Trust Fall

Thanks to all the great work we did last summer at our site with Connected Learning and #clmooc, I have been invited to create a Resource on NWP's fantastic Digital Is website. What a great opportunity to put the work of our site out there for public consumption! What validation for a first-time SI co-facilitator! What recognition for the beginning Bloggers, Tweeters, and Makers in our group! So, I've begun the process of teaching myself how to create a Resource page on Digital Is, which is not as easy as it would seem, though my newfound tech confidence (and awesome tech support by @JoLusink & @poh) is certainly helping me navigate these new tools and formats. And that, all by itself--confidence in navigating HTML embed codes, Mozilla Popcorn, Google Hangouts and child pages--has been a very important new additive as I tinker and tweet my way into a blended world.

Where has this confidence with The Digital come from?  From diving in. From figuring it out. From pushing past the frustration caused by all things electronic. From participating! Part of my confidence (though now it occurs to me that maybe I haven't chosen quite the right word here) stems from being able to tinker in a no-stakes environment with digital tools and, at the same time, having a community of collaborators, an audience of others who were similarly engaged (a la #clmooc), folks with whom to share my work: my Vines, my horrible stop-motion animation vids, my #25wordstories, my songs on Soundcloud or my Rage comics. As @hickstro points out in his awesome volume, Crafting Digital Writing, relevance is key to technology applications in the classroom. And, for me, the collaborative experience of #clmooc, coupled with the supportive network of tech savvy NWP leaders and the laugh-our-way-through-it-all attitude of our SI teachers formed the relevance for my new learning. The 3-week window of the SI, and the immediacy of the #clmooc experience created an urgency to our learning that was also motivating and exhilerating. We were creating things every day, learning new tools and "showing off" our cleverness to one another, and it felt good.

Aligning our Summer Institute with the #clmooc experience was vital because it provided the perfect gifts of space and time for teachers to play, to tinker, to create, to fail, to collaborate, to conference. With all the PD that we create for teachers, one of the most basic of all teacher truths sometimes gets overlooked: teachers are learners, and what they need most in order to "professionally develop" is space and time (and a little guidance) to do it without intrusion or disruption.

And, so, I've asked my English teacher candidates to create teaching blogs and Twitter accounts, to mark the beginning of their journey as public intellectuals and as a digitally networked reflective teaching community. All seven candidates now have teaching blogs on Blogger, which are linked here our class blog hub: Joy and Justice. Yesterday in class, we decided on a hashtag: #teachouse (in honor of the old farmhouse on campus where we hold our methods class). The #teachouse crew has already gotten a few shout-out welcomes on Twitter, and as my candidates are beginning their field experiences next week, their blogs and Twitter accounts should be lighting up with reflections, resources and classroom artifacts.

If this is my digital expectation of my novice teachers who are also already navigating such murky waters, then I need to be sure to build in time and space for digital composing and to make it relevant to the coursework and program. Some of the candidates, admittedly, are skeptical about Twitter and about how on earth it could augment their teaching lives. Some candidates are already on Twitter but are having to adjust their profiles and handles to match their new professional identities. This rhetorical shift in their Twitter persona will be interesting to discuss and witness, as will the development of their teacher blogging voice. As I find meaningful ways to incorporate my new digital understandings and discoveries into my preparation of and work with teachers, I see more and more how the story of learning to use and appreciate digital tools, especially social media, is about trust in the collaborative spirit of others and in the goodwill of a public audience. We cannot neglect the "social" in social media. What kinds of F2F social environments are we creating for new digital learning to take place?

Happily, the NWP and #clmooc networks, and, I'm hoping, my own classroom, are firmly established on a solid foundation of collaboration, support and goodwill. When I closed my eyes and let myself fall back into the crowd of connected learners last summer, I knew my #clmooc network would be there to catch me...and all of us. Our trust in the network, in the leaders, and in the process--a go-at-your-own-pace weekly curriculum--was (and still is!) a key ingredient to our buy-in. And, the follow-up from #clmooc, the promise to resurrect it again this summer (2014), and the extension of our site's learning through resources like Digital Is and NWP Radio has kept the momentum going here in Rhode Island. A lot of good has come from a Site Director's Trust Fall. I can't wait to see what's next.

Renewal 2013: Going Back to the Start

Fueled by our #clmooc and Connected Educator-inspired Summer Institute, and spurred on by the engagement our TCs have shown in shifting our site from a paper-based place to a digital place, we decided that this would be the perfect year to hack the Renewal Meeting, a tradition of continuity at our site for the past 25 years.

