Oct 062015
 

One of the biggest concerns I had with teaching was the strong sense of inadequacy informed by inexperience. Sure, last time I checked I had about seven siblings. And sure, being the oldest I’ve helped them all with their homework throughout the years. But I don’t know whether to consider that tutoring or teaching, or are those one in the same? There must be a difference between helping along one student into the comfort of understanding than helping twenty students.

In my last year of high school, a classmate and I helmed a Catholic school class of several eight year olds once a week. I guess we taught them––but, there is a huge gap in consequence between teaching mythology and teaching writing; one is required to survive (you pick which).

(Aside: If a student was being talkative, I would tell him/her to hold up their hand straight in the air for as long as they could. This was a big joke between me and the students, and the kids knew that. However, once a parent found out: I got kicked out of the program and was almost expelled from my high school for inflicting corporal punishment upon the children. This coming from the Catholic church. Ha.)

Two months in to teaching undergraduates and I’m beginning to wonder: perhaps stepping directly out from twenty years of learning shoes into fresh teaching shoes might be just enough of substantial experience to begin with. This brief segue from learning to teaching also affords me the understanding to relate to those I’m teaching.

When you meet a new friend, you begin to pick up an each other’s habits. Every teacher I’ve come into contact with has informed me somehow, someway; what I liked and what I disliked was imprinted and (hopefully) flows out unconsciously into a new hybrid form.

(I began to lose steam towards the end. Hope these ideas make sense……..)

Oct 052015
 

Until recently, roughly the last two weeks, I have not been teaching my students.  This is not to say that my students have been without instruction, but that their instructor has not been the person I think of when I think of myself.  Largely this feels like a matter of what Skorczewski refers to as “the conflict between what a teacher should be and what we might call a ‘teaching self.’”  But, if I can wax poetic in a blog post about authenticity, this also feels like possession—like the ghosts of authority would move in at the beginning of every class and the me that I know, the me that people outside of my classroom might recognize, would move out.

Admittedly this was my own doing.  I invited “unconscious and terribly messy” conversation with the voices of instructors past, and my own voice, somehow, became lost in the reverberation.  This was, I believe, partly because I wanted my students to view me as a professional, as someone they could respect, someone they could learn from, someone they would want to learn for.  A totally reasonable expectation, I felt, not beyond the abilities of the supernatural.  So I let the ghosts speak.  I forewent, even, the first day ice breaker for fear of humanizing myself, and I became the faded essence of my ghosts of authority, no better than an echo.

Well, to carry on with this motif, I have emerged from the fog and exercised the demons.  My students and I, that is to say my newly found teaching self, had a frank discussion about the university structure and our positions within it.  Ironically, the act of materializing above the din of my instructional ghosts to present my authentic self to my students was also the act of becoming more transparent.  Perhaps now my students see me as somewhat of a transliminal being—one who straddles the line between instructor and student, who hears the voices of ghosts and contributes to the discussion—but who is ultimately human.

Oct 022015
 

Elbow discusses the issues we face when we have to decide whether to come down hard on a student or nurture and encourage them. He notes how our loyalty to students is to “be their allies and hosts as we instruct and share–to invite students to enter in and join us as members of a learning community…” My struggle with this point is that, while this works for so many, I still have students who do not want to become part of the learning community. As I try to encourage a sharing environment, some remain silent and unimpressed with the ideas presented to them. I had one student email me, telling me that we should focus on social issues affecting our world. This is a student who makes little to no attempt to engage in class, and who is doing everything in his power to avoid writing a complete paper.

What do we do then? How do we handle students who don’t accept our invitation to be working on the same team?

Oct 022015
 

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: I really dislike grading. While I understand the point of grading (because they pay us to do it, right?), I have this awful feeling that a “C-” will cause a student to shut down, as opposed to desiring to improve. While there were vast improvements between the two essays, most of those improvements happened to students who had a grade that was originally within the high-C to mid-B range. I had one student who went from a “C-” to a “B+” (out of the more than 15 “C-” grades given), because she actually brought her second essay to me during office hours and worked on it with me. However, 1 out of 15 doesn’t seem all that promising.

To combat this fear, I’ve decided to allow students the ability to “revise” their essays during the conference. While the prompt allows for a student to argue that they deserve a better grade, to be their own “defense lawyer”  against my status of “judge”(Elbow 332), I felt that they would be better served by being allowed to use my comments as a means of training. While the possibility of arguing for a higher grade is still available to all of my students, I’ve offered them the ability to move up 1/3rd of a letter grade (say, from a “C-” to a “C”) by briefly explaining how they would change one problem area in their essay.

