So, inspired by Alex's attempt at a vague summation, here's my own equally inept and incomplete (no offense, Alex) attempt at some sort of summarization of everything I learned in this class.
1. I don't know anything. All the stuff I thought I knew about teaching I found out is wrong. Then I found out that the stuff I learned about the stuff I knew before was wrong. Then I found out that was wrong, too. I don't think this is a bad thing. Being self-reflective (reflexive) is one of the most important lessons I've taken from the course readings. As long as I'm thinking about what I'm doing and whether it's working and so forth, I can be useful to some extent to my students.
2. I know a lot more than I used to. Reading all these articles and books about teaching must have taught me something, right? But seriously, folks, I'm personally a fan of how Kent State does this, where we don't teach in the first semester. Having a good, solid background in teaching theory (maybe not both good AND solid, but certainly at least one of the two) makes me a lot less nervous about being flung into a classroom (flung is an excellent word and would make a good band name) with 25 doe-eyed recent high school graduates who expect me to know stuff.
3. This blog has annoyed me from time to time, but it sure is nice to have somewhere to vent my creative impulses. I like words.
4. Language is funny. And it's much more funny if we don't try to pigeonhole it (pigeonhole. How could anybody argue that language is funny?). Errors are subjective, grammar police are despicable people (a bit of an exaggeration, but let's fight fire with fire!), and recognizing various dialects is an important part of language. While it's good for us to educate students into an understanding of a somewhat standardized form of English, it's equally important to acknowledge other dialects.
5. Nothing about teaching is ever simple. This doesn't mean it's difficult. It also doesn't mean it's easy. It just means it's not simple. I suppose this is something of a repeat of number 1. Self-reflectiveness and all that.
6. Multimodality is something I'm going to have to reconcile myself with. With which I'm going to have to reconcile myself. I may not like it (see earlier post), but I have to admit it can be fun sometimes (I had a surprisingly good time making that video of my brother and his wife). My focus remains on the language itself, but presentation style is an inescapable part of language production.
7. Portfolios are a better idea than I had at first thought. Than I had thought at first. I like the process emphasis, the lack of finality in earlier drafts, the grading focus on where students are at the end rather than the beginning, and so forth. I'm still working out exactly how to structure my class, but portfolio grading will be part of it.
8. My class isn't about me. It's about my students. And about me. Really, it's in the interplay between us, the differance if you will (and I won't...Derrida gets brought up too much), that meaning will be formed. This means that I'm going to be simultaneously putting my personality and attitudes into the class structure and trying to get the hell out of the way and let the students do the work from time to time. I'm not sure exactly how I'll strike this balance, but I look forward to it.
9. I need to watch my words so as not to accidentally convey myself as a racist. My comment in class drew a good (though not intended) laugh, but it also reminded me that I need to be conscious of what I'm saying and try not to offend anybody. This probably won't be possible.
10. Ache with caring. Like Alex, and several others, I think the Mem Fox piece was one of my favorites. I haven't really taught in this type of setting before, so I'll be interested to see just how much it clicks for me. But I hope I'll be able to put the amount of effort and caring into it that the students deserve. At least the good ones. Well, okay, the bad ones too.
There's what I think.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
David Crystal's outlook on change in language reiterated and summed up most of the readings we did for this course on the topic. What Crystal manages to affirm, and which no one else pointed out, is that change in language occurs slowly, and in a manner that seldom impedes communication. However, the amount of ballyhoo generated concerning the deterioration of the standards of English is enough to convince one otherwise. As Crystal writes: "There are indeed cases where linguistic change can lead to problems of unintelligibility, ambiguity, and social division. If change is too rapid, there can be major communication problems. But as a rule, the parts of language which are changing at any given time are tiny, by comparison with the vast, unchanging areas of language. Indeed, it is because change is so infrequent that it is so distinctive and noticeable" (458). This makes sense. So why is the uproar by the mechanics, quacks and thieves so loud? I don't know. Is this just a self-righteous impulse to safeguard the notionally sacred purity of language?
Time and again, consideration of this question leads me to one single point of inquiry--if communication is impeded, it must be impeded for someone. Why is there no effort to locate this someone? Because I am sure communication is impeded at different levels for each one of us. So why is Crystal not concerned with this fact? His historicized account of using "potato's" was very entertaining. But what if the usage really does confuse a non-native learner of the language, who will then proceeds boldly to the grocery store and addresses the person behind the counter, evidently the proprietor of the establishment, as Mr/Ms. Potato?
I quite like Crystal's argument about the interconnectedness of social and linguistic change. It is folly to attempt to control either without in some way trying to control the other. And any attempt to control both together is madness. So what do we do? The answer seems to be awareness. We remain aware of the changes going on, in society and in languages we speak. When I go out each morning, I am quite aware that I am in the United States, and quite expect to see advertisements for 'hair color' in print media, and not of 'hair colour'. I know what is being advertised, and meaning is not impeded.
But what about 'mistakes' that do not impede comprehension, but yet, are there? Do we correct someone saying "Drive safe", or (as I read in a recent magazine article, choking on my apple cider) "Promiscuity can be anyone"? Do we avoid them when we write, and go on using them orally? And if yes, to what extent is such oral usage applicable?
Time and again, consideration of this question leads me to one single point of inquiry--if communication is impeded, it must be impeded for someone. Why is there no effort to locate this someone? Because I am sure communication is impeded at different levels for each one of us. So why is Crystal not concerned with this fact? His historicized account of using "potato's" was very entertaining. But what if the usage really does confuse a non-native learner of the language, who will then proceeds boldly to the grocery store and addresses the person behind the counter, evidently the proprietor of the establishment, as Mr/Ms. Potato?
I quite like Crystal's argument about the interconnectedness of social and linguistic change. It is folly to attempt to control either without in some way trying to control the other. And any attempt to control both together is madness. So what do we do? The answer seems to be awareness. We remain aware of the changes going on, in society and in languages we speak. When I go out each morning, I am quite aware that I am in the United States, and quite expect to see advertisements for 'hair color' in print media, and not of 'hair colour'. I know what is being advertised, and meaning is not impeded.
But what about 'mistakes' that do not impede comprehension, but yet, are there? Do we correct someone saying "Drive safe", or (as I read in a recent magazine article, choking on my apple cider) "Promiscuity can be anyone"? Do we avoid them when we write, and go on using them orally? And if yes, to what extent is such oral usage applicable?
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Some kind of vague summation
We've covered a lot of ground in this course. Pulling everything together into one, grand unified theory of teaching seems kind of daunting to me. Thus far, everything I've come up with has been hopelessly vague or obvious.
But that won't stop me from writing about it!
At the moment, I keep coming back to something Zebroski wrote in "A Hero in the Classroom." He states "I cannot, and will not, treat students as a bundle of free-flowing textual shreds and threads, as a site of textual fragments, as a text-processing machine spewing forth voices, as merely one location of Intertext." (36)As simple as it may sound, I think it's important to keep in mind that our students are not text-processing machines, they are people. I know, that was pretty deep. It's a good thing you are sitting down while reading this.
Seriously though, I think that we can get a lot of guidance as teachers by just keeping in mind some basic facts about human nature. For example, people are lazy. Well, maybe lazy is a harsh word. But for the most part, people won't do any more work than they have to. This is why I'm becoming more and more a fan of the portfolio approach. It circumvents the natural tendency to calculate the path of least resistance while still making an acceptable grade. Portfolios also help students to keeps improving upon and learning from their own work.
Another fundamental human tendency is that people are emotional creatures (or in the case of our classrooms full of teenagers, very emotional creatures). We can't program our students. We can't re-tune or recalibrate them. I wish we could! Maybe that's my laziness speaking... If our students are going to learn anything they are going to have to want to do so. We have to keep in mind what motivates them. Making the grade is just part of the equation. Of everything we've read this year, I still think the words of Mem Fox are some of my favorite. If we are passionate about something, then we will excel. I've seen this proved in my own life over and over again. I won't lie, when I write a story or a chapter of a novel, I produce vastly better work than when I write an academic paper. Is this because I, as a person, am better suited to creative writing? Who knows. I rather doubt it. The more interested I am in an academic paper the better it will be as well. As teachers, it will behoove us to find writing material that captures our students imaginations.
Another key to motivation is audience. We're social creatures, and when our reputation is on the line, that's when we really start to care. Again, Mem Fox provides good examples of how this human characteristic can be put to good use, as does Pam with her experience with the Dreamers and their (potentially) judgmental German peers.
I know I'm pretty much rehashing stuff we've gone over in class time and again. I'm putting it down on paper (or online, as it were) to help clarify my own thoughts more than anything else--which is another interesting fact human nature. Sometimes we need to have our own ideas spelled out right in front of us before we know that they are there.
But that won't stop me from writing about it!
At the moment, I keep coming back to something Zebroski wrote in "A Hero in the Classroom." He states "I cannot, and will not, treat students as a bundle of free-flowing textual shreds and threads, as a site of textual fragments, as a text-processing machine spewing forth voices, as merely one location of Intertext." (36)As simple as it may sound, I think it's important to keep in mind that our students are not text-processing machines, they are people. I know, that was pretty deep. It's a good thing you are sitting down while reading this.
Seriously though, I think that we can get a lot of guidance as teachers by just keeping in mind some basic facts about human nature. For example, people are lazy. Well, maybe lazy is a harsh word. But for the most part, people won't do any more work than they have to. This is why I'm becoming more and more a fan of the portfolio approach. It circumvents the natural tendency to calculate the path of least resistance while still making an acceptable grade. Portfolios also help students to keeps improving upon and learning from their own work.
Another fundamental human tendency is that people are emotional creatures (or in the case of our classrooms full of teenagers, very emotional creatures). We can't program our students. We can't re-tune or recalibrate them. I wish we could! Maybe that's my laziness speaking... If our students are going to learn anything they are going to have to want to do so. We have to keep in mind what motivates them. Making the grade is just part of the equation. Of everything we've read this year, I still think the words of Mem Fox are some of my favorite. If we are passionate about something, then we will excel. I've seen this proved in my own life over and over again. I won't lie, when I write a story or a chapter of a novel, I produce vastly better work than when I write an academic paper. Is this because I, as a person, am better suited to creative writing? Who knows. I rather doubt it. The more interested I am in an academic paper the better it will be as well. As teachers, it will behoove us to find writing material that captures our students imaginations.
Another key to motivation is audience. We're social creatures, and when our reputation is on the line, that's when we really start to care. Again, Mem Fox provides good examples of how this human characteristic can be put to good use, as does Pam with her experience with the Dreamers and their (potentially) judgmental German peers.
I know I'm pretty much rehashing stuff we've gone over in class time and again. I'm putting it down on paper (or online, as it were) to help clarify my own thoughts more than anything else--which is another interesting fact human nature. Sometimes we need to have our own ideas spelled out right in front of us before we know that they are there.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Trying to Put it Together
I'm still considering what my "theory of teaching" is and will become. I have been strongly influenced in the past few weeks by several of the readings. In response to Brian Huot's chapter in Practice in Context, I have to say "write it out!" I have always, on a tacit level, suspected that this must have something to do with evolving a writer's abilities. In my own experiences as a student, I have found this to be resoundingly true. When I was young, I wrote almost compulsively. I have had a discussion of this with some of the other members of this class, and discovered that they have had similar experiences. But it comes down to this: the more I write, the better I become at it. After I left undergrad, I went "out in the world," to work in the mortgage business, in which I did little writing, and if I did write it was limited to form letters and memos. I came back to school after six years and discovered that I was quite rusty. Of course we all know how much writing is involved in a graduate level program in English, so of course, my writing has improved by leaps and bounds since then. This must certainly be true for more basic writers as well. Since considering this, it has become a part of the theory that I will require lots and lots of writing. I definitely want to do informal dialogue journals and cover letters or memos that will be included with drafts. I like this idea of this not only because it forces them to write more, which forces improvement, but also because as I have read this week's readings, it becomes more and more apparent to me that I must respond, and it's better to respond more rather than less.
Also in Huot's chapter, I like the idea of responding with correctness. In a way, it seems like this is more obvious than at first it seemed. If we assume that our students are cognitively deficient because they make errors, it would make sense that we should get out the red pens and scrawl "awk" and "comma" etc. on their papers and in their journals, but what if we consider that maybe....just maybe...(is it really such a long-shot??) that our students are not cognitively impaired and that they can and will respond to seeing something written in the "correct" form next to a mistake that clearly is in the same format as the correct response from us? By thinking that our students cannot understand what this probably means, I think we're underestimating their cognitive abilities to a point where it's just insulting. If you do this orally with an elementary school student, they would probably be likely to respond. I think that the fact that many teachers have not tried or thought of this method reveals some underlying assumptions that are quite unfounded. I see no need to go crazy and "call them out" on things like that when maybe just a little nudging in the right direction would serve them better and allow them to keep their dignity.
On a related note, and in connection with writing it out, I can't really understand why anyone would want to teach a freshman writing course where the only writing activities are the papers, it makes it seem like a real "do or die" situation, which I'm sure would cause some anxiety, and if it's not necessary or serving a purpose, why put them through it? So I hereby declare "write it out!" Give them a little practice where their grade doesn't hang in the balance, and further, give them a response to their writing before it comes down to impacting their grade. It only seems fair to me. Speaking of response...this leads me to my next discovery...
Reading Kynard's article has reaffirmed something about response that has become a part of my "theory of teaching," as it continues to evolve. The first thing, and I think the most important, is that we should respond to student writing, and a lot. I love how many different ways that Kynard responds to her student's writing. This kind of ties into my discussion above, but I think it's important that I have them writing a lot, and getting responses to that writing a lot as well, and further, that they have a chance to write in journals and memos in addition to papers, so they get some experience in writing at different levels of formality. Not all the writing anyone will do in life is going to be research papers...it would be ridiculous to think so. I think it's important to do this because when someone writes in their lives outside of academia, there are so many different levels of formality and informality that are appropriate. I think it's good for them to get experience in a variety of formats, so that when the times comes, they are able to make those kinds of stylistic choices themselves with confidence. Maybe a research paper seems ridiculous when it's written informally, but a memo inviting your department to the informal holiday party would look every bit as ridiculous written in academic jargon.
I also found it incredible in Kynard's article how much writing outside of class her students were engaging in and bringing to her. I think this, more than anything, is the dream that most teachers of writing have. What could possibly be better than your students breaking down your door with pages upon pages of writing that they want you to respond to? That must be really satisfying (a little overwhelming, maybe, but satisfying nonetheless).
I also found Zebroski's article interesting, particularly his discussion of "voices." I liked the way that he broke down different types of responses to a piece of student writing that in most circumstances would probably not have "gone over" so well. I think he's right in asserting that we have to really consider the different voices that circulate within us as we are responding to writing. There are certain ideologies that we espouse, often tacitly, that are given voice in our thoughts. I think many teachers have the voices of Strunk and White and other grammarian types screaming at the top of their lungs when they're responding, (probably because they screamed inside their own teachers' heads) which was made clear in last week's reading. There are also other voices, political leanings, teachers, you name it...they're all there and they're all yacking. I don't think there's much we can do about that except to be aware of it and try to engage as closely as we can with the student writing at hand and really interrogate those voices when they start vying for attention. Maybe they're right and have something valuable to say...and maybe they're a little off the mark. It's a really interesting notion that if kept in mind will certainly help us consider how we respond to texts.