The Renewal Meeting is a reconvening of the Summer Institute on Teaching Writing, a Friday in early November for the TCs and co-facilitators to come together on campus to reflect on their summer work and to discuss applications (and implications) of that work in the current school year.

At the RIWP these days, we have granted ourselves permission to hack and repurpose systems that no longer work for us, a privilege that many of us are not afforded in our schools or classrooms.

And, here are the facts: We love the home of the RIWP, Alumni House, an old farmhouse that was on the campus long before Rhode Island College moved there from its former downtown Providence location. Our house has eight nonworking fireplaces, a kitchen, and two sometimes working bathrooms. It possesses a funky mildew smell, like a Cape Cod cottage with damp sea air permanently sealed in the walls, and contains outdated computers and a now-defunct copy machine. But, as our federal funding for the RIWP has shrunk down to nothing, our offices are becoming less and less attractive places to write and create and meet. And, having sat around the conference table in Alumni House, in front of a blasting air conditioner, circa 1978, all summer, we were eager to bust out of our routine for the Renewal.

So, I went ahead and planned a fully hacked day of learning events in our local Providence, RI community. It seems that serendipity was smiling on me because when I went to the Rhode Island School of Design's website to investigate what sort of exhibit they were hosting (maybe something relevant to our SI themes of "making and hacking"), I discovered that the RISD Museum was in its final week of an exhibit called "Locally Made." Amazing synchronicity!

When I investigated the schedule of events for the exhibit, I saw that on Friday, November 1, the day of our Renewal Meeting, the museum was hosting a local fiber artist, who'd be displaying her work and talking to visitors about it from 10-12, and then a queer performance artist was moving into the same space to stage her just-written performance piece about a break-up. Two local artists sharing their work and talking about process! Plus, an entire gallery of locally made art. Plus, an entire museum of amazing pieces and installations.

So, I planned the day (a director's task): We would meet at Cafe Choklad in downtown Providence at 8:30. At 10:00, we'd head over to the RISD Museum (where we all got in for free because we are teachers!). At 1:30, we'd leave the Museum and head across the street to grab lunch together and to reflect on the day's "takeaways."

I felt good about the plan, and after I emailed it to the group, I suddenly felt self-concious about my assumption that this group of TCs would want to "be bothered" with all of this: parking in downtown Providence, spending money out of pocket, having a loose plan for the day, not knowing what would happen at the gallery, seeing a queer performance artist (what's that?!), etc. But, I was wrong. The teachers immediately responded with emails like "YAY! I am in!" and "Count me in!" and "Yes! A fieldtrip!" It was clear to me, in about five minutes after sending out this email, that folks needed a change of pace, and that this repurposing of the renewal meeting was just what the doctor (Cook) ordered.

It was a great day. We laughed and smiled and learned and got ideas for teaching and making and writing with our students. We learned a little more about one another, and we got to process the school year so far. We stood and stared at art. We heard working artists talking about their process and their revisions and their failures. We saw a powerful performance piece that brought tears to some of our eyes. We met new friends at our local art museum and formed a relationship with a local artist, Ruth, who invited us all to her studio on the East Side to watch her work. We were living the life of connected educators that day, and it felt so good...a true renewal, and a demonstration of some of the ideas we want to carry forward through our entire year of work at the RIWP.

Hack what doesn't work anymore.
Repurpose old ideas to fit new aspirations and dreams.
Do not hang on to methods and systems that drain us.
Connect to our local community in both obvious and surprising ways.
Honor the capacity in teachers to take risks, to go on adventures, to bust out of our comfort zone.

Repurposing the RIWP

Repurpose: To use or convert for use in another format or product.

At our opening Executive Board meeting at the RIWP on October 7, we began by repurposing a pile of recycled cardboard, pom-poms, popsicle sticks, shoeboxes and packaging. I had spent the night before roaming around my house, collecting scraps from our recycle bin, our basement (the land of empty boxes), and our kitchen (where I found a bag full of wine corks). I hauled all of this "junk" into the RIWP on Monday afternoon, piled it invitingly in the middle of the conference table, then waited for folks to arrive at 4:30pm.

Our Executive Board this year looks quite different! We have welcomed lots of new members to the Board and have said "goodbye" to some long-standing members who needed a break. Two of our new Executive Board members were drawn from our pool of newly-minted Fellows from the Summer Institute, and another five new members from our federally-funded SEED teacher leadership group from 2012-13. With such a new group, it was time for a new beginning.

