Blog Response 11/2-11/4

Ruth Mirtz’ article irks me not because I necessarily disagree with her assessment, but because group discussions are a tricky business. Our class is the only one in which I feel group discussion works as it should, especially in the smaller groups of two or three. First, we’re grad students. Our concerns with what classmates will think of our opinions shouldn’t be our primary concern. Second, the assessment of our group discussions is not limited to our classroom evaluation at the end of this semester. In fact, I’d say we don’t care much about how Pam interprets our conversations or conclusions, let alone how her evaluations of our work will affect our final grade. For us, there is a greater pressure on the horizon.

We’re working towards a frightening few semesters, dipping our toes into instructional waters that could be icy or boiling. We have goals beyond the classroom, life goals, and occupational goals: getting a job, keeping it, spreading what we perceive as our wealth of knowledge to students, others, whomever, becoming good teachers, good human beings. Undergraduates, in this case college freshmen, are insecure, intellectually shy individuals who have yet to find a place in their world or within themselves. What Mirtz diagrams, the sociological aspects of groups’ idle chatter, is a form of coping, of finding out what the rest of the group is about, and filling a role they feel comfortable with and feel others will feel comfortable with, too.

I don’t know if you can diagram or control group discussions at that stage of education and you certainly cannot avoid idle chatter. I prefer classroom discussions instead of small groups unless, as Brian suggested last week, we know students as well as they know each other. That’s a great goal to have in class, to get everyone conversing in a friendly manner whether about classroom topics or ‘how much beer they drank that weekend’. Mirtz glosses over an important factor, teacher presentation and interaction, to focus on students. Yes, the classroom is a fifty-fifty divide between teachers and students, but I consider the classroom like a family. When children do wrong, their parents are questioned. Similarly, when students do nothing, if they are uninvolved, staring at one another like bumps on a log, I would first question the instructor.

I’ll share a personal story. Last fall in one of my classes we had to do group presentations on certain short stories. The class so far had lacked any structure, with constant changes in due dates, assignments, syllabi, and professor opinions. This wouldn’t have been a problem if the professor was the root, the stable foundation of the classroom. The first day of class the professor was fifteen minutes late, left for a cigarette break, cursed, hadn’t made a syllabus, and farted, rumbling the table under her while giving a little laugh (I kid you not). This was an almost every day occurrence (well, everything but the flatulence). For writing conferences, the professor made appointments with students, like me, and never showed up or asked if we could wait an extra hour for her to get back. The professor took our contact information and would occasionally call some of us to talk about our work, but the conversations would stray off topic after a few minutes, as if a professor calling your cell phone to chat wasn’t uncomfortable enough. There were no real grades in the course. The expectations were whatever ‘you felt’ or ‘it doesn’t matter to me’. The worst part were our assigned readings, not because they were arduous, but because the professor filled class time with stories about her sex life, dangerous children, serial killing, high school talent shows, and questions about African American hair, not discussion of our text.

So, when our group presentations came up, we just sat and talked or sometimes did other homework. The professor never checked to see what we were doing, instead running errands around campus during class or chatting it up with students in the hallway. This went on for about a week. I did nothing in my group, learned nothing, wishing I hadn’t driven in the snow to get to a class where the professor didn’t take attendance anyway. The professor, who liked to belch aloud and comment upon the sound of it, didn’t know our presentation schedule, didn’t know who was covering what stories, didn’t have set groups, and didn’t really have any sort of grading method in mind. My group didn’t even present. We sat and watched a few others. I got an A in the course.

If the professor had a semblance of a pedagogical, methodological, hell, logical clue or care, our group discussions would’ve been productive as we read great stories and were all English majors. But since our professor ran our class so poorly, beyond the accepted definition of ‘free-spirited’, and we knew what the expectations were (none), grading scale (made up), we didn’t do a thing and didn’t feel bad doing it. If a student is not feeling like he/she is getting her money/time/effort worth from the professor, what’s to stop them from blowing off the class? I tell you, when I showed up for my conference about final grades with that professor and was told, after waiting for a half hour, that she had went home to pick up her kids and run some errands and oh, could I wait for her to get back, she doesn’t know when, I felt betrayed. When a professor betrays that sense of commitment and trust, everything, group discussions, classroom atmosphere, student participation, will be lost.

Response to Nelson and Brookfield

"What really counts”

In a discussion of “what really counts” in terms of students’ academic writing, Nelson shrewdly highlights the fact that students tend to focus on the finished product of their writing processes, instead of the actual processes of writing, as a response to what students judge is the evaluative goal of their teachers. Idealistic fool that I am, I would like to fight for the right of teachers to reward student participation in the process itself, as opposed to the giving of rewards for the production of final products, but this ideal actually raises two very contentious problems.

The first problem is that teachers, be they high school literature teachers or freshman composition instructors, work under the auspices of their departments and their institutions, and as such, are ultimately are responsible for enacting the prevailing orders of their employers. Much like the employees of multinational corporations or national governments, teachers must, in addition to their duties as educators, also serve as vendors of their institution’s party line. Part of that institutionalized party line normally involves the production of a certain quantity of finished products during the course of the semester. This entire line of finished product-centric thinking, as well as the “evaluative climate” that Nelson discusses, truly serves to place the focus on the production of work, rather than protracted consideration of the writing process (365).

It is in this climate that teachers must work, their hands effectively bound by the output requirements of their institutions. So, as much as progressively-minded instructors may want to place the foci of their classes on the actual process of writing, they must instead limit the scope of their teaching to the production of quantifiable pages.

This focus on production, instead of process, actually bears within it the seeds of a second potential problem. Even if an instructor was to attempt to buck the system and make the writing process the focus of their class, the question of evaluation remains an outstanding issue. How does one evaluate a process? One possible avenue would be to award points for student participation in various stages of the writing process, but even this course of action is problematic. If students come to perceive that instructors are awarding points for the completion of discrete steps of the writing process, do not those steps then become final products in themselves? Will not students then simply devise new ways to “get around task demands in accomplishing” this new type of “academic work” (367)?

And so the question of “what really counts” becomes a circular issue of evaluation versus process versus evaluation.


The “conspiracy of the normal”

The Brookfield article was interesting to me on a number of levels, the first of which is that seeks to debunk many of the myths by which many instructors conduct their classes, including the theory that group discussion is the “only” way to conduct a class. As is discussed on page 5, “democratic” group discussion is highly counterintuitive, as it is “a habit that is rarely learned or practiced in daily life.” And while it is true that group discussions are conducted with the (instructor’s) intent to involve all class members in equitable and moderated dialogue, what often ensues is a cross between the active participation of a few confident students and what Brookfield calls “egomaniacal grandstanding” (5).

