Category: teaching (Page 1 of 6)

“Rule 3: General Duties of a Teacher: Pull Everything Out of Your Students”

November 9, 2024 / / 0 Comments

It’s not that I don’t try. I just can’t achieve it.

I can’t pull everything out of my students. I can sometimes barely pull anything out of my students.

This is one of the anxieties I have always had about myself as a teacher: that I’m rubbish. I don’t think I’m a complacent or “going-through-the-motions” type, but despite my attempts, my enthusiasms, my professional development, I can’t fulfill Rule 3. I simply don’t know how or don’t have the ability.

I’ve been putting off writing about this Rule because doing so would mean admitting failure. (Perhaps I should glance down at Rule 6 for some perspective…)

If I wondered what Rule 2 means, I really struggle to understand what it takes to achieve Rule 3. How does one “pull”? Is it my style of teaching? Is it the work I assign? Is it the reading list, the pedagogy, the grading system, the relationships I try to form? What is it that pulls everything out?

It sounds coercive. It’s not “coaxing everything out,” it’s not “inviting everything out,” and it’s not just “some things,” it’s EVERYTHING. How does one person pull anything out of another person let alone everything?

I used to do this thing called “ungrading” or a grades-less classroom. I couldn’t completely abandon grades because our school still uses a GPA system and no other teachers joined me in the grades-less revolution, so at the end of the term, students still got grades. But we made the grades a collaborative thing where I sat down with each student and we talked about the work they did for the term, we looked over their portfolios, and they wrote reflections describing what they learned and what they could have done better.

When this system worked–when the students bought into it–it worked great. But most students did not buy into it. They saw it simply as a way to get an easy A. Sure, they did the work, but they still did the work as a means to an end, as a way to get a good grade. I didn’t pull anything new out of these students. And frankly, I don’t blame them for it. Why should they approach their education as anything other than a series of hoops to jump through to get a grade and move on to the next hoop-jumping season and the next grade and so on, until they get a job, I guess. We MADE this system for them, so we shouldn’t be surprised when they do their best to succeed in it.

So inviting students to learn for learning sake didn’t work, at least not when I tried it. Again, maybe that’s on me. I have anxiety about my ineffectual teaching skills. Maybe I just didn’t do a good job. Again, not able to “pull everything out.”

But when I went back to a traditional grading approach, I still couldn’t follow Rule 3. I still had no clue how to do this pulling and have it work. I could pull for them to work hard for good grades, but that didn’t feel like “pulling everything out.” That simply felt like getting them to go through the motions to achieve the external outcome they wanted.

I can pull hard work from the students, and maybe that’s enough–maybe my “hard” grading pushes them to strive for more–but it doesn’t feel like enough. I feel like there’s some secret here that I don’t understand, some qualities I don’t possess. I try to be enthusiastic. I absolutely love reading, writing, and communicating, and I believe these things are worth doing for their own sake; they make us more fully human. I try to communicate this love to my students. Is that what it means to “pull everything out”?

I give them space and opportunities to write and discover and read cool stuff. Is that what it means to “pull everything out”?

And even though I don’t do the “ungrading” thing anymore, I still try to impart a philosophy that says, “Grades aren’t the be-all, end-all. Learning and growth are the lasting rewards.” Is this “pulling everything out”?

I struggle with this Rule because I have no way to measure it. I have my efforts; I know what I’m trying to do. But do I do it? That’s what I don’t know. And that’s why I’ve struggled to write about Rule 3.

Perhaps the struggle to achieve the Rule is what fulfills the Rule. Perhaps this hope is the real duty of the teacher.

Caesar’s Triumph

November 6, 2024 / / 0 Comments

We started watching Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar today in my AP Lang class.

I didn’t feel like teaching. Thinking about the play, the class, being around other people, all of it made me sick. I wanted to crawl into my Bandcamp app and listen to midwestern alternative rock for the rest of my life. I didn’t want to teach. Not today. Not today of all days, and definitely not this play with all that it is.

But as the opening scene started–Act 1, Scene 1– and “Oh Caesar, Caesar! Caesar, Caesar, Caesar!” and the drumbeat and the triumph of the plebes started, I was struck in a way I did not expect.

I always knew art could be a balm. It could be an escape.