As sixteen people starting piling in to Alumni House and gathering around the conference table, some initially wondered what the pile of materials was all about while others grabbed their favorite pieces and began making. I had written this message on the easel, to welcome folks as they arrived:

"Welcome! Your first assignment as an Executive Board member of the RIWP this year is to repurpose some of this junk to make yourself a hacked Executive Nameplate. Grab some materials and start repurposing them! We will spend our first 30 minutes together tinkering, making, and creating."

After reassuring the skeptical folks that we were indeed playing with glue sticks, popsicle sticks and sneaker boxes, and after reiterating that our objective was to hack an Executive Nameplate (that is, making it look as un-Executive as it possibly can!), everybody was on their way. The table was soon aflutter with activity, and our meeting space soon looked and sounded like a third grade art room, cardboard detritus scattered everywhere, the joyful sound of people happily building things with their hands.

Repurposing is our new middle name at the RIWP; it's our new way of thinking, our new way of being, our new way of envisioning professional development that feeds our intellect, our creative souls, and our need for community. As the photo above demonstrates, what emerged from this 30 minutes of human energy, creativity, vision and junk were masterpieces, each one individually crafted and made with intention. Artisan nameplates. Made from junk that was going to get thrown out.

Later, as we went around the table and presented our nameplates, and as each person described their making process and their thinking process, what came to light is that each of us had approached that table of junk through the same door, on the same day, in the same room. But, each of us saw something different in the junk. Each of us was able to look at a pile of cardboard and see the raw materials for creation. Then, we were able to gather those materials, some tools and build. For folks who didn't have a vision right away, who looked into the pile of junk and saw junk, what worked for them was to grab some materials and just begin...gluing, piling, cutting, folding. Once their hands began working, they said, a form and an idea began to take shape. Both Dina and Cynthia said that they didn't know what they were making at first, but, as they started building, a creation emerged: a little book nameplate and a pom-pom purse nameplate, each representing something significant about its maker. This, I think, is in itself an important lesson for teachers of writing. Some kids have the idea right away. Others need to tinker first and find their idea while their hands are busy.

So, what was the point of beginning our first board meeting of the year this way, you ask? Our new Executive Board now has a shared experience in repurposing materials and ideas. We can reference this mini-activity as a sort of tether for other (more ambitious) ideas for repurposing systems that do not work for teachers (or students) and that are not effective in promoting fluent readers and writers. This kind of thinking and doing, for teachers, is especially revolutionary, I believe, because it combines the idea of being subversive with transparency. It's a way of saying, "We've come up with a better way to do this, a more affordable way to do this, a more effective way to do this, and we are sharing our idea with you." This, to me, is what happens when you bring subversive teaching into the Writing Project model: we have a community behind us, a body of knowledge and research behind us, and a national network behind us. We make our work public, we share it across boundaries and disciplines, and we encourage and teach others to do the same.

As we move forward this year at the RIWP, we hope to maintain this momentum in our thinking and practice: repurposing old tools and methods, reworking former beliefs, hacking systems that aren't working, renewing ideas that have grown stagnant. We hope you will consider joining us! If you'd like to learn more about Hacking and Repurposing and how they are relevant to teaching and learning and literacy, here are some excellent places to get started:

Ben Chun’s Ignite Talk about Teaching students to be comfortable with trial and error/tinkering:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KTBHYWFm8zw

Chris Lawrence’s Ignite Talk on creating learning networks/builder communities/design hack jams:

A Learning Party!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1OO3-fIrJgc

Jackie Gerstein’s "The Education I Wish I Had: a challenge to educators"

http://www.slideshare.net/jgerst1111/education-i-wish-i-had

“Move fast and break things:” Hacking as a way to think about problems, from a Facebook design engineer:  http://www.facebook-studio.com/education/video/55

Mozilla Hackasaurus: http://hackasaurus.org/en-US/about/

Teachers and Students as Makers

This summer at the RIWP, in the Summer Institute on Teaching Writing, we have been exploring what it means to use digital tools in teaching and learning and how to use those tools with intention and purpose. We have come together to re-learn what it means to MAKE stuff in school. We want to instill in our teacher participants the transformative notion of students as producers--as MAKERS--of digital texts.

