Wednesday, July 24, 2013
Monday, July 15, 2013
Renewal at Just the Right Time: The Summer Institute
The Rhode Island Writing Project's Summer Institute begins this morning, and for the first time since arriving at the RIWP in 2004, I will be co-facilitating the SI. In the world of the Writing Project, this is an assignment unlike any other, a coveted post within a network of exceptional teacher leaders, a chance to practice, practice, practice what we preach.
Our first day looks like most Writing Project first days. It will begin with some low-stakes writing and talking, icebreakers and a community-building activity: a partner interviewing activity adapted from an idea in Linda Rief's Seeking Diversity. After that, we will take a break to mingle and talk over muffins, croissants, danish and coffee. Then, we will break into groups and visit stations around the room, responding to these three questions: What does it mean to teach powerfully? What does digital literacy mean to you? What does a writing-centered classroom look like? After examining, writing about, and discussing the results of this activity, we will Introduce Writer's Notebooks (a la Ralph Fletcher's Breathing In, Breathing Out) and do some writing and sharing to close out our first day together: What is your earliest memory as a writer? Of writing?
I look forward to meeting our ten teacher participants in a couple hours. I feel grateful to have this opportunity to work with teachers who are eager to dive in, to learn with their peers and to write with their peers. Stay tuned to see what happens!
Our first day looks like most Writing Project first days. It will begin with some low-stakes writing and talking, icebreakers and a community-building activity: a partner interviewing activity adapted from an idea in Linda Rief's Seeking Diversity. After that, we will take a break to mingle and talk over muffins, croissants, danish and coffee. Then, we will break into groups and visit stations around the room, responding to these three questions: What does it mean to teach powerfully? What does digital literacy mean to you? What does a writing-centered classroom look like? After examining, writing about, and discussing the results of this activity, we will Introduce Writer's Notebooks (a la Ralph Fletcher's Breathing In, Breathing Out) and do some writing and sharing to close out our first day together: What is your earliest memory as a writer? Of writing?
I look forward to meeting our ten teacher participants in a couple hours. I feel grateful to have this opportunity to work with teachers who are eager to dive in, to learn with their peers and to write with their peers. Stay tuned to see what happens!
Tuesday, June 18, 2013
Hanging on to the Hangout
Today I was scheduled to participate in a webinar hosted by Troy Hicks, Director of the Chippewa River Writing Project. Our plan was to discuss, with others from across the country, how we will be using his new book, Crafting Digital Writing, in our Summer Institute on Teaching Writing this year. When I agreed to participate, folks said to me, "We'll be using Google Hangout, okay?" I agreed. Of course it was okay! I'd figure it out!
At the beginning of the week, I went to check out an iPad at User Support Services on my college campus, as my own MacBook has a much-too-old operating system to handle Google Hangout. iPad in hand, I brought it home, charged it up, and proceeded to download the Google Plus and Google Hangout apps in preparation for my big 4:00pm curtain call today. I checked in with folks at NWP and confirmed we were ready to go.
As I sat at the RIWP with my Summer Institute co-facilitator, Madonna, and we watched the clock turn to 4:00, we waited. We checked our email and our text messages as faces and voices began appearing on our screen, the others invited to the Hangout. "How am I supposed to get in on this thing?" I wondered out loud. Madonna wasn't sure. So, she went on her Mac Airbook, and I went on my iPad. We were both frantically trying to find a link or a number or something to help us "dial in" to the Hangout, but no matter which page we visited, from the Educator Innovator page to the NWP website, we couldn't figure out how to connect.
So, the webinar was happening without me. There was Troy and the others, talking at us through the laptop but unable to see or hear me in order to know that I was ready to participate. Here he was, talking about writing digitally with teachers in the SI, and I couldn't figure out how to digitally write my way into this webinar. Minutes seemed like hours, and I heard every word of the ongoing conversation as a missed opportunity. "I feel like I'm standing outside of a nightclub and no one's letting me in," I said to Madonna, ready, after 30 minutes, to quit trying. "Should I just forget it? Are they going to think I blew them off?"
