Results tagged “activities” from PEDABLOGUE

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As a creativity challenge, I recently signed up for THE FICTION PROJECT, sponsored by The Art House Co-op. Registrants (before Feb) will be mailed a Moleskine sketchbook in which to tell and show a story using words and art, based on a surprise random theme. Most participants scan and share their work-in-progress, with commenting available much like a weblog. The deadline is in April, when sketchbooks are returned to be put on permanent display in the Brooklyn Art Library.

The length of the experience nicely fits into a college semester-length calendar for the coming Spring, so I thought I would recommend it to others who are considering a creative class project for their art or writing courses. The "rules" are flexible enough to allow collaborative creations for the class as a whole, or to allow individual entries. The site offers an educational discount for groups over 10.

Visit my profile and feel free to friend me if you sign up. I don't know what I'll be doing for this project, or if I'll even succeed, but I know it will be very weird.

Teaching NaNoWriMo

National Novel Writing Month (aka NaNoWriMo) launched today, sending millions of people "with a book in them" to the keyboard in an attempt to churn out a rough novel-length manuscript (minimum of 50,000 words to 'count') by the end of November. People engaged in this activity all bond on the nano website, encouraging each other and sharing tips, posting and boasting their latest word counts all the way to the end.

I've never done it, but I've always been intrigued by this collective endeavor of binge writing. I've signed up on the site and lurked, just to see what people are up to. It appeals to me, as a writer who works in manic, highly-caffeinated spurts, and as a teacher who believes in the collaborative learning inherent to a writer's workshop community. A number of our more productive Writing Popular Fiction students and even some faculty dare to "nano"...it's awfully difficult for a full-time faculty member to take on such an enormous task during the endgame of a Fall semester, when term papers come pouring in and advising for the next term is afoot, but it can be done.

Maybe college profs need a NaSchoWriMo for writing scholarship? Now is the perfect time to get to work on those conference papers you want to present next Spring, after all.

In any case, I noticed that teachers are actually beginning to use NaNoWriMo in the classroom, and that the site has a Young Writers Program that fosters an educational mission. The site includes some GREAT novel writing workbooks for young adults -- and the program can even lend out NEO word processing hardware to students in need.

It's a great idea. And it can be used creatively. From a class-collaborated story to simply a study of the novel itself, teachers are tapping into NaNoWriMo as a form of learning that reaches outside of the walls of the classroom and participates in the "outside world" even as it focuses the attention needed for cultivating the intimate and interior setting of the imagination.

Daniel Moulthrop shares his experience "Teaching NaNoWriMo" in a google doc, suggesting that the main benefit is "a month of unbridled creativity vs. school as we know it" which leads to increased writing fluency and -- after the initial hurdle of starting to climb what seems to be a very high mountain -- a reduction of fear about writing.

To any teachers out there doing this: GOOD LUCK!

I don't have much to offer, but over on my horror writing website, I have a section called "Instigation" that offers "twisted prompts" for creative writers that you can crib from to get your students working on a dastardly plot point.

You also might get your class involved in twitter.com for this project. There's a lot of activity on that site -- just search for the #nano hashtag or "follow" NaNoWriMo.

The slides for my "Teaching and Learning" presentation today on Improv and Teaching are here on google docs:



Whose Class Is It Anyway?


For related topics (including a two-part review of Impro by Keith Johnstone, click the improv tag below.

I watched this video this morning, as part of my preparation for a course in "The Teaching of Popular Fiction & Writing" next Spring. I liked the level of advocacy here for educational use of pop culture material in the classroom, as well as the emphasis on 'best practices.' You can download the full report from the Center for Social Media.

I share these professors' enthusiasm. But fair use can be a muddy area to define and the issue can get complicated. Even so, the essays available at EDUCAUSE on educational fair use are enlightening for those who are trying conscientously to sort out these matters. One essay from EQ that struck me was "Managing Intellectual Property for Distance Learning" by Liz Johnson, which offers a decision-making model for breaking down the numerous choices that a teacher could consider when sharing materials in an online course, for instance.

Most of what I know about copyright, I learned as a writer, not an educator, and the coverage in the Chicago Manual of Style stands at the foundation of what I know of the subject. I'm no lawyer (so please don't ask me any legal questions on this topic), and whenever I reseach the subject of copyright and fair use in online environments on the web, one of the things that trips me up are nagging questions about new laws: "am I reading the most recent law? does it cover new emergent technology and the latest digital copyright standards or is this an outdated article?"

Regardless, I think it is important to be clear with students about the 'situational ethics' of using copyrighted material in the classroom or in an online environment. I once had a student download an article I shared in an online course, only to turn around and post it to their blog to share with others...I had to inform them that this was a copyright violation, because when I shared it the first time, it was only for educational use and that the author's rights were protected because it was online downloadable behind the firewall/password-protected CMS service. Now I go out of my way to make sure students understand that the principle of fair use is in place in the classroom, and explain that it is a little bit different than how material is shared in the outside world. It might even make sense to make 'fair use' itself a topic for students to study, particularly in any course where the students are learning how to work in an area that produces intellectual property (the arts, writing, journalism, etc. etc.). If one thing is clear to me about fair use doctrine, it's that the context of any use is everything.

A few additional informal points that guide my own praxis on this subject (your mileage may vary):


+ Avoid using outside sources as "window dressing" -- they should be the lumber of the learning mill. Analyze, utilize, discuss, work with whatever you bring into the room.

+ It is wise to do a little research and contact an author if you wish to use their material in a classroom. I have never met a writer who said 'no' and having permissions gives you license to use the work in a way that might expand what 'fair use' dictates. Some will expand your permissions, or offer tips on how to acquire more material on the cheap/free (e.g. have their publisher send you an instructor's guide, or point you to a discount on a book); some will even offer to appear in an online chat or take interview questions. This also expands your network.