But this was different. It was clarity. A startling truth, and with that truth some measure of consolation.

We are in a cycle. This pattern–the pattern of human behavior, of politics, of leadership, of self-interest, of anxiety, of helplessness, of being seen, of needing to be seen, of finding champions who will mirror your desires back to you, of allegiances that shift like quicksilver, of worry, of glories long-past, of the need for some cash, of the need for some scapegoats–all of it is a wheel, turning and turning, each spoke of the circle destined to repeat.

I cannot hate the plebes (of which I am one and not one all at once), as I cannot condone the condescension of the patricians, even if my head agrees. Once we get to Caesar’s triumph into Rome, it’s too late. Brutus never had a choice. Conspire, don’t conspire. None of it mattered. Rome was going to fall to Caesarism no matter what.

The play is incredibly dark, but not untrue. Watching that opening, as the tribunes chastise the plebes, as the plebes want nothing so much as a holiday, as we await the ominous fate of Flavius and Marullus (“they are put to silence”), we know where the train is headed and that it can’t be stopped. Once the triumph starts, the play is on its way. It can only end with Octavian’s raised fist and “this happy day.”

I don’t know why, but watching it unfold on the screen–a dramatization of the pattern we simply cannot escape–was strangely comforting. There are artists, writers, poets who have seen what we have seen and they have responded to it–not with despair, but with creation. Not much can be done, in the immediate, but art can be done, and it can last, and generations hence shall act this lofty scene “in states unborn and accents yet unknown!” and that’s more than a comfort.

It’s a call, a voice out of time, a reminder that poetry still stirs the heart. That theater and performance and art and imagination are not dead. They are part of the cycle too, and they are destined to keep turning.

Draw or Make Something Every Day (in September)

September 2, 2024 / / 0 Comments

This was an idea my husband proposed today, so we’re getting a one-day-late start to the challenge, but he suggested that everyone in our household (aka me, him, and the kids) should try to make or draw something every day this month.

(If we miss a day, we can do multiple things in a day to catch up.)

I decided that I might draw some stuff for a zine I’m working on (title: “Saturday Morning”), but I might also “make” something for my various role-playing game campaigns (a solo one, a husband-and-me one, a family one, and a kids one). These somethings can include making a PC, an NPC, a map, a location, a dungeon room, a whole dungeon (!), or a treasure/magic item. I’m stealing this a bit from Dungeon23, that fabulous challenge from last year that got me started making my very first megadungeon (which, sadly, I never finished… so maybe I can work on that for my “makings” this month!).

Anyway, I like a loose definition of “making.” We have a similarly loose definition in our Creativity Club at my school. Spurred by their time in my Creative Writing class last year, the students who started the club are welcoming anyone who does any kind of creative endeavor to join, and we aren’t judgy about the kinds of things that count as “making.” We decided that even kids who want to make jam are welcome in the club! (But they should definitely share their jam with us once it’s made. :D)

My “making” for today’s family challenge was to come up with some NPCs and their backstories/personalities for the Hero Kids game I’m playing with my children. They are currently investigating the Basement O’ Rats and trying to find Roger, a local village boy. I’ve got an idea that Roger was taken by the King of Rats at the behest of a dark force that is also taking others away from Brecken Vale for mysterious reasons. This will be the central mystery of the campaign.

Does this counting as “making something”? I think it does. I took an idea, put it to paper, and developed it. I also stat-blocked Roger in case he comes with the Kids on any further adventures.

I’d say that counts for the day.

Now I just have to make something to count for yesterday…

Creative Writing: Week 7

May 13, 2024 / / 0 Comments

Unbelievably, the term is almost over. Two more weeks to go. This is the time of the school year when I become incredibly self-critical.

All the things I could’ve done! All the lessons I should’ve changed! All the feedback I wish I’d given! All the ideas I never tried!

I am heavy with regrets. Every May, every end of the term, I am heavy with self-recriminations. Not enough time. Not enough quality. Not enough… perfection?

In a lot of ways, approaching the end of the term is like approaching the end of a writing project. Lots of couldas, wouldas, shouldas. Lots of second guessing. Lots of self-loathing.

The project we envision at the start is never what actually ends up on the page. This disconnect between head-book and actual book is disappointing. We beat ourselves up about it. I know I do.