Similar to Brookfield’s debunking of the “good” necessarily accomplished by group discussion is his treatment of the myth of “the circle” (9). This part of the article raised an issue that I have never had occasion to consider, which is the relationship between group discussion, the circle, and power in the classroom. In addition to the issues raised in the article, concerning the feeling of being forced to speak that is encouraged by the circle, the dynamics of what occurs in the circle can also be seen to support external social and cultural structures of power, as well as “inequities of race, class, and gender” (6). Much in the way that group discussions can provoke displays of class and micro-illustrations of the larger power struggles of society, the formation and enforcement of the classroom circle can, and often does, lead to student feelings of disquiet and discomfort. From this view, organizing desks in a circle can actually lead to many more complex problems than it solves.

Also raised in this article is the idea that teachers, though they seek to make themselves more accessible and less intimidating to their students, really must act like teachers much of the time, and that to act otherwise often amounts to an implicit insult of both their students’ intelligence and their own hard-earned expertise. Expanding from this idea, it is my contention that students, like young teenagers, do seek and benefit from some amount of boundary-creation as instituted by their teachers. As is discussed in the article, students are always aware, not only of their teacher’s presence, but also of the “power relationship” that exists between themselves and their teachers (11). Though the article does not delve into a detailed discussion of it, I think it is safe to conclude that students often attribute the “learner/learned” dynamic that exists between themselves and their teachers to the achievement of their teachers of a certain measure of expertise in their particular fields. In the way that the greater society did before them, students perceive this expertise as an indication of the permissibility of classroom deferral to an “expert.” Teachers should not seek to demean both their own expertness and the readiness of their students to learn by acting as though their expertise is an “accident,” soon to be rectified (10).

Reflection 10/28/09

The Nelson piece highlights the idea of intent of the instructor. In my experience on the other side of the desk I have mostly overlooked the intent or objectives of the instructor.  I feel though that my age as a young instructor will benefit me in being aware of the students' attempts to circumvent the lesson objectives. The idea that so much weight in the mind of the student is based on task competition rather than the lesson of the task is scary. In the dual role as student and instructor I am having a hard time balancing the strategies of the student to navigate the course with the goal of attaining a grade versus the role of the instructor who worries less about the final grade and more about the knowledge behind the course. The two things seem hard to reconcile.

The thing I keep going back to among the many different topics we discussed in class is the idea that school is a specialized setting. School is a very unique way of thinking and communicating. The Nelson article makes clear that  "Too often teachers expect students who are newcomers to a field to be able to determine  the implicit ways of thinking and presenting evidence required to write successfully in  their particular disciplines." This knowledge is acquired over time, knowledge of writing correctly in a very unique and singular way that can be different than any other kind of writing done in the students' lives. The school setting of the nature of our work puts the profession in a bind. We are teaching for the academic setting but the academic careers of our students might have any variety of lengths. Teaching only to the academic setting over looks the life of the student. Teaching only to the life of the student then too, takes time away from the academic writing of the student. I hope in my class room to navigate this treacherous crossing in focusing on audience awareness. I would also like to stress the importance of recognizing the rhetorical situation and strategies to navigate these situations successfully.  I cannot and will not decide which is a more important part of a student's life of writing. I can only hope to give options and to provide lessons that the student can put in their tool box and use as they grow. Writing is a challenge to teach in any form, let alone in multiple forms. 

The Nelson piece, in writing about the resources available to the students, enlightened my thinking that I will not be the only meaning maker in the classroom setting. The meaning and even the course are up for negation. Negotiators being me as the instructor, as well as my students. The students play an important role as the pace setters. The students also have each other to inform or confuse each other on the topics of teaching. I am hoping to encourage process thought and multiple evaluations. These multiple evaluations, I hope, will give my students the tools to navigate the course with more input from me rather than using each other to define the course expectations. In reading Nelson, I have decided to keep this in mind as I design my assignments. The students that come into my class room will not be tabula rasa. They may be blank slates when it comes to college. But most will have roughly a dozen years experience in navigating or playing school. With that experience they will bring with them strategies that I need to respect as being part of their process. Not necessarily as a more correct or effective process but a part of it just the same. I will also in my teaching try to keep in mind that what is obvious to me will certainly not be obvious to my students, especially my intent of the assignment.  This sharing of intent I feel would have helped the sociology professor from the Nelson article in sharing the value of the assignment with the students. I found it very surprising  that I was not surprised that most of the students did not even do a field study but just faked it knowing that it did not matter.

Students who are perceptive decision makers frighten me going into my first semester teaching. If the student can circumvent the lesson and feed me what I want to hear in their work then what have I taught them? Teaching those who do no want to be taught is just a hazard of the job though. I will also need to keep in mind that just because a student my play school and play me, that does not mean they are a bad person. This game of school for grade reward was built over time not necessarily a malicious decision. In this case the lesson would be solely my own in that I am the one who will be subjected to the learning curve of teaching. The students come prepared to adapt to the college setting, because being a student is a highly adaptive field of work. This balancing act of placing my needs and the students needs together in mind seems like it is going to be one of the interesting things about teaching. I look forward to never having the same class dynamic twice. I am hoping to keep this attitude as the actual work of teaching takes off.  

Student Conceptions and Critical Teaching

As a graduate student, I straddle, among other things, both sides of the student/teacher conceptual divide Jennie Nelson describes; I teach, I grade, I study. I have worn, these two months into my career, the hats of instructor, evaluator, and learner interchangeably. As such, Nelson is describing ME. I am interested in what she has to say about me.

As an instructor:

In the Major Modern Writers class that I TA, my cooperating professor occasionally (and let me emphasize the occasional element at play here) lets me teach. This previous Monday was one of those occasions. Hence the vest I wore to class. My modus operandi for teaching my wee young blossoming minds was, after having introduced the poem to be discussed, breaking them into four small groups and giving each group a theme to investigate in the poem. I thought "It's like a game! Hee hee! They're going to hoist me on their shoulders for this."

Obviously, no hoisting occurred. Where I saw an opportunity for active and engaged participation with a text, the students, damn them, saw through to the meat of the matter: They were being expected to act out their knowledge of the poem, and did not appreciate that the stress this entailed had no immediate pay-off. When I walked around the room to listen in on the small groups discussion, the students were not shy about acting (and, again, emphasize the act there) out active involvement. Brookfield's proffered assumption on visiting small groups, eat your heart out.

In any case, the students clearly generated from the instructions I gave them for class involvement their own definition of successful participation. They were aware of the nuts and bolts elements of the classroom setting, and, realizing that their participation could not be reflected in their grade for the course, limited their effort accordingly.

As an evaluator:

In the same class, I am responsible for all the grading, which so far has only entailed one essay test. Here, I would like to quote Nelson in deference to her delineation of my own experience:

"Too often teachers expect students who are newcomers to a field to be able to determine the implicit ways of thinking and presenting evidence required to write successfully in their particular disciplines."

Very, very few students in Major Modern Writers are English majors, or are even well versed in the requirements of critical college writing. However, the class is run in such a way that English competence is assumed, not constructed. As such, the VAST majority of the grading I've had to do has revealed that students need to understand HOW to write an English essay before they can know WHAT to write in an English essay.