My hope is that by allowing them to raise their grades slightly, the students will come to see me as less of an enemy. Additionally, I hope that this will get my students into the habit of revising their writing (which they swear they do, but… yeah, right). Depending on how well this works out, I may get in the habit of allowing minimal revisions after a grade is posted.

Oct 022015
 

The advertising anecdote that Murray used in his essay reminded me of something similar that I faced. For the first TV commercial I wrote, my boss kept asking me to ‘clean up the script’. After the sixth revision, I got really annoyed and I handed him a blank sheet of paper, “Is this clean enough?” He looked at it and then told me what he thought should be changed.

It makes for a funny story but I feel that those revisions where I didn’t know what needed to be changed/removed/added just frustrated me and made me doubt my creative process. And that brings me back to what we discussed last week; about writing being one’s baby. Criticism directed towards the piece of writing seems to be then targeted at the person who wrote it, not the piece itself.  I mean sure, I did revise it to what I thought was wrong but I never really knew what was wrong till my boss sat down with me.

But Murray lets the students arrive at their own conclusions!

Murray’s style of teaching sounds highly appealing and somehow like a utopian concept. One-on-one writing advice? Hell yeah, I’d take some of that please and add fries to that. But, his students display the desire to learn, the desire to correct themselves. Sure, I had it the first time I was revising and maybe the second time but after that, I was just pulling my hair out and dreaming of the weekend.

I don’t see that desire to revise in my ENC 1101 students. They don’t want to do this. They don’t care about conferences or pre-draft workshops. Maybe Murray’s students do exist, but certainly not in freshmen composition classes. It sounds like an urban college myth, the perfect class where each student is curious enough to explore on their own and only use the teacher as a sounding board.

Thus endeth the rambling session.

 Posted by at 3:25 pm
Oct 022015
 

I found the concept of “teaching” (of course he claims to not be teaching very often) entirely through conferences to be a very compelling concept. Would it be feasible in a large, public university such as FAU to teach ENC 1101 entirely through conferences? Simply for the sake of time – 22 students with 3 hours a week of classes – it doesn’t seem possible. In an ideal world, these time structures wouldn’t matter, but due to the concerns surrounding metrics that seem to run this university, I can’t imagine that this type of structure would ever be universally adopted at FAU.

That being said, I think that a sort of hybrid form of this process could be extremely useful. As a UCEW consultant, I find that most interactions are too fleeting to do a great deal of change in student writing, and it is only the students who return on a regular basis to the same consultant that improve as writers. When students develop a relationship with a consultant, it seems that they are able to make realizations about their own writing, because the “teaching” is directly applicable to the content of their own individual paper. On the other hand, as a GTA, I think there can be value to the traditional classroom structure. At a minimum, MLA, grammar, the “basics” of writing, and classroom discussions are things all students need to experience; therefore, why can’t they all experiences this at the same time in the same room?

Like I mentioned above, perhaps a hybrid of this conference system would be most beneficial for student writing. If we met as a class for one week, and then the next week met in conferences to discuss drafts, they could have the best of both worlds.  Murray paints a very pretty picture of his abilities, claiming that his students continue to do more and more of the teaching themselves. I wish I could talk to him, because I can’t fully understand what this means or how it can be possible. If his students teach themselves, and have only conference experiences, how do they learn the norms of the discipline? An easy example being MLA. Of course students have a handbook, but I don’t believe that they can simply pick something like this up and then magically understand everything about it. It takes time, much longer than a 25 minute conference that should focus on larger concerns. Finally, how does he make sure that students maintain an intrinistic motivation to learn and improve, when Murray provides such little guidance?

Oct 022015
 

Based on this news item and Q&A from Goop.com:

“Why Stress is Actually Good for Us and How to Get Good at it”

Posted September 10, 2015

http://goop.com/why-stress-is-actually-good-for-us-and-how-to-get-good-at-it/?utm_source=goop+issue&utm_campaign=ae65f13ebd-2015_09_10_stress&utm_medium=email&utm_term=0_5ad74d5855-ae65f13ebd- 5866757&mc_cid=ae65f13ebd&mc_eid=75749fa98e

This article really lined up nicely with a lot of what I’ve observed in our first months as young GTA-grasshoppers. I also have had this total recurring issue where my body seems to freak out by sweating when I get ready to teach EVERY DANG DAY instead of being calm about it. It’s really cramping my wardrobe. And I kept thinking that as long as I stayed stressed and sweating it was preventing me from being the best teacher I could be… like if I could only focus on the task at hand without stressing (and sweating) about it, then I would be a clearer thinker/better teacher/communicator/genuine representation of myself. I thought that stressing about teaching was an ironic detriment to our teaching.