Also in Huot's chapter, I like the idea of responding with correctness. In a way, it seems like this is more obvious than at first it seemed. If we assume that our students are cognitively deficient because they make errors, it would make sense that we should get out the red pens and scrawl "awk" and "comma" etc. on their papers and in their journals, but what if we consider that maybe....just maybe...(is it really such a long-shot??) that our students are not cognitively impaired and that they can and will respond to seeing something written in the "correct" form next to a mistake that clearly is in the same format as the correct response from us? By thinking that our students cannot understand what this probably means, I think we're underestimating their cognitive abilities to a point where it's just insulting. If you do this orally with an elementary school student, they would probably be likely to respond. I think that the fact that many teachers have not tried or thought of this method reveals some underlying assumptions that are quite unfounded. I see no need to go crazy and "call them out" on things like that when maybe just a little nudging in the right direction would serve them better and allow them to keep their dignity.
On a related note, and in connection with writing it out, I can't really understand why anyone would want to teach a freshman writing course where the only writing activities are the papers, it makes it seem like a real "do or die" situation, which I'm sure would cause some anxiety, and if it's not necessary or serving a purpose, why put them through it? So I hereby declare "write it out!" Give them a little practice where their grade doesn't hang in the balance, and further, give them a response to their writing before it comes down to impacting their grade. It only seems fair to me. Speaking of response...this leads me to my next discovery...
Reading Kynard's article has reaffirmed something about response that has become a part of my "theory of teaching," as it continues to evolve. The first thing, and I think the most important, is that we should respond to student writing, and a lot. I love how many different ways that Kynard responds to her student's writing. This kind of ties into my discussion above, but I think it's important that I have them writing a lot, and getting responses to that writing a lot as well, and further, that they have a chance to write in journals and memos in addition to papers, so they get some experience in writing at different levels of formality. Not all the writing anyone will do in life is going to be research papers...it would be ridiculous to think so. I think it's important to do this because when someone writes in their lives outside of academia, there are so many different levels of formality and informality that are appropriate. I think it's good for them to get experience in a variety of formats, so that when the times comes, they are able to make those kinds of stylistic choices themselves with confidence. Maybe a research paper seems ridiculous when it's written informally, but a memo inviting your department to the informal holiday party would look every bit as ridiculous written in academic jargon.
I also found it incredible in Kynard's article how much writing outside of class her students were engaging in and bringing to her. I think this, more than anything, is the dream that most teachers of writing have. What could possibly be better than your students breaking down your door with pages upon pages of writing that they want you to respond to? That must be really satisfying (a little overwhelming, maybe, but satisfying nonetheless).
I also found Zebroski's article interesting, particularly his discussion of "voices." I liked the way that he broke down different types of responses to a piece of student writing that in most circumstances would probably not have "gone over" so well. I think he's right in asserting that we have to really consider the different voices that circulate within us as we are responding to writing. There are certain ideologies that we espouse, often tacitly, that are given voice in our thoughts. I think many teachers have the voices of Strunk and White and other grammarian types screaming at the top of their lungs when they're responding, (probably because they screamed inside their own teachers' heads) which was made clear in last week's reading. There are also other voices, political leanings, teachers, you name it...they're all there and they're all yacking. I don't think there's much we can do about that except to be aware of it and try to engage as closely as we can with the student writing at hand and really interrogate those voices when they start vying for attention. Maybe they're right and have something valuable to say...and maybe they're a little off the mark. It's a really interesting notion that if kept in mind will certainly help us consider how we respond to texts.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
I think you's full of it up in here
I hope this won't be construed as racist (though I know I have something of a history on that subject), but I really didn't care for Carmen Kynard's piece. I appreciate the merit of informal languages and different types of discourse and I can't see myself communicating with my students in only that stuffy, academic tone I despise so much but with which many academic writers tend to write.
But I thought Kynard's writing deserved one of those dreaded "awk" marks beside it.
Maybe it's because I'm not black, but I found her ebonics forced and contrived. To me, at least, they just didn't feel natural. Not that ebonics could never have a place in academic writing, but hers felt like she said to herself "I'm going to cram some ebonics into this article to prove that I can." It was conscious and deliberate, yes, but not in a way that flowed naturally with her points and her style of writing. And as the article went on, I thought it felt more and more forced. Based on what she says, it's obvious this style works for Kynard, but based on the tone of the article it certainly doesn't work for me.
This is all subjective, of course (like most of my boneheaded and arrogant opinions). But it served the purpose of reminding me that students see through phony informality in a heartbeat up in here and will quickly tune a teacher out if they think he or she is trying to put on airs to impress them. So even in level of informality, it's very important to be conscious of what you are doing and how you are acting. Once again, I think this relates to our reading about being a self-aware teacher who does everything intentionally. Doing something intentionally doesn't necessarily mean doing it effectively, and attention must always be paid to how well something works.
But I thought Kynard's writing deserved one of those dreaded "awk" marks beside it.
Maybe it's because I'm not black, but I found her ebonics forced and contrived. To me, at least, they just didn't feel natural. Not that ebonics could never have a place in academic writing, but hers felt like she said to herself "I'm going to cram some ebonics into this article to prove that I can." It was conscious and deliberate, yes, but not in a way that flowed naturally with her points and her style of writing. And as the article went on, I thought it felt more and more forced. Based on what she says, it's obvious this style works for Kynard, but based on the tone of the article it certainly doesn't work for me.
This is all subjective, of course (like most of my boneheaded and arrogant opinions). But it served the purpose of reminding me that students see through phony informality in a heartbeat up in here and will quickly tune a teacher out if they think he or she is trying to put on airs to impress them. So even in level of informality, it's very important to be conscious of what you are doing and how you are acting. Once again, I think this relates to our reading about being a self-aware teacher who does everything intentionally. Doing something intentionally doesn't necessarily mean doing it effectively, and attention must always be paid to how well something works.
Monday, November 17, 2008
writing writing and more writing
The more we discuss student writing in this class, the more and more I see not only how important it is for them to write, but how important it is for us to respond to what they write. We can have them write pages and pages and while that will help, it will not be nearly as effective as us responding to what they write. I think the article by Connors and Lunsford shows how important response is, and how so many teacher seem to be lacking in this area of their job. They point out the obvious, the overworked teachers who sometimes don’t have time to respond just as our overworked students sometimes don’t have the time to write the papers we assign them, but if they can accomplish their task why can’t we? I think even worse than not responding at all were some of the horrific negative responses teachers wrote to their students. “Throw away!” or “I refuse to read this research paper.” OUCH! Talk about discouraging a writer! But while these are obviously hurtful comments can discourage writers, no response or little response is just going to create angry disconnected writers.
Where Connors and Lunsford show us the comments teachers make, Sommers helps us to be better respondants to student writing. Connors, like so many authors we have read in the past, have suggested students including writers memos as a sort of introduction to their papers. I really like this idea. I think so many times teachers write to students “what did you mean by this” or “why was this included” and maybe these questions can be addressed prior to reading the paper. What I liked even better was the predesigned questions for the memos. I think if we’re going to ask students to write a memo we should give them some direction. My favorite was “What should I try to help you with as I comment on this draft?” This helps us and the student so much! They are telling us exactly what they think needs work and ask us to concentrate on it. Although we will obviously be commenting on the entire paper, helping someone work out what they feel is their weakest part of the paper is a really good idea.
Where Connors and Lunsford show us the comments teachers make, Sommers helps us to be better respondants to student writing. Connors, like so many authors we have read in the past, have suggested students including writers memos as a sort of introduction to their papers. I really like this idea. I think so many times teachers write to students “what did you mean by this” or “why was this included” and maybe these questions can be addressed prior to reading the paper. What I liked even better was the predesigned questions for the memos. I think if we’re going to ask students to write a memo we should give them some direction. My favorite was “What should I try to help you with as I comment on this draft?” This helps us and the student so much! They are telling us exactly what they think needs work and ask us to concentrate on it. Although we will obviously be commenting on the entire paper, helping someone work out what they feel is their weakest part of the paper is a really good idea.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
To rate or respond, that is the question
Whenever I have received a paper with only a grade and no comments, I assume the grade is the most important part of the class (from the teacher's perspective). Thus, it has been difficult for me to focus on the writing process outside of the things the teacher "expects" (i.e. as has been the case, mechanics and style). The authors note, that “if papers had no other markings, they had grades or evaluative symbols” (p. 453). The discussion of the results pertaining to grades within Connors and Lunsford's sample was of interest to me, particularly because assessment is something in which I’m not well versed (yet, obviously).
The authors note the ambiguity and vague nature of the grading notations made on papers in the sample: “we had meant to attempt an average of these grades, but the different systems they used and the different contexts out of which they came made such an attempt seem silly; we had no idea how to average notations such as ***, 94/130, 3.1, +, F+, and [smiley-face]” (p. 453). What does an ‘F+’ mean? That you’ve failed, but with an honorable mention? It’s somewhat ironic that although we assume there is a standard of correctness from which to assess writing and language, but we’ve yet to achieve a standard grading system to assess a text’s “standardness.”
If we follow Janet Auten’s advice (“that we need a rhetorical context for every disruption we make in a student text”), then we might think twice before disrupting an entire student text (and perhaps the student’s writing process) with an arbitrary or vague grade and no comment (p. 463). Or even a grade at all. By looking at comments or grades as potential disruptions, we may be more apt to make comments that come with distinct rhetorical context and purpose; comments that encourage the writer to continue.
I checked out NCTE's position statement on writing assessment, and thought it might be helpful for others to see.
NCTE position statement on writing assessment
Result #2 of guiding principle #4 stood out to me: "Best assessment practice clearly communicates what is valued and expected, and does not distort the nature of writing or writing practices." In relation to what Connors and Lunsford had to say, the NCTE guidelines articulate the assessment practices that would be in tune with responding rather than rating. NCTE presents a set of guidelines, not a strict set of standards by which to follow in order to assign a grade.
The first NCTE guideline states that the primary purpose of writing assessment is to improve both teaching and learning. I would hope that is one of the primary purposes of the writing classroom in general: to improve both teaching and learning. What goes on in the writing classroom is recursive: the teacher teaches, the students learn, and in turn, the students teach, and the teacher learns. And the cycle continues. When assigning a grade, we should take into account that each ‘A’ or ‘C’ or (God forbid) ‘F’ reflects our teaching in some way. The student hasn’t written in a vaccuum, but quite the opposite: the student has written in a social community, the classroom, and thus should be assessed in such a way.
The authors note the ambiguity and vague nature of the grading notations made on papers in the sample: “we had meant to attempt an average of these grades, but the different systems they used and the different contexts out of which they came made such an attempt seem silly; we had no idea how to average notations such as ***, 94/130, 3.1, +, F+, and [smiley-face]” (p. 453). What does an ‘F+’ mean? That you’ve failed, but with an honorable mention? It’s somewhat ironic that although we assume there is a standard of correctness from which to assess writing and language, but we’ve yet to achieve a standard grading system to assess a text’s “standardness.”
If we follow Janet Auten’s advice (“that we need a rhetorical context for every disruption we make in a student text”), then we might think twice before disrupting an entire student text (and perhaps the student’s writing process) with an arbitrary or vague grade and no comment (p. 463). Or even a grade at all. By looking at comments or grades as potential disruptions, we may be more apt to make comments that come with distinct rhetorical context and purpose; comments that encourage the writer to continue.
I checked out NCTE's position statement on writing assessment, and thought it might be helpful for others to see.
NCTE position statement on writing assessment
Result #2 of guiding principle #4 stood out to me: "Best assessment practice clearly communicates what is valued and expected, and does not distort the nature of writing or writing practices." In relation to what Connors and Lunsford had to say, the NCTE guidelines articulate the assessment practices that would be in tune with responding rather than rating. NCTE presents a set of guidelines, not a strict set of standards by which to follow in order to assign a grade.
The first NCTE guideline states that the primary purpose of writing assessment is to improve both teaching and learning. I would hope that is one of the primary purposes of the writing classroom in general: to improve both teaching and learning. What goes on in the writing classroom is recursive: the teacher teaches, the students learn, and in turn, the students teach, and the teacher learns. And the cycle continues. When assigning a grade, we should take into account that each ‘A’ or ‘C’ or (God forbid) ‘F’ reflects our teaching in some way. The student hasn’t written in a vaccuum, but quite the opposite: the student has written in a social community, the classroom, and thus should be assessed in such a way.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
"Baby Jesus" cries again.
At the risk of sounding like a banal teacher with an insubstantial comment, I really liked the Connors and Lunsford piece.
As someone who used to write dozens and dozens of methodological studies in my former life as an operations manager (i.e., "Exploring the Filler Error Rate in Two-Part Order Picking" [translated: how often an employee fills an order for a jar and forgets the lid], riveting, I know...), I have come to admire well-written essays in the "hypothesize, test, review, summarize, comment" format. Of course, often the best of these essays are on topics that are fresh and innovative even when the topic might seem dull and lofty. Such is the case here.
Connors and Lunsford attempt to capture the seeming uncapturable in teacher response and their excitement toward the topic is palpable. Together with their "champions of the proletariat" (450), the authors show us something new--albeit scary-- about the state of teacher response. The authors cite a 1981 study that concluded that "the news from the classroom is not good" (449). I am afraid the news in 1989, a likely today, isn't much better.
Now for the negative feedback.
I won't recite all the statistics that surprised me (and largely surprised Connors and Lunsford as well). But one number surprised me the most, and it surprised me in a different way than it surprised the authors. ONE teacher out of 3,000 typed up a response that was in excess of 250 words. ONE. UNO. .000333.
250 words is one-half page, single spaced. It takes no more than 15 -20 minutes to type up such a reponse if the content is clear in one's mind. Obviously Gerriets and Lowe (article from P in C about having a discussion about student papers in dialogic letter format) didn't send their papers to the panel for review. (Although the teachers that did were self-selected, so they probably didn't think their meager efforts laughable!)
Indeed, Connor and Lunsford explain how few teachers took time to write substantive global comments (only 5% had > 100 word responses). But they also seem surprised at the time Professor Overachiever took writing his 250 words. They write, "at the same time we admired this teacher's work and care, however, we also wondered, as one reader put it, 'When does this guy ever sleep?'" Is it that inconceivable that this time and energy would be put into 250 words? Perhaps this insomniac has a class of 100 students in a lecture hall and not the luxury of our 25 student utopia. But still? Once you've read a student's paper (assuming you've actually read it), doesn't it take mere minutes to write one's thoughts at the end? Doesn't not doing so sort of spit at the concept of the importance of writing? I hope that time has changed some of this behavior in the classroom. Maybe folks back then were too preoccupied with Milli Vanelli, or tight rolling their pants, or Game Boy to comment much.
I must have been really lucky to have the teachers I had. Some of the teacher responses in this
essay are as pointed as the made-up comments we shared with each other a couple of weeks ago. I am sure you thought so as well.
As someone who used to write dozens and dozens of methodological studies in my former life as an operations manager (i.e., "Exploring the Filler Error Rate in Two-Part Order Picking" [translated: how often an employee fills an order for a jar and forgets the lid], riveting, I know...), I have come to admire well-written essays in the "hypothesize, test, review, summarize, comment" format. Of course, often the best of these essays are on topics that are fresh and innovative even when the topic might seem dull and lofty. Such is the case here.