Additionally, and actually more directly applicable to Nelson's point, I encountered significant difficulties in reconciling MY interpretations of student success with what I was forced to imagine would be the professor's. The evolution of expectations has certainly never been clearer to me than in the moments when I have to juggle my definition of success with what I know of the professor's. This is especially difficult when our opinions on these matters differ.

As a student:

In these past few months, I have discovered that, in graduate school, it is en vogue to never really have any idea how you're doing until the absolute end of the course, when you turn in one assignment that constitutes three quarters of your final grade. As such, I have slowly started to panic as I realize that, not only do I have to produce a substantial amount of original work to fulfill these assignments, but I also have had no sort of outside experience that will guide my understanding of teacher expectations. This feeling of unease at having this experiential safety net certainly underscores what Nelson is describing in the case study, as it urges me to explore other avenues of work completion.

Now, I realize that this examination of the relevance of Nelson's, and to a lesser extent Brookfield's, articles on my recent life has been little more than a largely self-serving digression. However, I would like to underscore what I hope comes through as my central belief regarding these two readings: that the material presented here is far from abstract, and that it is simultaneously accurate and significant.

Brookfield's article on critical reflection positions itself to have considerable importance as my career in academic instruction continues, if for no other reason than that I can easily imagine myself taking personal responsibility for aspects of teaching beyond my control. While I understand that this introductory point is far from the crux of the matter at hand here, the ability of critical reflection to identify not only the areas of responsibility that I have as a teacher but also the responsibilities contingent upon my students is largely comforting. I view this as an affirmation of my commitment to adaptive teaching, certainly, and also as a method whereby I can distinguish areas of improvement from elements beyond my control.

this is not the future; this is now

In my email this morning, from the Edutopia article linked below:

Increasingly, institutes of higher education are collaborating with K-12 teachers to help them use digital tools to get at-risk students excited about learning. ...

"We want our undergraduates to create projects, not just write papers," says Holly Willis, director of academic programs at USC's Institute for Multimedia Literacy (IML). "This is key to our mission of conducting research on the changing nature of literacy in the 21st century. It's crucial to our own goal that our undergraduates make teaching and learning happen at the same time; that they become peer mentors within the broader community."


http://www.edutopia.org/digital-literacy-video-games-gamedesk

--Pam

Look a dog dressed as a hot dog! Now I am multimodal!

I bring up the wiener dog to show there is more to multimodal composition than just slapping any random image with any random text. There is a craft to using more that one mode correctly.  

This may be in relation to my overall agreeable nature but I do not hate Wysocki and that makes me feel dirty. There are things I found less than readily applicable to the first year composition course, but I also found the reading interesting. I found the Wysocki readings interesting but difficult to relate to my ideas of the classroom. The activities were creative but I feel to silence more critics  the authors should have been more writing focused.  It felt in some of the activities writing was tacked on as an afterthought in the end. There were cool things done, discussions had, then ..... oh yeah maybe write about it. The text was just hard to relate to but I did not hate it. I think I skimmed the cream and will retain that and let the other stuff go. As I am now safely in my home and far enough away from any one who would care, I like multi-modality. I think that it is new, exciting, and challenging. 

Challenging, in that I am not visually creative on my own. I usually need the kind of prompt I will be giving my students to think visually. The few multimodal projects I have been assigned I have enjoyed. I enjoyed them more when they were finished and I was back in my word comfort zone. While working on multi-modal projects my brain juices were forced to flow against the current. This thinking creatively in a new format is a good learning experience for students. It is not often we go into any classroom and find challenges awaiting us. There are assignments, readings, that are more difficult than others but  a challenge, hardly ever. There are also few surprises in the work of classrooms. If multi-modality can challenge and surprise me as and instructor as well as my students, I choose to value the idea.

I also think this multimodal work has a place in our classroom. I do not expect it to replace essays. But they can support each other and the student. I do not want to be a hippy new wave teacher and say that “everything is writing” because it is not. But there is a lot of writing out in the world that is not as valued in the first year composition course.  I would like to encourage my students to explore this. I don't find multimodal composition to be a form of busy work. I also think that it is hard to separate “busy work”' away from the classroom. Unless I am prepared to sit and watch 24 students write or they to watch me write for the class period there will need to be work done in the classroom, busy or otherwise. The lessons learned in the classroom maybe short but they are at least I hope lessons that will serve the writers in their writing. Not every assignment can be an expository essay that is well thought out, prepared, crafted, and edited. Not that it would not be nice to get a few of those. I would equally like my students to value other shorter less formal types of writing. Take this blog for example. It is not graded by the same rubric as an academic essay and yet I value the writing I am doing. I have had to gauge and hedge against my audience. In fact I value this writing enough that I had three outside class discussions with peers. I briefly outlined my thoughts, and will if time allowing edit it. Even though this is being written for an academic setting this writing is not academic in nature and I value it still. This is a lesson important to impart on our students. Not all writing is academic but all writing should be valued. 

One problem I keep coming to in the course is the curriculum questions for the first year writing class. I cannot reconcile in my heart to teach only for the college years. “College is very short, the rest of life is very long” I cannot remember who said this but it was certainly not me.  I have a hard time looking forward to teaching my students to write solely academically. Four years, a handful of papers, and some essay tests are there goals. There is a value to them. It is important to write academically, but there is also a whole life past graduation, if we are lucky. If teaching in a multimodal form will encourage my students to write in at least some form that is what I am going to do. If they take away lessons that they can use in writing and presenting information in their careers than I see the class in part a success. The extreme concentration on academic writing I feel is daunting in narrow. That is not to say I don't value academic forms of writing. But I do not believe it is the end all, be all of human communication through writing. I am not suggesting I will teach how to twitter, but I am also not against using it as a tool. I know many people who could not even remember what they had learned from their first year writing course on graduation. Many people do not value the skill set we are trying to impart, because they don't see it as applicable to their own lives. First year writing should not be a throw away course to get though in the first year and never think about again. I  do not know how to change these things but I know I am going to try. 

Technocentrism, and other assorted ills

I would like to preface this response with the following disclaimer: I, like Garth, did not overly appreciate the New Media readings for this week.

That having been said, let me say that I did agree with many of the points that Wysocki in the early parts of her first chapter, including her citation of Horner. I think it is true that “the materiality of writing may be understood to include social relations,” but more than that, I think we need to go beyond considerations of materiality and talk about the fact that writing itself is social in nature, that it is always in response to something, and that whatever kind of response it is, its form is, to an extent, socially determined (3). Wysocki goes on to discuss the fact that it is part of our jobs as teachers to show students that they do not write in an intellectual vacuum, and that there is exigency for their work. I agree that there is a question of the definition of the rhetorical situation of new media texts, and that the consideration of that situation would be helpful to composition students in order to further their understanding of the link between rhetoric and successful writing.

