Speaking of undoing what other teachers have done ...
Did anyone else go to school and have a poster or handout with 75 or so alternatives to "said"? Bellowed, whispered, mumbled, hissed—ooh, that last one sparks fights. Can you actually hiss words?
Enter the world of aspiring novelist and you're told to only use "said," if you must use a dialogue tag at all. Maybe "asked" if you really think the question mark isn't doing its job.
There's another one I see all the time when students ask me to look at their writing assignments. I'm not sure what their English teacher's stance is on it, which makes it hard to know what to say.
Descriptions. Extreme overuse of adjectives. Since I don't teach English or creative writing, I don't have a volume of teenage story samples, but from what I have seen, it's near impossible for a character to enter a scene without making their hair and eye color known, at minimum.
Thing is, they're kids. They're learning. Maybe their teacher wants them to be more descriptive and develop that skill. If their own character/setting visualizations are too transparent on the page, maybe that's all right for now. Maybe they need to lay it out there in black and white as they practice, working toward more nuanced ways of painting pictures with words.
Weaving description into a narrative is an art all its own—one I'm constantly working on improving myself. Getting characters to speak (or whisper or mumble or even hiss) for themselves is another one.
How do you take students (or writers in general, at any age) from these school-days practices to more seamless techniques?
How did any of us get there? Personally, I find it hard to pinpoint where/how I learned specific things about writing. I can tell you how I learned about differential equations. I can't tell you how I learned about writing dialogue that works, creating multi-dimensional characters, or even most grammatical conventions.
That's always made the idea of teaching something like language arts mind-boggling to me.
Any such teachers out there who can share how they approach teaching creative writing in their classrooms? When students decide they want the math teacher's opinion (because word of her "other job" got out), what kind of feedback might I want to give?
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
Monday, September 10, 2012
Undoing the Work of Other Teachers
It's an inescapable fact of education that what we do as teachers today affects the work of other teachers later in a student's life. That means we inherit strengths a good teacher built, which is great. It also means sometimes we have to fix mistakes other teachers made.
This fact came to mind last week as my classes worked on proportions. Some students referred to something called the "Fish Method." Let's use this proportion:
Start with the number in a fraction with x (in this case, 8). Draw a line from the 8 diagonally up to the 2 (multiply those numbers), curve down to the 3 (divide by that), then diagonally up to the x (your answer equals x). What you've drawn looks kind of like a fish.
To be clear, this isn't a "mistake" I had to fix. Rather, it's a case of students clinging to a method that only works in a limited number of cases. For instance, proportions like these had them flailing.
We had to discuss other methods that had broader scope. This isn't a bad thing—I'm all for discussing multiple methods and their respective limitations. But whenever something like this comes up, I try to tread lightly. I don't want to say that their other teacher was wrong, bad, or not as cool as I am.
There are other situations, though (not like this proportions situation), where that's exactly what I'm thinking. It even happened to me as a student. When I was very young, I was told by a teacher (a student teacher, to be fair) that "it's" always has an apostrophe, whether the contraction or the possessive. Yes, really. It took me a few years to (a) figure out she'd been wrong, and (b) correct my bad habit.
I'm sure it can go the other way, too. A teacher instills all kinds of wonderful things in a student, and another teacher down the line destroys all that work.
Is there a way to avoid it? Maybe not. There will always be human error, whether intentional or not. All I can do is try not to be one of those "bad" teachers, and try to repair damage where I find it.
Have you observed or been affected by cases of teachers working against each other? How did it impact you?
This fact came to mind last week as my classes worked on proportions. Some students referred to something called the "Fish Method." Let's use this proportion:
Start with the number in a fraction with x (in this case, 8). Draw a line from the 8 diagonally up to the 2 (multiply those numbers), curve down to the 3 (divide by that), then diagonally up to the x (your answer equals x). What you've drawn looks kind of like a fish.
To be clear, this isn't a "mistake" I had to fix. Rather, it's a case of students clinging to a method that only works in a limited number of cases. For instance, proportions like these had them flailing.
We had to discuss other methods that had broader scope. This isn't a bad thing—I'm all for discussing multiple methods and their respective limitations. But whenever something like this comes up, I try to tread lightly. I don't want to say that their other teacher was wrong, bad, or not as cool as I am.