We began our first week with Digital Introductions, a fantastic creative free-for-all in which we were all to create a digital means of introducing ourselves to the group. Nearly everyone chose a different media and application, and we were thoroughly wow-ed by the results of letting teachers tinker with digital tools. During our first week together, back in the middle of July, we gave ourselves permission to try and fail, to screw up and to make stupid stuff. We also gave ourselves permission to make awesome things, to experiment with tools we had previously been afraid of, to remix and repurpose ideas so that they could live new lives in a digital world.

Here, Emmanuel introduces himself to us using a Six Word Memoir:



In an amazing feat of looping Vines to make a much longer montage, Anne introduces herself to us here:



And, as a third example, here is Kelly's introduction, using a digital tool called Sparkol:



As you sail into August with thoughts of the school year starting to sprout up, think about ways you can MAKE STUFF, both concretely and digitally, with your students this year. Think about ways you can, yourself, as their teacher, make stuff and tinker and show them it's okay. Trust me when I tell you: Making, tinkering, and playing--with digital tools or not--will bring your teaching back to life again. We are all trying to reconstruct what it's like to be a child, someone who learns by engaging and doing and not by obligation, fear or duty.

Pew Report Illustrates Impact of Digital Technologies on Student Writing - National Writing Project

Pew Report Illustrates Impact of Digital Technologies on Student Writing - National Writing Project

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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/

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.

2013 Spring Conference Keynote Speaker & Call for Proposals

We are excited to announce our 2013 Spring Conference keynote speaker, education activist and teacher educator, Ernest Morrell. Dr. Morrell is President-Elect of the National Council of Teachers of English (NCTE), Professor of English Education at Columbia University and Director of the Institute for Urban and Minority Education (IUME) at Columbia. Dr. Morrell's keynote talk will focus on engaging students in literacy activities by bringing popular culture into the classroom and by empowering students to become producers of knowledge, not just consumers.

The RIWP is now soliciting proposals for 75-minute conference sessions that focus on theory & practice in teaching reading, writing, and literacy in K-16 classroom settings. We invite you to consider submitting a proposal for a session that features the work you do in your own classroom and schools. We would like to especially encourage teachers from across the disciplines to submit proposals about how you are using writing to learn in your classrooms and, more specifically, how you are addressing the mandates of the Common Core. The RI Writing Project wishes to open its doors to all teachers, not just English teachers. We hope you will consider joining us. To access and print out the Proposal form, click here:

http://www.ric.edu/riwp/pdf/Conference%202013%20Call%20for%20Proposals_NEW.pdf

In order to prepare yourself for what's sure to be a great conference, we've sought out some great resources on our keynote speaker and on his work with youth, critical pedagogy, and popular culture. We hope these links help you cultivate your excitement for Dr. Morrell's visit to Rhode Island. 

Read Dr. Morrell's faculty profile here: http://artsandhumanities.pressible.org/lizhoelzle/dr-ernest-morrel

Dr. Morrell got his start as an English teacher with the Bay Area Writing Project in California. He has worked with urban youth from coast to coast and is currently involved in an exciting project with youth in New York City--Youth Historians in Harlem--which you can read about here: http://www.youthhistorians.com/

Listen and watch as Dr. Morrell talks about his work at Columbia and at IUME: http://quicktime.tc.columbia.edu/users/TCNEWS/2010_2011/Ernest_edit.mov?KeepThis=true&TB_iframe=true&height=400&width=400

Read more about Dr. Morrell's upcoming work at the Institute for Urban and Minority Education: http://iume.tc.columbia.edu/index.asp?Id=Announcements&Info=Dr.+Ernest+Morrell+Appointed+New+IUME+Director

Read more about Dr. Morrell's work and affiliations with the National Writing Project: http://www.nwp.org/cs/public/print/resource/3495 and this http://www.nwp.org/cs/public/print/resource/3536

Watch Dr. Morrell's keynote address at last year's NWP Urban Sites Network Conference in Boston: http://www.nwp.org/cs/public/print/resource/3624

Finally, if you're interested in joining a RIWP book group/study group on Dr. Morrell's most recent book, The Art of Critical Pedagogy, co-written with Jeffrey Duncan-Andrade, please post a comment or email Jenn Cook (jcook@ric.edu). Our study group will be forming in January 2013 in preparation for the conference. You need not be a Teacher Consultant or RIWP Fellow to join us. All are welcome! Here's a link to the book so you can check it out: http://www.ernestmorrell.com/criticalpedagogy.html

It's going to be a great conference this year, folks, so I hope you will set aside the conference fee of $75 (early bird/before Feb 1) and set aside the morning and early afternoon of Saturday, March 9, 2013. We will be so happy to see you!