It is basically after this point in the reading that I begin to diverge from Wysocki’s understandings of text, power, and teaching. Wysocki seems to indicate, on page 8, that not only is there not necessarily such a thing as “new” technology, neither is there such a thing as neutral technology. Her contention here seems to be that because any kind of technology always comes out of existing structures (economic, political, or habitual), technology is incapable of neutrality because it is always made by something that is biased in some way.

I also have an issue with the block quote on page 12 that deals with the seriousness with which we consider texts of varying appearances, when it suggests that a reader would think less of a text that drew “such visual attention to itself.” I disagree with the entire notion that instruction in new media texts is necessary to the composition class because composition courses do not involve the serious consideration and production of a variety of literary forms. I will grant this argument that there are, unfortunately, some professors who conduct their First Year Composition courses as if they were essay-writing seminars. But there will always be professors who will take a hard and literal line about the instruction of their subject. It seems to me, based on both my experience and the related experiences of friends, that there is in fact a great deal of variety in what is seriously considered and produced in Freshman Composition. I think it is very easy to write about extremes of behaviors and situations, all the while implying that these extremes are normal, when in fact they are unfortunate rarities.

Following our informal group discussion on Monday, I would like to raise the issue of the problematic nature of Wysocki’s formal definition of “new media texts” on page 15. Wysocki’s definition is predicated on both the composer’s awareness of the various materialities of texts, and the subsequent awareness of the viewer of the interconnectedness of the text that they are reading (15). The problem with this definition is much like the one that exists with current debates concerning hate crime laws (i.e., the question of how an institution can legislate thought and intent), in that it is nearly impossible, during the five minutes that a person devotes to checking their e-mail, to determine the connection that the Hotmail designer intended to encourage between the size of the icons and the color of the font. It is impossible for anyone besides the Hotmail designer to assess the level of awareness and exact intentions that preceded the creation of the Hotmail website. If anyone has determined a means by which intent can be assessed with complete accuracy, then that person needs to stop talking about composition instruction and needs to start talking to the people who operate the security checkpoints at airports.

My point here is that intent is nearly impossible to establish beyond any kind of doubt, and as such, such devoted consideration of intent probably does not belong in the composition classroom.

It is at this point that I would like to raise the issue of reverse discrimination. It is my contention that Wysocki is privileging new media texts disproportionately, while also clearly denigrating the value of texts that are not written with complete authorial awareness of what the reader will think about the choice of black ink instead of blue. I disagree with the idea that reader awareness of the social relativity of texts can only occur through the production and consumption of new media texts. I believe that all media (including the texts discussed in current composition classrooms) can be considered “interactive media,” if “interactive” is taken to mean “psychologically interactive and engaging” (17). Is it not impossible to read a book or poem or peer essay without being minimally engaged with that text on a psychological level? Even when I read a very boring text for an equally boring class, I am psychologically engaged with the text on at least a minimal level. I think it is incredibly technocentric to assume otherwise.

As a sort of post-script, I would like to add that “The Sticky Embrace of Beauty” was unforeseeably difficult to relate to the teaching of college writing. I can agree that the images and formal aspects of a visual composition should not be divorced from one another during analysis, and I agree that there are apparently quite serious limitations with the formalization of rules for visual composing (or any other form of composing, for that matter). Now, I consider myself a lightweight Marxist-feminist critic, but when an author starts mixing what is apparently quite angry feminist rhetoric and Kantian philosophical explanations of aesthetics and beauty, I confess to becoming much less able to understand the connection between the majority of this chapter and the teaching of college writing.

Writing New Media; or, Garth Goes Bananas

To save you time, here is the shortened, one sentence form of my response to the Wysocki chapters as it shall follow: I don't like 'em.

That being said, allow me to elaborate. One of the things that I have found most effective in the readings thus far in the course has been that they have minimized the artistic emphasis of our field; that is to say, they have pointed out the universality of communication, and emphasized style, certainly, but not "art". While countless authors thus far have indicated the existence of graphemes as a signifier of meaning, thus far it has been understood that these elements of language are secondary to the more abstract, in my mind rightly so. My understanding of graphemes, and correct me if this is flawed, has been that they enhance a message inherent to the text. For example, large red text certainly can convey anger, but usually in accordance with a message that would've gotten that point across anyways, like "Stop drinking my coffee you bastards!" Form, to pander oh so much to Shuy, has followed function, and there was much rejoicing.

Now, enter Wysocki. Here we examine at greater depth the intuitive element that visual presentation affords to a text. I will give her her due; I wanted to be on board for this. I spent a substantial amount of time in undergrad writing about a novel called Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, which used new media elements left and right, and for which I praised the author substantially. However, I can't help but get caught up on this one nagging point: It succeeded for Jonathan Safran Foer in his novel because, well, it's art. Similarly, when, in "The Sticky Embrace of Beauty," Wysocki peppered her argument with examples of the sort of layout innovations she's expounding, my thought was immediately of poetry. "This looks like poetry," I thought. Then: "Is that appropriate for this?"

Well? Is it?

I would like to suggest, flatly, that it is not. Wysocki is quick to denigrate the current layout conventions as perpetuating cultural values like efficiency, and draws some (in my mind) shady and negative correlations to "assembly lines, in parking lots, and in the rows of desks in classroom" (159). I'll grant her this: she's probably right, standard layout does emphasize efficiency, and in doing so reflects a larger cultural emphasis. But (and let me emphasize the but-ness of this but) why is she so loath to examine the implications of efficiency as the guiding element of graphic composition?

It seems to me that the current layout form emphasizes the meaning of a text; that is to say, it is as unobtrusive an element of a reading as possible, so as to direct one's attention to the abstract statements being made with the ink. Efficiency, thus, is gained by removing every imagined impediment to the acquisition of meaning to a text. Now, if we suppose, by Wysocki's example, a layout convention predicated upon "compassion," we can certainly add additional meaning to what would be essentially the same text. However, this addition would bring with it a meta level of interaction with the text that would distract from the meaning inherent to it! Arguments thus relying upon an extra-textual element of meaning comprehension would be, I argue, arguments that by necessity introduce a boundary between themselves and the reader.

Now, I will wholeheartedly embrace Wysocki in pointing out the oppressive cultural values that come into play in the manufacture of meaning from written text; as a middle class, white Christian male, my life is as endorsed by "the system" as it's going to get, but I am not so dense as to imagine that things must, or should, be this way. I do not want my comments against Wysocki's arguments to be seen as rejecting her pleas for gender and racial equalization in texts. However, I would stress that her methods for achieving these are far from the only present option. It seems to me that withdrawing into a radical stylistic and idealistic shift would underscore the theories of inherent gender inequality that Wysocki purports to be struggling against. Again, I offer my vision of textual aesthetics in their standard iteration as intentionally understated so as to emphasize the message conveyed. If this is the case, then certainly the issue lies not in the appearance of texts, but rather in the language and values contained within them. I question the efficacy of a purely artistic movement in addressing deeply rooted problems of content.