There are other situations, though (not like this proportions situation), where that's exactly what I'm thinking. It even happened to me as a student. When I was very young, I was told by a teacher (a student teacher, to be fair) that "it's" always has an apostrophe, whether the contraction or the possessive. Yes, really. It took me a few years to (a) figure out she'd been wrong, and (b) correct my bad habit.
I'm sure it can go the other way, too. A teacher instills all kinds of wonderful things in a student, and another teacher down the line destroys all that work.
Is there a way to avoid it? Maybe not. There will always be human error, whether intentional or not. All I can do is try not to be one of those "bad" teachers, and try to repair damage where I find it.
Have you observed or been affected by cases of teachers working against each other? How did it impact you?
Friday, September 7, 2012
The Teenage Human as Observed in the Wild
... the "Wild" being a local junior high school, and the specimens under study being around fourteen years of age.
This list will be random and undoubtedly incomplete.
This list will be random and undoubtedly incomplete.
- Teenagers have a dysfunctional sense of auditory volume. No, I don't mean they play their music too loud (because, well, so do I). They talk too loud when they don't want the teacher to hear them and too soft when they do.
- They have an amazing capacity to disregard (or at least not notice) the needs of anyone other than themselves.
- They have an amazing capacity to assist with others' needs with no prompting or incentive.
- They leave messes just like they do at home.
- They clean up better than they do at home.
- Most of them can grade their own work on the honor system just fine.
- Many are happy to read with any spare moment in class.
- A few are Rubik's Cube geniuses.
- Some broadcast their emotions from fifty feet away.
- Some have very non-emotive faces. You have to watch their eyes.
- They will surpass your expectations.
- They will live down to your expectations.
- They will smash your expectations.
- They see each other differently than we see them.
- They don't mind geeky adults (as long as the geeky adults care).
- They laugh at dirty jokes.
- They laugh at clean jokes.
- They laugh at dumb jokes that have been retold since they were in first grade.
- They don't know what to do when they're angry.
- They don't know what to do when they're sad.
- They know exactly what to do.
- They don't want to be treated like children.
- They don't want to be treated like adults (not 100% full-time, at least).
- Some already have to act like adults.
- Some think they're more on top of things than they are.
- Some think they're less capable than they are.
- Even the quietest have distinctive, interesting personalities. "Mary Sue" and the bland, empty-beaker persona don't exist ... and if they appear to, you're not looking hard enough.
That pretty much sums up the non-math side of the first three weeks of school.
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
The Name Game: Go Anglocentric or Go Home?
Naming characters is something every writer has to deal with, and every writer has strategies. Some use baby name sites/books to find names with certain meanings, some draw from names in their own lives, and some (hello, fellow sci-fi/fantasy writers!) make up names from scratch, among other methods.
I want to talk about those character names today and ignore the making-it-up situation, assuming we're in some kind of contemporary setting.
First, a day-job detour.
I've heard some people bemoan the lack of time-honored, long-standing names like John and David among YA characters. As I approached the start of this school year, I looked at my class lists. Out of about 200 kids, all around 14 years old, I have no one named John. No one named David. No Sue or Jane. I do have a couple of Josephs (one goes by his initials), and a handful of Annas-or-Anns. A couple of Nathans and Andrews.
You know what else I have repeats of? Braden (or Braeden). Cole. Hunter. Parker. Brianna. And all kinds of variations on McCall, McKenzie, McKayla and the like.
So we can conclude that these names were trendy fourteen years ago. Maybe that trendiness didn't hold, so by the time our books are published, a teenager with that name may seem out of place. In that sense, the advice to use more "tried-and-true" names makes sense.
But here's something else from the day job that happened just yesterday. We were discussing a couple of story problems in class. If you're in education, you probably know that in the last 10-20 years, textbook writers have made a transparent effort to include more culturally diverse names in things like story problems.
One problem involved a girl named Pietra. A student said, "That's not a real name!" I said it was (and a boy named Pieter in the class noted it's the female version of his name). We moved on. Another problem involved a girl named Pilar. Someone said that wasn't a real name, either.
The Hispanic kids in class weren't very amused, and neither was I.
Let's bring this back around to writing.
Regarding one of my early stories, several people commented that I was trying too hard to make "unique" names for my MCs. I wasn't—at least, I didn't think I was. I'd chosen one Hispanic name, and one somewhat related to a Hispanic name. Not quite as straightforward as Rosa or Carmen, but Hispanic readers didn't bat an eye. Both were names I've encountered in real life, so I didn't think of them as rare.