But, technology leaves a trail, thank goodness, and before long, I could hear Troy's voice through the screen, saying to his audience, "Well, it looks like Jenn in Rhode Island is having some technical difficulties," which provided a moment or two of relief, as though the principal had just realized I hadn't skipped school but in fact had gone home sick. But, still, we weren't connected. As a last resort, I logged into my college email account, found a recent email from Paul Oh containing a link and clicked the link. This one act magically transported me into Hangout, where I was instantly beamed onto the bottom of the screen with the others who had gathered at 4:00. Just as my face appeared on the screen, though, we had no audio...
And, then we had double audio, as we had somehow recorded the webinar and then were playing it back, mistakenly, as Troy welcomed me. Here was my chance, with only a few minutes remaining, but I couldn't chime in because for some reason, audio of Troy's voice, and his words from only moments before, were playing in the background on the laptop I was using, preventing him or the others from hearing me as I spoke. The scene at the RIWP during this hour was carnivalesque; we were closing every open window on the laptop, eventually closing out Troy and the Hangout only to have to open it again. We finally shut off the recording/feedback with 4 minutes to go and there I was, finally "on the air." I think I said, "Hi" and maybe one other thing before it was time to sign off. I contributed nothing but I learned a lot. I am sure I will never screw up a Google Hangout again.
My contribution to the brain trust today is that technology is hard. It takes patience, extreme attention to detail (is that a backslash or a frontslash?), repetition, failure, and public humiliation (sometimes) to figure out how technological tools work. I was either brave enough or stupid enough to agree to participate in a webinar in a format I had never even heard of, let alone used or mastered. And, in a sense, that is what I am inviting my teacher participants to do this summer in our SI: to play with technology, to use it and abuse it, to screw it up, to fail at it, to laugh at how hard it is, and to laugh at ourselves and to marvel at how easily it comes to our students.
Despite how frustrating this hour was for me today, and despite the fact that I feel a teensy bit like a technological failure at the moment, Troy's webinar invitation was, in a sense, my own little Professional Development session for the day. I tried it, I wasn't very good at it, and now I know lots more than I did at 3:00pm. Thanks again to the NWP for giving me a little disequilibrium to keep it real.
At the beginning of the week, I went to check out an iPad at User Support Services on my college campus, as my own MacBook has a much-too-old operating system to handle Google Hangout. iPad in hand, I brought it home, charged it up, and proceeded to download the Google Plus and Google Hangout apps in preparation for my big 4:00pm curtain call today. I checked in with folks at NWP and confirmed we were ready to go.
As I sat at the RIWP with my Summer Institute co-facilitator, Madonna, and we watched the clock turn to 4:00, we waited. We checked our email and our text messages as faces and voices began appearing on our screen, the others invited to the Hangout. "How am I supposed to get in on this thing?" I wondered out loud. Madonna wasn't sure. So, she went on her Mac Airbook, and I went on my iPad. We were both frantically trying to find a link or a number or something to help us "dial in" to the Hangout, but no matter which page we visited, from the Educator Innovator page to the NWP website, we couldn't figure out how to connect.
So, the webinar was happening without me. There was Troy and the others, talking at us through the laptop but unable to see or hear me in order to know that I was ready to participate. Here he was, talking about writing digitally with teachers in the SI, and I couldn't figure out how to digitally write my way into this webinar. Minutes seemed like hours, and I heard every word of the ongoing conversation as a missed opportunity. "I feel like I'm standing outside of a nightclub and no one's letting me in," I said to Madonna, ready, after 30 minutes, to quit trying. "Should I just forget it? Are they going to think I blew them off?"