Again, I find myself using this term "art" to describe Wysocki's position, and here I have to break down and ask what place "The Sticky Embrace of Beauty" has in a composition classroom like the ones we'll all be encountering. THESE ARE THE CONCERNS OF AN ARTIST! I eagerly await the day a freshman composition class comes along that is so proficient that their time is best spent with theoretical concerns of the impact of font choice. I try to imagine what my own reaction would be if, as a student, I encountered Wysockian principles or, worse yet, assignments in a class supposedly dedicated to writing proficiency. I would think of it as groundless busywork, especially her assignments. If I had a writing teacher who spent, as she suggests, "6-8 class periods" examining commercial advertisements, I suspect that I would not be the only person considering a drop, at the very least.

Now yes, I can see how that indicates cultural entrenchment and resistance to change. I have to ask, though: Isn't there a practical line we have to acknowledge? No matter our theoretical impressions of instruction, there comes a point when brass tacks will force us to conduct classes in a way that will allow our students to succeed later on. I do not think, to finally conclude, that Wysocki's new media practices will allow for this.

Multimodality

Since Marshall McLuhan declared, "The medium is the message" in 1960s, the medium has evolved itself into more various forms, which now seem to dominate our sensory world and the message it produces. Those different media such as TV, Internet, magazine and newspapers, textmessaging and academic journals have greatly influenced words, images and symbols that it conveys. In this sense, as McLuhan acknowledged, the message might be nothing more than the combination of all; words, visual images, sound, and the communication technology, and the environment where you read, listen to, or watch the text. If this is true, shouldn't we redefine the meaning of "text"? Now a text is making a sound, moving, and having colors. It is spontaneously being produced and reproduced as it is communicated. It never stops flowing. It is also the confluence of the rest of the texts. That is, a text is already intertextual.
In this context, the issue of multimodal pedagoy might be addressed too late. More and more young students are used to communicating through various media. In addition, the new media is getting faster, more diverse and more sensuous. While the old texts instigate your senses through your imagination, the new media arouses each of your senses spontaneously.Perhaps, the more you are used to its speed, diversity and sensuosity, the more easily you lose your patience and taste in reading, intepreting and producing old print-oriented texts. These texts might teach us the depth of our life yet not quite well talk about its width and varieity. Fortunately, we no longer want the depth actually; instead, we appreciate the shallow vivacity of the world represented by TV shows, disposable movies, and internet. Perhaps, it is more exact to say that there is a different kind of depth in the new media.
Then, what a composition teacher can do in the world becoming more sensory? How can these sensual texts help to develop our thinking and sophisticate our writing? Or, aren't they detrimental rather than helpful? How can the new media take off the scarlet letter of "shallowness" attached to it? To me, all of these questions still remain unsolved despite many educators' passionate advocacy of the new media.

On "Multimodality"

As most of us would agree, I see technology as necessary to writing instruction. Needless to say, we’re in the digital age and almost all writing activity is online. The writing environment has changed and technology and writing classes are inseparable today. If we provide a technology based learning environment to our students, they would feel more comfortable in expressing themselves. In the first place, they are familiar with using technology and they feel at ease when writing web sites, blogs, chatting online, text messaging etc. If we include a computer based approach in our writing course curriculum, we can provide more real- world practice into writing. In doing so, I believe that we can encourage student participation. Another significant aspect of integrating multimodal texts into our curriculum is students are offered the role of being not only the writers but also the publishers of their own writing. This implies that, being the publishers they can get and give feedback, so communication does not stop. Feedbacks and responses are also essential in the sense that they allow for collaboration. I also agree that traditional classrooms constrain students’ work in intellectual and physical ways, since such classrooms tend to kill the imagination of students, and they also feel trapped inside the classroom. Digital space offers more room to present their ideas and their creativity is not limited. English composition teachers also play an active role in the writing process by engaging in students’ production and by providing constant feedback. “Engagement” is a two sided process involving both teachers and students. Teachers might feel challenged by multimodal practices, as instructing in the traditional way is much easier without posing any challenges other than teaching the same rules, patterns and organization (introduction, body and conclusion), and essay types over and over again by paying close attention to grammatical details. However, we should not disregard the fact that students are fed up with taking the same, monotonous composition classes. Therefore, if we can adopt a multimodal focused approach, they would feel that they are an active part of something, they are producing something and they can relate what they produce to their lives outside the class. The only challenge remains to be the effects of technology on a Composition course, and I think that the benefits will far outweigh potential drawbacks.

Yea, about multimodality...

I'm as internet as one can be at my age, I assume. I've had it since 3rd grade or so, and I've poured more hours of my life than I'd like to admit intoabout a half-dozen softly blue-lit screens. In these years I have blogged, downloaded various media illegally, networked (socially), and used multiple messaging programs. Napster, friendster, etsy, ebay, youtube, vimeo, twitter, pirate bay, AIM, myspace, makeoutclub, yahoo messenger, trillian, audiogalaxy, kazaa, oink, facebook, last.fm, flickr, livejournal, deadjournal, xanga, tumblr, digg... this is just what I can remember off the top of my head. Currently I'm involved in a few covert music communities. I've dropped my very adolescent blogging habit (aside from this one, which is not voluntary or nearly as whiny as my previous endeavours...). I try to keep social networking to a minimum, although the temptation is always a few inches to my left when I'm reading for class.

Despite my comparatively low membership in these sort of sites now, I make the rounds; I am aware, generally, of what-is-happening-on-the-internet. As a result of my past hyper-involvement I can use photoshop and I somewhat know html. I can make a funny picture and distribute it to all of my friends very, very quickly. I can also stumble upon funny pictures/videos/what-have-you and distribute. These are valuable skills, apparently, because my mother sends me chain e-mails that have a half-dozen funny pictures of walmart shoppers every day... whereas I found http://www.peopleofwalmart.com about a month ago on http://www.buzzfeed.com and posted a link on my facebook wall. After three days I was sick of it, I had moved on to bigger and better and funnier blogs that I would soon tire of, and so I delete all my mom's e-mails. She also likes to send me funny videos of people not using fireworks correctly-- as if I haven't been using youtube for years.

Despite my enthusiasm for all things internet, I remain a neo-luddite when it comes to incorporating it into education. I have never not grimaced as the insistence of posting to a class message board, enrolling in a listserv, or blogging. I find this sort of technology staunchly opposed to what we do in academia for two majors reasons: 1) No one cites sources here. And if they do, they're on news sites or blogs that are re-blogging. Aside from that, there is an absolute free-flow of information, ideas, media, and jokes. No one claims authorship. Look at wikis, chans, twitter even... 2) There is no professionalizing or standardizing of the internet. This is difficult because often class projects come in conflict with our private digital worlds, and that can be, speaking from experience, very threatening to students. Regardless-- these points are very important as I feel they are crucial to understanding how the digital world works. While I agree that this medium offers a lot of opportunity for generating and consuming and interpreting texts, it does so in a way that is decidedly un-academic... and I don't say this as an insult. I am not dismissing the low culture of the internet. Rather, it is an alternative culture. And academic efforts to reach it are, again speaking from experience, embarassing.

