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.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
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:
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.
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.
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.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
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?
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?
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Reading Response 9/30
I'd like to respond specifically to the Powell article in light of our classroom discussion today. Personally, I look at Powell as a woman who can bring a personal experience to class that is potentially more effective than reading. Throughout these readings, I've noticed a consistent suggestion that tells us to meld 'real life' with composition and to break down the walls that exist between academia and our thoughts and opinions. In the spirit of this recurring theme, I don't see why we shouldn't bring our class, religion, sexuality, and most importantly race, into our teaching experience. Ms. Powell's experience as both an African-American and a woman affords her the ability to relate not just any experience she may have had with oppression, but also allows students to witness a sincere human reaction to racism. I think that reading about sensitive subjects offers students a comfortable distance. They are able to agree or disagree freely when not being confronted by a live, human voice. I am not surprised at all that Ms. Powell encountered a great deal of resistance in her class. I am sure that a good part of her students may have gone their whole lives without having such a charged conversation with someone of a different race. While this may make them uncomfortable, I think it is an important experience for them to have. The danger here is an alienation so intense that the students either close down and stand in complete opposition to the professor, or merely submit and give the professor what she wants. I think that it is important when bringing your personal background into class, be it class, race, religion or sexuality, to remain approachable toward your students. I can imagine this is very difficult to do, especially if offensive language is used towards a group that you identify with. I suppose this is a risk that must be taken if we are to use ourselves as a real life example of something we are trying to bring across in class.
I grew up in a predominately white town, and while I was aware of racial issues through reading and film, the scope and dynamics of racism did not really occur to me until I interacted with some of my African-American professors who adopted a similar approach to race as Ms. Powell did. While this approach engenders defensiveness and irritation in some students, I came away from these professors' classes with a newfound understanding of race and gender.
I think that Ms. Powell's argument is especially relevant now that we are living in a world that some consider to be "post-race." With so many people claiming that racism is over, I think that it takes interaction with a person who has experienced racism to orient students to reality.
My only complaint with the article is that Powell admittedly did not give as much attention to other minority groups. I think that perhaps structuring the course around a timeline of racism (i.e., begin with the genocide of Native Americans, discuss Japanese internment camps, etc.) would detract from claims that she is merely pushing an agenda. In this case her personal experience becomes supplemental to the overall theme of racism in America and does not become the primary focus of the class. I think it would also serve her well to focus on the many layers of oppression an individual can experience (i.e. how someone who is both homosexual and an ethnic minority faces oppression on more than one side) to further explore the nuances of racism.
Response to Brooke, Nystrand, and Powell
Composition Jihad
While reading the Brooke article, I found myself quite pointedly reminded of the Daniell article we read for an earlier class, in that the Brooke article seems to presuppose that all students are oppressed and require professors to “struggle” on their behalf (148). My reading of Brooke is that there is a built-in assumption that in order for writing teachers to consider themselves “successful,” their students must stop thinking of themselves as “students,” and instead think of themselves as “writers” (149). My disagreement with this attitude is many-fold, and begins with an objection to the “we have to save them” mentality of the professorial body represented in this article. Apparently, it is the desire of such professors to save students from being placed in the institutionally-determined “student” box, and instead to place them firmly in the “writer” box, which evidently is more palatable to certain members of our field simply because it is a predetermined identity created by Writing Studies, and not The Man. For a discipline that professes (in this article) to run counter to the goals of the university environment, Brooke’s conception of composition studies reeks surprisingly of dogmatic partisanship. I think we have just been introduced to the fundamentalists of composition studies.
Also, I find the implications of Brooke’s “underlife” theory very troubling, indeed. While I can appreciate the initial purpose of this article as a means of expanding my understanding of the underlife behavior of students, Brooke’s discussion of these activities seems more supportive of the idea that students are being resistant in order to be trendy and nonconformist, rather than as a means of actual identity formation. The implication here is that underlife activity of this sort is much more concerned with not looking like a teacher-pleaser who “conforms” than with taking an ideological stand against that which violates one’s identity.
Effective Classroom Practices
Nystrand’s lengthy discussion of the benefits of dialogic instruction was revelatory, if also slightly repetitive. Even during the early stages of students’ education, fostering critical thinking skills and encouraging the generation of new (rather than remembered) knowledge is critical. Though I am unsure of the exact applications of such elementary measures in the teaching of composition at the college level, I have no doubt that the import of this article will stay with me.
I found the idea of making “public space” for student voices of particular appeal (15). As a person who has been a student for the last nineteen years, I can honestly say that the best experiences I have had in class were ones in which there was a back-and-forth interaction between all of the parties involved. The list of valuable experiences lost through monologically organized instruction is dishearteningly long, especially in light of the fact that such methods are still used so widely. Critical to this argument is, in my mind, the distinctions that Nystrand makes between students’ engagement in “procedural display” and “substantive engagement” (17). The difference between these two types of student engagement seem to lie at the heart of the debate concerning monologically versus dialogically organized instruction. As teachers, we have to ask ourselves a very simple question: Do we want our students simply to “do school,” or do we desire that our students are more fully engaged in their educations? A teacher’s answer to this question is basically an explanation of their teaching methods and beliefs.