Connors and Lunsford attempt to capture the seeming uncapturable in teacher response and their excitement toward the topic is palpable. Together with their "champions of the proletariat" (450), the authors show us something new--albeit scary-- about the state of teacher response. The authors cite a 1981 study that concluded that "the news from the classroom is not good" (449). I am afraid the news in 1989, a likely today, isn't much better.
Now for the negative feedback.
I won't recite all the statistics that surprised me (and largely surprised Connors and Lunsford as well). But one number surprised me the most, and it surprised me in a different way than it surprised the authors. ONE teacher out of 3,000 typed up a response that was in excess of 250 words. ONE. UNO. .000333.
250 words is one-half page, single spaced. It takes no more than 15 -20 minutes to type up such a reponse if the content is clear in one's mind. Obviously Gerriets and Lowe (article from P in C about having a discussion about student papers in dialogic letter format) didn't send their papers to the panel for review. (Although the teachers that did were self-selected, so they probably didn't think their meager efforts laughable!)
Indeed, Connor and Lunsford explain how few teachers took time to write substantive global comments (only 5% had > 100 word responses). But they also seem surprised at the time Professor Overachiever took writing his 250 words. They write, "at the same time we admired this teacher's work and care, however, we also wondered, as one reader put it, 'When does this guy ever sleep?'" Is it that inconceivable that this time and energy would be put into 250 words? Perhaps this insomniac has a class of 100 students in a lecture hall and not the luxury of our 25 student utopia. But still? Once you've read a student's paper (assuming you've actually read it), doesn't it take mere minutes to write one's thoughts at the end? Doesn't not doing so sort of spit at the concept of the importance of writing? I hope that time has changed some of this behavior in the classroom. Maybe folks back then were too preoccupied with Milli Vanelli, or tight rolling their pants, or Game Boy to comment much.
I must have been really lucky to have the teachers I had. Some of the teacher responses in this
essay are as pointed as the made-up comments we shared with each other a couple of weeks ago. I am sure you thought so as well.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Errorville-- the way in and out.
Lees' article follows directly from Williams' article we read on Monday, and carries its assumptions further, in a more theoretical context. Williams had pointed out that errors should not be located as ensuing directly from the writer, but from the intersection of the reader, the text, the writer, the rules prescribed in the handbook. Lees argues that the intersection itself should be placed in a sociolinguistic context for a richer understanding of error. As she rightly indicates, citing Williams: "Most of the epithets Williams cites-terms such as vulgarity, oaf, idiot, and simple illiteracy-refer more directly to behavers than behaviors; they are assertions of social location, not statements pinpointing effects of actions." (223). Instead of judging whether this practice should be be done away with (the article historicizing the remedial student's failures as traditionally seen to be personal comes to mind), she gives a neater framewrok to this social context by proposing we see these errors as being made across 'interpretive communities', drawing from Stanley Fish. This idea, whereas it does enhance understanding of the error-making process, does little to tackle the problem head-on.
On the other hand, Brian Huot's short article forwards some practical advice on how to teach students to proofread their own work. Like Lindsay, I also liked his first idea of making the students writing it out. We all know that feeling of queasiness we face going back to school after a hiatus, however brief or prolonged. The first sentence on the page you write while taking notes during class after a long summer break always comes out a little hesitant; one almost has to coax it out. But once this initial episode of writer's cramp is out of the way, it becomes easier with each new sentence. To respond with correctness should also prove effective, because often, even if the student does not know what a dangling modifier might mean, s/he will identify the 'error' if consistently confronted with the correct alternative. This actually ties in with the next point Huot makes. I would like to believe that students not only have a highly developed notion of oral language, they also have a notion of written language as well, although it might not be as highly developed as the former (would it not be impossible to read at all otherwise?).
On the other hand, Brian Huot's short article forwards some practical advice on how to teach students to proofread their own work. Like Lindsay, I also liked his first idea of making the students writing it out. We all know that feeling of queasiness we face going back to school after a hiatus, however brief or prolonged. The first sentence on the page you write while taking notes during class after a long summer break always comes out a little hesitant; one almost has to coax it out. But once this initial episode of writer's cramp is out of the way, it becomes easier with each new sentence. To respond with correctness should also prove effective, because often, even if the student does not know what a dangling modifier might mean, s/he will identify the 'error' if consistently confronted with the correct alternative. This actually ties in with the next point Huot makes. I would like to believe that students not only have a highly developed notion of oral language, they also have a notion of written language as well, although it might not be as highly developed as the former (would it not be impossible to read at all otherwise?).
Underground grammarians, beware
In her response to Williams’ piece, Lees writes, “If we are to claim that error resides ‘in writers’ at all, then, we’ll have to claim it’s there in a special way, as something other than error, as a thing that achieves its identity as ‘error’ by being read - interpreted - by someone else” (p. 219). Lees notes that Williams places error “at an intersection of text, reader, handbook, and writer”; it seems that interpretation of a text (and thus, interpretation of error) is reliant on all four of those things (p. 218). Interpretation, as the result of the ‘intersection’ of text, reader, handbook, and writer, is, as Lees argues, is an action “carried out within a cultural group” (p. 220). Knowing this, as well as understanding the social nature of writing, it is clear that Lee is right when she argues, “in the social economy of error, the error-maker is the injured party” (p. 223).
The important point being that we, as writing teachers, need to be aware of the effects our proofreading and revision practices have on our students. As Huot notes, “no other aspect of learning to write is as stressful and debilitating for students and teachers” than proofreading and editing (p. 221). In order to positive ways of proofreading and editing, Huot argues that we need to “recall the pervasiveness of errors in published texts to understand what a complex task it is to ask students to produce several errorless papers in a single semester” (p. 221). It’s ridiculous to ask my students to do something in one semester that I haven’t been able to do yet (i.e. produce a piece of writing that is “error-free”).
One of Huot’s suggestions, having students write regularly, is probably something I’ll do next semester. I keep finding great ideas in the readings we’ve done in this class, but I realize that I need to include activities that I’ll be able to achieve in my first semester as a teacher. I don’t want to overwhelm myself and my students with activities that I’m uncomfortable with, and that might create more hassle than learning. I’ll include those activities a little bit at a time over my teaching career, and then try to see what works best.
Anyway, by having students write regularly, they will be engaging in writing practice for practice. Practice makes perfect, apparently, and while I’m not looking for perfection, there is definitely merit in repetitive practice. And, as Huot notes, any writing problems students have at the onset of the semester will work themselves out eventually through practice.
Lees writes, “Errors, then, are departures from textual convention that have the power to embarrass authors by calling into question their social identities” (p. 226). This is why I’m always nervous when I turn in an assignment or final draft; I always assume there’s something wrong that I haven’t noticed, and thus will result in a low grade. The domino effect of this on my future is part of my anxiety in this situation, and therefore I can only imagine what first-year students feel when they turn in a piece of writing. Any problems with student writing that I actually point out will BE IN CONTEXT with the larger meaning involved in the piece. I’m going to be aware of my assumptions and expectations, and try to accommodate for those when I read student work.
The important point being that we, as writing teachers, need to be aware of the effects our proofreading and revision practices have on our students. As Huot notes, “no other aspect of learning to write is as stressful and debilitating for students and teachers” than proofreading and editing (p. 221). In order to positive ways of proofreading and editing, Huot argues that we need to “recall the pervasiveness of errors in published texts to understand what a complex task it is to ask students to produce several errorless papers in a single semester” (p. 221). It’s ridiculous to ask my students to do something in one semester that I haven’t been able to do yet (i.e. produce a piece of writing that is “error-free”).
One of Huot’s suggestions, having students write regularly, is probably something I’ll do next semester. I keep finding great ideas in the readings we’ve done in this class, but I realize that I need to include activities that I’ll be able to achieve in my first semester as a teacher. I don’t want to overwhelm myself and my students with activities that I’m uncomfortable with, and that might create more hassle than learning. I’ll include those activities a little bit at a time over my teaching career, and then try to see what works best.
Anyway, by having students write regularly, they will be engaging in writing practice for practice. Practice makes perfect, apparently, and while I’m not looking for perfection, there is definitely merit in repetitive practice. And, as Huot notes, any writing problems students have at the onset of the semester will work themselves out eventually through practice.
Lees writes, “Errors, then, are departures from textual convention that have the power to embarrass authors by calling into question their social identities” (p. 226). This is why I’m always nervous when I turn in an assignment or final draft; I always assume there’s something wrong that I haven’t noticed, and thus will result in a low grade. The domino effect of this on my future is part of my anxiety in this situation, and therefore I can only imagine what first-year students feel when they turn in a piece of writing. Any problems with student writing that I actually point out will BE IN CONTEXT with the larger meaning involved in the piece. I’m going to be aware of my assumptions and expectations, and try to accommodate for those when I read student work.
Monday, November 10, 2008
grammar grammar grammar
After all of our grammar lessons for the week, and our discussion on Wednesday, I do feel that grammar seems to be something people latch on to and really judge your writing on. Joseph M. Williams seems to touch on this in his article. He talks about the different ways of reading a paper, one for content and one for typographical errors. As he points out you have two different frames of mind when you are looking for two very different things in a paper. I want to look for content in my students’ papers. I want my comments to be about the good or not so good directions they take their papers, not about the dangling modifiers they messed up on.
It’s funny, as Williams points out, that there seems to be one grammar rule we latch onto and drill people for. Mine is commas and coordinating conjunctions. The minute I see a FANBOY in a paper I read the sentence again to see if a comma is needed or not. As Williams points out, however, we each have our own little grammar nitch we use so you may have three people read a paper and find all different grammar mistakes they feel are the most important or take away from the paper itself. This grammar leach we all seem to choose comes along with Williams point that the errors begin on the page but are the error of a person who learned a grammar rule from a grammar handbook which was written by another human and was thus taught to the student by yet another person. With human involvement comes human error as Williams points out. No grammar handbook is going to be free of its own grammar errors, so why do we expect our students to be so in tune with grammar usage?
There are set grammar rules, yet they all seem to have modifications as Adam and I pointed out in class about the wonderful world that was “modified” Chicago style we used a few weeks ago when editing the Chaucer Review. Or the fact that, as my friend Matt was notorious for saying when I edited his papers “That’s a stylistic choice.” If we can modify grammar rules then isn’t everything really a stylistic choice? Why can some rules be modified and others can’t? I just used a contraction. Would Sohomjit’s teacher be crying right now? Let’s just say I’ve thoroughly contradicted and confused myself with grammar at the moment, so to even think I could address any of this to my students is comical to me.
It’s funny, as Williams points out, that there seems to be one grammar rule we latch onto and drill people for. Mine is commas and coordinating conjunctions. The minute I see a FANBOY in a paper I read the sentence again to see if a comma is needed or not. As Williams points out, however, we each have our own little grammar nitch we use so you may have three people read a paper and find all different grammar mistakes they feel are the most important or take away from the paper itself. This grammar leach we all seem to choose comes along with Williams point that the errors begin on the page but are the error of a person who learned a grammar rule from a grammar handbook which was written by another human and was thus taught to the student by yet another person. With human involvement comes human error as Williams points out. No grammar handbook is going to be free of its own grammar errors, so why do we expect our students to be so in tune with grammar usage?
There are set grammar rules, yet they all seem to have modifications as Adam and I pointed out in class about the wonderful world that was “modified” Chicago style we used a few weeks ago when editing the Chaucer Review. Or the fact that, as my friend Matt was notorious for saying when I edited his papers “That’s a stylistic choice.” If we can modify grammar rules then isn’t everything really a stylistic choice? Why can some rules be modified and others can’t? I just used a contraction. Would Sohomjit’s teacher be crying right now? Let’s just say I’ve thoroughly contradicted and confused myself with grammar at the moment, so to even think I could address any of this to my students is comical to me.
Grammar...I Love it Every Day
Our discussions of grammar and correctness last week and this week have given me much to think about. In truth, I was yet unsure of how I come down on the idea of grammar. In keeping with my own "theory of writing," I have to agree with most of the authors we've read, that no, grammar should not be the ultimate focus, or maybe even a focus of any kind, of a writing course. Now I'm sure that I feel that way. Yes, I can certainly sympthize with those of us who argue for the importance of grammar, and I do not think that it would be acceptable for a student paper to read (and I have heard this in a paper in a junior or senior level undergraduate literature course) "Thomas Pynchon's The Crying of Lot 49 didn't make no sense to me." Yes, this raises my grammatical hackles a bit, I must admit, but at the same time I don't see a lot of reason for going into "grammar tunnel vision" and failing the paper before even finishing reading it. As Lindsay says in her post on Williams: "There is awareness and then there is obsession." I couldn't possibly agree with her more.
One of the most striking things that I noticed in Williams was the discussion of grammatical errors that occur in grammatical handbooks (the "Word" of the grammarians that dictates our every utterance written or spoken) I think in light of this, and in not losing sight of the fact that language usage and the language system itself is not a particularly stable and timeless system (we can't forget Derrida's response to Saussure's discussion of the system of signs that we utilize in which the "center is not the center"). My "A Ha" moment occured as I read:
"Now again, it is not the error as such that I am concerned with here, but rather the fact that after Barzun stated the rule, and almost immediately violated it, no one noticed--not Barzun himself who must certainly have read the manuscript several times, not a colleague to whom he probably gave the manuscript before he sent it to the publisher, not the copy editor who worked over the manuscript, not the proof reader who read the galleys, not Barzun who probably read the galleys after them, apparently not even anyone in the reading public, since that which hasn't been corrected in any of the subsequent printings." (157)
If the writer of a grammar handbook and all of those listed above cannot recognize a certain grammatical rule and its violation, I do not see how anyone would want to hold a basic writer accountable for something of this caliber. I certainly wouldn't. To me, it almost seems that many of these grammar "rules" that can't be argued to not exist per se, can be argued to be basically defunct. If we do not speak or write, in an academic setting or otherwise, something like "Goeth the king forth this morning," I do not see any reason to preserve and reinforce a rule that says that the verb comes before the subject in good writing. Ok, so it did for Shakespeare, but I think we need to be realistic. I do not think this would fly at the bank, in personal correspondence, in academic writing, or anywhere else, but I can probably almost guarantee you can dig up a rule somewhere that says you should do this to be effective. I think basically Williams alerts us to the fact that there are countless grammar rules, some which impact our ability to communicate and some of which do not. We could certainly dig up grammar handbooks from the 18th or 19th century, but my question is "what does that have to do with the teaching of writing now?"