My teaching is often the same. I have such grand plans, but when the end of the term rolls around, it feels like I just survived a post-apocalyptic road race.

And then I wonder, “Am I the only one who feels this way?” Maybe I’m just shitty at my job (possible).

It’s the same for my writing. I approach the end of a story or novel and think, “I feel like a failure. Is this normal?” (And not just the end; often in the middle, when I read over what I’ve written, it can feel like swimming through tar and slowly sinking.)

I think it’s normal. I think there will always be a disconnect between the work we have in our head and the work that ends up on the page. I think the key is to keep going even when our self-critical brain tells us we stink. I think these moments of self-loathing are “product-focused” thinking and not “process-focused” thinking.

Yes, the finished product isn’t exactly what I envisioned. It isn’t a perfect story. It isn’t “great.”

But what about the process? Was the process fun? Did I enjoy it? Did I get deep into the creating and find flow with my work? Did I surprise myself? Did I discover something new? Did I experiment? Did I do the best I could?

These are the questions that matter, and when approaching the end of either a story or a term of teaching, it’s important to look back on the entire process, not just the end point or where you think you should be.

The day-to-day act of teaching this Creative Writing class was a good experience. I learned a lot. What to do next time. What not to do next time. I learned more about myself as a writer and about what it means to teach others to write. I learned that often the best lessons or ideas are ones that come to me in the spur of the moment right before class. Sometimes the best lessons happen because a student asked a great question. I learned that learning never stops, and whatever fruit came from this term, it will continue to grow even after the last bell rings.

Because it’s all process. As long as we continue to write creatively, as long as we continue to be artists, there is no “end point.” There is only the process. This is one of the great things about teaching: it’s cyclical. We have terms, we have holidays, we start new school years, we start new classes with new students. There is a constant process of renewal and new beginnings. Whatever this semester was, the next one will be another season to try new things, refine the old, and enjoy the process along the way.

Creative Writing: Week ???

May 5, 2024 / / 0 Comments

“Take art seriously without going about it in a serious way.”

Rick Rubin, The Creative Act, p. 354

I’ve lost track of which week it is in the term. End of April and all of May are such a whirlwind when teaching high school. I feel like All the Things are happening. I can’t keep up.

Anyway, in one of my recent weeks of teaching Creative Writing, we spent a week dedicated to playing games and thinking about how making art is/can be/should be playful.

To help them along the way, we played a storytelling RPG where I and another student were the game masters, and the rest of the class were our players. I played with two different groups on two different days, and one of the groups was a real struggle to engage with.

There were some in the group who just could not take it seriously, and therefore they could not be playful.

I don’t mean they were being silly and I wanted them to be serious. My aim was quite the opposite, in fact. I wanted shenanigans. I wanted laughter and high jinks.

The first group I played with was generally able to do this. They committed to their ridiculous characters (the world we were playing in was a bit of a spoof of the Twilight series), and we all laughed a lot and had a fun time. They approached the game on its own terms and took it seriously, while at the same time, being playful.

But for the students in the second group who wouldn’t take the game seriously, there was neither laughter nor pathos nor anything in between. Only grim faces and boredom.

Now, maybe my GMing skills were subpar and that ruined things. Maybe I should have done a better job of crafting the world and the challenges. But I don’t think that was the case. The likelier culprit was that for some of the students in the group, the game was beneath them. They were embarrassed by the whole notion of playing an RPG. Of pretending to be a character. Of romping around in a fantasy world.

And that’s fine. Not everyone digs that kind of fun.

But I think their overall attitude to the game illustrates Rubin’s point quoted above: Games, like art, should be taken seriously without going about it in a serious way. The first group, who DID meet the game on its own terms, ended up having a blast. They weren’t playing in an overly-serious, solemn way. They were light. They were silly. But they accepted the game on its own terms and committed to what the game was trying to do.

The second group could not do that. They didn’t see the value in the game, nor could they approach it with any sort of commitment. And thus, they couldn’t have fun.

Or maybe they thought they HAD to approach the game in a serious way, and therefore they were blocked from having fun. Because they thought they had to be serious, they disengaged entirely.