+ When in doubt, err on the side of conserving the copyright holder's rights, and be clear about the 'boundary lines'. Not only does this reduce your likelihood of violation, it teaches by example and will set a precedent for respect of property in your classes and with your own intellectual property.

+ Cite as you would like to be cited. Teach as you would like to be taught.

Teachers on Twitter

Good article by Josh Cohen on the Teacher Professional Development Sourcebook today, called "Teachers Take To Twitter." Along with giving some tips for twitter usage, the key point is that twitter is building a community of teachers. Cohen cites Bill Ferriter, a 6th grade social studies teacher, succinctly:


“Searching Twitter is searching the minds of teachers. It’s collective intelligence. When you can pick the brains of 200 highly accomplished teachers, you’ll get good success.”

I set up a separate account on twitter for my teaching-related work at http://twitter.com/arnzen. I enjoy the connection with that "collective intelligence" that Ferriter mentions. It's half faculty-lounge, half-development conference. The trick is to 'follow' other teachers...do searches for words like 'pedagogy' and connect with the most interesting 'tweeters' by following them. Your network will spread.

Of course, twitter can be used in the classroom, too (though I have yet to try this). Emerging Ed Tech gives six good examples. Academhack gives a great overview of its possible applications in "Twitter for Academia" (which was picked up by The Chronicle). H Songhai gives even more depth and anecdotes about it.

I can imagine setting up a specific account name on twitter for a class, with all students doing the same, and each 'following' each other on the site -- and using these short tweets for chats, or live (if everyon has the technology in a lab, or laptop situation) as something akin to 'clickers' in the classroom, but with many more options and critical thinking applications than simply polling quantitative reactions.

Innovation and Listening

This morning I was pointed to an article on "The Five Mental Habits of Innovative People" that I found interesting, because it identifies the skillsets I would want to foster in my students, especially in a course related to creativity (like writing).

Drawing from research by Jeff Dyer and Hal Gregersen at BYU, called "How Do Innovators Think?" [available at Harvard Business Publishing's neat "Creativity at Work" page, which is worth a look-see], Jessica Stillman isolates (and explains) these five "mental habits":

* Associating * Questioning * Observing * Experimenting * Networking

The researches suggest 'questioning' is really the engine that drives all of the above, yet "questioning on its own doesn’t have a direct effect without the others."

In my classes, I have been a big advocate for question-generation -- it is the trigger behind all "inquiry" -- creative and scholarly -- and it protects the teacher from doing all the thinking for the student (without thinking, no learning!). I run students through an activity I call 'question-storming'; I often give them prompts for writing that encourage them to raise their own questions-at-issue; I'll play devil's advocate to challenge them to question their own assumptions; etc.

When a writer approaches the blank page "questioning" rather than feeling as though they need to be the "authority" they are open to making discoveries through writing...and they never have block.

What would I add to the list? LISTENING.

By which I mean "Active Listening".

Although 'listening' (like 'reading') is related to 'observing', I don't think people think of 'listening' as a skill that leads to innovation and creativity. They think of it as a passive act, which it is not. Part of this assumption of passivity comes from the education system: we sit in desks our whole lives, listening, listening, listening...more than doing, creating, innovating. The invisible work of learning happens in our heads, if we are self-disciplined enough to pay attention and listen actively. But that skill is rarely cultivated or directly taught.

LISTENING is crucial to mastering the art of concentration, but it also factors into creativity. As a creative writer, I could never write dialogue if I didn't listen closely to how people actually speak -- and not just listening to the words, but also to the musicality of it. If I did not listen intensely I could not know what it means to be a reader, who mentally 'listens' to the author's voice as they read. Listening enables emulation and imitative learning, as well: when we listen, we see how others raise questions and discover the pathways available to us in an attempt to answer them. When we listen to an audience, we can test our own answers to questions by getting responses. So listening is a feedback loop into questioning. Listening fuels creativity. Not all creativity springs out from within us; sometimes it pools and settles in, before feeding into the outward flow.

If your teaching is in a rut, or if you want to try to do something innovative in your classroom to solve problems or enable excitement in the room, try listening to your students. You might learn something.

The latest issue of DISSECTIONS: The Journal of Contemporary Horror just went live online. The theme this time around is "Teaching Horror" which emerged as part of a series of panels at the International Conference for the Fantastic in the Arts in March 2008. It includes a few spectacular articles from a panel I was on with Doug Ford and Frances Auld. My article from that panel ("The Unlearning: Horror and Transformative Theory") went on to be published at a journal called Transformative Works & Cultures), but I wrote a new essay for Dissections in its place: "Horror and the Responsibilities of the Liberal Educator" . Here's a sample:

....Luckily, the teacher fully knows what the students want to ignore: that horror is inherently an educational genre. The very notion of a ‘cautionary’ tale is predicated on the notion of teaching someone a lesson. And while not all horror stories and films are cautionary in nature, they are always stimuli that aim at generating a dark emotional reaction which - when all the screaming stops - one inevitably attempts to manage with enlightened intellectual reasoning: whether it's in the mode of investigation (‘what's really lurking in the shadows?’) or metaphysical inquiry (‘do alternatives to God exist?’) or logic judgement (‘why did her baby have to die?’). Our rational minds are still at work when we contend with the most irrational of fictions. Indeed, even when a horror narrative - such as the work of Lovecraft - attempts to obliterate logical reasoning and symbolic systems altogether, it needs to construct them first.

What all this means is that, despite the naysayers, horror provides an excellent context for learning. It raises the serious questions that allow critical inquiry to transpire.

Go visit Dissections to read on, or to see other essays on issues related to integrating the horror genre into the classroom by Ford, Auld, Brock-Servais, Schnopp-Wyatt, Wisker, and more!