Again, let me emphasize, that I heartily recognize that errors exist that are probably not acceptable in freshman writing courses, and I do not advocate totally ignoring them. I do not, however, think that it's necessary to nit-pick every single error we discover just because it was written in a book somewhere sometime that it's wrong. I think it is important to consider the audience to which the writing is geared, the time period in which the writing is situated and the function you wish your writing to perform. Yes, there's a time and a place for an academic voice, as well as one for txt msg lingo, and that this is what is important to teach our students. I think above all else thus far that I've learned in this course and the beliefs that I've held toward writing prior to it point to the incredible importance of a writer being able to consider their audience and their purpose, not being able to diagram a sentence, recognize danging participles, split infinitives etc. I've studied all this stuff in the past, and I write (as we all know) on a pretty prolific scale by necessity, and I do not know if I could recognize every (barely any anymore) grammar atrocity I was once taught to recognize. I still manage to write my papers, do well on them and get my point across. I guess we all probably need to ask ourselves how important the more nit-picky grammar rules that still exist are to us, or if teaching our students to communicate clearly and think critically is more important. I think we will all face challenges in how class time will be utilized, and it will depend upon the students in the class and their needs, but I personally will not be wasting time teaching them about dangling constructions and the appropriate uses of cases that essentially do not even exist in this language anymore. I want to work with ideas. If I see something come up again and again for a student grammatically that detracts from what I am working to teach them or obstructs their purpose, we will talk about it and I will offer options and answer questions, but I will not force the entire class to read a grammar handbook.
Another really interesting thing about Williams' article is how he points out: "...if we read any text the way we read freshman essays, we will find many of the same kind of errors we routinely expect to find and therefore do find. But if we would read those student essays unreflexively, if we could make the ordinary kidn of contract with those texts that we make with other kinds of texts, then we could find many fewer errors" (159). Basically, if we set out on a mission to find every little thing in student papers, that is precisely what we will find. I do not see where this is particularly productive. Considering Barzun, his editors, etc etc. did not find his errors in his grammar handbook, I do not see why basic writers should be held to a grammatical standard that no one seems to recognize (or care) is being violated and that a grammarian himself cannot catch in his own work. I think this is asking too much for too little payoff. I do not see how it is helpful to expect perfection, especially when it comes to grammar. I think sometimes some teachers (those kinds of English teachers) get a little too caught up in error-hunting. I think this is Williams' point and I agree with it.
I hope I will not be accused of bringing on the destruction of Western civilization as we know it and the murder of the mother-tongue, because I do not think every possible error should be overlooked, and some things probably need to be addressed, but I don't think a dangling modifier should be treated with the gravity of a threat of nuclear holocaust and the end of human existence as we know it. I think we all know that if a grammarian can't notice certain grammar errors, that people like ourselves reading a scholarly journal such as CCC can pick out only a handful of one hundred consciously committed errors on a first read (all of these people who have studied the language on an advanced level), then I do not think our students will be in danger of a CEO of a company who went to school for Business, or even that Senior Vice President of a bank (who makes frequent appearances in our course) who went to school for Finance is likely to pick out these kinds of errors. I can't see where bothering with the kinds of errors that one would have to go on a texual expedition with the aid of three grammar handbooks just to locate would be a productive use of class time or a benefit to our students, now or in the future.
Well I guess this was a bit of a rant, but I do feel better having gotten it out of my system. Ain't nuttin' like gettin' that monkey offa yr back, are their? :)
One of the most striking things that I noticed in Williams was the discussion of grammatical errors that occur in grammatical handbooks (the "Word" of the grammarians that dictates our every utterance written or spoken
"Now again, it is not the error as such that I am concerned with here, but rather the fact that after Barzun stated the rule, and almost immediately violated it, no one noticed--not Barzun himself who must certainly have read the manuscript several times, not a colleague to whom he probably gave the manuscript before he sent it to the publisher, not the copy editor who worked over the manuscript, not the proof reader who read the galleys, not Barzun who probably read the galleys after them, apparently not even anyone in the reading public, since that which hasn't been corrected in any of the subsequent printings." (157)
If the writer of a grammar handbook and all of those listed above cannot recognize a certain grammatical rule and its violation, I do not see how anyone would want to hold a basic writer accountable for something of this caliber. I certainly wouldn't. To me, it almost seems that many of these grammar "rules" that can't be argued to not exist per se, can be argued to be basically defunct. If we do not speak or write, in an academic setting or otherwise, something like "Goeth the king forth this morning," I do not see any reason to preserve and reinforce a rule that says that the verb comes before the subject in good writing. Ok, so it did for Shakespeare, but I think we need to be realistic. I do not think this would fly at the bank, in personal correspondence, in academic writing, or anywhere else, but I can probably almost guarantee you can dig up a rule somewhere that says you should do this to be effective. I think basically Williams alerts us to the fact that there are countless grammar rules, some which impact our ability to communicate and some of which do not. We could certainly dig up grammar handbooks from the 18th or 19th century, but my question is "what does that have to do with the teaching of writing now?"
Again, let me emphasize, that I heartily recognize that errors exist that are probably not acceptable in freshman writing courses, and I do not advocate totally ignoring them. I do not, however, think that it's necessary to nit-pick every single error we discover just because it was written in a book somewhere sometime that it's wrong. I think it is important to consider the audience to which the writing is geared, the time period in which the writing is situated and the function you wish your writing to perform. Yes, there's a time and a place for an academic voice, as well as one for txt msg lingo, and that this is what is important to teach our students. I think above all else thus far that I've learned in this course and the beliefs that I've held toward writing prior to it point to the incredible importance of a writer being able to consider their audience and their purpose, not being able to diagram a sentence, recognize danging participles, split infinitives etc. I've studied all this stuff in the past, and I write (as we all know) on a pretty prolific scale by necessity, and I do not know if I could recognize every (barely any anymore) grammar atrocity I was once taught to recognize. I still manage to write my papers, do well on them and get my point across. I guess we all probably need to ask ourselves how important the more nit-picky grammar rules that still exist are to us, or if teaching our students to communicate clearly and think critically is more important. I think we will all face challenges in how class time will be utilized, and it will depend upon the students in the class and their needs, but I personally will not be wasting time teaching them about dangling constructions and the appropriate uses of cases that essentially do not even exist in this language anymore. I want to work with ideas. If I see something come up again and again for a student grammatically that detracts from what I am working to teach them or obstructs their purpose, we will talk about it and I will offer options and answer questions, but I will not force the entire class to read a grammar handbook.
Another really interesting thing about Williams' article is how he points out: "...if we read any text the way we read freshman essays, we will find many of the same kind of errors we routinely expect to find and therefore do find. But if we would read those student essays unreflexively, if we could make the ordinary kidn of contract with those texts that we make with other kinds of texts, then we could find many fewer errors" (159). Basically, if we set out on a mission to find every little thing in student papers, that is precisely what we will find. I do not see where this is particularly productive. Considering Barzun, his editors, etc etc. did not find his errors in his grammar handbook, I do not see why basic writers should be held to a grammatical standard that no one seems to recognize (or care) is being violated and that a grammarian himself cannot catch in his own work. I think this is asking too much for too little payoff. I do not see how it is helpful to expect perfection, especially when it comes to grammar. I think sometimes some teachers (those kinds of English teachers) get a little too caught up in error-hunting. I think this is Williams' point and I agree with it.
I hope I will not be accused of bringing on the destruction of Western civilization as we know it and the murder of the mother-tongue, because I do not think every possible error should be overlooked, and some things probably need to be addressed, but I don't think a dangling modifier should be treated with the gravity of a threat of nuclear holocaust and the end of human existence as we know it. I think we all know that if a grammarian can't notice certain grammar errors, that people like ourselves reading a scholarly journal such as CCC can pick out only a handful of one hundred consciously committed errors on a first read (all of these people who have studied the language on an advanced level), then I do not think our students will be in danger of a CEO of a company who went to school for Business, or even that Senior Vice President of a bank (who makes frequent appearances in our course) who went to school for Finance is likely to pick out these kinds of errors. I can't see where bothering with the kinds of errors that one would have to go on a texual expedition with the aid of three grammar handbooks just to locate would be a productive use of class time or a benefit to our students, now or in the future.
Well I guess this was a bit of a rant, but I do feel better having gotten it out of my system. Ain't nuttin' like gettin' that monkey offa yr back, are their? :)
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Musings on "the premature expiration of a pig"
Williams offered much wisdom in his text, but I think one of the most, dare I say it, profound examples is the following:
“In short, if we read any text the way we read freshman essays, we will find many of the same kind of errors we routinely expect to find and therefore do find. But if we could read those student essays unreflexively, if we could make the ordinary kind of contract with those texts that we make with other kinds of texts, then we could find many fewer errors” (p. 159).
There’s almost an inherent assumption when one does a peer response or other “revision” activity: I’m looking for errors and that is the importance of this activity. What Williams is arguing, is more akin to the following: We should read student essays with as much curiosity, enthusiasm, and openness as we do a published work. I found one “error” in Williams’ text: This sentence on p. 160: “The most obviousest set of rules be those whose violation we instantly notes, but whose observation we entirely ignore.” When he began to discuss the deliberate errors in the text, (“There are, incidentally, about 100 errors”), I was somewhat surprised and rather amused (p. 165).
His evil plan worked on me: I definitely did not notice many “errors” besides those in the above sentence. It goes to show, that when I read a piece of scholarly writing, I’m reading for content, for context, for meaning, and definitely not to find all surface errors possible. That’s not my reading style. I want to learn something, not find surface errors in a text’s structure. Likewise, that’s probably Williams’ reading style as well: “It is the difference between reading for typographical errors and reading for content. When we read for typos, letters constitute the field of attention; content becomes virtually inaccessible. When we read for content, semantic structures constitute the field of attention; letters - for the most part - recede from our consciousness” (p. 154).
The way in which we read student texts and the ways we read published texts (or other pieces of writing deemed “good”) seem to be drastically different. Perhaps this is because our role as the teacher leaves us feeling required to edit rather than actually imparting useful knowledge. Maybe we simply assume our students’ texts will be wrought with errors that must be corrected. Or, as Williams notes, “For all of us, obviously enough, error is in the essay, on the page, because that is where it physically exists. But of course, to be in the essay, it first has to be in the student. But before that, it has to be listed in a book somewhere” (p. 155). And his list goes on.
Last week, when we discussed issues of structure, grammar, style, etc., it was made clear that above all, we must be able to teach the importance of the context of language. One style of writing, of grammar, of language, is appropriate in one rhetorical situation, but not in another. Knowledge of how to navigate a myriad of rhetorical situations is key to writing and other forms of meaning-making.
What I’m saying, in a rather convoluted way, is that grammar, style, etc. are important things to consider because they give information about our language practices.
But...
They are not the most important aspect of a piece of writing. If they were, we’d be reading Strunk and White along with each scholarly essay required for class. I don’t want my students to sweat so much over grammar, style, and structure that they can’t even begin to construct a text that important to them as writers.
Williams’ text in a nutshell? There is awareness and then there is obsession. The following sentence encompasses the latter:
“Some who have read this far are undoubtedly ready to call up the underground grammarians to do one more battle against those who would rip out the Mother Tongue and tear down Civilized Western Values” (p. 164).
“In short, if we read any text the way we read freshman essays, we will find many of the same kind of errors we routinely expect to find and therefore do find. But if we could read those student essays unreflexively, if we could make the ordinary kind of contract with those texts that we make with other kinds of texts, then we could find many fewer errors” (p. 159).
There’s almost an inherent assumption when one does a peer response or other “revision” activity: I’m looking for errors and that is the importance of this activity. What Williams is arguing, is more akin to the following: We should read student essays with as much curiosity, enthusiasm, and openness as we do a published work. I found one “error” in Williams’ text: This sentence on p. 160: “The most obviousest set of rules be those whose violation we instantly notes, but whose observation we entirely ignore.” When he began to discuss the deliberate errors in the text, (“There are, incidentally, about 100 errors”), I was somewhat surprised and rather amused (p. 165).
His evil plan worked on me: I definitely did not notice many “errors” besides those in the above sentence. It goes to show, that when I read a piece of scholarly writing, I’m reading for content, for context, for meaning, and definitely not to find all surface errors possible. That’s not my reading style. I want to learn something, not find surface errors in a text’s structure. Likewise, that’s probably Williams’ reading style as well: “It is the difference between reading for typographical errors and reading for content. When we read for typos, letters constitute the field of attention; content becomes virtually inaccessible. When we read for content, semantic structures constitute the field of attention; letters - for the most part - recede from our consciousness” (p. 154).
The way in which we read student texts and the ways we read published texts (or other pieces of writing deemed “good”) seem to be drastically different. Perhaps this is because our role as the teacher leaves us feeling required to edit rather than actually imparting useful knowledge. Maybe we simply assume our students’ texts will be wrought with errors that must be corrected. Or, as Williams notes, “For all of us, obviously enough, error is in the essay, on the page, because that is where it physically exists. But of course, to be in the essay, it first has to be in the student. But before that, it has to be listed in a book somewhere” (p. 155). And his list goes on.
Last week, when we discussed issues of structure, grammar, style, etc., it was made clear that above all, we must be able to teach the importance of the context of language. One style of writing, of grammar, of language, is appropriate in one rhetorical situation, but not in another. Knowledge of how to navigate a myriad of rhetorical situations is key to writing and other forms of meaning-making.
What I’m saying, in a rather convoluted way, is that grammar, style, etc. are important things to consider because they give information about our language practices.
But...
They are not the most important aspect of a piece of writing. If they were, we’d be reading Strunk and White along with each scholarly essay required for class. I don’t want my students to sweat so much over grammar, style, and structure that they can’t even begin to construct a text that important to them as writers.
Williams’ text in a nutshell? There is awareness and then there is obsession. The following sentence encompasses the latter:
“Some who have read this far are undoubtedly ready to call up the underground grammarians to do one more battle against those who would rip out the Mother Tongue and tear down Civilized Western Values” (p. 164).
Notes from the the tone-deaf
When I was a freshman in college, I took "Intro to Music and Music Theory" with Professor Waples. A girl on my freshman hall, an accomplished violinist I later discovered, told me the class was basic but informative and I would learn some basics of music theory. So I took the class. I got a C-, my lowest grade by far and one that would keep me from graduating magna cum laude years later. I'm still a little bitter about it.
Looking back, although I didn't retain squat about music or music theory, I learned a lot about what it means to have "an ear" for something-- or not to have an ear, as it were.
Initially, the weekly tests in music theory consisted of the professor playing a basic scale and we had to name the notes. I read the text book and listened to the practice tapes, but outside that context, I could not name the difference between a C sharp or a B flat-- I could hear that it was a different sound, but I could not define it to save my life. I would freeze up and laboriously guess while my fellow students would jot down the answer and wait for the next note. Later in the semester, we were given 10 CDs of classical music-- Brahms, Bach, Chopin, etc.-- and during tests the professor played excerpts of their pieces, from both major and minor works. We had to "name the tune," the composer, and the year. I remember knowing Beethoven's 5th with some confidence. The rest sounded the same to me under the pressure of the test, even though I must have listened to those damn CDs 200 times. "This class is easy! Why can't you just listen to the music, Katie?" my classmates would say. But for the most part, they were music people and they had grown up listening to classical music and composing their own riffs for fun. I had no practice, no context, no interest, and no ear for it.
I can't draw a perfect parallel here, but when I think of students who struggle with grammar, I think of my C- in music theory. I have an ear for language. You have an ear for language. Williams has an ear for language. So when we, language lovers and knowers, distort the rules of the language or break the rules intentionally or unintentionally, who really cares? It's one thing to know language and mistakenly or jokingly botch a sentence, but it is another thing to have no ear for language, and I am not sure we, as language buffs, can completely understand what this is like. Seems like most of our errors are V+R-. When the great Orwell breaks a rule (and I think his errors in Williams' piece were very intentionally broken), is it even worth pointing out? I think Williams and I agree that we can't compare the Orwellian passive voice to the repetitive, unrelenting boring passive voice of Fred the Freshman. V+R+ man, V+R+. If I have a budding little Orwell in class, he can use the passive voice to his liking.