The thing is, I didn't state anything else in the book about the characters having any Hispanic heritage. It wasn't the focus of the story. I'm clarifying some of that in a rewrite, but here's my question:
Should we only use ethnically/culturally diverse names in stories deeply rooted in cultural identity or discovery? Do we stick to Tom, Dick, and Harry otherwise because that's more "comfortable" for the caucasian majority?
Back to those sci-fi and fantasy writers. We have to be careful not to create names that are a reading-roadblock ... the kinds of names that make our readers desperate to either buy or sell some vowels. Similarly, in contemporary settings, we probably don't want to pick names that are difficult for the mental reading voice to get a pronunciation for. It interrupts the flow of the story, and no one wants that.
But is there anything wrong with a character named Pilar? Or Dai-Ling? Or Tiave?
Because those are real names.
(Of course, if we create such characters, making them culturally authentic is another matter entirely ... but maybe one we should think about challenging ourselves with. Myself included.)
I want to talk about those character names today and ignore the making-it-up situation, assuming we're in some kind of contemporary setting.
First, a day-job detour.
I've heard some people bemoan the lack of time-honored, long-standing names like John and David among YA characters. As I approached the start of this school year, I looked at my class lists. Out of about 200 kids, all around 14 years old, I have no one named John. No one named David. No Sue or Jane. I do have a couple of Josephs (one goes by his initials), and a handful of Annas-or-Anns. A couple of Nathans and Andrews.
You know what else I have repeats of? Braden (or Braeden). Cole. Hunter. Parker. Brianna. And all kinds of variations on McCall, McKenzie, McKayla and the like.
So we can conclude that these names were trendy fourteen years ago. Maybe that trendiness didn't hold, so by the time our books are published, a teenager with that name may seem out of place. In that sense, the advice to use more "tried-and-true" names makes sense.
But here's something else from the day job that happened just yesterday. We were discussing a couple of story problems in class. If you're in education, you probably know that in the last 10-20 years, textbook writers have made a transparent effort to include more culturally diverse names in things like story problems.
One problem involved a girl named Pietra. A student said, "That's not a real name!" I said it was (and a boy named Pieter in the class noted it's the female version of his name). We moved on. Another problem involved a girl named Pilar. Someone said that wasn't a real name, either.
The Hispanic kids in class weren't very amused, and neither was I.
Let's bring this back around to writing.
Regarding one of my early stories, several people commented that I was trying too hard to make "unique" names for my MCs. I wasn't—at least, I didn't think I was. I'd chosen one Hispanic name, and one somewhat related to a Hispanic name. Not quite as straightforward as Rosa or Carmen, but Hispanic readers didn't bat an eye. Both were names I've encountered in real life, so I didn't think of them as rare.
The thing is, I didn't state anything else in the book about the characters having any Hispanic heritage. It wasn't the focus of the story. I'm clarifying some of that in a rewrite, but here's my question:
Should we only use ethnically/culturally diverse names in stories deeply rooted in cultural identity or discovery? Do we stick to Tom, Dick, and Harry otherwise because that's more "comfortable" for the caucasian majority?
Back to those sci-fi and fantasy writers. We have to be careful not to create names that are a reading-roadblock ... the kinds of names that make our readers desperate to either buy or sell some vowels. Similarly, in contemporary settings, we probably don't want to pick names that are difficult for the mental reading voice to get a pronunciation for. It interrupts the flow of the story, and no one wants that.
But is there anything wrong with a character named Pilar? Or Dai-Ling? Or Tiave?
Because those are real names.
(Of course, if we create such characters, making them culturally authentic is another matter entirely ... but maybe one we should think about challenging ourselves with. Myself included.)
Monday, September 3, 2012
Who Sets Your Potential and Decides When You've Met It?
Sometimes I get students who come into my class saying, "I love math! It's my favorite subject, and I'm good at it." It's awesome when I do, but those students are definitely the minority. More often than not, students come in somewhat indifferent about math. Just something they have to get through, most of them with a mix of good and bad experiences under their belts.
Then there are those who come in with "I'm bad at math" oozing from every pore.