But, technology leaves a trail, thank goodness, and before long, I could hear Troy's voice through the screen, saying to his audience, "Well, it looks like Jenn in Rhode Island is having some technical difficulties," which provided a moment or two of relief, as though the principal had just realized I hadn't skipped school but in fact had gone home sick. But, still, we weren't connected. As a last resort, I logged into my college email account, found a recent email from Paul Oh containing a link and clicked the link. This one act magically transported me into Hangout, where I was instantly beamed onto the bottom of the screen with the others who had gathered at 4:00. Just as my face appeared on the screen, though, we had no audio...
And, then we had double audio, as we had somehow recorded the webinar and then were playing it back, mistakenly, as Troy welcomed me. Here was my chance, with only a few minutes remaining, but I couldn't chime in because for some reason, audio of Troy's voice, and his words from only moments before, were playing in the background on the laptop I was using, preventing him or the others from hearing me as I spoke. The scene at the RIWP during this hour was carnivalesque; we were closing every open window on the laptop, eventually closing out Troy and the Hangout only to have to open it again. We finally shut off the recording/feedback with 4 minutes to go and there I was, finally "on the air." I think I said, "Hi" and maybe one other thing before it was time to sign off. I contributed nothing but I learned a lot. I am sure I will never screw up a Google Hangout again.
My contribution to the brain trust today is that technology is hard. It takes patience, extreme attention to detail (is that a backslash or a frontslash?), repetition, failure, and public humiliation (sometimes) to figure out how technological tools work. I was either brave enough or stupid enough to agree to participate in a webinar in a format I had never even heard of, let alone used or mastered. And, in a sense, that is what I am inviting my teacher participants to do this summer in our SI: to play with technology, to use it and abuse it, to screw it up, to fail at it, to laugh at how hard it is, and to laugh at ourselves and to marvel at how easily it comes to our students.
Despite how frustrating this hour was for me today, and despite the fact that I feel a teensy bit like a technological failure at the moment, Troy's webinar invitation was, in a sense, my own little Professional Development session for the day. I tried it, I wasn't very good at it, and now I know lots more than I did at 3:00pm. Thanks again to the NWP for giving me a little disequilibrium to keep it real.
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
Dr. Cook Finds Allies in Washington
I spent most of last week in DC, attending the National Writing Project's Spring Meeting and meeting with each of the four Rhode Island legislators and their staff--Ciccilline, Langevin, Reed, and Whitehouse--on behalf of teacher professional development, SEED grants, and the Rhode Island Writing Project. I've come away from this experience (my third year lobbying Congress) feeling more hopeful about the way in which the tides may be turning.
Information, especially information about legislation in education, is trickled down to us from the top echelons of government like a slow IV morphine drip: enough to dull the pain, but not enough to overdose. Just look at how slowly word about Common Core and PARCC assessments has been rationed to us; I have known for two years what some teachers are only now finding out (that the PARCC assessments are real, and they're coming, and they're going to drive everything until we put an end to it). This past week, I've had the equivalent of a legislative overdose that was intense yet also eye-opening and surprisingly positive. Unlike the past two years, where the voices of the Tea Party drowned out all others, it seemed, I've returned to Rhode Island feeling that the world of education may not be doomed after all. We have allies in the highest places, and I can't wait to tell you about who they are:
Senator Patty Murray (D-WA)--Chairman of the Senate Budget Committee (wherein lies all the power) and a fan of education appropriations and SEED (Supporting Effective Educator Development) grants (the lifeline of the NWP these days). Though earmarks have been eliminated completely in the House, many members of the Senate still favor the notion of an "appropriation," or money that is directed to a specific purpose as part of a larger bill. The NWP likes appropriations! Our funding was cut the day that the House of Reps eliminated earmarks. Part of the lobbying work of the NWP is to restore the notion of an earmark--or an appropriation (or, even better, guaranteed funding) to the legislative process.
Senator Sheldon Whitehouse (D-RI)--He is passionate about middle level education and any efforts to improve middle school students' engagement in learning both in and out of school. By default, a fan of NWP and RIWP, especially vis a vis digital literacies and connected learning.
