see what could happen if I keep working on it. We'll see.
_________________
*This title is a modified version of The White Stripes' "There's No Home For You Here." I merely switched "girl" in the lyrics to "idea."
**The last class I was allowed to teach at Pima due to some new (I'm assuming budgetary) constraints placed on full-time staff who also served as adjunct faculty. That made me very sad. Hopefully that changes in the future.
***ESPN.com's Bill Simmons (The Sports Guy) has a theory that "it's all about getting your reps." This applies to basketball players, Miley Cyrus, and, I believe, people learning to think like people who write well; hence this exercise.
****This is about "could" because this exercise is about possibility. Most of writing is about possibility. Like Anne Lamott said, "Very few writers really know what they are doing until they've done it." We should focus on student writers' ability to work through the unknown and the possible toward a more finite product.
*****The best example of this, I think: a student plucked the phrase "Carve out some family time" (originally in an ad for Big Love). He wrote ideas about family. That is the obvious one. What he was neglecting was the idea of carving out time. We talked about what the word "carve" means, about what it implies when combined with the concept of time, and what those ideas meant for family. Often people ignore words that are right in front of their eyes.
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