Some of them really do struggle, and for a variety of reasons. Learning disabilities, interruptions in their education, a string of teachers who made it impossible for them to learn one way or another ... But several say they're bad at math—loudly—but I don't believe them. Their work on quizzes or answers to questions in class show they have plenty of potential.
Says who? Says me.
Maybe they're holding themselves to an impossible standard of perfection, and anything less means being "bad" at it. Maybe it takes effort, and anything that isn't easy must be something they're "bad" at. Maybe they just don't want the image of being good at math (or anything school-related). Maybe something else.
Whatever the reason, I can't sit back and ignore the potential, just like I can't ignore the potential of kids who do struggle.
Observations like this got me thinking about potential as a whole, though. Like I said, I'm the one who's declaring an unmet potential in many of these cases. Unless I can get the student to buy in and agree that the potential is there, though, it'll probably remain unmet. I can force some small increments at the beginning, pointing out their successes to build confidence, but I can't force the level of self-belief it takes to achieve more.
I can see theoretical potential, but the student has to take control at some point to make it real.
Then I got to thinking about meeting potential. It's kind of a stupid concept, isn't it? Has anyone ever said, "You've met your potential—you're done"?
Maybe some superstar athletes, who've reached the pinnacle of their sport, achieved its highest honors (multiple times), and retire while they're on top. But even then, are they done? Or do they turn the level of potential they've reached to another target?
How do you meet your potential, when it should always be dancing ahead of you, just out of reach?
I may have mentioned before, but when I was in elementary school, everyone said I'd be a doctor. Not any particular reason other than that I was a brainy little thing, and becoming doctors is what smart people do. There are those who thought becoming a math teacher was a waste of my potential.
Was it? I'm the first to admit my academic pathway was not perfect, and there are things I'd like to have done differently. I missed opportunities. I made mistakes. But is the end result a waste? Maybe I just had a ways to go to narrow the gap to that initial potential.
After a few years of teaching, I went off to enter the world of deaf education. It added more challenges, maybe pushed me closer to that initial potential everyone saw in 10-year-old me. In the midst of that, I began writing novels, activating a part of myself that had been quietly lurking in the corners. Definitely a stretch.
I signed with an agent, and now I'm to be published. All while I'm still a math teacher.
Is this enough to equal my original "going to be a doctor" potential?
That's the wrong question.
My potential is what it is. What I do with it can't be quantified and compared to earlier expectations. It's not something for me to reach, but rather something to keep me moving forward.
People in my life help me see my potential, and in the end, I'm the only one who can decide whether I'm moving toward or away from it.
So that's what I'll try to do with my students ... help them see their potential, point them in the right direction, show them that its current position is something that can be achieved. All the while, making sure they know that by the time they get to that mark, their potential will have moved forward even more.
And that the only way to not "meet" their potential is if they refuse to move at all.
Then there are those who come in with "I'm bad at math" oozing from every pore.
Some of them really do struggle, and for a variety of reasons. Learning disabilities, interruptions in their education, a string of teachers who made it impossible for them to learn one way or another ... But several say they're bad at math—loudly—but I don't believe them. Their work on quizzes or answers to questions in class show they have plenty of potential.
Says who? Says me.
Maybe they're holding themselves to an impossible standard of perfection, and anything less means being "bad" at it. Maybe it takes effort, and anything that isn't easy must be something they're "bad" at. Maybe they just don't want the image of being good at math (or anything school-related). Maybe something else.
Whatever the reason, I can't sit back and ignore the potential, just like I can't ignore the potential of kids who do struggle.
Observations like this got me thinking about potential as a whole, though. Like I said, I'm the one who's declaring an unmet potential in many of these cases. Unless I can get the student to buy in and agree that the potential is there, though, it'll probably remain unmet. I can force some small increments at the beginning, pointing out their successes to build confidence, but I can't force the level of self-belief it takes to achieve more.
I can see theoretical potential, but the student has to take control at some point to make it real.
Then I got to thinking about meeting potential. It's kind of a stupid concept, isn't it? Has anyone ever said, "You've met your potential—you're done"?
Maybe some superstar athletes, who've reached the pinnacle of their sport, achieved its highest honors (multiple times), and retire while they're on top. But even then, are they done? Or do they turn the level of potential they've reached to another target?
How do you meet your potential, when it should always be dancing ahead of you, just out of reach?