In my "Introduction to Literary Studies" course, I tried a new assignment: a Group Dramatic Performance (via Pod- or Video-cast). The guidelines were very general, allowing maximum room for creative expression on behalf of the students. Essentially, I just asked for groups of 4-5 students to independently "record a 5-8 minute performance 'inspired by' the assigned readings in the class this term." Students were told they could use the text as a script, or be creative and try to communicate a point/theme that gives insight into the original text. I also tried to inspire the class by showing them adaptations of works they had read, especially an animated adaptation of Edgar Allan Poe's "Annabel Lee" (an impressive stop motion puppet film by George Higham), and we also screened Murnau's Nosferatu as the deadline approached (since, in my opinion, they could identify "home movie" making with the choices made by primitive cinema directors).

The results were almost entirely comedic, but some were very impressive given that I did not facilitate the productions at all with any instructional advice, cameras, microphones, or editing software! I believe we are at a point in college culture now where most students are already facile with such things as converting files to YouTube ready format and editing on a Mac, or finding a camera that will function well enough for the purpose.

Here are the videos that they managed to post to YouTube:

Students could opt out of video and do an audio recording instead. Here are the two that came in:

We're screening and listening to these one-a-day in my class, and the walls have been echoing with laughter.

Pretty impressive work, class!

I never would have had the courage to try such an ambitious assignment if I hadn't once visited a high school class run by Lawrence C. Connolly at Sewickely Prep Academy, who assigned student groups to all adapt a specific passage from Dante's Inferno in their own ways. They screened their videos and I was so impressed by the outcome that I left wanting to try something similar myself some day. The lesson? Trust student bonds outside of the classroom, and leave lots of wiggle room in your guidelines when giving a creativity assignment. When students have free license they usually will not disappoint.

Here's "Goblin Shoe Market" by Jessica Pilewski, Mike Poiarkoff, Theresa Conley, and Dianna Griffin -- notable for its emulation of a silent film:

The last time I gave a quiz to my Intro to Lit course, I tried a new variation on my collaborative quiz methods (see this blog's articles tagged with keyword "testing" for others)... and it seemed to work really well.

Have you ever posted a question on your quiz that you thought was important enough to test, but which you knew was likely to be one few students answered correctly? I had that sneaking suspicion myself, when I asked students to define "metonymy" in a multiple choice question. The term was not really covered very well in the book, but I did give a mini-lecture about the word and I thought it was important for them to understand...but when I was composing the quiz my back brain reminded me that I didn't see very many students taking notes at the time I lectured, and I knew it was brand new and difficult term to spell, let alone comprehend, so I suspected few would get it right on the quiz.

But I wasn't really sure. So I gave them a chance. After everyone had turned their quizzes over, I asked them to take a moment to circle the one single answer on they quiz they were least sure of. Then they passed the quiz to a neighbor (who, as in Quiz Taker/Note Maker, had to put their name under the quiz-taker's and would be held accountable for any cheating on their behalf). The neighbor then had to read the circled question and write their own answer to it down. If they felt the student got the question right already, they were told to write something supportive instead, like "way to go!" Then I collected the quizzes.

Once I had them all, I did a quick scan of the pile...and found my suspicions were correct. Most people had circled the "metonymy" question. There was another question often circled that came in "2nd place". I turned these two answers into brief discussions with the class, and since I became fully convinced by that point that "metonymy" hadn't really sunk in the first time we covered it, I announced that everyone would get the points for that answer, whether right or wrong. We discussed the second most-commonly circled answer and I felt that enough people already knew that one that it would not receive instant credit, unless the "corrector" of the quiz got it right. The same held true for the other answers that were circled which we hadn't covered in discussion: if the corrector got it correct, they "saved" the quiz-taker some points.

In the end, this didn't really skew the scale for the class or have any negative impacts. The only students it "hurt" were the ones who got the question they chose to be "saved" right to begin with but missed other questions on the quiz. But that isn't really my fault -- they had their chance.

So why do this, beyond hedging my own risk on quizzing the class on an "iffy" course topic (like "metonymy") that I wasn't confident I had taught well or that they would really know?

For the teacher, it saves time. I usually like to go over a quiz after we take it (often using them to structure a lecture/period), but in this instance drilling down to the top two answers which the majority of the students presume they got wrong helped me to know what answers were most pressing, and dispensed with the others, leaving me enough time to shift to another class matter.

The benefit for students, beyond possibly getting a few bonus points, is essentially two-fold: it fosters bonds between neighbors in the room, and, more importantly, it rewards collaboration. Not only did we get to have an open, collaborative dialogue about the most pressing material right after the quiz, but the "corrector" gets to be the quiz-taker's hero if they happen to save them some points. In this way, the student gets to see the value and significance in knowing answers beyond the scope of their own grades, and comes to understand that what they know might benefit others. They don't get punished for not knowing; they get to reward others for knowing! And many were proud of doing so in my class that day. These benevolent correctors were given a sense of power, in the form of academic philanthropy. I hope to cultivate that sort of "givingness" among those who have knowledge and skills.

One might contend that all I did was sanction an act akin to "cheating off" a fellow student, by turning it into a system for extra credit. I don't see quizzes as instruments of torture and panoptical surveillance. I see them as opportunities to make students accountable, yes, but if they are not integrated into the class period of the day, they feel like tools intended to police rather than instruments of learning.

I'm teaching an Introduction to Literary Studies course this term, and one of the early assignments in the class asked students to create a "collage that reflects your perspective on literary study". To explain the assignment, I developed a handout that explained what collage artists think they're doing and other requirements for the task. When I passed that around the room, I projected a graphic of a collage I'd made once on the No Child Left Behind Act, and explained my creative process...reporting how I discovered the theme along the way, and suggesting that the collage still meant more than what I intended it to mean.

I was thoroughly impressed by what the students came up with for this homework assignment. Many of the students went far beyond my expectations, and I asked a few if I could share their work here.