Senator Tom Harkin (D-IA)--Chairman of the Appropriations Subcommittee on Labor, Health and Human Services, Education, and Related Agencies and a big fan of the National Writing Project. Harkin wants to rewrite and reauthorize the Elementary and Secondary Education Act, which could be a legacy move for him, as he's retiring at the end of his current term. There is a slim chance that part of the reauthorization of ESEA could include guaranteed funding for national PD organizations like the NWP. Stay tuned...
I also found allies in our other RI legislators, who were eager to hear about the work we are doing around teacher leadership with our SEED grant, which we were awarded last year, as well as about our successful Spring Conference, Writing Camps for Youth, and work with novice teachers and adjunct writing instructors at Rhode Island College. Our work at the RIWP has grown richer in these lean days, a paradox of sorts that also points to the resourcefulness of teachers and the strong bonds of our Writing Project network.
So much of my energy as Director of the RIWP has been spent trying to create moments of and spaces for good things to happen for teachers, and so much of that work happens in the equivalent of a dimly lit back room, a private space where no one can hear us. Last week, it was great to bring our work at the RIWP into the light of day, to hold it up against the work of other sites, and to present it to those who represent us in the lawmaking chambers. Much like writing this blog post, making our work public, more and more and more and more, is a necessity to survival, as a community, as a profession, as intellectuals. We can no longer afford to stay put in our dimly lit back rooms.
Information, especially information about legislation in education, is trickled down to us from the top echelons of government like a slow IV morphine drip: enough to dull the pain, but not enough to overdose. Just look at how slowly word about Common Core and PARCC assessments has been rationed to us; I have known for two years what some teachers are only now finding out (that the PARCC assessments are real, and they're coming, and they're going to drive everything until we put an end to it). This past week, I've had the equivalent of a legislative overdose that was intense yet also eye-opening and surprisingly positive. Unlike the past two years, where the voices of the Tea Party drowned out all others, it seemed, I've returned to Rhode Island feeling that the world of education may not be doomed after all. We have allies in the highest places, and I can't wait to tell you about who they are:
Senator Patty Murray (D-WA)--Chairman of the Senate Budget Committee (wherein lies all the power) and a fan of education appropriations and SEED (Supporting Effective Educator Development) grants (the lifeline of the NWP these days). Though earmarks have been eliminated completely in the House, many members of the Senate still favor the notion of an "appropriation," or money that is directed to a specific purpose as part of a larger bill. The NWP likes appropriations! Our funding was cut the day that the House of Reps eliminated earmarks. Part of the lobbying work of the NWP is to restore the notion of an earmark--or an appropriation (or, even better, guaranteed funding) to the legislative process.
Senator Sheldon Whitehouse (D-RI)--He is passionate about middle level education and any efforts to improve middle school students' engagement in learning both in and out of school. By default, a fan of NWP and RIWP, especially vis a vis digital literacies and connected learning.
Senator Tom Harkin (D-IA)--Chairman of the Appropriations Subcommittee on Labor, Health and Human Services, Education, and Related Agencies and a big fan of the National Writing Project. Harkin wants to rewrite and reauthorize the Elementary and Secondary Education Act, which could be a legacy move for him, as he's retiring at the end of his current term. There is a slim chance that part of the reauthorization of ESEA could include guaranteed funding for national PD organizations like the NWP. Stay tuned...
I also found allies in our other RI legislators, who were eager to hear about the work we are doing around teacher leadership with our SEED grant, which we were awarded last year, as well as about our successful Spring Conference, Writing Camps for Youth, and work with novice teachers and adjunct writing instructors at Rhode Island College. Our work at the RIWP has grown richer in these lean days, a paradox of sorts that also points to the resourcefulness of teachers and the strong bonds of our Writing Project network.
So much of my energy as Director of the RIWP has been spent trying to create moments of and spaces for good things to happen for teachers, and so much of that work happens in the equivalent of a dimly lit back room, a private space where no one can hear us. Last week, it was great to bring our work at the RIWP into the light of day, to hold it up against the work of other sites, and to present it to those who represent us in the lawmaking chambers. Much like writing this blog post, making our work public, more and more and more and more, is a necessity to survival, as a community, as a profession, as intellectuals. We can no longer afford to stay put in our dimly lit back rooms.