I may have mentioned before, but when I was in elementary school, everyone said I'd be a doctor. Not any particular reason other than that I was a brainy little thing, and becoming doctors is what smart people do. There are those who thought becoming a math teacher was a waste of my potential.
Was it? I'm the first to admit my academic pathway was not perfect, and there are things I'd like to have done differently. I missed opportunities. I made mistakes. But is the end result a waste? Maybe I just had a ways to go to narrow the gap to that initial potential.
After a few years of teaching, I went off to enter the world of deaf education. It added more challenges, maybe pushed me closer to that initial potential everyone saw in 10-year-old me. In the midst of that, I began writing novels, activating a part of myself that had been quietly lurking in the corners. Definitely a stretch.
I signed with an agent, and now I'm to be published. All while I'm still a math teacher.
Is this enough to equal my original "going to be a doctor" potential?
That's the wrong question.
My potential is what it is. What I do with it can't be quantified and compared to earlier expectations. It's not something for me to reach, but rather something to keep me moving forward.
People in my life help me see my potential, and in the end, I'm the only one who can decide whether I'm moving toward or away from it.
So that's what I'll try to do with my students ... help them see their potential, point them in the right direction, show them that its current position is something that can be achieved. All the while, making sure they know that by the time they get to that mark, their potential will have moved forward even more.
And that the only way to not "meet" their potential is if they refuse to move at all.
Friday, August 31, 2012
What is Genius?
I admit, I've been called a genius before.
I also admit this was by young-ish people who knew I controlled their grade. Or who were easily impressed by my mathematical abilities.
As much as I appreciate the compliment, I'm no genius. Not by official standards, anyway. I test well, but not that well. I have moments of cleverness, but too many of them strike me long after the needed moment. I do plenty of stupid things.
You know, I bet certified geniuses do stupid things sometimes, too.
And I bet to some students, I am a genius ... in a way that has nothing to do with MENSA.
So unofficially, what is genius?
It's not about passing tests (and I say that as an ace test-taker ... near meaningless in my opinion). It's not necessarily about book-smarts, though there's nothing wrong with having those. Traditionally, book-smarts is about regurgitating information, re-creating someone else's genius.
To me, a genius is someone whose ideas or works spark a feeling of newness, differentness, freshness in my mind. Sounds a lot like having creativity and imagination, and those may be part of it. But I'm not sure they're required, either.
I think that spark of newness explains why some students call me a genius. I may talk about mathematics (or anything else) in a way they haven't heard before. It sparks a new connection.
Under that definition, genius is relative. It depends on our own experiences, expectations, and priorities. No membership cards, no certifications ... just our own acknowledgement of each other.
I kind of like it better that way. Maybe I'm a genius to some of my students. Many of them have been geniuses to me.
Who are some unacknowledged geniuses in your life?
I also admit this was by young-ish people who knew I controlled their grade. Or who were easily impressed by my mathematical abilities.
As much as I appreciate the compliment, I'm no genius. Not by official standards, anyway. I test well, but not that well. I have moments of cleverness, but too many of them strike me long after the needed moment. I do plenty of stupid things.
You know, I bet certified geniuses do stupid things sometimes, too.
And I bet to some students, I am a genius ... in a way that has nothing to do with MENSA.
So unofficially, what is genius?
It's not about passing tests (and I say that as an ace test-taker ... near meaningless in my opinion). It's not necessarily about book-smarts, though there's nothing wrong with having those. Traditionally, book-smarts is about regurgitating information, re-creating someone else's genius.
To me, a genius is someone whose ideas or works spark a feeling of newness, differentness, freshness in my mind. Sounds a lot like having creativity and imagination, and those may be part of it. But I'm not sure they're required, either.
I think that spark of newness explains why some students call me a genius. I may talk about mathematics (or anything else) in a way they haven't heard before. It sparks a new connection.
Under that definition, genius is relative. It depends on our own experiences, expectations, and priorities. No membership cards, no certifications ... just our own acknowledgement of each other.
I kind of like it better that way. Maybe I'm a genius to some of my students. Many of them have been geniuses to me.
Who are some unacknowledged geniuses in your life?
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
The Real Teens of YA County
Hopefully this is preaching to the choir. A lot of YA writers are great about having textured, nuanced teen characters. Still, sometimes the cast is filled with an overabundance of "the regulars."