EL150MelissaKaufoldCollage-HowDoYouSeeMe-WEB.jpg

I liked Melissa Kaufold's collage entitled "How Do You See Me?" (above), because it interestingly represented the identity of an English student, with competing voices (mostly negative) surrounding the figure -- who herself is a multifaceted construct (the four-fold face) ostensibly holding an armload of books that obscure the rest of her body. A very colorful thought balloon reveals the value in her thoughts about literature, impervious to the onslaught of negativity espoused in the "external" world; the strength of these thoughts is reinforced by the thick black boundaries lines that protect these "thoughts" from interference and keep them relatively cohesive.

The collages of the class as a whole seemed to inherently lean toward conflicts like these. In her collage, "Transcendence" (below), Julia Leksell took an artful approach to semiotics, employing negative/white space in an intriguing way that differed from many of the other collages the students created. Here, she took control over the bricolage of symbols to add her own imagery to the piece, where she portrays a dove-like ascent or emergence from what seems like a pile of abandoned and contradictory signs and symbols:

EL150Transendence Julia Leksell CollageWEB.jpg

The diagonal lines in Leksell's postmodernist piece make me imagine that the pictured bird is hefting a weighty net of language, struggling but succeeding to rise. I like the positive message here.

Attempts like these to come to some cogent "perspective" on literary studies opened up the floodgates of discussion in class, and allowed everyone -- whether creative writer, journalist, or literary scholar-in-training, to participate on a fairly equal plane.

I followed up the assignment by having students swap collages and write up analyses of them. We discussed this process as one inherent to both artistic production (crafting sense out of found language and fragments) and criticism (analyzing the whole by breaking down the structure into its parts). This two-pronged approach to the assignment created a dialogue between creativity and criticism in a really successful way, I think. It both raised the question, "What is literature?" and unveiled that it is, if anything, a conversation that meaning-making demands.

[POSTSCRIPT: After posting this entry, Dr. Davis from Teaching College English asked if I'd share the guidelines. They're relatively specific to the context of my class syllabus, but I'll gladly share it here, if it helps in any way:


Collage Assignment Guidelines in MS Word .doc format

More Fun With Elmo

Schematic of the ELMO document projector
A course I'm going to begin teaching later this week -- Introduction to Literary Studies -- is enrolled to capacity, which means I'll have ten or so more students in the room than I'm used to teaching. Even that little bit turns the course into the equivalent of two sections in one, and that means I'll have to employ more large classroom strategies and probably a bit more lecturing than I've done for awhile. I always worry that discussion will suffer in a large class, but I make up for it in group activities. And, luckily, the room they've moved me to has a great "smart podium" with an ELMO document projector in it, so my plan is to use this technology often.

Today I returned to a Pedablogue entry on Tickling the Elmo from way back in 2006. I'm reminded of how useful the document camera really is when teaching a large class and I hope to continue to use it in crafty ways. Last year I remember doing all sorts of fun things with it, from having my writing class interpret their textbook's cover graphics to working with graphic fiction as a writing prompt to projecting a student's laptop screen. My classes edited many of each other's essays on the screen, collaboratively workshopping and line editing the text. But even when it's use is somewhat frivolous, the ELMO can engage students. Turning to an illustration in a textbook and zooming in on a small detail can get students to look at things they take for granted more closely. One day I just put the contents of my pockets on display, as a placeholder (I often try to put something up on the wall as a "screen saver" so I'll have the projector on and ready for when I actually want to break out of an activity or lecture to project a document). A mini-discussion about the "germ killing" claims of my gum pack led to a conversation about "weasel words" -- which is something we later studied in the class. I also often had students use it to perform "show and tell" sorts of presentations. I fondly recall an activity in my Fiction Writing course, when I had workshop groups collaboratively choose the most descriptive passage from each other's stories, and then draw them on a sheet of paper. They then voted on the best, and the artist of it showed off their drawing while they read the passage. We analyzed them for how well they employed language to appeal to the reader's senses, and discussed whether the image in our minds matched what the artist had drawn.

Today I found eMints' collection of links, Teaching Tips: Classroom Use of ELMO Document Cameras and it led me to some good resources. One in particular, Tim Bedley's "Classroom Uses for a Document Camera: The Visual Learner in the Elementary School Classroom" lists all sorts of great ideas for teachers of young people that I hope to port into my new class this term. I like the notion of projecting a "backdrop" onto the screen that functions like a stage set (which students design)! There's also a tip for projecting blank ruled paper onto a whiteboard, to work as guidelines for students to practice blackboard penmanship. Interesting! What other ways could guidelines and backdrop shapes be used? I'll keep thinking about it.

Bedley also had the idea to use the projector as a giant timepiece:

Use the document camera to project a countdown timer. Sure you can buy an overhead timer for about $40. But when you have a document camera, the old kitchen timer works just fine. Use it to keep the kids focused on the task, knowing that the clock is ticking, and they will soon be out of time for that assignment.

I often have to set time limits on in-class writing, and brashly end up reciting the countdown ('ten. nine. eight...stop!'); this tip alone gave me a new way to approach the timing of activities. I'll likely set up the stopwatch on my PDA and zoom in on the spinning digits.

One plan on my syllabus that I'm looking forward to doing is asking students to make a "Literary Collage" -- a cut-and-paste exercise that I want them to use to encapsulate the field of English visually -- and have them present these using the ELMO. I might also bring the practice of mind-mapping back into my classroom on a more regular basis.

Mrs. Levin's Pre-K Pages has a number of tips for the early childhood classroom which might be modified to any classroom, with creativity. Her notion of "word walls" and projecting the "question of the day" are great ideas. Even just keeping a class outline on the screen while the hour passes is a good idea to help as a visual organizer for presentations and would prompt student notetaking.

See the entries tagged 'elmo' (below) for more on this topic, or share your own unique approaches in a comment.