The RIWP Annual Spring Conference is a professional development opportunity for K-16 teachers looking for innovative ways to inspire and engage students with writing and literacy. Those who attend will have the opportunity to hear from and meet with a nationally regarded leader in teaching, to participate in workshops, and to network with other educators.

Shared Leadership

For several years, I have had grand ideas about implementing a shared leadership model at our organization, an idea that was precipitated by our loss of federal funding and our elimination of all office staff. But, even though shared leadership makes fiscal sense, it is a complicated idea in the workplace, as it requires so many things that are difficult for us as human beings: trust, collaboration, cooperation, letting go of control, listening, and being flexible and amiable. Tonight, after a lot of dreaming and even more hard work and team building, we held our first-ever Executive Board meeting that was a working meeting under the shared leadership model. Normally, you would find us, a group of 15 or so teachers, sitting around a large conference table, discussing items on an agenda and coming up with ideas to table for later. Tonight, I was twenty minutes late to the meeting. But, when I walked through the door to the RI Writing Project, folks were in their groups, working on the projects they chose to tackle. They were working with their updated To Do lists; some were at computers, some in conference rooms. The place was humming like a beehive. Groups of teachers were planning our spring conference, writing a new vision statement, developing our Facebook page, and planning our summer writing camp for 2013. I moved from group to group, offering feedback and lots of praise. After an hour and a half, an incredible amount of work had been accomplished, and everyone felt, I believe, happy. 

Folks had smiles on their faces as they said "goodbye." They felt useful, content. So did I.

Doing, instead of sitting. Creating, instead of following. Envisioning, instead of ignoring. These are the things teachers need. 

I love my work and am so grateful to work with the smart, capable Writing Project teachers in Li'l Rhody.

October is for Writing

It has been raining for days. A whole week, I think. And, this morning, thankfully, I can see patches of blue sky busting through the clouds, which are moving higher and farther away. This soggy, dark October still has plenty of time to show us its beauty, as I discovered when I was walking my dog today. For the first time since school has started, I found myself, this morning, finally noticing Nature all around me: the bright fireworks display of the maple trees in my neighborhood; the flurry of squirrels and chipmunks collecting and storing and preparing; the smell of autumn, that rich wet-leaf sangria that smells like apple cider and maple and sweet berry wine. One of the most inspiring phenomena to me, as a writer, is the natural world, and yet, I so often forget to notice it because I am scurrying and rushing and way too focused on my tasks and my to do lists.

But, this morning I remembered my sabbatical. I remembered that I pledged to myself to take time, to make time for Nature, as she so often calms me down and reminds me that everything is cyclical, that everything has its rhythms, that everything has its time. She also inspires me to be a writer in a way that nothing else can. Nature demands that I notice her, even when I'm too busy or too preoccupied. And, when her demands finally sink in, and when I pick my head up and look up--at the sky, at the tiptops of trees, at the hawks flying above, at the shapeshifting cumulus clouds--I am struck my emotion, by the flood of the feeling that everything is connected and that life persists, regardless.

This is how Nature inspires me to write. She makes me feel, deeply, and then I feel compelled to put down on paper how a little feeling can just rise up inside of me at the sight of a magnificent maple tree in its glorious red and orange autumn costume. I feel compelled to make a mark in my notebook that isn't inspired by anger or confusion or passion but one that is fueled by and inspired by an uncontrollable joy and awe of something much, much bigger than us, than any of our petty worries or battles.

The power and beauty of Nature is right before your eyes, right now, in its full splendor here in New England. Can you see it? Does it inspire you to write?

The value of labor, the value of work

The new academic year began yesterday, and I spent much of last week in school and department meetings, preparing syllabi and working out schedules. In a break from the usual, I chose to do much of my preparation for the new semester at the RIWP office because it's far removed from the central traffic of campus, it houses a copier that is at my disposal, and it is deliciously quiet over there these days. Also, I put in several work orders to have computers and printers at the RIWP updated and to also have the massive pile of recycling carted away, so I was also there waiting for the technicians and workers who were slated to arrive.