The jock. The cheerleader. The nerd. The nondescript average teen.
Wait, there's no such thing as that last one. Never in all my classrooms have I come across one of those. They show up in novels, though. Weird, that. It got me thinking about what I have seen. Here's a sampling of students I have taught or am teaching.
Students who weren't supposed to live past the night they were born.
Students whose parent is world-famous.
Students whose entire family is deaf (and sometimes that student is the most hearing among them).
Students who excel in a sport and qualify as a "geek" in another area (math, music, theater, ...).
Students with such a mix of half- and step-siblings, there are six or seven different last names in their household.
Students whose bodies could break all too easily.
Students with the most spectacular cases of ADHD.
Students who are in foster care because their parents are in jail.
Students who aren't supposed to have much of a life expectancy.
Students who are quiet for a reason ... and very NOT quiet when you get them going. (By the way, this group is never, EVER boring.)
I could go on if I let myself, but you get the idea.
Some of those I see in novels. Some not so much. (Of course, I'm not as super-wide-read in some genres of YA as I'd like to be.) Some only when it's the "issue" of the story. Maybe some things could be incidental to the plot. The MC's best friend is in a foster family, but that's not the point of the story.
Or maybe that's just me and my preferences. Maybe some people would read that and keep waiting and waiting for that fact to become relevant.
What do you think? Are there certain types of teens you'd like to see pop up more in YA literature?
The jock. The cheerleader. The nerd. The nondescript average teen.
Wait, there's no such thing as that last one. Never in all my classrooms have I come across one of those. They show up in novels, though. Weird, that. It got me thinking about what I have seen. Here's a sampling of students I have taught or am teaching.
Students who weren't supposed to live past the night they were born.
Students whose parent is world-famous.
Students whose entire family is deaf (and sometimes that student is the most hearing among them).
Students who excel in a sport and qualify as a "geek" in another area (math, music, theater, ...).
Students with such a mix of half- and step-siblings, there are six or seven different last names in their household.
Students whose bodies could break all too easily.
Students with the most spectacular cases of ADHD.
Students who are in foster care because their parents are in jail.
Students who aren't supposed to have much of a life expectancy.
Students who are quiet for a reason ... and very NOT quiet when you get them going. (By the way, this group is never, EVER boring.)
I could go on if I let myself, but you get the idea.
Some of those I see in novels. Some not so much. (Of course, I'm not as super-wide-read in some genres of YA as I'd like to be.) Some only when it's the "issue" of the story. Maybe some things could be incidental to the plot. The MC's best friend is in a foster family, but that's not the point of the story.
Or maybe that's just me and my preferences. Maybe some people would read that and keep waiting and waiting for that fact to become relevant.
What do you think? Are there certain types of teens you'd like to see pop up more in YA literature?
Monday, August 27, 2012
Learning the Hard Way
Sometimes it doesn't matter how many times you tell someone that a surface is hot. They're just going to have to touch it.
In my first math lesson with my new classes this week, I noticed a trend in my first couple of classes. As they worked on their homework near the end of class, several of them got to a particular problem and didn't know what to do. It had three different variables and they were supposed to evaluate it.
Without exception, those who asked had neglected to read the instructions, where it gave a value for each variable.
I figured I'd save myself a little trouble and warn my remaining class periods. A part of the lesson had the exact same type of problem, so when we got to that, I mentioned the issue. I told them that other students got to those problems in the homework and didn't know what to do because they didn't read the directions.
Later, we get to homework time. I walk around the room, helping students when they get stuck.
Invariably, more than one raises their hand. "I don't know what to do here."
I point to a line in their textbook. "Did you see this?"
"No, I—oh! You totally warned us and I did it anyway!"
They felt like idiots. I assured them they weren't the only one to do it, and made a little joke about how they'd never forget to read directions again, right?
I already know there's only so much they can absorb at one time, and which parts stick depends on their own priorities.
Live and learn, kiddos.
In my first math lesson with my new classes this week, I noticed a trend in my first couple of classes. As they worked on their homework near the end of class, several of them got to a particular problem and didn't know what to do. It had three different variables and they were supposed to evaluate it.
Without exception, those who asked had neglected to read the instructions, where it gave a value for each variable.