I have always believed in running some kind of "closure" activity on the last day of my classes, as a way of reflecting on learning from the term and thinking about its applicability and/or importance in the future. It's a lot more rewarding than just collecting papers or tests (though they're usually doing that on their way out the door). For a closure activity, I typically just ask questions or host a dialogue of some kind. Sometimes I'll go over the learning objectives on the syllabus, or return to some topic/activity/text we did on the first day of the class. But this year I planned something new, and I think it was successful.

I had the students write haiku about the class.

I gave a quick mini-lesson in the haiku. Nothing too complicated. Using the overhead document projector, I showed the class a few samples (which I had stealthily written while they were doing their in class work at the beginning of the hour), counted out the syllable structure (three lines; 5-7-5) and then asked them to write their own haiku which encapsulated a lesson or experience from the course in a "pithy" way. I gave them about ten minutes, asking them to write as many as they possibly could in that time. "Counting on your fingers allowed and encouraged!"

Then, one by one, they each went to the front of the room and read their haiku -- or "STWaiku" as I called it, poorly punning on the acronym for the course (Seminar in Thinking and Writing) -- to the room. In retrospect, I probably should have called it "CompKu" or something of that ilk.

Here are two quick examples from my own (if I do this again, I'm going to collect them, because I don't have any student samples handy!):

A thesis statement:
Rereading America
needs to be re-read.

Peer critique helps me
to make a good enthymeme --
because, just because.


Those aren't very good (made 'em up off the cuff shortly before we did the exercise). But the activity itself was a blast. Lots of laughter, punctuated by "oh yeah" moments. Students enjoyed the chance to be creative; lots took the opportunity to make jokes about me ("Dr. Arnzen's Beard" -- yes a recurring theme!) or the content of the class. It was a good way to tie things up: a writing activity, almost entirely student-driven, and fun.

[postscript: Any students from the class reading this: please delurk and post your haiku in a comment, if you have it handy!]

Why We Assign the Personal Essay

Good food for thought: Clancy Ratliff posts a wonderful "Collection of Good and Not-So-Good Reasons for Assigning a Personal Narrative as the First Essay in a Composition Course" on the CultureCat weblog.

If I understand it correctly, Ratliff is responding to a lecture by Bruce Horner that suggested that the motivations for assigning personal essays often contradict or muddle up the rhetorical task. I haven't heard Horner's argument, but I'd suggest that the multiplicity of rationales is actually a sign that the assignment is a rich one, operating on multiple levels and therefore meeting multiple student needs.

I assign personal narratives often at the beginning of a term. I see my motives in virtually all of the reasons Ratliff posts...the only motive not mentioned that I can think of is that it serves a "de-icing" function by humanizing the institution, inviting students to self-express to thaw out the chill of fear early in the term. It just seems like the most honest way to begin. It also can encourage a habit of critical journal writing, if that's a method used in the course. One of the difficulties I have is not assigning or assessing these papers; its weaning some students from writing too informally later in the term, when formal research papers are due. The struggle with academic voice victimizes the style and makes a mess out of things. But it's a good struggle, I think, ultimately.

Teaching Well With Blogs

In "Avoiding the 5 Most Common Mistakes in Using Blogs with Students" (Campus Technology, Oct 2008), Dr. Ruth Reynard talks about the mistakes she's made using weblogs with her grad students. It's a fantastic, enlightening essay, revealing how to not only avoid errors but how to utilize weblog technology well. In a nutshell, here are the problems Reynard outlines:


  • Ineffective Contextualization

  • Unclear Learning Outcomes

  • Misuse of the environment

  • Illusive grading practices

  • Inadequate time allocation


Her section on "unclear learning outcomes" is significant, describing how such levels of Bloom's taxonomy as "synthesis" and "application" can shape blogging assignments.

I don't use blogs as a teaching tool nearly as much as my English colleague at SHU, Dennis Jerz, does (see our campus blog portal for a peek at all that he administers). But I do routinely ask my student authors in the Writing Popular Fiction graduate program to keep a blog as a reading journal. Reading Reynard's article, I feel that "illusive grading practices" may be something I still need to work on: often, I just append evaluative comments on a student's blog entries without giving much thought into the >kind< of entries I'm evaluating. Reynard recommends making a rubric that outlines various "statement types" that students can bring to their blogging, such as: "Reflection statements (self positioning within the course concepts); Commentary statements (effective use of the course content in discussion and analysis); New idea statements (synthesis of ideas to a higher level); and Application statements (direct use of the new ideas in a real life setting)." I may borrow from this idea and design a handout for students that asks them to approach their journal entries -- which essentially are reading responses -- as different "types" of statements -- possibly asking them to do one of each. Another good idea, naturally, is to request students to tag entries along these lines, as warranted.

I also like Dennis Jerz' structured RRRR sequence -- a method for routinizing student blogging assignments in his Writing for the Internet course. It encourages students to interact with each other and class alike, and functions to support his challenging "Just in Time" teaching method.

My essay on the teaching of horror fiction -- "The Unlearning: Horror and Transformative Theory" -- just went live in the debut issue of the journal, Transformative Works and Cultures. Here's the abstract:

"The Unlearning: Horror and Transformative Theory" by Michael A. Arnzen

Abstract:

Building on the foundational concepts of transformative learning theory, I argue that horror fiction strongly encourages perspective transformation by challenging student assumptions about both genre writing and educational experience. I informally describe a specific creative writing class period focusing on the motif of the scream in diverse horror texts, and I illustrate how students learn to transform what they already bring to the classroom by employing a variety of particular in-class writing exercises and literary discussions. Among these, transformative writing exercises—such as the revision of an existing text by Stephen King—are highlighted as instructional techniques. As cautionary literature, horror especially dramatizes strategies of fight versus flight. I reveal how students can learn by transforming their knowledge through disorientation that is particular to reading and writing in the horror genre.