There are a 100 differences between the errors Williams inserts in this journal article and many of the errors we will see next year. Most notably, Williams knows he's breaking the rules. If my students want to split an infinitive for emphasis or style (oh, "to boldly go..."), they should go for it. BUT, I think I would rather have them know the rule and break it than never know the rule at all. Williams mentions the converse theory at the end of his article, "It simply feels more authentic when we condemn error and enforce a rule. And after all, what good is learning a rule if all we can do is obey it?" Seems to me that we have more flexibility with language if we know the rules and bend them than if we aren't aware of them at all. Many linguistic constructs like pun, metaphor, and poetry, rely on knowing language by sight and sound and ear.
But this is where I struggle. I think my grammar understanding is mostly by ear. I don't always know why a specific construct is wrong, but like Potter Stewart, I know it when I see it. I know from the torture of music theory that it is difficult to develop "an ear" at the age of 18+. Maybe even impossible. For the V+R+ students, we can hand out grammar books and ask them to memorize rote rules, but these devices will not replace an ear for language.
Williams' little game at the end of his piece is similar to what I remember of Beethoven's Fifth. The maestro inserts some sour chords, but clearly he has an ear for composition so we don't care about the rules he breaks. Then there is me, pounding out error-filled Chopsticks on a poorly tuned piano, hoping for a C-.
I pity the tone-deaf grammarians, and I hope I can help them or at least understand them.
Tell me where is error bred
This snippet of song from The Merchant of Venice floated through my mind as I read Williams’ essay on error (both the senses of ‘essay’ apply here, since he did insert conscious errors in his piece). Williams’ essay is a brilliant example of the kind of scholarly writing I have come to like—it incisively probes a category we routinely judge as a stagnant, concrete donné, and deconstructs its various facets with intelligible examples and, very importantly, with an enjoyable sense of humour. The most important work Williams does in this article is to question, and thereby, situate, the concept of what constitutes an ‘error’. The important suggestion that an error might not be a closed signifier with discrete meaning irrespective of the reader or the writer, but a negotiated slippage from ostensibly correct forms of grammar that may or may not be recognised as such, is quite simply, revolutionary. Other ideas I found useful and noteworthy in the article I have enumerated below—
- William Labov’s notion that we are likely to give answers that come from a traditional (reactionary?), conservative system of linguistic values when asked , even if those answers misrepresent our own manners of talking or writing. That is, the moment we are asked to read for errors, we become what Williams would call linguistic hyperaestheticians, delighting in correctness for correctness’s sake, disregarding content and revelling in superficial niceties of grammar instead (I know what he means, having had the opportunity to meet a few such people over the years).
- The distinction that Williams makes between ‘infelicity’ and ‘error’ also seemed to be very important. How often is it that an ‘awk.’ is replaced by a lengthy exposition of grammar rules on the margin?
Williams’ exhaustive analysis of errors as he defines it, with respect to the reader and the writer, clinches his argument successfully. His sense of how the ideas presented in the article can have practical usage is also acute. The upshot of all his analysis: “Certainly, how we mark and grade papers might change” (164). So it can.
Friday, November 7, 2008
Title of post
I love meta-language. It's great stuff. Joseph Williams does some great meta-lanugage in his article about error in putting errors in it for readers to find. Pure genius, I say. His points about error are very important ones, methinks, but what I found even more important about his article was his consciousness of meta-language, language about language (five points for every error you find in this paragraph and the rest of the blog post).
This is the sort of thing I hope to engender in my writing students. Once you're conscious of language as language, things get fun. Linguistic play is what I like about being an English major, writing papers, writing wall posts on facebook, writing emails, and even writing blog posts. I think most people enjoy some form of writing for this reason, but things start getting really fun when you are fully aware (or even partially aware) of what you're really doing.
The example of this that came to mind immediately for me was Stephen Colbert's book I am America (And So Can You!). The whole thing is one big play of meta-language, as is more or less everything Stephen Colbert says. If you haven't read the book, you should. It's funny. Colbert actually makes reference to the typos in his own book and says something about how they have relevance that will only be understood by members of his cult at some point in the future.
This is where I usually make a vain attempt to bring my ramblings back to some sort of relevance to the class reading. Here's what I'm going for: the Williams reading was relevant for his discussion of error consciousness and correction, but it was even more relevant for his tone and his understanding of meta-language and linguistic play. I enjoyed this article more than any this semester except possibly the Mem Fox piece because the guy understands these concepts, which are exactly the concepts I'd like to impart to my students.
Make sense? No? Read it again. Look for errors or something.
This is the sort of thing I hope to engender in my writing students. Once you're conscious of language as language, things get fun. Linguistic play is what I like about being an English major, writing papers, writing wall posts on facebook, writing emails, and even writing blog posts. I think most people enjoy some form of writing for this reason, but things start getting really fun when you are fully aware (or even partially aware) of what you're really doing.
The example of this that came to mind immediately for me was Stephen Colbert's book I am America (And So Can You!). The whole thing is one big play of meta-language, as is more or less everything Stephen Colbert says. If you haven't read the book, you should. It's funny. Colbert actually makes reference to the typos in his own book and says something about how they have relevance that will only be understood by members of his cult at some point in the future.
This is where I usually make a vain attempt to bring my ramblings back to some sort of relevance to the class reading. Here's what I'm going for: the Williams reading was relevant for his discussion of error consciousness and correction, but it was even more relevant for his tone and his understanding of meta-language and linguistic play. I enjoyed this article more than any this semester except possibly the Mem Fox piece because the guy understands these concepts, which are exactly the concepts I'd like to impart to my students.
Make sense? No? Read it again. Look for errors or something.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
White Flag
Regarding the study of grammar and the college writing class:
I give up.
The problems I have with the article, "I Guess I'd Better Watch My English" by Michael W. Smith, Julie Cheville, and George Hillocks, Jr. are substantive.
Now if we agree with Hartwell on the opening page (263) that the term 'grammar' is used to mean many different things, we have a problem if the authors do not spend special time identifying just how we are going to identify the term. Thankfully, they do just that. "One meaning of grammar is the systematic description, analysis, and articulation of the formal patterns of a language" (264). Fair enough. So that is what we are talking about. The article goes on to identify traditional school grammar (TSG) as combining "the explanatory function of grammar wih prescription." (263). We are thus dealing with grammar in this context. I can follow this readily enough.
The first interesting point is noted early on, on page 264. "In short, current tests place a high emphasis on the standard of correctness that TSG is designed to provide." I agree with that, on the surface. However, I have a question here: If TSG is rigorously tested for - and we can verify that the state of Ohio DOES rigorously test for TSG - then why is the grammar so BAD?
Think about that problem (which is not a fault of the article writers). Is the problem with the students, or with the teachers? Or with the system of education in the state of Ohio, which, even with the standardized testing here, varies so much from school district to school district so as to be virtually incomprehensible from one place to the next?
This begs a follow up question: Are we - the future teachers in this class - supposed to correct this?
I don't see how one semester of college writing can overcome twelve years of teacher incompetence/student inattention/incorrect administration of pedagogy (take your pick as to your cause). And yet, I don't see how I can expect any student to hand in a paper loaded with grammatical inconsistencies and NOT give it a horrible grade.
The article does attempt to address my concerns, but I have a few problems with how this is done. One of the biggest problems seems to be with the studies themselves that were conducted:
The inclusion of the Black English Vernacular (BEV) is interesting as a point, but also without relevance to our situation at this campus, in the coming semester. We are not going to be teaching BEV in our classrooms - are we? If so, I have a lot of learning to do over the break.
All kidding aside, I see a certain problem with subjectiveness in this article. What is a valid grammar set for English? Is BEV valid in my classroom? This article argues that it is, and offers up the work of one of the three authors as evidence. This brings me to a side note: should an author of a scholarly article quote his or her own work when defending the positions in the article? Is that not a little bit like saying "It is correct because I said so earlier."? Even if there is some sort of empirical data that you have collected, is it not better to find other sources for the data than your own? Hillocks is referred to at least three times in this article.
The article does attempt to offer a solution for my grammar blues; namely alternative grammars, such as Structural Grammars and Transformational-Generative Grammar (267 for both) and the Systemic Functional Linguistics (SFL) described on pages 269-270 of the article. In the description of these models for alternative grammars, I feel like I have to reject the structural grammar model out of hand immediately. This model eschews using meaning as a mode for analysis, citing the existence of multiple meanings for words. However, that is a practice that I believe was successful in my own personal experience, with one caveat: it is not the ONLY method employed to learn proper grammatical structure. And maybe this is the entire point: in the English language, perhaps one model of grammar study is not enough. In the follow-through for this article's arguments, I found Halliday's work with clauses (270) useful. Here we have a way to study grammar that I can get behind. Even Halladay's discussion of mental process (271) makes sense to me. I can use this to interpret how my students are (mis)using clauses in their writing, and correct them accurately if need be.
This is good; this is progress, in my mind, towards understanding the grammar "elephant" sitting in the (class)room. But it does not solve MY problem: how can one college writing teacher-to-be pass a student that has little or no understanding of how the English language is constructed?
The answer: I don't know.
What I do know is this: as much as some educators and linguistic scientists hate to admit it, understanding proper grammatical structure IS important in the everyday world. People ARE judged by their use of the language in social, business, or any interactive setting. This is not just a paradigm troubling English users, either - this is a worldwide phenomenon. Ask any student of a foreign language how they are regarded when speaking to a native speaker in that language, and they make grave errors in grammar. I remember quite vividly being ridiculed by several Russian students for my attempts to speak that language years ago. My grammar was flawed; therefore I was not to be taken seriously.
I also find it very interesting that, of all the articles we've read, the one article written not by an educator or linguistic scientist, but a creative writer, stressed the need for correct grammar. Mem Fox, in her article "Notes from the Battlefield: Towards a Theory of Why People Write", states correct language usage is essential in any writing:
On the one hand, we have a slew of educators and linguistic scientists telling us that grammar is all but inconsequential to the underlying message. There may be some truth to that. On the other hand, there is someone who makes their bread and butter using the language, the whole language, and nothing but the language telling us the opposite. Bravo, Ms. Fox.
However, when it comes to grammar, I am still without an answer for how to approach this in my class.
The white flag is up.
I give up.
The problems I have with the article, "I Guess I'd Better Watch My English" by Michael W. Smith, Julie Cheville, and George Hillocks, Jr. are substantive.
Now if we agree with Hartwell on the opening page (263) that the term 'grammar' is used to mean many different things, we have a problem if the authors do not spend special time identifying just how we are going to identify the term. Thankfully, they do just that. "One meaning of grammar is the systematic description, analysis, and articulation of the formal patterns of a language" (264). Fair enough. So that is what we are talking about. The article goes on to identify traditional school grammar (TSG) as combining "the explanatory function of grammar wih prescription." (263). We are thus dealing with grammar in this context. I can follow this readily enough.
The first interesting point is noted early on, on page 264. "In short, current tests place a high emphasis on the standard of correctness that TSG is designed to provide." I agree with that, on the surface. However, I have a question here: If TSG is rigorously tested for - and we can verify that the state of Ohio DOES rigorously test for TSG - then why is the grammar so BAD?
Think about that problem (which is not a fault of the article writers). Is the problem with the students, or with the teachers? Or with the system of education in the state of Ohio, which, even with the standardized testing here, varies so much from school district to school district so as to be virtually incomprehensible from one place to the next?
This begs a follow up question: Are we - the future teachers in this class - supposed to correct this?
I don't see how one semester of college writing can overcome twelve years of teacher incompetence/student inattention/incorrect administration of pedagogy (take your pick as to your cause). And yet, I don't see how I can expect any student to hand in a paper loaded with grammatical inconsistencies and NOT give it a horrible grade.
The article does attempt to address my concerns, but I have a few problems with how this is done. One of the biggest problems seems to be with the studies themselves that were conducted:
"The most compelling of these [studies] was done by Elley, Barham, Lamb, and Wyllie in 1976. They considered the achievement of New Zealand high school students as they moved through the third, fourth and fifth forms (Grades 9-11) and in a follow-up 1 year after the completion of instruction." (266)Interesting. High school students. In the realm of college teaching, while the pedagogy behind these studies may still be valid, I don't see a connection for our classes here. We are in a different phase. The students are understood to already have these grammatical building blocks in their realm of knowledge. Am I to re-teach the students? Is that what the study findings are telling me? Or, to move on to more substantive writing work, am I to let them proceed with incorrect grammar practices that will be harshly graded down the line in other, more advanced classes, perhaps not even in the field of English? Will I be letting down my students if I criticize them harshly on their grammatical structures, or will I be doing them a disservice if I do not?
The inclusion of the Black English Vernacular (BEV) is interesting as a point, but also without relevance to our situation at this campus, in the coming semester. We are not going to be teaching BEV in our classrooms - are we? If so, I have a lot of learning to do over the break.
All kidding aside, I see a certain problem with subjectiveness in this article. What is a valid grammar set for English? Is BEV valid in my classroom? This article argues that it is, and offers up the work of one of the three authors as evidence. This brings me to a side note: should an author of a scholarly article quote his or her own work when defending the positions in the article? Is that not a little bit like saying "It is correct because I said so earlier."? Even if there is some sort of empirical data that you have collected, is it not better to find other sources for the data than your own? Hillocks is referred to at least three times in this article.
The article does attempt to offer a solution for my grammar blues; namely alternative grammars, such as Structural Grammars and Transformational-Generative Grammar (267 for both) and the Systemic Functional Linguistics (SFL) described on pages 269-270 of the article. In the description of these models for alternative grammars, I feel like I have to reject the structural grammar model out of hand immediately. This model eschews using meaning as a mode for analysis, citing the existence of multiple meanings for words. However, that is a practice that I believe was successful in my own personal experience, with one caveat: it is not the ONLY method employed to learn proper grammatical structure. And maybe this is the entire point: in the English language, perhaps one model of grammar study is not enough. In the follow-through for this article's arguments, I found Halliday's work with clauses (270) useful. Here we have a way to study grammar that I can get behind. Even Halladay's discussion of mental process (271) makes sense to me. I can use this to interpret how my students are (mis)using clauses in their writing, and correct them accurately if need be.
This is good; this is progress, in my mind, towards understanding the grammar "elephant" sitting in the (class)room. But it does not solve MY problem: how can one college writing teacher-to-be pass a student that has little or no understanding of how the English language is constructed?
The answer: I don't know.
What I do know is this: as much as some educators and linguistic scientists hate to admit it, understanding proper grammatical structure IS important in the everyday world. People ARE judged by their use of the language in social, business, or any interactive setting. This is not just a paradigm troubling English users, either - this is a worldwide phenomenon. Ask any student of a foreign language how they are regarded when speaking to a native speaker in that language, and they make grave errors in grammar. I remember quite vividly being ridiculed by several Russian students for my attempts to speak that language years ago. My grammar was flawed; therefore I was not to be taken seriously.