Internet: Serious Business.

Talk to any 19/20-year-old who has to do a discussion board post for a class or maintain a blog such as this.

More on point, perhaps: talk to any 19/20-year-old about CREATIVE projects like these multimodal examples Shipka talks about.

Trying to stay "relevant" is, to borrow from James, "the older generation confused, frustrated, and taking out their sense of displacement on youth."

Most on-point section of this blog post:

In response specifically to Takayoshi et. al., I understand the need to expand analytic skills to multimodal texts. Authoring though? This brings up an entire slew of problems, related to the two issues I emphasize above....

Additionally, if engaging with multimodal texts somehow enhances one's standard rhetorical and writing skills-- then doesn't the opposite work as well? That is, if we focus on writing and developing critical thinking skills in the way that we do currently, will it not come to affect the way students engage in all forms of media. What I am saying is, even if we do not specifically, say, dissect a movie in class, won't the skills one learns from dissecting a speech come to bear on movie-watching? /relevance

I realize that everything I've presented here figures me as somewhat of an opponent to these texts we read specifically for today's class. This is, for all intents and purposes, a rant... And I apologize for the unfocused nature.

What I would like is for these two institutions to remain separate. Perhaps I am a purist. In my writing classes, I'd like simply to write... And on the internet, I'd like to re-blog a video of a dog going down a waterslide.

Reading Response for 10/07/09

Some thoughts on multi-modality:
I download lectures off of itunes university and listen to them when I drink my coffee in the morning. I love it. I just finished a lecture series on the history of the monarchy in the UK. How awesome is that. I know, that I (and most likely we) are freaks of education that can help fueling that belly-fire within us to keep hoarding knowledge. But I don't think we can discount the practicality and ease with which knowledge can be disseminated and eagerly anticipated if put within the right modality. But what is it that makes me so comfortable with a stodgy old man from Kings College in London while I eat granola in a bathrobe...is it the acquisition of knowledge on my own terms? I don't really know, but I think there is something of merit in the fact that the medium of transmission (downloaded video lecture) makes me much more willing and eager to listen, learn and engage.
I wonder if it is the medium itself that causes this excitement in myself. I watch the television show the Office which is on NBC. I do not watch the show on my 26 inch T.V. on the network broadcast. I don't watch the show on my dvr, even if I recorded it. I like to watch it sitting in bed, on Hulu.com before I go to sleep. This is my routine now. This is how I anticipate my engagement with a sitcom. I don't think I'm subverting the proper way of watching the show. I've found a better way to appreciate it.

Can we use this in the classroom. Why not? In my junior year of college I took an Art History course on the art and architecture of the Byzantine period. My professor was on Ellena Popovich, and 84 year old Polish professor that was as dogmatically anti-tech as possible. She was the one professor at the University without an email address. She used an old projector and slides from the slide vault (a dusty cricket trap in the bottom of the Art History building that looked like a set piece from a David Fincher [Se7en and Fight Club come to mind]) and refused to use digital projections or digital images online for the class. Please remember that a great deal of work in an Art History course is remembering all the works of art that were presented. This isn't particularly hard in a Renaissance course where you can print out note cards with images and names and dates. However, in a Byzantine architecture class (pun intended), memorizing slides which your professor took during a sabbatical in 1964 and which aren't available online at all poses a greater challenge.
The classes solution...we set up an email list server and each week a student with a digital camera would go to the slide vault and snap images of the slides and take down their details. We passed these images around freely. With a collaborative attitude and the functionality of the internet, we were able to have a free exchange of information which saved us time and increased our knowledge of the subject.

What could we do with this? A twitter account for a course in which everyone must register and follow. Any question can be raised. The teacher would check it regularly and address concerns. Why twitter as opposed to a message board? I think the ability to sync with portable communication tools is impressive and effective.

And what of multi-modality as the subject of the course. Something I've been considering for the multi-modal assignment in this course: Go to Ted.com, watch something cool, tell me why its cool, why does it interest you, write 500 words for class on Monday. This seems to me to be something that could really inspire students to write and think critically while being easily accessible.

I agree with the statements made in the Carlson article by Professor Baron in which she iterates that we have the obligation to get students to think academically by enforcing the academic standards of class room lecture protocol. But I don't think this negates the efficacy of multi-modal student engagement.

reading response for 10-7-09

Though I hesitate to see myself as a “Millennial,” there have been moments in my life when I’ve faced the reality that the old forms of communication no longer work for me. One such instance arrived with the recognition that after attending a few hundred concerts over the past 15 years, I no longer have any real interest in watching musicians stand and play instruments for two hours. I need something more than a dude with an acoustic guitar to be entertained, and some artists are starting to provide that by making their shows multimedia events, rife with projections, costume changes, and showers of confetti and performance art flourishes. While reading “The Net Generation in the Classroom,” “Thinking About Modality,” and “A Multimodal Task-based Framework,” I’m starting to come to the conclusion that for many people, words on a page are no longer enough, either.

This is an exciting prospect in many ways. I take seriously the point that a multimodal approach allows students to create texts in an infinite number of innovative and imaginative ways, ones that allow them to consider rhetorical approaches from different angles and truly require creative thought and complex problem-solving skills. I also understand that solely word-based texts are a dinosaur on its last legs, as students no longer live in a black and white, Times New Roman world and desire something that will allow them to express their ideas with every available tool at their disposal. If we want our students to “ache with caring,” then we need to engage them in as many relevant ways as possible, giving them every opportunity to care as much as they can. With the imminent death of the newspaper industry and print journalism, we’re certainly running headlong into a brave new world. The idea of what we’ll find there is both exhilarating and terrifying.

Still, the death of words on a page is at least somewhat distressing to me. I still believe that the ability to use words is a laudable skill, and it seems to be a shame to assume that they are no longer sufficient for illustrating the internal landscapes of readers’ minds. Are we entering an era when being an effective writer isn’t enough for most audiences? Would Hemmingway be ignored today if he couldn’t produce a video montage to accompany For Whom the Bell Tolls? Would Faulkner be rendered irrelevant because of poor sound-editing skills? Are we now a film adaptation culture, one that will only choose the medium that engages the most senses and dismiss everything else as being too narrowly constructed?

These articles also raise many questions of disciplinarity. If we aren’t essentially concerned with the written word, what exactly is our area of expertise? Don’t these multimodal forms belong just as much to the other disciplines as they do to us? It seems that all of the considerations of rhetorical argument, independent thinking, audience, voice, etc. are covered at least to some extent when similar projects are assigned in the disciplines that make their living exploring these forms. For a field that is often assailed for having no real core knowledge area, aren’t we running the risk of exposing ourselves as being inessential if we’re ultimately producing the same sorts of texts that are the specialized content of the other fields? If we aren’t about the written word, why are we needed at all?