Yet Dr. McGonigal’s research shows that stress was/is potentially making me a better teacher if I harness it appropriately, not to mention a smarter, better human. That’s not a totally new idea, I guess, but of particular interest to me in her research/Q&A were her 3 types of stress handlers (for more info, see the last Q&A exchange in the article):

  1. Iron Man – stress is your thing; you love competition, exceed under pressure, etc.
  2. Connecting – good at asking for help, reaching out to others, etc.
  3. Growth Mindset – making meaning/purpose out of your stressful situation.

Whatever type you tend to be or approach you might take in teaching, it’s empowering to realize that all of us can improve with this stressful stuff–that we’re actually better of with it. And, that in the end it’s an indicator that we actually CARE about the students, which is great.

So even though I still “perspire” every time I get up in front of the class to teach (even though we’re months in, even though I cognitively don’t feel stressed), it doesn’t mean that my teaching’s suffering for it, or that subconsciously my stressed-out brain is shaving years off my young grasshopper life. Instead, my very ladylike perspiration might be an indicator that I’m “performing better, making better decisions, and impressing others more” (see A to Q #6) than if I was dry as a cactus. So next time I greet them all with sweat circles, my students can count themselves lucky.

 

Oct 012015
 

Bartholomae talks about “a necessary and enabling fiction at work” in student writing.  Brilliant.  That phrase puts words to an observation I’ve been making over and over again during this last month.  I just haven’t been able to sit with it, to think on why all of the papers I’ve been reading sound disingenuous, overdramatic, or, more to the point, fictitious.  What mindset are these students adopting that limits their use of genuine examples and authoritative tone?

Could it be that my students are writing to me, to a fictionalized version of me—some amalgam of all the voices they hear when they think of the sound of an instructor, an authority figure?

“When students are writing for a teacher… students, in effect, have to assume privilege without having any.”

I can’t remember asking for this kind of simulation, this parody of authority.  But this is what I get.  I can hear this assumption, this gesture toward the vague sound of academic discourse, in too many of my students’ essays.  Who demands this of my students?  How has this fantasy taken hold of their minds—that they cannot, as Bartholomae might suggest, “extend themselves” into their respective subject matters to explore and discover, that they must, instead, struggle outside of their means to take command, to instruct?

Oct 012015
 

I am desperately trying to determine a way to spend less time grading essays. I average 10-40 minutes per paper (really bad ones take even longer). I can’t help but ask myself if I’m trying too hard.

frustrated-teacher

Donald Murray says, “I gave my students their papers, unmarked, and said, make them better.” Seriously? I can imagine that, for some students, this is a strategy that would work great. But I have far more students who (I feel) need more guidance.
One grading expert says “don’t comment so much; let them take responsibility for finding the solution to the (fill in the problem here),” while another says “leave more concrete comments; tell them exactly how to fix (fill in the problem here).
So which is it? Comment more, comment less, or don’t comment at all? If students are saying, “I wish he would listen better to what we need to know,” then how do I go about doing that? It just seems unrealistic to me when I am dealing with 22-44 students at a time.
So, I come back to the question, “Are we trying too hard?” Composition theorists have great intentions. They want to find that perfect way to teach composition. But the student population is so diverse and shouldn’t we be finding a way to reach all of those different levels of students as possible? It seems to me that locking into one mode of teaching composition will ultimately lock out many students from the joys of writing.

 Posted by at 12:36 pm
Oct 012015
 

Anyone else envious of Murray?

In his article “The Listening Eye: Reflections on the Writing Conference,” Murray reflects that each year he teaches less and less, yet, his student seem to learn more and more.

His teaching strategies within (and outside) the classroom remind me of the practices we adopt at the UCEW. He notes: “I am critical and I certainly can be directive but I listen before I speak.” Like Murray, writing center consultants are taught to be attentive listeners, allowing the client to find their own voice, rather than offering up our own words. This way, they become writers that are more self-sufficient. Murray also lists the questions he asks his students when they come in to see him, labeling them as the “right” questions. They are thoughtful, probing questions that allow the student to draw forth what they really want to say (instead of what they think the teacher wants to hear). For students who come in to the UCEW quiet and reserved, consultants ask these kinds of questions to get at the heart of what the student thinks and wants to write about.

Murray puts it nicely when he notes “They follow language where it will lead them, and I follow them following language.” In an ideal world, I would follow my students’ language, taking the position of peer rather than apprentice. But as Murray notes, his style of teaching requires a certain climate, and that climate is not possible with our FYC course.

I can only parallel Murray’s teaching strategies as a consultant at the UCEW. This is probably (most likely) the reason I enjoy working there more than my time in the classroom.

I am envious of Murray.

But, then again, he does average seventy-five conferences a week.

So maybe my shade of green is not so dark.

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