When I got to the RIWP offices, ready to get down to working on my syllabus for my writing class, I noticed how dusty and grimy the desks in our office were. I thought, "Geez. These desks probably haven't been wiped down in months." But, I couldn't wipe the desks off until I removed all the piles of papers from the desks, papers that hadn't been sorted through for months. So, I sorted the papers into folders, recycle bins, and trash. Once the tops of the tables and desks were ready for the accumulation of a new year's worth of stuff, I got to spraying and wiping them down, keyboards, phones and all. Once I had sorted and wiped and cleared and cleaned, I needed to get to work on the computer, generating emails that had been neglected for trips to the beach and backyard barbecues. So, I sat down at our former program assistant's desk (we no longer have a program assistant), and I tried to channel her efficiency in getting right to work. There were many boxes to be checked on my To Do list.

But, just as I began to write the first of many emails, a RIC custodian came walking up the stairs, into the office, and asked if I requested that the trash and recycling be hauled away. I said, "Yes," and then asked him his name. I stood up, introduced myself, learned his name was Mike, shook his hand, and we started talking about why the Physical Plant doesn't assign a regular custodian to clean the RIWP offices. Apparently, the custodians in the Physical Plant on our campus operate on a rotating schedule, with some custodians assigned as "floaters." The RIWP generally gets the "floater" custodian, Mike explained to me, which is why we have to call in our requests for trash pickup. While Mike was working--breaking down big cardboard boxes, hauling reams of paper downstairs to another office, cleaning out the upstairs bathroom for me (even though I didn't ask)--he and I continued talking. I learned that, in the rush at the end of the summer to get the campus in tip-top shape, the staff members working for Physical Plant get all the overtime they want, while, during the summer, their hours got cut back. Mike also talked to me about his brother who used to work for a big company and who, accidentally, once recycled some very important papers from his boss's office. He got in big trouble. That's why, Mike told me, he's hesitant to recycle anything in our office until he's gotten the go ahead from me. What had seemed to me, just minutes before, to be a simple, mindless task (recycling paper) now took on a certain moral complexity. I learned something right then about custodians, recycling, and the business of cleaning up after others.

After Mike had finished with the recycling upstairs, he asked me to walk downstairs with him so he could show me the bathroom. He had cleaned it, he said, and he wanted me to see the difference. Also, he noticed that the toilet wasn't working. "The flush isn't flushing," he said to me, suggesting that I go upstairs and submit another work order to have the toilet fixed. But, to Mike's surprise (his face gave it all away), I lifted off the top of the toilet tank, reached my hand into the tank water, and reattached the chain that had come undone and had caused the flush valve to malfunction. Once the chain was reattached, I put the top of the tank back on, gave the toilet a flush, and looked at Mike with a glow of self-satisfaction. Mike smiled at me and asked, "Do you own a house?" When I replied, "Yes," he said, "Well, if you own a house, you learn how to do everything, I guess." I think Mike might've learned something at that moment about women and professors and assumptions.

After our interlude in the downstairs bathroom, Mike and I parted ways, though I told him I'd probably be seeing him around, even if he was assigned to another building, since I do a fair amount of "floating" myself as a teacher on this campus. I went back upstairs to the office and to my To Do list. I emailed and invoiced my way through the afternoon, but I couldn't stop thinking about what a nice experience I had with Mike that day and how appreciative I was of his bright personality, sense of humor, and pride in his work. I had retreated to the RIWP offices, originally, to seek solitude so that I could finish my work. As it turned out, I had a good afternoon--productive enough--made better by interacting with one other worker. On that day, in those moments of that afternoon, we were just two workers, doing our jobs, sharing in the day-to-day labor.