I also wonder why, if our students are already adept at using these multimodal frameworks, we even need to teach them to express their ideas in this format. If this is their preferred language and they are fluent in it, isn’t it second nature to them, with the ability to interpret and digest these texts already in their skill set? Chances are, they’re going to know the technology better than we do, and if they are already using it to express their ideas in the private lives, what do we really have to offer them? On the other hand, if conventional writing skills and texts are inferior when compared to the multimodal options, why continue to prop up a dying form at all? If words on a page aren’t the best way to reach the goal of “communication and meaning-making,” why not embrace the multimodal world fully?

On a practical level, I also have the concern that as an instructor I have absolutely no idea how to evaluate multimodal projects. Is it possible for a student to be a fantastic writer but to be completely lacking in visual or artistic sensibilities and, therefore, struggle in a writing class? What exactly are we evaluating? Are we rewarding analytical thinking or good production skills? Good ideas or good visuals? I know something (but not much) about writing. I know nothing about what constitutes good or bad multimedia projects.

In the end, possibly due to the years of my life that I’ve devoted to words on a page and my almost complete lack of experience with multimodal production of texts, I just feel a little conflicted about all of this. I don’t want to be Socrates, railing against the rising tide of civilization, soon to be an anachronism and symbol of an antiquated era. But I also worry about the written text. I know the goal of multimodality isn’t to replace the written word, but I don’t know how words on a page could ever compete with images, sound, and hands-on experience. After all, Socrates was right about one thing. The written word eventually rendered his industry obsolete. I wonder if the same could happen to ours.

Ruminations on multimodality/The trouble with Mem Fox

The multimodal focus of today's articles was compelling. Should we cater to the "Net Generation"? To do so would - as Takayoshi, Howisher, and Selfe point out - require a "theoretical shift in [our] understanding of literacy" (3). I'm curious what everyone thinks of this. I embrace technology (which is inarguably the main reason for this massive shift towards multimodal texts), both as a teaching tool and focus of research. We absolutely should incorporate more multimodal assignments. But (to echo a "key question") when we start talking about images, sounds, music, video, color, animation, and the like - are we still talking about writing? I'm not saying students shouldn't learn these things, but should they learn them from us? This is a larger question of disciplinarity, I suppose...at what point are we bleeding into the realm of Communication scholars? Perhaps we want to do that...? Maybe this is the missing link between Writing Studies and the long forgotten fourth C.

Takayoshi et. al. provide a convincing argument, that we are, true to our Aristotlean roots, helping our students to "see the available means of persuasion." Writing has typically been the "means" upon which our discipline has focused. I see great potential in expanding this focus, provided that these multimodal texts enhance students' understanding of rhetorical situation (purpose, audience, etc). An even more important caveat is that comp classes continue to teach written composition in some capacity. Other departments may pick up the slack if we don't delve into multimodal texts, but who - other than us- will teach writing?

Takayoshi et. al. also point out that academic writing, as if in defiance of the multimodal revolution taking place outside the classroom, is still primarily just "words on a page" (1). Point taken, and it's a good one, but I have a few issues here.

First, a lot of so-called multimodal writing is still just words on a virtual page. Better writers would probably make better bloggers and better creators of wikis. Obviously, there's a disparity between a paper text and multimodal genre, and certainly, the ability to write an argumentative essay does not necessarily enable one to compose effective e-mails, but if we're teaching flexible strategies (as I think we should), and not rigid "skills," then this should not be a difficult transition. I realize I'm going against the tide, especially in light of the fact that rhetorical genre research has shown that skills acquired in one genre rarely transfer to another. Still...are words on a page really that far removed from multimodal work? If, in fact, "it is the thinking, decision-making, and creative problem-solving involved in creating meaning through any modality (my emphasis) that provide the long lasting and useful lessons students can carry into multiple communicative situations," then wouldn't the meaning created through writing "carry into" some multimodal contexts?

The "words on a page" characterization is perpetuated (though not explicitly) by Shipka. She employs something of a straw man argument in her article, exaggerating the prescriptiveness and rigidity of writing instruction in her push for multimodality in the classroom. The writing prompt (285) she chooses to argue against is extraordinarily limiting, linear, and prescriptive. This makes it easier for her to champion multimodal texts as paragons of flexibility:

I would argue [...] that a multimodal task-based framework - precisely because
it demands that students both think and act more flexibly as they assume
responsibility for determining what needs to be done along with how it might
possibly be achieved - positions them in the thick of things, and in so doing,
foregrounds these complex issues in ways that more prescriptive prompts may not (292).

I won't disagree with her assertion, but what about less prescriptive prompts? Don't good writing prompts encourage precisely this type of flexible action?

Prior talks in terms of dichotomous opposites, as if teaching writing without multimodality categorically involves "assignments that predetermine goals and narrowly limit materials, methodologies, and technologies" (285). My point here is that good writing assignments can accomplish many of the things that multimodal assignments can, and while the latter certainly lend themselves towards more open-ended learning, the former are not synonymous with prescriptivism.

For my own part, I'm something of a minimalist. I like words on a page. I have no aversion to multimodality, but where does this leave people more stubborn than me?
_____________

I found the Fox article a bit overbearing. Don’t get me wrong; I applaud her enthusiasm. She seems like a person who teaches for all the right reasons. I agree wholeheartedly with most of her assertions.

The importance of caring, about not only your students but also your subject area, is difficult to overstate. I’ve had the misfortune of being “taught” by several blithely detached instructors. Their apathy was transparent and contagious – students immediately noticed, and many came to share their indifferent attitude. The only thing that these teachers truly taught was a lethargic lack of engagement. Can we really expect students to be invested in writing if we aren’t ourselves invested in it (or them)? In our inexhaustible explorations of various epistemologies and pedagogies, we must take care not to overlook perhaps the most crucial aspect of teaching – we have to mean it.

So…yes, writing matters, and writing assignments should also matter. And as obvious as it might seem, we as teachers should care not only about our students, but about our writing itself.

That said, Fox’s full-throttle enthusiasm is a bit much. It’s not her ideas I take issue with, but her over-the-top, touchy-feely, self-congratulatory tone. Her unbridled exuberance belies what is, for many of us, a very painful and arduous process. Writing tends to be hard work. The battle analogy is more apt, but still a little heavy-handed. Granted, Fox teaches very young students – and her approach might be perfect for them – but the article is clearly aimed at teachers, and the steady stream of catch phrases, blissful exclamations, and grand proclamations sometimes seems more like a self-help seminar or late night infomercial, fraught with fatuous feelgoodism and “yay us” positivity. This might not be fair to her – that is, bringing her undeniably sincere passion for teaching down to the level of insincere sales pitches – but students have seen those infomercials, too. Student perception is important – what if her personality – her real personality – is seen as a contrived persona? Does anyone really get this excited about writing?

Perhaps. Maybe I’m being a curmudgeonly jerk. I don’t mean to imply that we should not be enthusiastic about writing. I may not “ache” with caring, but I care. I’ll try not to let my distaste for her style obscure what are some very good points.