I started thinking about the ideas in this article after writing a blog entry back in 2005 called "Shifting the Paradigm: Transformative Learning Theory" -- a response to an essay I read by Kelly McGonigal called "Teaching for Transformation."

McGonigal's article got me to rethink the role of the reflective essay assignments in my classes, and I soon found myself in the library, catching up on transformative learning theory by reading the works of Jack Mezirow and others who seek to change the worldviews of adult learners. The key role of the "activating event" in transformation got me thinking about how "cautionary" tales and other works in the horror genre often trigger anticipatory thinking that requires a revision of what one initially assumed to be true. After applying these lessons to a course I taught in horror fiction writing last year, I captured some of these ideas in a conference paper in March 2008 at the International Conference for the Fantastic in the Arts...an early draft of this now-published version. I invite comments here or at the journal, which includes a number of good articles on fan studies and popular culture.

I tried something new in my introductory-level fiction writing course this term: using a page of graphic fiction to show students how structure and the other elements of fiction (character, setting, viewpoint, etc.) work in tandem to make a story. I think it worked well, so I'm sharing the exercise here.

The idea was actually derived by the work itself (and I wouldn't be surprised if others have used the source material in the same way): 99 Ways to Tell a Story: Exercises in Style, by artist Matt Madden (who maintains a related weblog, as well). The goal of Madden's 99 Ways, which was inspired by French writer Raymond Queneau's prose experiment, Exercises in Style, was to provide "as many variations as possible on a simple one-page non-story."

This is the template he provides on page one, which is followed by 98 graphic variations of the same sequence:

The template from Madden's 99 Ways to Tell a Story

Madden calls this a "non-story" but it does have all the elements of a story, and these elements come to light when he draws and presents variations on the template: for example, one page (called "Subjective") has identical frames drawn from the point-of-view of the male character as he makes his way to the fridge; another (called "Upstairs"), depicts the same event in time, but shifts the viewpoint to the character above the spiral staircase who is responsible for calling down about the time. Many of the variations are radical and eye-poppingly ingenious, like the "Underground Comic" and the "Map" versions of the same template.

On the first day of class, I used this book in class by showing students a variety of these variations using the document/overhead projector, and simply asking them what exactly made each page different and unique. It allowed me to briefly touch on core elements of the craft, like character (in one variation, everything is the same except for the man, who is drawn like a cartoon skunk), viewpoint (there's a lot of these in the book, including a monologue where the male character sits behind a desk and talks about what we see in the template), setting (a la "upstairs"), and conflict. The point that I think was successfully made in class was that every single choice a writer makes can radically change the story as a whole, and that a virtual infinity of choices are available to the writer, constrained only by a core structure of sequence that readers need to make sense of a series of events.

What perhaps was most difficult to show here was the "plot" of the template. While I did ask the class "What's the conflict here? What is the core problem, or struggle that the character goes through?" they were slow to respond. They deduced that the man was hungry and needed something from the fridge, but was frustratingly interrupted on his way. I asked them about that interruption: "We don't see who the source of the voice is... is it a live-in lover? A housewife? Who?" They seemed to agree it was his significant other. But then I asked them if it might very well be God. This question -- while perhaps stretching into absurdity -- allowed me to suggest that this story might be saying something universally human and profound, or epiphanic, even if that "theme" wasn't on the surface at all.

But all of this was a precursor to an actual writing assignment, which was really my intention. I asked students to take Madden's template (I photocopied it for educational use) and write a short-short story of significance based on it. I did NOT give them any more specifics than that, and a few students sent me curious e-mails about how far they could change things. I told them their imaginations were the only limit, but that any reader in class ought to be able to tell that this was a variation that might have "fit" in the same book as the one I showed them in class.

The following class period I asked a few students to share some of their stories orally with the class as a whole. A lot of fun was had. I noticed that many of them added something new on to the end of the comic strip, as if it were all a precursor to something else, or as if "revision" only meant "adding." But it was a fruitful and productive exercise, I think, and I think most creative writing exercises try to do something similar: to posit a prompt or template idea that students later can share, to reveal the variety of choices (stylistic and beyond) which reveal the variety of choices that are available to a writer, and the repetition-with-a-difference that compels our fascination with storytelling.

Writing about this reminds me of other classes I've taught that have used comix in similar ways. It's been a long time since I've done so, but I recall once using a Garfield comic strip in my basic writing course. I photocopied a 3 panel strip of Garfield doing a monologue while looking at -- and then away -- from a sunflower in a pot. I don't even remember what wry commentary Garfield was making -- all that mattered to me was the structure. I blotted out all the words in the thought balloons and then photocopied (and enlarged) the strip before distributing the strip to students. I asked them to "fill in the blanks" of the thought balloons with the main ideas of their paragraphs. I was trying to illustrate the way that paragraphs don't simply chain together a list, but move a thesis through a process of thought that changes as the paper progresses. I'm not sure how successful that was, but I remember that the students enjoyed working with the handout and were excited to share the results in small groups.

I hope to look into Raymond Queneau's work for more ideas. But at this point I am convinced that making structure visual is always a good idea. This is why we diagram sentences and outline essays and use organizational charts. The structures of graphic fiction can make this process both entertaining and educational, while appealing to visual learners. I intend to keep looking for more ways to integrate such matters into the classroom. Your own experiences are welcome -- leave a comment.

Six Word Memoirs of Teachers

Teacher Magazine has a fun list of Six Word Memoirs by teachers. It's a sort of homage to the pop mini-memoir book, Not Quite What I was Planning (click through that: apparently you can submit to the sequel!).

Although such things are terribly reductive, they're pithy. A few quick examples from "The Short Happy Lives of Teachers":

Cheerleader aspirations. I teach. Same thing. (Cindi)
Teachers wanted, patience mandatory, sanity optional. (Renee)
Hoped to make difference. Was transformed. (Laura)

My own off the cuff:

After tests, I never said "pencils down."
DId I ask the right questions?
Sold soul to the Devil's Advocate.