I figured I'd save myself a little trouble and warn my remaining class periods. A part of the lesson had the exact same type of problem, so when we got to that, I mentioned the issue. I told them that other students got to those problems in the homework and didn't know what to do because they didn't read the directions.
Later, we get to homework time. I walk around the room, helping students when they get stuck.
Invariably, more than one raises their hand. "I don't know what to do here."
I point to a line in their textbook. "Did you see this?"
"No, I—oh! You totally warned us and I did it anyway!"
They felt like idiots. I assured them they weren't the only one to do it, and made a little joke about how they'd never forget to read directions again, right?
I already know there's only so much they can absorb at one time, and which parts stick depends on their own priorities.
Live and learn, kiddos.
Friday, August 24, 2012
"Thank You" Isn't Dead
I'm finishing out the first week of school. It's been a busy week, in an uneventful way. More students to teach than I've had in the last six years combined. Using my voice all the time (and trying to restrict my hand movements).
I remember one thing that struck me back when I started at my last school, working with deaf kids. A lot of them would say thank you when I was handing out papers. Part of me wanted to say, "I just gave you a calculus test—what are you thanking me for?" Really, though, I appreciated it.
Yet this week, it struck me again. Kids getting up to leave at the end of class, several of them thanking me as they walk out.
Teenagers, mind you. Around fourteen years old, most of them.
Yes, teenagers can be cynical. Teenagers can be rude.
They can also be awesome.
Pretty much like the rest of us.
I remember one thing that struck me back when I started at my last school, working with deaf kids. A lot of them would say thank you when I was handing out papers. Part of me wanted to say, "I just gave you a calculus test—what are you thanking me for?" Really, though, I appreciated it.
Yet this week, it struck me again. Kids getting up to leave at the end of class, several of them thanking me as they walk out.
Teenagers, mind you. Around fourteen years old, most of them.
Yes, teenagers can be cynical. Teenagers can be rude.
They can also be awesome.
Pretty much like the rest of us.
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
Is There Such a Thing as "Bad"?
From the Department of Uncomfortable Questions:
Is there such a thing as bad writing?
Let's assume we're not talking about misspellings galore, egregious grammar gaffes, and other such technical things that make it about as comprehensible as the typings of Pika the kitten. Let's say we're talking only about manuscripts that have been through the world's best spelling and grammar checks.
Then, is there such a thing as "bad"? When discussing things like voice, style, plotting, character, and all that makes fiction worth reading, is there a minimal level of competence? Some magic line below which is an auto-reject and above which is a "well, it depends"?
Do we do ourselves damage when we assume it's all just subjectivity, rather than making the effort to improve our craft?
Do we do ourselves damage when we assume our writing is crap, rather than acknowledging our strengths and the fact that we can't please everyone?
If there is a line, even a murky one, how do we find it? Our gut? Honest critique partners? I'm guessing "murky" is a key word there. Really excellent writing seems easy enough to identify, whether it's our thing or not. I know I've had the experience of reading something and thinking, "Wow, this is so well-written. I'm just not into (insert genre here)." Likewise, writing that's super-far off the mark is easy to spot.
But that pesky gray area in the middle ... what about that?
Lots of questions and no real answers this time around. What are your thoughts?
Is there such a thing as bad writing?
Let's assume we're not talking about misspellings galore, egregious grammar gaffes, and other such technical things that make it about as comprehensible as the typings of Pika the kitten. Let's say we're talking only about manuscripts that have been through the world's best spelling and grammar checks.
Then, is there such a thing as "bad"? When discussing things like voice, style, plotting, character, and all that makes fiction worth reading, is there a minimal level of competence? Some magic line below which is an auto-reject and above which is a "well, it depends"?
Do we do ourselves damage when we assume it's all just subjectivity, rather than making the effort to improve our craft?
Do we do ourselves damage when we assume our writing is crap, rather than acknowledging our strengths and the fact that we can't please everyone?
If there is a line, even a murky one, how do we find it? Our gut? Honest critique partners? I'm guessing "murky" is a key word there. Really excellent writing seems easy enough to identify, whether it's our thing or not. I know I've had the experience of reading something and thinking, "Wow, this is so well-written. I'm just not into (insert genre here)." Likewise, writing that's super-far off the mark is easy to spot.
But that pesky gray area in the middle ... what about that?
Lots of questions and no real answers this time around. What are your thoughts?
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