Saturday, March 9, 2013
Found Poem Composed While Basking in the Glow of Ernest Morrell’s Keynote Address
In the 1950s, the average student spoke seven minutes in an
entire school year.
Kids are going to be at the peak of their career in 2050,
not 1940.
Helping people become better versions of themselves,
To give a young woman the power of her voice for a lifetime.
We need to get over this idea that any change in education
in a threat.
Confidence. Relevance. Love.
“I wanted to retire a dreamer, and I did.”
How do we teach?
Who are we teaching?
Why do we teach?
When are we teaching?
Confidence. Relevance. Love.
How can we get kids excited about learning?
To believe in themselves?
They know education is valuable.
They need to know that they are valuable.
We don’t have an ability crisis.
We have an identity crisis.
Confidence. Relevance. Love.
What kind of education will they need?
Teachers have to keep reinventing themselves.
What kids need from you is not necessarily what you were
prepared to do.
We have to understand the logic of student disinvestment:
“What you’re doing is completely self-destructive but it’s
logical.
Let’s change the logic so it’s not so self-destructive.”
Confidence. Relevance. Love.
If we take out the social dimension of literacy,
We are not really teaching about the power of their
literacy.
Why don’t we ask students to write plays?
Why don’t we ask students to write in these powerful genres?
We make films in English class.
Students’ ability to deconstruct media images is a matter of
life and death.
How curiosity turns into knowledge.
Confidence. Relevance. Love.
Power concedes nothing without a demand.
A fervent love for the potential of young people.
Our culpability in the explosion of students’ dreams.
It’s not cool to be a nihilist in this profession.
Those who are excellent teachers are guided by love and
passion.
Confidence. Relevance. Love.
Sunday, January 27, 2013
Peer Review
The concept of peer review is one that gets a lot of press in higher education but not so much in K-12 schooling. I was thinking about peer review tonight, as the RI Writing Project's Spring Conference Committee has just completed its process of reviewing proposals and forming the 2013 conference program. Reviewing conference proposals is a great form of peer review: reading other educators' work and ideas for conference sessions, seeing what others are doing in their classrooms, what other schools/districts/states are doing and thinking around Common Core, literacy, and writing instruction.
Our conference proposal review was a deliberate and thoughtful face-to-face meeting at Old Alumni House last Tuesday evening. There were eight of us around the table--all Executive Board members and volunteers on the Spring Conference Committee--and we came to the meeting having read "blind" copies of the proposals (contact info/identifying info was taken out). We are:
1. English professor, CCRI
2. middle school teacher
3. middle school teacher (retired)
4. high school English teacher
5. high school English teacher
6. English & secondary education professor, RIC
7. elementary school teacher (retired)
8. curriculum coordinator/literacy coach, K-5 school
We had agreed to a loose scoring rubric to guide our reading, and the 4 items on the rubric were also the four criteria listed in the call for proposals: goals & objectives, content, method of presentation/workshop, and research base. The rubric guided our discussion in that we held each proposal to the same criteria, but our discussion also carefully took into account several "lenses" that we had agreed to beforehand, "lenses" through which we might see each proposal vis a vis this conference, this year, in this context.
Prior to the discussion of proposals, we had put on the easel at the front of the room a few key words and phrases to guide us, those "lenses" to remind us to see each proposal on its own and in the context of the conference. Those key words were:
Audience (who?)
Audience engagement
Purpose (what?)
Keynote (critical pedagogy)
Climate (of education in RI)
Writing Project identity
Once we agreed on this list, we got to work, discussing each proposal's merits and areas in need of improvement and assigning a person to write a response letter, using the notes from our group discussion to guide the letter writing. After a couple hours together, we had worked our way through the pile and had handed out follow-up assignments.