Either way, their experience illustrates Rubin’s point. We have to take what we’re doing seriously, whether it’s playing an RPG or writing a story or illustrating a comic or directing a film or whatever. We have to believe that the thing we’re making is worth making. That our commitment to the project is worth our time and effort. That we’re doing something worthwhile.

Because this is the paradox: If we don’t have that commitment, that seriousness about the enterprise, then we can’t be playful about the making of it either.

In order to do good work, we have to go about it without seriousness. We can’t make the work “important” because then we’ll freeze or play it too safe. So in order to be light and playful, we must believe in the seriousness of what we’re doing. But in order to not get bogged down, we can’t approach our work with a grim-faced sense that we’re taking our medicine or doing what we’ve been told. We have to be playful.

For my grim-faced, bored students playing the RPG, they were being told to play. And they couldn’t be bothered to. Playing an imaginative role-playing game was beneath them, I guess. So they slogged through it and never got to experience the lightness and playfulness of taking something seriously without going about it in a serious way.

Creative Writing: Week Two

April 9, 2024 / / 2 Comments

I told them that input could be whatever they wanted, so I have to refrain from being judgy about their choices, but after looking over their input logs from the first week, I think it might be time to talk about high-quality input versus low-quality input.

It’s a tricky subject because it reminds me too much of the snobbish position that certain kinds of literature are better than others, that comic books and video games are worthless, that pulp literature and Hollywood movies are for the unwashed masses, etc. etc. All that elitist crap.

I’m a “more/and” kind of person. A “yes” person. I like liking things, to quote Abed. And for too long, science fiction and fantasy were looked down on as “lesser-than” by the literary establishment, and I don’t want to contribute to that kind of judgment, a judgment more often born out of snobbery and cliquishness than actual merit and quality.

But. But, but, but…

There are certainly artistic avenues and byways my students could be exploring that they aren’t, and if they did explore those byways, they might find them rewarding and much more satisfying than what they are reading/watching/listening to right now.

I’m tempted, therefore, to maybe give them more required reading/viewing/listening/etc. Not a lot, but a few assignments each week that they have to engage with. “Read X by Wednesday and we’ll talk about it in class.” That kind of thing.

Yeah, I’m backtracking a little from what I said at the beginning of the term, but I think/hope it will help them see that it’s not about which art is “good” and which is “bad” so much as it’s a question of whether the art I’m inputting is expanding my life as a writer or limiting it. If it’s limiting/narrowing/same-old-same-old, then what’s the point? A kind of familiar numbness? The comfort of hearing my old notions parroted back to me? Inertia?

Or is it that they don’t know what else is out there? If I’m going to assign better input experiences for them, then I need to meet them where they are. Maybe something like the book recommendations John Warner does? They give me a list of their last five input experiences and I put together a list of five more to explore that are of a potentially better quality. It’s worth a shot.

We’ll be watching Richard Linklater’s School of Rock in Week Three, partially because I want to introduce the concept of going back and exploring the influences of those who influence you.

I feel like I’m only in Week Two and the year is almost over. These quarter-long classes we do at my school just don’t feel like enough time, especially this fourth quarter with senioritis hitting hard and Easter and all the random days off and schedule changes. There’s SO MUCH we could be doing in this Creative Writing class. If I am going to teach it next year, I’ll need to scale back my ambitions for the class considerably. At the moment, there’s too much I want to do and no time in which to do it.

I need to repeat my mantra from the beginning of the year: “Slow learning.”

We don’t have to do it all. We can leave a few chips on the table. We can do less. We can go deeper on the things that matter for us right now, not some predetermined schedule.

I need to remember that. I’m building a space for them to write creatively and develop ideas and skills. It takes time to build that space, and maybe we only start to build it together, and it’s up to each student to finish building it on her own (or with each other, after the last bell has rung on the school year).

Whenever I want to do too much, I end up regretting it.

For now, we’re looking at input. Better quality. Exploring influences. Finding the good stuff that will expand your imagination. Leaving the stuff that limits you.

I’ll go down this road with the students until I feel like we’ve gotten what we need. Then we’ll move on. Maybe that’s by the end of Week Three, maybe it’s by the end of Week Four. Maybe we stay on this for the rest of the school year — IF it’s yielding fruit and helping us all grow.

Otherwise, we can keep going down the road: going slow, but going beyond the surface of things.

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