Hmmm...harder than it looks! (I prefer this kind of minimalist stuff when you can add a clever title to it: as-is, these read more like dumb tombstone epigraphs!)

Note: AN EXERCISE LIKE THIS WOULD WORK GREAT IN A CLASSROOM.

For now, post your own on the Teacher Magazine site, or here if you like, in a comment. You get SIX words!

Is Reading to Students Bad?

The forums over at Teacher Magazine have a great conversation going on right now about the advantages and disadvantages of reading text aloud to students in the classroom. Apparently a high school teacher was given a hard time by his administrators, who overheard him and felt he was talking down to the students by treating them like they were in elementary school.

This surprised me, because every literature professor I ever had when I was an English major would recite passages of text to the class and myself have been doing if for years. I had never considered that it might be a "bad" way to teach, because utterance brings a printed text to life in a way that silence usually does not. Some students may very well be "aural" learners. And in my experience students seem to respond well when I read text aloud to the class, because I am -- to be unabashedly cocky -- probably the best reader in the room. All teachers probably are. Why be shy? We usually know the text we're reading to the class inside-and-out, so we can probably do a good job it. As an English prof, I am an experienced reader who has been visited by many fictional voices across a lifetime, and I know how to inflect and read prose and poetry with a dramatic cadence. I even have the audacity to read my own writing to the class sometimes, because this is what creative writers do professionally. I'm not saying I'm the best oral interpreter on the planet, but in my classroom, chances are very good that I am the most qualified person in the room to do it. And so is any teacher.

The counter-argument, of course, is based on the assumption that students who are already literate don't want to be "talked down" to. It harkens back to the parent-child relationship, infantalizing students. It reduces the adult classroom to something akin to a preschool-level children's library, and participates in what critics call "the crayola curriculum," contributing to the "dumbing down" of American students. It impedes the flow of speedy learning that people who can read for themselves might experience. And if a teacher is a boring, turgid reader, it risks killing the class dynamic -- or can lead to student mockery, disappointment or other tomfoolery.

But all things considered, it depends on how you do it, and what your motives really are. Sometimes the "Crayola Curriculum" can be employed in productive, reflective, or simply tension-relieving ways (as my SHU colleague Dennis Jerz attempts to do when he reads a children's book to his English majors at the end of a stressful term). I would say that, on balance, reading aloud is a good strategy. As Candy Blessing points out in "Reading to Students Who Are Old Enough to Shave", research supports the argument that "reading to kids boosts their reading comprehension, increases their vocabularies, and helps them become better writers. In fact, students who are read to are more motivated to read themselves—increasing the likelihood that they will one day become independent, lifelong readers." Clearly knowing how printed words and sentences and poetic lines and so forth should "sound" in our heads when we read them can only help us comprehend them, and teachers can and should model these sounds for students. This is something that Language teachers have employed forever.

Moreover, we're not just modeling how to read that particular text. We're modeling how to read in public, how to recite in general, and also teaching communication and listening skills. Listening to a teacher recite has its analogue in many civic functions: hearing politicans speak, or priests and preachers, and so forth. Students can learn what we might call "audience literacy": how to be a good, attentive, ethical listener.

I would toss in, however, that the method can create a teacher-centered environment in the classroom, and that one shouldn't dominate the class or treat it as their own private rehersal hall. A lector's reading aloud should be counter-balanced by having the students read -- in fact, they should read more often than the teacher. Having students read aloud is often better because not only does everyone get to practice, but everyone also gets the "stage" for a moment. Everyone has a voice and students always benefit from participating fully in the class. When they listen to each other, they engage with one another. (I have even seen students correct each other and offer advice to each other, workshopping their recitation without any input from me!). You can see it in their eyes. Reading is not just absorbing through the eyes or ears -- it is reacting, responding, voicing, and more.

I would also add that not only should teachers be wary of producing a teacher-centered environment, but also that the textbook-dominated one. Even in a literature course, it might be good to have students read aloud from their own writing. Or, optionally, to have the teacher read student writing to the class. I do this quite often. In classes where I collect daily journals, I will often begin the hour by reading one of my favorite entries. It not only rewards the students who put their energy into the journal writing, but it also provides a great transition from the previous class into the next one.

Another trick, of course, is to bring in an audio CD or DVD, or to bring in the writer as a guest, so that students can hear authors read their own work aloud. They're often surprised by how the author sounds -- how different they sound than they expected -- and sometimes even how much better it sounded in their own heads when they read it off the page themselves.

I suppose all of these tactics are relatively obvious, and that there are myriad other strategies for employing oral recitiation in the classroom. I've really only scratched the surface. But I think just hearing that some administrators think this is a bad idea makes me realize that we need to talk about these things we take for granted more often...so that others won't take their own assumptions -- usually ones that originate in their own experiences in the classroom as a kid and carried forward into adulthood -- for granted, too.

Visit the forum at Teacher Magazine to find more methods, arguments, and research about this topic.

Writing in the Book

I adored reading Christian Long's recent article, "Mapping Literary Highlights, Highlighting Literary Maps" at think:lab yesterday. In it, he talks about adopting a class rule that students write in the margins of their books:

Nothing says, "Yes, English class rocks!", than the early-in-the-year lesson on highlighting our books. Like a good family Bible passed down through the generations, books we read should show highlighter scar tissue on every page. Every page.

Long goes on to mention how he plans to spot-check student books (turn to page 83!) for highlighting and marginal scribbles, and then cites some really fascinating "etch-a-sketch" research about tracking stylistics and patterns in classic novels. Great stuff.