Collaboration! RIWP's Summer Writing Camp and RIC's School of Education

Becoming a Networked Teacher Leader

Six months ago, I was so proud of myself for having eschewed Twitter for so long. As someone who was hesitant to create a Facebook page (but finally did), I made a solemn pledge that my digital social network would not go beyond that. After all, I'm too old to Tweet, and don't only famous people Tweet, anyway? Also, joining Twitter would add another "distraction" to the already long line of things that are actively distracting me from my work and my family. Why on Earth would I voluntarily sign up for MORE social networking when I'm the person whose heart soars at the thought of a rotary phone, a letter sent or received by the postal service or a conversation on a front porch. I am the queen of slow, deliberate practice, of cursive handwriting and paper notebooks and face-to-face teaching. I am not a product of the digital revolution. In fact, in many ways, I fight the ethos of digitizing our communication. "It'll make us less human," I'd say. "It will make us forget how to talk to one another," I'd warn. "Hiding behind screens exacerbates our fear of the other," I'd predict. In April, midway through my sabbatical, I was at the National Writing Project's Spring Conference in Washington, DC, where people from every site in the US gather for a "lobbying blitz" on Capitol Hill. I was there in DC to visit our Senators from Rhode Island, Sheldon Whitehouse and Jack Reed, who have been supporters of the NWP and the RIWP, and whose support I wanted to continue to cultivate. Before setting us loose on the Hill, the smart staffers and consultants with NWP gathered us in a large hotel conference room to brief us on the fine art of lobbying. During that briefing, we were encouraged to "live Tweet" our Capitol Hill experience; that is, NWP folks were encouraging us to fire up our Twitter accounts and to send Tweets to a specified hashtag. One of the results, they said, of doing this is that we would be able to see, were we to follow the hashtag, who was winning support and who was meeting a challenge throughout the days of lobbying. As the only representative there from the RIWP, I felt somewhat responsible for updating folks on my progress. I was also intrigued by live tweeting. So, at that moment, spurred on by the NWP, I opened up my iPhone and signed up for a Twitter account. From that moment forward, my handle's been @cookout70 I now have 113 followers, have sent over 800 tweets, and I am following over 400 individuals and organizations that are in some way connected to me as a teacher and a professional. In the past 4 months, I have cultivated a digital PLN, a personal learning network, that is tailored to my interests, my stance, my professional beliefs, and my eclectic tastes. I have gained so much, in just this short time, from this tremendous network of thinkers and do-ers. Here are five tangible benefits I've experienced since joining Twitter: 1. I now have colleagues across the globe, folks who are preparing teachers, teaching in colleges and universities and fighting corporate privatization of public schools and spaces. 2. As a result of cultivating international colleagues, I'm heading to the UK in November for a week. I will be spending time with professors at the University of Lincoln to study and better understand their "Student as Producer" model of teaching and learning. This, in turn, has opened up a whole new avenue for my interest in teaching writing by engaging my students in authentic, original research. 3. I now have readers visiting my blog. Folks don't comment much, but I can see that they are reading! And, that feels good. Like I am making a very small footprint. 4. I am able to easily stay connected to my NWP network, especially by following @writingproject and @NWPSiteLeaders. 5. My Personal Learning Network gives me hope because I've chosen to follow hopeful people. And, that's a small way I can positively impact my psyche and self-worth in a time when I am made to feel ashamed about being an advocate for public school teachers. As a teacher educator, first-year writing instructor, and director of the RIWP, I'm so happy to be able to use Twitter to connect the three streams of my professional life in one place. The most important piece of advice I can give you about becoming a digitally networked teacher leader is this: If I can do it, you can do it. Here are some resources to get you started! What is a PLN? http://onceateacher.wordpress.com/2009/05/05/pln-your-personal-learning-network-made-easy/
George Couros: "What Should a Networked Educational Leader Tweet About?" http://georgecouros.ca/blog/archives/1810

What are some good teacher-related discussions to join?
#edchat #engchat #edchatri #edblogs #yalitchat #teachchat #ISI2012

*diagram courtesy of Alex Couros

Collaborating with Campus Colleagues

Yesterday marked a "first" for the Rhode Island Writing Project. Yesterday we held our first ever Summer Invitational Institute for Adjunct Instructors of First-Year Writing at Rhode Island College. Though the institute has a much-too-long title, to be sure, I am thrilled with what we created yesterday. Thanks to my good colleague and friend, Becky Caouette, the Director of Writing at RIC, for daring to enact a new tradition at our College: collaborating with K-12 teachers to improve our understanding of and teaching of First-Year Writing at the College.

We invited 10 participants to enroll in a day-long Institute devoted to: (1) discussing the new General Education program at our College and how it will impact our teaching; (2) discussing the new Common Core State Standards and how they might impact our teaching of college writing; (3) hearing from a panel of high school teachers about their experiences and observations teaching high school writing. The Institute was filled, a good sign, and we welcomed a panel of three exceptional high school teachers to the Institute in the afternoon to share their experiences with us. By the end of the day, we had grown to 15, and there we were: high school and college writing instructors, at the same table, talking about teaching our students to write for various audiences, despite and in light of assessment pressures. It was AMAZING! And, in true Writing Project fashion, it happened in a tiny little corner of a tiny little state in a dimly lit, air-conditioned room in a weird little building on the far side of campus. But, nevertheless, there we all were, changing the world in our small but sincere way.