Teaching with Resistance
My response to the Powell chapter is one that is connected to my personal experiences as a person of mixed ethnicity, who also happens to be quite liberal. While reading about Powell’s experience of the power struggle with her students concerning her position of authority and the goals she hopes to accomplish during the semester, I cannot help but wonder if I will ever be in the same difficult predicament, and what I will have to do if I am. The discussion on page 160 of the way a professor’s “accent” and the language they use affect students’ perceptions of them is troubling to me, and not just a little intimidating.
I found Powell’s discussion of the ways in which she encourages students to create meaning through their interpretations to be both inspiring and thought provoking. I like the idea of incorporating other mediums, including film, into the composition course. “Composition” is not limited to inscribing words on a page, so why should the study and instruction of it be so limited?
The inclusion of class discussions of race and gender give this chapter a kind of immediate significance, especially in light of the incredible biases that still quietly creep through the academic environment. On page 165, Powell discusses the need for “rigorous discussion on issues of difference,” not out of a need to embarrass students, but rather in the hope of broadening the scope of students’ perspectives and what they will consider. I think this is an important part of our field, but, as Nystrand implies, not the only part. I think it is important to achieve a balance between genuine student involvement and social awareness within the classroom. Now if I only knew how to do that…
While reading the Brooke article, I found myself quite pointedly reminded of the Daniell article we read for an earlier class, in that the Brooke article seems to presuppose that all students are oppressed and require professors to “struggle” on their behalf (148). My reading of Brooke is that there is a built-in assumption that in order for writing teachers to consider themselves “successful,” their students must stop thinking of themselves as “students,” and instead think of themselves as “writers” (149). My disagreement with this attitude is many-fold, and begins with an objection to the “we have to save them” mentality of the professorial body represented in this article. Apparently, it is the desire of such professors to save students from being placed in the institutionally-determined “student” box, and instead to place them firmly in the “writer” box, which evidently is more palatable to certain members of our field simply because it is a predetermined identity created by Writing Studies, and not The Man. For a discipline that professes (in this article) to run counter to the goals of the university environment, Brooke’s conception of composition studies reeks surprisingly of dogmatic partisanship. I think we have just been introduced to the fundamentalists of composition studies.
Also, I find the implications of Brooke’s “underlife” theory very troubling, indeed. While I can appreciate the initial purpose of this article as a means of expanding my understanding of the underlife behavior of students, Brooke’s discussion of these activities seems more supportive of the idea that students are being resistant in order to be trendy and nonconformist, rather than as a means of actual identity formation. The implication here is that underlife activity of this sort is much more concerned with not looking like a teacher-pleaser who “conforms” than with taking an ideological stand against that which violates one’s identity.
Effective Classroom Practices
Nystrand’s lengthy discussion of the benefits of dialogic instruction was revelatory, if also slightly repetitive. Even during the early stages of students’ education, fostering critical thinking skills and encouraging the generation of new (rather than remembered) knowledge is critical. Though I am unsure of the exact applications of such elementary measures in the teaching of composition at the college level, I have no doubt that the import of this article will stay with me.
I found the idea of making “public space” for student voices of particular appeal (15). As a person who has been a student for the last nineteen years, I can honestly say that the best experiences I have had in class were ones in which there was a back-and-forth interaction between all of the parties involved. The list of valuable experiences lost through monologically organized instruction is dishearteningly long, especially in light of the fact that such methods are still used so widely. Critical to this argument is, in my mind, the distinctions that Nystrand makes between students’ engagement in “procedural display” and “substantive engagement” (17). The difference between these two types of student engagement seem to lie at the heart of the debate concerning monologically versus dialogically organized instruction. As teachers, we have to ask ourselves a very simple question: Do we want our students simply to “do school,” or do we desire that our students are more fully engaged in their educations? A teacher’s answer to this question is basically an explanation of their teaching methods and beliefs.
Teaching with Resistance
My response to the Powell chapter is one that is connected to my personal experiences as a person of mixed ethnicity, who also happens to be quite liberal. While reading about Powell’s experience of the power struggle with her students concerning her position of authority and the goals she hopes to accomplish during the semester, I cannot help but wonder if I will ever be in the same difficult predicament, and what I will have to do if I am. The discussion on page 160 of the way a professor’s “accent” and the language they use affect students’ perceptions of them is troubling to me, and not just a little intimidating.
I found Powell’s discussion of the ways in which she encourages students to create meaning through their interpretations to be both inspiring and thought provoking. I like the idea of incorporating other mediums, including film, into the composition course. “Composition” is not limited to inscribing words on a page, so why should the study and instruction of it be so limited?
The inclusion of class discussions of race and gender give this chapter a kind of immediate significance, especially in light of the incredible biases that still quietly creep through the academic environment. On page 165, Powell discusses the need for “rigorous discussion on issues of difference,” not out of a need to embarrass students, but rather in the hope of broadening the scope of students’ perspectives and what they will consider. I think this is an important part of our field, but, as Nystrand implies, not the only part. I think it is important to achieve a balance between genuine student involvement and social awareness within the classroom. Now if I only knew how to do that…
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