I also find it very interesting that, of all the articles we've read, the one article written not by an educator or linguistic scientist, but a creative writer, stressed the need for correct grammar. Mem Fox, in her article "Notes from the Battlefield: Towards a Theory of Why People Write", states correct language usage is essential in any writing:
Such power doesn't come from nowhere. It comes from practicing writing for real reasons. It comes from having read powerful writing. It comes from having been taught, and I mean taught, the basic skills of spelling and punctuation in the context of real writing events (123, emphasis hers).
On the one hand, we have a slew of educators and linguistic scientists telling us that grammar is all but inconsequential to the underlying message. There may be some truth to that. On the other hand, there is someone who makes their bread and butter using the language, the whole language, and nothing but the language telling us the opposite. Bravo, Ms. Fox.
However, when it comes to grammar, I am still without an answer for how to approach this in my class.
The white flag is up.
THAT type of English teacher
Okay, first of all, I have no intention of teaching grammar and punctuation to my composition class. I'm not sure that I'm even ready to have an opinion yet as to how grammar is best "learned." My own (less than perfect) command of these fiddly points of the English language were gained in a stumbling and protracted kind of way. Most of the time I don't even know why I know what I know.
So I'm not going to take a stance on how grammar should be taught, if at all. However, I am going to do a little standing up for those increasingly vilified English teachers who are that type of English teacher. As Kenneth Lindblom describes them: "English, for that kind of teacher, is not a tool of communication to be employed; it is a standard of worth to be achieved. That kind of English teacher actively protects English Language from those unworthy English speakers who would dilute it." (95) I've never taken any kind of formal survey to see just how high the ivory towers are that these guys live in, but I have met more than a couple of English teachers and, frankly, none of them have ever really fit that bill. Sure, they will correct "incorrect" English, but not because it's somehow besmirching the purity of the English language. They do it because they love the language they've been studying their whole lives. I remember one English teacher who told me about the history of our language. It has been roughly divided into three stages: old English, middle English, and modern English. Modern English is goes back pretty far. Shakespeare is modern English. It was written hundreds of years ago but people can still more or less make out what Shakespeare is saying. The problem, this teacher told me, is that now the English Language is evolving exponentially faster. This could be due to a number of factors, increased social mobility, technology, etc. The point is that English might be as different 150 years in the future as it was four or five hundred years in the past. Things are speeding up, and because standardization slows the evolution of a language, English teachers are just trying to put the breaks on things so that we don't lose touch with the body of history and literature we've built up.
That was the theory of my English teacher friend. I don't know if there's any validity to the theory or if it's totally bogus. Either way, I'm not sure that the motivations of English teachers are quite as snooty as Lindblom painted them to be.
I'll end on a personal note. I used the restroom in Satterfield the other day and I noticed amidst the sprawl of graffiti that someone had written "your a douchebag." I really wanted to correct it. I think that a grammatically correct "you're a douchebag" would have been ever so much more cutting.
So I'm not going to take a stance on how grammar should be taught, if at all. However, I am going to do a little standing up for those increasingly vilified English teachers who are that type of English teacher. As Kenneth Lindblom describes them: "English, for that kind of teacher, is not a tool of communication to be employed; it is a standard of worth to be achieved. That kind of English teacher actively protects English Language from those unworthy English speakers who would dilute it." (95) I've never taken any kind of formal survey to see just how high the ivory towers are that these guys live in, but I have met more than a couple of English teachers and, frankly, none of them have ever really fit that bill. Sure, they will correct "incorrect" English, but not because it's somehow besmirching the purity of the English language. They do it because they love the language they've been studying their whole lives. I remember one English teacher who told me about the history of our language. It has been roughly divided into three stages: old English, middle English, and modern English. Modern English is goes back pretty far. Shakespeare is modern English. It was written hundreds of years ago but people can still more or less make out what Shakespeare is saying. The problem, this teacher told me, is that now the English Language is evolving exponentially faster. This could be due to a number of factors, increased social mobility, technology, etc. The point is that English might be as different 150 years in the future as it was four or five hundred years in the past. Things are speeding up, and because standardization slows the evolution of a language, English teachers are just trying to put the breaks on things so that we don't lose touch with the body of history and literature we've built up.
That was the theory of my English teacher friend. I don't know if there's any validity to the theory or if it's totally bogus. Either way, I'm not sure that the motivations of English teachers are quite as snooty as Lindblom painted them to be.
I'll end on a personal note. I used the restroom in Satterfield the other day and I noticed amidst the sprawl of graffiti that someone had written "your a douchebag." I really wanted to correct it. I think that a grammatically correct "you're a douchebag" would have been ever so much more cutting.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
assessment and revision needs to take more than language rules into account
Lindblom argues that he uses “the term ‘standardized English,’ instead of the more common (and less precise) ‘Standard English,’ as a reminder that the version of English that counts as correct in most English classes does so as a result of tradition and compliance, not as a result of any linguistic superiority of one version of English over another” (p. 94). This is very much so (as is noted in the text) a view that weighs one’s worth as a person based on his or her version of the English language.
As a student, I always felt worse about myself when I received a poor grade in English or Language Arts than if the grade had been in a math class. I’m guessing this is due to many things, but mostly because of the implicit (explicit?) connection between my language and my identity as a person. If I was judged as a poor student of English, then I took that as a judgement of my identity (because of the strong ties we as humans have with our respective languages).
This makes me think of examples of people from postcolonial nations who try to revert back to their precolonial language and discard the language of their oppressors in order to establish their identity as a sovereign and worthy people. Ngugi argues that “language, any language, has a dual character: it is both a means of communication and a carrier of culture” (p. 13). In addition, he posits that “language is thus inseparable from ourselves as a community of human beings with a specific form and character, a specific history, a specific relationship to the world” (p. 16). This conception of language goes beyond a set of rules for proper communication; rather, it is a view of language as a way to form identity, both as an individual and as a community. When a student is told that his or her writing is “wrong”, that is a statement towards the student’s identity as a user of the language at hand. While English teachers (or any other teacher assessing writing and language use) may not assess a piece of writing with the student’s identity in mind, the effects of such actions can still be quite debilitating.
Therefore, teacher who focuses on “Standard English” is the one who views English, “not as a tool of communication” but, as Lindblom argues, as “a standard of worth to be achieved” (p. 95). Rather, we should be the kinds of teachers whose “goal should be to produce students who can effectively communicate in varieties of contexts” (Lindblom, p. 96).
I can only hope to be sensitive enough to the ways in which my students employ and value their language(s), and thus guide my teaching methods to embrace the different identities that erupt through language use, not stifle them.
As a student, I always felt worse about myself when I received a poor grade in English or Language Arts than if the grade had been in a math class. I’m guessing this is due to many things, but mostly because of the implicit (explicit?) connection between my language and my identity as a person. If I was judged as a poor student of English, then I took that as a judgement of my identity (because of the strong ties we as humans have with our respective languages).
This makes me think of examples of people from postcolonial nations who try to revert back to their precolonial language and discard the language of their oppressors in order to establish their identity as a sovereign and worthy people. Ngugi argues that “language, any language, has a dual character: it is both a means of communication and a carrier of culture” (p. 13). In addition, he posits that “language is thus inseparable from ourselves as a community of human beings with a specific form and character, a specific history, a specific relationship to the world” (p. 16). This conception of language goes beyond a set of rules for proper communication; rather, it is a view of language as a way to form identity, both as an individual and as a community. When a student is told that his or her writing is “wrong”, that is a statement towards the student’s identity as a user of the language at hand. While English teachers (or any other teacher assessing writing and language use) may not assess a piece of writing with the student’s identity in mind, the effects of such actions can still be quite debilitating.
Therefore, teacher who focuses on “Standard English” is the one who views English, “not as a tool of communication” but, as Lindblom argues, as “a standard of worth to be achieved” (p. 95). Rather, we should be the kinds of teachers whose “goal should be to produce students who can effectively communicate in varieties of contexts” (Lindblom, p. 96).
I can only hope to be sensitive enough to the ways in which my students employ and value their language(s), and thus guide my teaching methods to embrace the different identities that erupt through language use, not stifle them.
Ngugi. (2006). Decolonizing the mind. Portsmouth, New Hampshire: Heinemann.
More peer responses than McCain ads during a rerun of Golden Girls
This week I have been swimming in peer responses. I have had between 60-100 pages of student fiction and creative non-fiction to wade through over the last couple of days, and this will continue for the rest of the week in the MFA workshop I am attending. So I feel like I have a taste of what it is like to respond to a bunch of papers in a short period of time. I have a couple of observations coming out of this experience.
1.) My word, I am so much more prepared when I write-up one of those one-pagers! Monday, I did this exercise for six student papers. Not gonna lie-- it took a lot of time. But Tuesday, I just wrote page notes on the three 12-20 page papers I reviewed, and I struggled in workshop today to get my thoughts together as they were scattered across the text.
2.) Writing one-pagers takes time, but creating sub-topics for each response made organization easier. I started this tactic half-way through Monday's papers to break out of auto-review mode. Categories depended on the individual papers, but examples included:
1.) My word, I am so much more prepared when I write-up one of those one-pagers! Monday, I did this exercise for six student papers. Not gonna lie-- it took a lot of time. But Tuesday, I just wrote page notes on the three 12-20 page papers I reviewed, and I struggled in workshop today to get my thoughts together as they were scattered across the text.
2.) Writing one-pagers takes time, but creating sub-topics for each response made organization easier. I started this tactic half-way through Monday's papers to break out of auto-review mode. Categories depended on the individual papers, but examples included:
- Character development or "Development of John (protagonist)"
- Dialogue strengths and weaknesses
- Plot inconsistencies
- Conflict and resolution
- Start and Finish points
Each category then had 3-4 supporting points, some textual examples, etc.
Obviously, these were creative writing pieces, but a similar strategy might be helpful for more analytical pieces. These categories also make discussion or conferences easier; you have a handful of thought-out and supported points at your fingertips.
I'm not an expert on this by any means, but I thought I would share this strategy.
Back to peer response and the distraction of the returns.
Monday, November 3, 2008
Well, I better watch my grammar
Oh grammar. The horrible little word that has plagued me since I declared myself as an English major. It is funny that two of the three articles discussed the common response when you tell someone you are an English major or an English teacher: “Well, I better watch my grammar” because in my undergraduate grammar class my teacher asked one day what was the response we were so tired of hearing when we told people we were English majors, and everyone unanimously responded “Well, I better watch my grammar.” It comes as this ingrained idea that because you are an English major or an English teacher that you are a “grammar granny.”
I was required to take both a linguistics course and a grammar course in my undergraduate studies. I actually found the linguistics course to be more helpful than the grammar course. The same teacher taught both courses, and on the first day of the grammar course she made it clear that although we probably were expecting the course to help us become better writers that was not the main focus of the course. She told us 85% of the class would do absolutely nothing to help improve our writing; it was purely English grammar and very mathematical type English rules and formulas. The other 15% of the course was supposed to help our writing, but to be honest I found the other 85% to be frustrating and not the best use of a grammar class. I have learned that the best way to approach grammar is not to teach repetitive rules out of context of an actual working piece and that seems to be the approach these articles take. I liked Michael Williamson’s article the best of the three because he not only discussed how to and not to teach college writing, but he showed the mentality of many different students. He pointed out that stronger writers describe writing as a form of communication and self expression where weaker writers describe the use of grammar, grammar rules, and structure. I guess it is our job as teachers to help our students see the way stronger writers view writing and try to move them away from the way weaker writers view writing.
It was funny to me because as I was reading through Williamson discussed the common Western Pennsylvania sentence “That house needs painted” and, I hate to admit, being from Western Pennsylvania, I had to read on to see what was wrong with this sentence. I guess it just goes to show yes we are English teachers, English majors, but our grammar is not perfect, and we should not expect our students to be perfect either. We should convey to them they are not taking a grammar class but an English class where, hopefully, they see the class as the stronger writers did and not as the weaker writers did.
I was required to take both a linguistics course and a grammar course in my undergraduate studies. I actually found the linguistics course to be more helpful than the grammar course. The same teacher taught both courses, and on the first day of the grammar course she made it clear that although we probably were expecting the course to help us become better writers that was not the main focus of the course. She told us 85% of the class would do absolutely nothing to help improve our writing; it was purely English grammar and very mathematical type English rules and formulas. The other 15% of the course was supposed to help our writing, but to be honest I found the other 85% to be frustrating and not the best use of a grammar class. I have learned that the best way to approach grammar is not to teach repetitive rules out of context of an actual working piece and that seems to be the approach these articles take. I liked Michael Williamson’s article the best of the three because he not only discussed how to and not to teach college writing, but he showed the mentality of many different students. He pointed out that stronger writers describe writing as a form of communication and self expression where weaker writers describe the use of grammar, grammar rules, and structure. I guess it is our job as teachers to help our students see the way stronger writers view writing and try to move them away from the way weaker writers view writing.
It was funny to me because as I was reading through Williamson discussed the common Western Pennsylvania sentence “That house needs painted” and, I hate to admit, being from Western Pennsylvania, I had to read on to see what was wrong with this sentence. I guess it just goes to show yes we are English teachers, English majors, but our grammar is not perfect, and we should not expect our students to be perfect either. We should convey to them they are not taking a grammar class but an English class where, hopefully, they see the class as the stronger writers did and not as the weaker writers did.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Woods vs. Freeland
I feel like Kate Freeland lays out a lot of ideas and approaches that I'd kind of had floating around in my head but hadn't been able to solidify into words. The end goal, as Freeland notes, is getting students to be reflective writers. As Freeland describes it, "Reflective writing teaches student writers to evaluate their own work, which makes my job as a facilitator much less stressful. I agree with Elbow (1986) that we haven't taught the student how to do something unless she can determine on her own whether she has done it." (250). Similarly, my goal had always been to get students to think for themselves and learn how to improve their own writing without specific instructions on what to fix.
As I mentioned in class on Monday, I've always been a little wary about critiquing the work of my fellow writers. Much of this stems from a concern regarding one person's creative taste clashing with anothers. But there's still carryover when it comes to academic papers. Naturally I was curious about what types of things I'd be saying and doing to help my students improve their work. Frankly, I don't think I'd be particularly good at laying out a concrete series of steps or bullet points that would result in a quality paper. Fortunately, according to Freeland at least, I may not have to do this. It could be that being a good teacher doesn't necessarily mean I have to come up with brilliant pointers as to how students can improve their papers. It could be that all I need to do is work at being an effective mirror, a fellow writer who reflects my students' ideas and thoughts back upon themselves and really makes them think about why they are saying what they are saying and how they can improve their own words. This is an approach that I think I'd be much better suited for. It's also a notion I'll keep in mind when attending future creative writing workshops.
Interestingly, Freeland's philosophy seems to run counter to some of the other authors we've just read. When critiquing student papers, she puts great stock in asking open ended questions. In her words, "I ask questions such as, "Is this what you want to say?" or "How can you revise this sentence to make it easier to read?" or "As a writer, you have several choices—which do you think conveys your meaning to you reader?" When my students answer open-ended, nonevaluative questions, they hear in their own language, based on their experience as readers and listeners, what their reader needs or wants from the text." (247) It strikes me that this advice stands in contrast to the approach taken by teachers such as Peggy Woods, who wrote that "I want peer responses to be effective in terms of revision by providing comments that do not correct but rather offer descriptive reactions to the text, questions that enable the writer to think about the piece in a new way, and options for revision." (188) First of all, it seems to me that there is a pretty thin line between "correcting" and offering "options for revision." There may be a difference in tone, but the end result is the same. It seems that it would be hard to avoid one while striving to incorporate the other. Second, this is a highly different approach from Freeland's open ended questions. I recognize that the former was talking about teacher comments and the latter student comments. But if taken together that would make for an interesting classroom, one where students get most of their writing tips not from the teacher but from fellow students. It's a conundrum, because I can see the value of both approaches, I'm just not sure they would work well together.