I definitely agree with his notion that writing in a book while you read it is the best way to "process" the ideas and to find them later. I'll never forget the first time I saw marginal notes in one of my mother's old college textbooks. I was just a kid, curious about the things on my parents bookshelf, and I started pulling titles off the shelf, browsing around for something that would be as fun to read as the stuff I was reading at the local children's library. I don't recall what book it was -- possibly a lit anthology -- but I found scribbling in the margins. This was contrary to all the times I'd been told not to write in library books, so I thought a sin had been committed and I ran to my mom to let her know what I'd found. When she told me it was HER writing, and that it helped her to learn, I was dumbstruck.

I saw it again, when I was in the Army. I caught a fellow PFC reading Newsweek magazine when he was on a break, underlining things over and over again. I asked him why he did this, because I never fancied the guy was a big reader, let alone scholar, and I noticed he was reading the business pages -- something I presumed only a business person would find worth underlining. He said he was teaching himself new words. He explained to me that he underlined all the words he didn't know, then -- after reading the article -- copied them into a little book he carried with him -- and looked them up later. "Words, my friend," he said in his Brooklyn accent, "are like money."

I didn't adopt his method of vocabulary-building, but I did start marking up magazines more and more. (Though I do highlight vocab sometimes: whether book or magazine, when I read something I'm preparing to teach, I'll put a box around terms I think I may need to define for the class when we discuss a particular passage.) My method throughout college was to photocopy anything I found in the library that I thought I might possibly want to cite in a paper of my own...and then write ALL OVER them. I have boxes filled with file folders stuffed with these marked up articles from journals and chapters from books in my field, and I have returned to them often for my own research. And my textbooks from college? Fuhgeddaboudit. I could wring pink and yellow and blue ink from the pages. As I tell my students nowadays, reading with a pen in your hand means you're writing as much as reading -- it's the most natural way to engage in a 'conversation' with the text. (For me, it's more like arguments than conversations... see my article "Question-storming!" for more on my methods).

Now, thirty years after I first discovered my mother's marginalia, I find myself reorganizing my home library (I'm scanning barcodes from my books into a database on my computer, too, using Readerware!) and I'm seeing just how many books and articles I myself have so sinfully marred up. Paging through these books, I see so many traces of learning...places where I came to new realizations. And lots of questions I raised in the margins that spun me down avenues of research and argument that I'd probably never have taken otherwise. And you know what else? I remember more from those books than I do from the ones I just gently read. I also notice that the books most marked up are the ones I've cited the most often in my scholarship.

It's the "scar tissue" of learning.

All of us who are full-time scholars and writers probably do similar things. My point is that I'm taking to heart Long's commitment to teaching this process in his classes. I've taught marginal notation systems before in my freshman composition courses, and I plan to do it again in the Fall. Students often resist the call to write in books -- either because they feel its a sin that the great librarian in the sky will punish, or because they don't want to ruin the resale value of their books for book-buy-back at the campus store -- but I think it's a learning strategy that they need to be exposed to -- just like I was when I stumbled upon that book my mother had scribbled in when I was a kid. Just seeing that it CAN be done, and just TRYING it once can be a transformative moment in a student's life. It's hard to convince people to deface a book they paid for, but it's perfectly sensible. Another copy can always be bought for posterity, if a person genuinely treasures it.

I'd put this one right up there with the time in high school when a teacher told my class once (and I'm paraphrasing): Don't be afraid to use more than one piece of paper! It's never a waste to write. And the trees will survive if you recycle... for now, you bought that paper to use it, so quit being so timid with your writing ... it's a tool, so USE IT!

I started filling legal pad after legal pad with course notes, once I was given "permission" to do such a simple thing. Class exercises like Long's use of marginalia in class can be breakthrough moments for students, moments where a student is given permission to take charge of their own studies, and to actively learn.

munch-pinata1.jpg

The "Munch Piñata" pictured above was created by my wife, Renate Müller, as one of the "prizes" students could win in a live "writing contest" held in the final session of my fun "Horror & Suspense Writing" course this semester. She did a knockout job emulating Edvard Munch's "The Scream" -- a subject which we had discussed often in this particular class. Other prizes included a few of my horror books and fun little things I bought at a thrift store -- like vintage Halloween decorations and (my personal favorite find) an antique sausage grinder. It was very kind of my wife to hand paint the "Munch Piñata," which she built by modifying a strange decoration of what was supposed to be a referee shouting a touchdown call. She modeled the colors and lines off the expressionist's painting, but really crafted an amazing piece of sculpture on her own. I'm so very lucky to have such a supportive spouse and a great artist in my life. Everyone who saw this sculpture (which I had to share with my colleagues up and down the hall prior to class) was impressed, and I have to congratulate student Kevin Hinton on winning it -- and I hope he won't destroy the thing with a bat just for the cheap candy that I shoved inside its guts. (It's more fun to scoop that out with your fingers, Kevin!)

The writing contest today involved a 2 column list of "scary" adjectives (dark, bloody, etc.) down one side of a handout, and "scary" nouns (blood, obsession, etc.) down the other. Students had to make their favorite match and then use that as a fictional book title (like "Bloody Obsession"). Then they had to write the back cover copy -- the book description in all its hyperbole. This they read to the class, while a handful of studnt judges (who also won prizes for being the top of the class, as voted by their classmates) decided the criteria and then picked the winner. The process for making this 'game show' sequence of events work is rather complex, but it was a fun time for all. After the winners were chosen (who all got to pick their favorite prizes from the prize table), I spit out trivia questions to give away the remaining gifts to the first person to get the answer right. These were all based on class readings over the semester. The class had a fun end of term, I think. And though everyone didn't win a prize, everyone got candy.

Here's a photo of the class that I asked them to take before we got started on the contest. No, this isn't how they always received me when I walked into the room, and no, they're not all screaming from the stress of the end of term. They're all emulating the character, who you can see on the table in the center. They were a great group of students -- very induldgent of my whims all term -- and very open with their creativity and willingness to take creative and imaginative risks. This is how fun teaching can and should be. I'm proud to have shared the experience with them. And I like to see them scream....

munch-horrorclass08.jpg

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