Now, less than a week later, we have a good looking conference program with diverse, smart sessions that are bound to engage writing project teachers. As I organized some data tonight and sat back to take a look at the big picture, I felt proud of this peer review process, proud of those teachers from Rhode Island, Massachusetts and England (!) who sent in proposals and put their work out there for others to see. I'm so proud of the RI Writing Project teachers--the Spring Conference Committee-who have been giving their time and expertise to pull this conference together with resourcefulness, intellect, and charm. I'm proud of our organization, our little ocean state writing project, for weathering the storm so far and for continuing to offer teachers shelter in the storm. Thank goodness for the peer review process, for reminding me of all this, for helping me see what we are good at, what is working.
Sunday, December 16, 2012
Wisdom from Kylene Beers
This blog post by Kylene Beers perfectly captures the ethos of the teacher corps, the steady, consistent spirit of care and kindness that teachers enact every day in classrooms across the country. Something horrible has happened, yet we continue to do our good work, quietly and reliably.
I pasted her blog post below. You can also find it here (on her blog, which you may want to bookmark!): http://kylenebeers.com/blog/2012/12/15/on-monday/
“Mom, help me review my words because my teacher says spelling still counts.”
I pasted her blog post below. You can also find it here (on her blog, which you may want to bookmark!): http://kylenebeers.com/blog/2012/12/15/on-monday/
On Monday
“Mom, help me review my words because my teacher says spelling still counts.”
That’s what Baker – now a senior in college – said to me as he ran into our kitchen one day after school when he was in fifth grade.
He was pulling me out of a three-day television-aided trance I had been in since the first plane hit the World Trade Center. Oh, I got up each day, got each child off to school, did most of the work I was supposed to be doing, but then rushed back to CNN to watch again and again what had happened, to try, again and again, to make sense of what this meant our world – my family’s world – would now be.
I’m doing the same thing again. Since yesterday. Since Sandy Hook Elementary School locked down and we redefined tragedy. Again. I’m listening intently to all the reports, reading closely all the articles, looking for anything that makes this make sense. But of course nothing will because one can’t apply logic to what was done illogically; one can’t apply reason to what was done without reason.
And I keep remembering Baker’s fifth-grade language arts teacher who each day after the 9/11 attacks didn’t sit home staring at a screen, but instead walked into her classroom to help twenty-two youngsters through the day. On Thursday of that week, she sent her students home reminding them to study because “spelling still counts.” I loved her for giving those students (and me) that nudge toward normalcy. All of the teachers in that school – in schools across this nation – during those first long weeks after 9/11 gave our nation’s children something far more important than what could ever be bubbled in on a state-mandated test. They gave them security; they gave them time; they gave them ways to process all that had happened; and they helped them learn that each of us has the ability to get through tragic moments even when we doubt we will ever get over them.
That’s what you’ll do again. On Monday. And on Tuesday. And on all the rest of the days next week and the rest of this school year. Parents will hold on to children – of all ages – tighter, and you will, with firm resolve, assure them you are a professional who knows what to do when tragedy strikes. Some children will cry and you will dry tears. Some will lash out in anger and you will know that is fear rearing its head another way. You will worry and fret and wonder what else you should do. You will talk with other teachers and principals – who will be doing all the same things you are doing – and together you will decide what is the right plan for your school as you help your students through what will, for some, be terribly difficult days.
Yes, on Monday and for all the days that follow, you will prepare lessons, watch for that student who doesn’t quite grasp the point, encourage the student who hesitantly offers an idea, help the shy one make a friend, remind the bossy one to listen more. And you’ll do what no university class ever prepared you to do: you will show students that when tragedy strikes, hope lives and goodness can always be found. You will help students recognize that their grief shows their humanity. You will show them that we all go on, in spite of fear, or perhaps more importantly, to spite fear. And you will, as you nudge them toward normalcy, even remind them that spelling still counts. You will be in our nation’s classrooms, teaching our nation’s children, and for this we are a grateful nation.
Thank you. Thank you. And, again, thank you.
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