As I mentioned in class on Monday, I've always been a little wary about critiquing the work of my fellow writers. Much of this stems from a concern regarding one person's creative taste clashing with anothers. But there's still carryover when it comes to academic papers. Naturally I was curious about what types of things I'd be saying and doing to help my students improve their work. Frankly, I don't think I'd be particularly good at laying out a concrete series of steps or bullet points that would result in a quality paper. Fortunately, according to Freeland at least, I may not have to do this. It could be that being a good teacher doesn't necessarily mean I have to come up with brilliant pointers as to how students can improve their papers. It could be that all I need to do is work at being an effective mirror, a fellow writer who reflects my students' ideas and thoughts back upon themselves and really makes them think about why they are saying what they are saying and how they can improve their own words. This is an approach that I think I'd be much better suited for. It's also a notion I'll keep in mind when attending future creative writing workshops.
Interestingly, Freeland's philosophy seems to run counter to some of the other authors we've just read. When critiquing student papers, she puts great stock in asking open ended questions. In her words, "I ask questions such as, "Is this what you want to say?" or "How can you revise this sentence to make it easier to read?" or "As a writer, you have several choices—which do you think conveys your meaning to you reader?" When my students answer open-ended, nonevaluative questions, they hear in their own language, based on their experience as readers and listeners, what their reader needs or wants from the text." (247) It strikes me that this advice stands in contrast to the approach taken by teachers such as Peggy Woods, who wrote that "I want peer responses to be effective in terms of revision by providing comments that do not correct but rather offer descriptive reactions to the text, questions that enable the writer to think about the piece in a new way, and options for revision." (188) First of all, it seems to me that there is a pretty thin line between "correcting" and offering "options for revision." There may be a difference in tone, but the end result is the same. It seems that it would be hard to avoid one while striving to incorporate the other. Second, this is a highly different approach from Freeland's open ended questions. I recognize that the former was talking about teacher comments and the latter student comments. But if taken together that would make for an interesting classroom, one where students get most of their writing tips not from the teacher but from fellow students. It's a conundrum, because I can see the value of both approaches, I'm just not sure they would work well together.
Responding in the Resoundingly Affirmative
How do you comment on an article you completely agree with? How to reformulate any kind of argument with a work that you find yourself nodding your head to?
This is my only problem with "Critical Reading and Response: Experimenting with Anonymity in Draft Workshops", by J. Paul Johnson: I agree with it. Wholeheartedly, unabashedly, completely, which is a rare experience for me.
This article answered a couple of very important problems that I have run into as I've mused about forming my syllabus for the spring semester. The first problem: how do I get the students involved in the revision process more than the apparent college norm (which is to say, barely at all)? The second: how can I incorporate exercises where the students write for more than one audience?
This article has given me some serious tips on how to do both. That makes me happy.
Pedagogically, the article is well grounded. Johnson refers to other educators whose work we've already read, namely Hillocks and Nystrand (197), so he has based his argument on solid theoretical ground. "The peer response activity I discuss here - a directed draft workshop - is one well grounded in contemporary composition theory: more focused than mere peer review, the draft workshop reinforces the social constructedness of writing." (197, italics his)
Throughout virtually all the articles we've read, one near-constant problem I've noted is the prevalence of apathy in the college students that have been viewed in a classroom setting. Whether it's a community college, or the University of Cincinnati, or the Ivy League, these students seem to have one unified purpose: how to get the best grade doing the least amount of work. Faced with this attitude, which was certainly in place when I was an undergrad 15 years ago and was probably in place 30 years before that, the one burning question in my mind was: how to get the students engaged in the writing process, get them to completely commit to improving their writing, without standing over them with a lash, shouting at them the entire time?
Johnson provides the answer. With an anonymity-based critique system, I was initially skeptical that the professor could hold the students accountable for the critique that is entered on the blog. Johnson provides the answer by having the professor control all the names being used. Only the professor knows who everyone is, and only the critic and the professor know who the critic is. By having the students post their WORK with their names on it, and by having the CRITICISM be anonymous, the accountability factor is high. The students will be writing for a different audience - their peers, not just me, which helps to solve my second problem as well. Furthermore, by placing this in a blog, the students can augment their critiques with pictures, video, audio and other materials if they choose, to take full advantage of the medium (the entire written critique will still be required). By proposing this system, Johnson enables me, the professor, to keep tabs on which of my students are actually doing the work. Peer pressure will keep many of the students in line, even if the system IS anonymous - they may not know who hasn't posted, but they'll be able to count the number of posts on their papers. As an added bonus, I can have the students add their best critique or two to the portfolio I plan on having them submit for their final grade. Making the critiques a portion of their grade should ensure that the work gets done, and gets done to a reasonable degree. (They can also be part of the class participation grade - wonderful!) I can keep track privately of who does the work and who does not. The students will have to maintain their involvement in the course, and become personally invested in the success of not just their own work, but each other's, as they begin to identify with the papers they have critiqued. The class will, hopefully, bond through the online experience. Although anonymous, the experience of posting and waiting for criticism on their papers (a nerve-wracking experience) will be a shared one for the entire class.
Through this semester's experience, I have learned (or re-learned, in my case) just how valuable a skill critical analysis is for a student. I have also learned in other classes that the ability to critically analyze a piece of writing is like a muscle; it must be exercised in order to be fit. Johnson's article seems to me to be an ideal way for me to teach, develop and nurture the very rare skill of peer response to my classes.
This article has been one I have enjoyed tremendously, and it comes at a very opportune time: when I am scrambling to finalize my textbooks for the coming semester. Incorporating a peer response unit will chew up some class time (in a good way) and allow me to keep the focus of the class where it needs to be - on the students' writing - while satisfying a desire for both multimodality and accountability.
This is my only problem with "Critical Reading and Response: Experimenting with Anonymity in Draft Workshops", by J. Paul Johnson: I agree with it. Wholeheartedly, unabashedly, completely, which is a rare experience for me.
This article answered a couple of very important problems that I have run into as I've mused about forming my syllabus for the spring semester. The first problem: how do I get the students involved in the revision process more than the apparent college norm (which is to say, barely at all)? The second: how can I incorporate exercises where the students write for more than one audience?
This article has given me some serious tips on how to do both. That makes me happy.
Pedagogically, the article is well grounded. Johnson refers to other educators whose work we've already read, namely Hillocks and Nystrand (197), so he has based his argument on solid theoretical ground. "The peer response activity I discuss here - a directed draft workshop - is one well grounded in contemporary composition theory: more focused than mere peer review, the draft workshop reinforces the social constructedness of writing." (197, italics his)
Throughout virtually all the articles we've read, one near-constant problem I've noted is the prevalence of apathy in the college students that have been viewed in a classroom setting. Whether it's a community college, or the University of Cincinnati, or the Ivy League, these students seem to have one unified purpose: how to get the best grade doing the least amount of work. Faced with this attitude, which was certainly in place when I was an undergrad 15 years ago and was probably in place 30 years before that, the one burning question in my mind was: how to get the students engaged in the writing process, get them to completely commit to improving their writing, without standing over them with a lash, shouting at them the entire time?
Johnson provides the answer. With an anonymity-based critique system, I was initially skeptical that the professor could hold the students accountable for the critique that is entered on the blog. Johnson provides the answer by having the professor control all the names being used. Only the professor knows who everyone is, and only the critic and the professor know who the critic is. By having the students post their WORK with their names on it, and by having the CRITICISM be anonymous, the accountability factor is high. The students will be writing for a different audience - their peers, not just me, which helps to solve my second problem as well. Furthermore, by placing this in a blog, the students can augment their critiques with pictures, video, audio and other materials if they choose, to take full advantage of the medium (the entire written critique will still be required). By proposing this system, Johnson enables me, the professor, to keep tabs on which of my students are actually doing the work. Peer pressure will keep many of the students in line, even if the system IS anonymous - they may not know who hasn't posted, but they'll be able to count the number of posts on their papers. As an added bonus, I can have the students add their best critique or two to the portfolio I plan on having them submit for their final grade. Making the critiques a portion of their grade should ensure that the work gets done, and gets done to a reasonable degree. (They can also be part of the class participation grade - wonderful!) I can keep track privately of who does the work and who does not. The students will have to maintain their involvement in the course, and become personally invested in the success of not just their own work, but each other's, as they begin to identify with the papers they have critiqued. The class will, hopefully, bond through the online experience. Although anonymous, the experience of posting and waiting for criticism on their papers (a nerve-wracking experience) will be a shared one for the entire class.
Through this semester's experience, I have learned (or re-learned, in my case) just how valuable a skill critical analysis is for a student. I have also learned in other classes that the ability to critically analyze a piece of writing is like a muscle; it must be exercised in order to be fit. Johnson's article seems to me to be an ideal way for me to teach, develop and nurture the very rare skill of peer response to my classes.
This article has been one I have enjoyed tremendously, and it comes at a very opportune time: when I am scrambling to finalize my textbooks for the coming semester. Incorporating a peer response unit will chew up some class time (in a good way) and allow me to keep the focus of the class where it needs to be - on the students' writing - while satisfying a desire for both multimodality and accountability.
I have seen the light!
After reading more articles on peer groups I really do see the value of these. I think I was so opposed to peer response groups in undergrad because they were not handled correctly. I was never given valuable comments because my teachers did not structure the groups properly. After this week of reading and learning about peer groups I now have a much better grasp on how to approach them. For today’s readings I really liked the ideas presented in Paul Johnson’s article. I did like the relationship building groups discussed last class in Murtz’s article, but I think Johnson’s approach is just as effective without needing to spend time and dealing with students straying from the main point of the class. Posting papers online and having students respond with different names is a great idea. It could work in our technology classrooms and may be easier for students to use the technology to respond instead of handwriting out responses. I also think this could work in class, with students not putting their names on their papers and then distributing the papers out randomly and having respondents also not include their names.
I think this approach allows students to really make their comments and respond to each other without worrying about hurting someone’s feelings or being too critical Johnson’s approach really seems to get away from the one word response or the “nice” responses students feel they are obligated to make.
I was more critical of Kate Freeland’s article. I thought her expectations of individual conferences with students were rather high and a bit dreamy. She is under the impression that each piece of writing her students submit is like the newest masterpiece. I think meeting with students about their writing is a good idea, but I think by her taking so much class time away to do so is not the best idea. I think instead of getting the response of other students and if they needed the help of the teacher after class or during office hours Freeland is just offering up her opinions. Her students are only receiving feedback from her and not their peers. After reading these four articles this week I now see the value of peer groups and the right approach to peer groups and I do not see as much value in the approach Freeland takes.
I think this approach allows students to really make their comments and respond to each other without worrying about hurting someone’s feelings or being too critical Johnson’s approach really seems to get away from the one word response or the “nice” responses students feel they are obligated to make.
I was more critical of Kate Freeland’s article. I thought her expectations of individual conferences with students were rather high and a bit dreamy. She is under the impression that each piece of writing her students submit is like the newest masterpiece. I think meeting with students about their writing is a good idea, but I think by her taking so much class time away to do so is not the best idea. I think instead of getting the response of other students and if they needed the help of the teacher after class or during office hours Freeland is just offering up her opinions. Her students are only receiving feedback from her and not their peers. After reading these four articles this week I now see the value of peer groups and the right approach to peer groups and I do not see as much value in the approach Freeland takes.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Elaborate on the elaboration, please...
I’d like to sum up, what I think, is really important from this week’s readings.
Mirtz: I suppose “off-topic” discussion is similar to underlife (or perhaps an instance of underlife). To go back to Brooke, he argues that underlife behaviors “seek to provide identities that go beyond the roles offered by the normal...student-as-passive-learner educational system” (p. 141). Brooke also posits that writing “involves bring able to challenge one’s assigned roles long enough that one can think originally; it involves living in conflict with accepted (expected) thought and action” (p. 141). Likewise, students perform “writerly” acts, as Mirtz argues, “when they don’t seem to be talking about their papers - exploring audience” (p. 104). As an act of underlife, seemingly off-topic discussion is actually a relationship-building activity that allows students to solidify their identities within the group while assessing audience.
Again, exceptions are always possible, but I do think that by explicitly placing the responsibility on the students for constructive indirect discussion may actually result in constructive peer response. By at least mentioning the possibilities involved in indirect talk, students may begin to see this type of talk as something different, and perhaps learn something from it (i.e. about audience). Mirtz also provides a helpful guide for promoting constructive indirect talk and peer response:
1) Give students specific instructions and information on indirect talk. There is a difference between ineffective and indirect talk.
2) Instructions for peer response are more specific than those in #1, but are also fewer in number.
3) Help students to interpret their indirect talk. Become part of their conversation!
4) Have students report on their peer response activities. This also places responsibility for monitoring indirect talk on the students rather than the teacher. (pp. 114-115)
5) Mirtz also suggest having students complete reflective journals in response to their group sessions. She lists goals for these responses on pages 117-118.
Woods: In addition to Mirtz, Woods provides a great activity (which we all encountered on Monday) that will be particularly productive for students with little or no experience in critical and effective peer response. Woods’ emphasis on the writing and not the person is also an important part of peer response. It is difficult, as many of the texts we’ve read argue, to step away from “being nice” and engage in critical yet respectful peer response. This is a skill, not only in reading, writing, and critique, but also socially. By learning ways of being a respectful respondent, students may learn to receive such critique less personally (i.e. understand that respectful critique of one’s writing is not a reflection on oneself).
Johnson: The use of anonymous response seems to be an effective way to counteract “nice” but ineffective peer responses. By requiring the in-class draft response to be published on the course web site, (as Johnson points out) students are discouraged from providing ineffective and partial responses. Also, as we know, not everyone is as organized as an Ikea showroom, therefore the online response remains available even when a lost paper response would not.
With the addition of Freeland’s essay (which I discussed in my response to Ben’s post), I think the common thread throughout these four texts is this: writing is a social process, and this includes peer response (conferences are response too), and thus we need to be aware of the relationships and identities among our students. With this awareness, our students will benefit from assignments, class workshops, and class relationships that foster learning and invention. In order to teach writing, we need to recognize the activities involved in writing, and that those activities are not always individual and independent of the social realm.
Mirtz: I suppose “off-topic” discussion is similar to underlife (or perhaps an instance of underlife). To go back to Brooke, he argues that underlife behaviors “seek to provide identities that go beyond the roles offered by the normal...student-as-passive-learner educational system” (p. 141). Brooke also posits that writing “involves bring able to challenge one’s assigned roles long enough that one can think originally; it involves living in conflict with accepted (expected) thought and action” (p. 141). Likewise, students perform “writerly” acts, as Mirtz argues, “when they don’t seem to be talking about their papers - exploring audience” (p. 104). As an act of underlife, seemingly off-topic discussion is actually a relationship-building activity that allows students to solidify their identities within the group while assessing audience.