Group A: 10/7 Response

Another week, another blog entry, and I’m beginning to get overwhelmed, not with our class, but with how much instructional methodology, pedagogy, and history I’m unfamiliar with. Yet, one idea I’m keeping in mind, and I forget which article said this or perhaps I’m paraphrasing something one of us or Dr. Takayoshi said in class, is that teaching writing parallels the act of writing: both involve some sort of pre-game plan, the act itself, and constant revision and reflexive fine-tuning. What I think we haven’t stressed enough in class, and which our discussions so far have not permitted, is that it is ok not to know, that we don’t have to take unmovable stances on any of these pedagogies (recitation vs. dialogue, anyone?), we don’t have to have all the answers right now (pressures of our upcoming classroom assignments, and our pride, not withstanding). Sure, we can have opinions (as we all do), and we can believe in what to do and say with students (as we all do), but even if we have been tutors or TAs or have taught previously in classrooms (all viable experiences), none of us has taught for a sufficient amount of time to hold authorial sway over the entire classroom. It’s all right not to know, folks, because realistically speaking, our GA classroom fumblings won’t be the direst experience in any of our students’ lives (although who knows, it just might be ours).
Ok, down to business. I began reading Mem Fox’s “Notes from the Battlefield” with a raised eyebrow. I’m glad Dr. Takayoshi told us this was directed at elementary writing instruction because I started to suspect as much, especially when I read the ‘Sweet Samantha, Unrefined’ section and thought, ‘Did her college students laugh her out of the classroom?’ Fox has some good, go-get’em, rah-rah, feel-good slogans: ache with caring, I write because it matters, I have a voice too, pay me for better prose (not quite that one, I know). This article felt to me like some of my fiction workshops where the talk bounces back and forth without end about what is writing and what makes us feel good about it and where does it all come from anyway? Enough, I want to say, let’s just do it already and then discuss how we can do it better. I liked Fox’s enthusiasm, I liked how easy her article was to read, I liked when it was over. (Best line: ‘At last, the conclusion’) That sounds harsh, but given the amount we all have to read, I felt this article added nothing instructionally to our already full plate.
On the other hand, I appreciated the more serious implications of Perl’s study, and Dr. Takayoshi’s explanation of the history behind her article. Perl’s work, taken in combination with Tobin’s, represents the divide in many aspects of the 1950s-1970s and beyond. The hardline you-learn-what-I-teach-you-or-else-you-fail mindset many teachers had during this time period (the responsibility of education resting wholly in the students’ hands), one my parents roll their eyes at and say made many of their generation turn against authority, more specifically within the educational system, and was more detrimental to their development than helpful. The other side of that divide is the current mode of thinking (I hope it’s prevalent), one in which the teacher’s job is not just to instruct, but to modify and correct their approach to better their students’ learning. In that develops the coherency discussed in last week’s articles, the respect and responsibility equal on each side of both teacher and student to work with one another to find what is best for the classroom. Admittedly, not every student or teacher will do this. I’m not that naïve, just hopeful, expecting everyone to set the bar as high for themselves as I believe they do for me (again, not everyone will do this, I know).
The major problem I had with Perl was the reduction of such a complex, abstract process such as writing to a mathematical, scientific study. I felt that we can tally the ticks, thoughts, and hiccups in anyone’s writing process, come up with a fact sheet of numbers, and still not have a definite sense of them as a writer. Tony speaking aloud does not accurately reflect his true thought processes. He has to first think them, then speak them, and in between those two actions a lot of crucial information, sometimes even immeasurable information since a majority may be unconscious, may be lost. If all my writing thoughts were spoken into a tape recorder, I’d sound like Tony (not to mention a bit ADD since I listen to music while I write, sometimes sing a bit, right now to Bob Dylan), especially when I write academic composition.
Tobin’s article was more my style, as not only did it present a pedagogy I’m more inclined to follow, but allowed the sort of self-realization, and more importantly self-forgiveness, that shows the true depth of critical thinking. Again, like Tobin states near the end of his piece, every pedagogy is not going to work all the time, not every one is right, and not every teacher is going to follow the same instructional trends in exactly the same way. What I liked most about this article was how student based it was, even though a lot of it analyzed and discussed instruction. We are there for the students first and foremost, not for us to prove how well our ideas and inclinations can instruct.
The “Net Generation” article was interesting until it turned into the same old story: the older generation confused, frustrated, and taking out their sense of displacement on youth. Yes, our generation expects immediate results, yes we’re used to constant media coverage, video, sounds, access, but NONE of that is our fault. We were exposed to that as children, we grew up with it, now it’s part of our lives. We were brought up that way, not putting pressures on ourselves, but having them envelop us since childhood (tough job markets, high divorce rates, declining belief in not only a higher power but in social contracts among our neighbors). Deal with it or go out and change the world. Which is the harder task? Professors, instructors, teachers, they still have the power. They are the ones who shape our education because for at least twelve or more years of our lives, we are in their hands. They’ll always have the power and frankly, we want it that way. We let them have it. We need someone to tell us what to know because we lack the real-world, academic knowledge they have. Should more videos or films be incorporated into classrooms structures? Yes, but video games? That’s where I draw the line. Oh, and in what college, or universe for that matter, are group projects popular? I haven’t spoken to a single person my whole life who wants to be in a group project (and we all know why). We’re the Millennials. We want to do it ourselves and get it done, because we want to see results immediately without unnecessary clutter or background noise.
Another thing, and maybe Kent is just an anomaly, but in lots of these articles college students are painted as smart-mouthed, materialistic, selfish assholes. Where are these assholes? We don’t have them in our class. I haven’t talked to many both here at Kent or at Toledo (frat boys/sorority girls aside) (sorry if you apply to any of these). I think some of these articles purposefully neglect the students who come to class, do their work because they not only want but have to, and go home to wherever that may be to live their lives as they please to make a point about the current state of our generation, and maybe to gain a little sympathy for how difficult instruction truly is.

Identity in the classroom

I thought Brooke’s article on Underlife and Writing was an interesting read, especially because he was using terminology from a study on asylums to describe students at a university level. I thought the article tied in well with Powell’s article on Conflicting Voices since both articles deal with identity in the classroom. Where Powell’s focused more on how the professor’s identity is perceived by the students and how that affects their learning, Brooke’s articles focused more on the role and identity of the student and how that affects the professor. Powell was interested in how her race and gender influenced her student’s thoughts on her as a professor and on the classroom activities. Her article focuses on how the students perceive her whereas Brooke focuses on how students fall into identities which are products of underlife.
I found his explanations of the different ways students show fall into these underlife identities interesting but not surprising. The fact that he refers to it as a “game” is surprising and also a little frustrating. Throughout this whole course, I’ve been mulling over the communication between students and professors, or lack thereof, and trying to think of ways to incorporate the ideas that the authors of these articles that we read in order to have better communication in the classroom. The fact that Brooke calls it a game and gives examples on how students write what they think teachers want to read and tell them what they think they want to hear already frustrates me. How can we have communication between us and students, when they won’t be honest or are just out for an A?