Again, exceptions are always possible, but I do think that by explicitly placing the responsibility on the students for constructive indirect discussion may actually result in constructive peer response. By at least mentioning the possibilities involved in indirect talk, students may begin to see this type of talk as something different, and perhaps learn something from it (i.e. about audience). Mirtz also provides a helpful guide for promoting constructive indirect talk and peer response:
1) Give students specific instructions and information on indirect talk. There is a difference between ineffective and indirect talk.
2) Instructions for peer response are more specific than those in #1, but are also fewer in number.
3) Help students to interpret their indirect talk. Become part of their conversation!
4) Have students report on their peer response activities. This also places responsibility for monitoring indirect talk on the students rather than the teacher. (pp. 114-115)
5) Mirtz also suggest having students complete reflective journals in response to their group sessions. She lists goals for these responses on pages 117-118.
Woods: In addition to Mirtz, Woods provides a great activity (which we all encountered on Monday) that will be particularly productive for students with little or no experience in critical and effective peer response. Woods’ emphasis on the writing and not the person is also an important part of peer response. It is difficult, as many of the texts we’ve read argue, to step away from “being nice” and engage in critical yet respectful peer response. This is a skill, not only in reading, writing, and critique, but also socially. By learning ways of being a respectful respondent, students may learn to receive such critique less personally (i.e. understand that respectful critique of one’s writing is not a reflection on oneself).
Johnson: The use of anonymous response seems to be an effective way to counteract “nice” but ineffective peer responses. By requiring the in-class draft response to be published on the course web site, (as Johnson points out) students are discouraged from providing ineffective and partial responses. Also, as we know, not everyone is as organized as an Ikea showroom, therefore the online response remains available even when a lost paper response would not.
With the addition of Freeland’s essay (which I discussed in my response to Ben’s post), I think the common thread throughout these four texts is this: writing is a social process, and this includes peer response (conferences are response too), and thus we need to be aware of the relationships and identities among our students. With this awareness, our students will benefit from assignments, class workshops, and class relationships that foster learning and invention. In order to teach writing, we need to recognize the activities involved in writing, and that those activities are not always individual and independent of the social realm.
Ben thinks!
Fascinating stuff, these essays on peer response. They always give me more things to think about that I hadn't before. This last one, Kate Freeland's on conferences, was particularly interesting because it basically suggests an entirely different framework for the class. I do quite like some of her principles, but as is usually the case I think I'd have to use a slightly scaled-back version in my own class.
I'm curious about this portfolio idea, which we're using in this class. I am liking it in here because of the nature of the course and the types of things we're working on, but in a class that's focused on writing a set number of papers I'm not sure how effective it would be, especially in the first semester where I'm trying to establish my own sense of grading and interaction with student papers. Maybe it's a weakness on my part, but I feel like I'll need grades as much as the students to get an idea for how things are going, how they're responding to my feedback, and so forth.
I also really don't care for the "negotiation of course grades" at the end of the semester she talks about. This goes back to a few readings ago...I think if you allow the students to negotiate their grade with you it's a bit of an undermining of your position of authority. That's where some of my difficulty with the portfolio idea comes from...I feel like it's easy for them to question your position if it's just one summary grade rather than a series of grades in which they can gauge their progress and standing. I know I myself once got righteously pissed off over a portfolio grade over which I felt I had little control.
Another thought the Freeland piece stirred in my coconut was the fact that she really has a bigtime focus on the process and on the writing itself. With the course theme requirement and all the things we have to think about, I feel like it might be a bit difficult to have that sort of focus. The piece made me worry a bit that my course will focus too much on me, my plans, and my goals for the course instead of the students' writing. I think that'll be an easy trap to fall into. But maybe it's just me.
I'm curious about this portfolio idea, which we're using in this class. I am liking it in here because of the nature of the course and the types of things we're working on, but in a class that's focused on writing a set number of papers I'm not sure how effective it would be, especially in the first semester where I'm trying to establish my own sense of grading and interaction with student papers. Maybe it's a weakness on my part, but I feel like I'll need grades as much as the students to get an idea for how things are going, how they're responding to my feedback, and so forth.
I also really don't care for the "negotiation of course grades" at the end of the semester she talks about. This goes back to a few readings ago...I think if you allow the students to negotiate their grade with you it's a bit of an undermining of your position of authority. That's where some of my difficulty with the portfolio idea comes from...I feel like it's easy for them to question your position if it's just one summary grade rather than a series of grades in which they can gauge their progress and standing. I know I myself once got righteously pissed off over a portfolio grade over which I felt I had little control.
Another thought the Freeland piece stirred in my coconut was the fact that she really has a bigtime focus on the process and on the writing itself. With the course theme requirement and all the things we have to think about, I feel like it might be a bit difficult to have that sort of focus. The piece made me worry a bit that my course will focus too much on me, my plans, and my goals for the course instead of the students' writing. I think that'll be an easy trap to fall into. But maybe it's just me.
Peer Response....Something for Everyone
Now that I've read all of the material for this week, I'm thinking more and more about peer response. Yesterday in class, there were a lot of interesting observations voiced about peer response. I can definitely see where
Katie was coming from when she said that her first response to the Mirtz piece had to do with the "when the cat's away the mice will play" syndrome when it comes to indirect talk. I had the same thought at first, but as Katie has said elsewhere on the blog, that they're not getting away with anything if they're "caught" before they begin. This one really turned some of my own assumptions upside down, and I was glad to see that I wasn't the only one who began questioning assumptions in reading this.
I think this week's readings have been really helpful in prompting me to rethink some things that I might not have realized were assumptions at all, and beyond that, these readings have addressed directly a lot of my misgivings about how to conduct productive peer response. I've always felt that peer response can be one of the most helpful ways to refine ideas and revise writing, but I've questioned how to do it in a way that students will experience all of the benefits of getting and giving feedback on writing that I have. I still to this day like to talk over what I'm writing, and often someone says "that's good, but did you think about this...." which is always the most helpful. It's difficult to always be able to examine your argument in every way to which it could possibly be responded. I have also, however, been involved in workshops and peer response groups that have not been so effective or helpful and felt like a waste of time.
I liked how each piece that we've read for this week has addressed the major problems with peer groups....being too "nice," off-task talk, the way that beginning writers don't really feel like writers yet, and probably the biggest stumbling block of all (which will probably happen in every class without fail) the lack of experiencing with giving and receiving useful feedback on writing. I think that this shows us a variety of methods that could be utilized either separately, together,or piecemeal to address these issues. At this point, I'm not that sure where I come down on how I will go about doing peer response and how I will pull from these resources, but I feel better in thinking that there are many options available. I think the anonymous approach that Johnson discusses would be very good for subverting the being nice problem, as well as the complexities of social behavior and relationships within the classroom for a first year class in the beginning of the semester. I was surprised in reading it, just how effective the students' responses were, and how in not having to share their identities as responders that students really stepped up and wrote productive responses that were not directed at the writer as an individual, in the way we talked about in class. I think this exposes something beyond the "being nice" problem, these are relational politics, and what better way to defuse it than to remove the identities?
I also like the idea of become a responder yourself, the way that Freeland discusses. I think we're all aware that a writer's ability and desire to write, particularly early on, are quite fragile and can be derailed easily. True, we can't be discouraged from writing at this point in our careers, but we really don't count in this argument. We're pretty experienced writers, and we have had time to build our confidence through both successes and failures, unlike the freshman-level writer. I think that Freeland's idea of treating the inexperienced writers as writers in the sense of conferencing and showing them that they not only have choices, but that those choices are theirs alone and that they should be dictated by their needs and the needs they perceive from their audiences, and not "awk" or some other thing we write on their papers. I think that dealing with our students as writers is the best way to help them build their confidence in their ability to write and to show them the choices they have available, and if they still have trouble with making the choices, we will be there to guide them.
In short, I liked the readings for this week because they each offered a slightly different way to think about all of the anxieties I have had about how to conduct peer response in a way that is most beneficial to the development of our students' writing. They have also helped me to identify some long-standing assumptions that I have held which I am not so sure I subscribe to anymore.
Katie was coming from when she said that her first response to the Mirtz piece had to do with the "when the cat's away the mice will play" syndrome when it comes to indirect talk. I had the same thought at first, but as Katie has said elsewhere on the blog, that they're not getting away with anything if they're "caught" before they begin. This one really turned some of my own assumptions upside down, and I was glad to see that I wasn't the only one who began questioning assumptions in reading this.
I think this week's readings have been really helpful in prompting me to rethink some things that I might not have realized were assumptions at all, and beyond that, these readings have addressed directly a lot of my misgivings about how to conduct productive peer response. I've always felt that peer response can be one of the most helpful ways to refine ideas and revise writing, but I've questioned how to do it in a way that students will experience all of the benefits of getting and giving feedback on writing that I have. I still to this day like to talk over what I'm writing, and often someone says "that's good, but did you think about this...." which is always the most helpful. It's difficult to always be able to examine your argument in every way to which it could possibly be responded. I have also, however, been involved in workshops and peer response groups that have not been so effective or helpful and felt like a waste of time.
I liked how each piece that we've read for this week has addressed the major problems with peer groups....being too "nice," off-task talk, the way that beginning writers don't really feel like writers yet, and probably the biggest stumbling block of all (which will probably happen in every class without fail) the lack of experiencing with giving and receiving useful feedback on writing. I think that this shows us a variety of methods that could be utilized either separately, together,or piecemeal to address these issues. At this point, I'm not that sure where I come down on how I will go about doing peer response and how I will pull from these resources, but I feel better in thinking that there are many options available. I think the anonymous approach that Johnson discusses would be very good for subverting the being nice problem, as well as the complexities of social behavior and relationships within the classroom for a first year class in the beginning of the semester. I was surprised in reading it, just how effective the students' responses were, and how in not having to share their identities as responders that students really stepped up and wrote productive responses that were not directed at the writer as an individual, in the way we talked about in class. I think this exposes something beyond the "being nice" problem, these are relational politics, and what better way to defuse it than to remove the identities?
I also like the idea of become a responder yourself, the way that Freeland discusses. I think we're all aware that a writer's ability and desire to write, particularly early on, are quite fragile and can be derailed easily. True, we can't be discouraged from writing at this point in our careers, but we really don't count in this argument. We're pretty experienced writers, and we have had time to build our confidence through both successes and failures, unlike the freshman-level writer. I think that Freeland's idea of treating the inexperienced writers as writers in the sense of conferencing and showing them that they not only have choices, but that those choices are theirs alone and that they should be dictated by their needs and the needs they perceive from their audiences, and not "awk" or some other thing we write on their papers. I think that dealing with our students as writers is the best way to help them build their confidence in their ability to write and to show them the choices they have available, and if they still have trouble with making the choices, we will be there to guide them.
In short, I liked the readings for this week because they each offered a slightly different way to think about all of the anxieties I have had about how to conduct peer response in a way that is most beneficial to the development of our students' writing. They have also helped me to identify some long-standing assumptions that I have held which I am not so sure I subscribe to anymore.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Darkness visible
If Brookfield’s article on reflective teaching makes one aware of the importance of being constantly vigilant about one’s assumptions about teaching, the two articles on table for today seem to focus on a similar problem from the opposite spectrum—reflective learning, and how teachers need to be aware of its possibilities and affordances. In a way, these articles challenge the understated or unstated assumptions we harbour while teaching or being taught, and make the “darkness visible” (to use Milton’s words from Paradise Lost that so famously ticked T.S. Eliot off) in both the cases. Before reading Ruth M. Mirtz’s article on “indirect” talk during peer responses, I had no idea what earthly purpose the talk about baseball games or favourite hair salons that serve ‘rich-people candy’ as a means of attracting customers (overheard during one of the class observations, not made-up) could have served in forming effective peer response to writing assignments. It is important to know where the critic (and hence, the critique) is coming from in order to evaluate its ultimate importance, and Mirtz makes the point very well in her essay that this seemingly unnecessary and futile occupation has its own uses. For example, the group dynamic of Cynthia’s group is set on a particular tone when all of its members arrive at the conclusion after some ‘indirect’ off-task discussion that there are “vast differences between women and men” (109)—an extremely unsurprising, unoriginal and sad consensus that is bound to be importantly reflected in the group’s peer responses. Mirtz raises two very important questions—what is the role of the teacher in the context of ‘indirect’ talk in peer responses, and what kind of indirect talk is really ineffective? The first question she answers in the context of lessening teacher control and encouraging student empowerment: to forcibly steer even peer response or formulate it within such rules as it becomes a reflection of the teacher’s own purposes—“ channeling peer dynamics toward teacher-mandated guidelines” (DiPardo and Freedman, qtd. in 104)—is a trap the teachers should avoid. However, I wandered to what extent she fails to follow her own advice after reading that in the light of her observations with Cynthia’s group, she “give[s] the students specific tasks which speed up the process[es]” (115) of peer response. The second question is answered by a useful distinction between fruitful and fruitless indirect talk (112-113). The most exciting piece of insight by Mirtz, however, comes when she decides to make the students conscious of what they are doing by helping to interpret their indirect talk for them (114).
Peggy M. Woods’ article was an eye-opener in the same vein. I recognized the inadequacy of some of my own recent peer responses that failed to move beyond the standard “This is good” formulation. The truth is, it requires hard work to come up with intelligent constructive criticism—something I also noted recently by comparing the two responses I received recently for my mid-term papers. One was very helpful, pointing out the exact areas I needed to focus on for improvement, while the other did little more than pointing out obvious shortcomings. What Woods points out in her essay is that the necessary hard work should not be shirked while giving peer response. The key idea is to avoid focussing on the writer, and focus on the writing instead (191), something also noted by Glynda Hull et al—although only on negative terms—in the article on remediation when they historicize the character of the ‘school failure’. The moot question I ended up with after reading the essay was—what do I do with the insights gained from this essay while teaching? I could see the application quite clearly while providing peer response myself, but how do I apply them while teaching? One answer is given by Woods herself in the conclusion—as teachers, one should avoid falling “into a routine of responding” (195). Another seems to be including one’s students in this project of making darkness visible, both from the teaching and learning sides of the spectrum.
Peggy M. Woods’ article was an eye-opener in the same vein. I recognized the inadequacy of some of my own recent peer responses that failed to move beyond the standard “This is good” formulation. The truth is, it requires hard work to come up with intelligent constructive criticism—something I also noted recently by comparing the two responses I received recently for my mid-term papers. One was very helpful, pointing out the exact areas I needed to focus on for improvement, while the other did little more than pointing out obvious shortcomings. What Woods points out in her essay is that the necessary hard work should not be shirked while giving peer response. The key idea is to avoid focussing on the writer, and focus on the writing instead (191), something also noted by Glynda Hull et al—although only on negative terms—in the article on remediation when they historicize the character of the ‘school failure’. The moot question I ended up with after reading the essay was—what do I do with the insights gained from this essay while teaching? I could see the application quite clearly while providing peer response myself, but how do I apply them while teaching? One answer is given by Woods herself in the conclusion—as teachers, one should avoid falling “into a routine of responding” (195). Another seems to be including one’s students in this project of making darkness visible, both from the teaching and learning sides of the spectrum.
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