So, what happened as a result of this attempt to break down the institutional barriers between people who share the same passions and concerns?

We built a new community. We instilled some confidence and scooped out a lot of validation. We passed along some new and relevant knowledge. We shared our writing: stories of good and not-so-good memories of ourselves as high school writers. We marveled at each other's writing abilities. We ate good food and snacks. We drank lots of water. We listened to one another, with respect and good intentions, and without fear of judgment or evaluation. We shared practices. We shared secret fears. We compensated everyone. We also gave them nice tote bags. There's no doubt in my mind that everyone left the room--and the day--much lighter and much happier than when we had all entered.

At an institution where 95% of the First-Year Writing courses are taught by Adjunct Faculty, I am so proud to have begun a professional development resource for this under-served and under-recognized population of vital instructors on our campus. Becky and I both believe that without taking good care of our Adjunct Instructors of writing, without building a community in which they, too, feel that they are growing as intellectuals, as researchers, and as practitioners, the entire college community will suffer. Writing--and the teaching of it--is just that important.

Here's to many more collaborations between the RI Writing Project and RIC's First-Year Writing Program. It's one way that the Rhode Island Writing Project is working to make our presence on the RIC campus vital and our work, both on campus and off, indispensable to the College.

RIP Ray Bradbury

I am so sad that Ray Bradbury has died at 91. Wasn't he supposed to live past all of us, to see robots making him eggs in the morning and to vacation on Mars? He will always be one of my favorite writers, someone who cracked open my imagination and my fascination with the space. When I was younger, I was slightly obsessed with aliens and with Mars. I even dressed up like a "Martian" once to do a report at school on Mars. Ray Bradbury helped me embrace my inner dork. Space continues to fascinate me and always will: all that eternity, time, darkness, mystery, and the unknowable. It scrambles my mind just right.

Bradbury once said in an interview, "Lone at night, when I was twelve years old, I looked at the planet Mars and I said, ‘Take me home!’ And the planet Mars took me home, and I never came back. So I’ve written every day in the last 75 years. I’ve never stopped writing." God, I love that!

My favorite Ray Bradbury book is Fahrenheit 451. The man was a prophet, a seer, a visionary. In 1953, he looked into the future and saw a culture ruled by fear, one in which people are burning books, have become slaves to their screens, and are addicted to substances that dull their senses. He envisioned a band of "Book People," living in the woods, in the margins, who dedicate their lives to memorizing books, which are outlawed. They "become" a book, and their life is about preserving the cultural memory that the leaders are so intent to destroy. (Sound familiar?)

So long, Mr. Bradbury. Thank you for the stories, for feeding my mind with visions of other worlds. In my fantasy world, here's how it all went down: You simply hitched a ride with Venus last night, as she sailed across the face of the Sun. You planned accordingly, packed your bags, and waited for the right moment. What a genius. I hope it's a great ride up there.

Achieving balance

The summer is nearly here, though you wouldn't know it from the weather in Rhode Island this week. Our minds are easily fooled by the weather, and when I stepped outside this morning and smelled the crisp, wet-leaf air, it felt, just for a moment, like back-to-school and not the end of the school year. I'm sure my sensory confusion also has something to do with the fact that I've been on sabbatical since December 22, freed from my teaching and administrative duties for six months to rekindle the creativity and drive from within. I have been a teacher since 1994, the year I graduated from UMass Amherst with my M.Ed. and my Massachusetts 7-12 English teacher certification. I was full of fire then, my desire to affect change, to make a difference, to make a mark, fueled the gears and pistons inside of me. But, as even a hybrid car will show you, engines cannot run without fuel. After 18 years of teaching high school, completing a doctoral program and dissertation, co-founding a non-profit organization, hopping on the "tenure track" and eventually earning tenure and promotion, the brain and the body deserve a rest, a recharge, a renewal.

I am happy to say that I have achieved this goal. I've found renewal in an odd combination of lo-fi and high-tech. I've found new joy in the exploration of Nature, in drawing with a pencil, in writing cards and letters and mailing them, in resurrecting forgotten technologies in order to access old memories (slide projectors, reel-to-reel tapes, record players). I've also found joy in Twitter, where I've formed a professional development network of people I respect and want to commune with as intellectuals. I've found joy in digital comics-creating tools, in creating YouTube videos of my mandolin playing so I can share my music with others, and in creating a digital presentation using my ethnographer's skills.

I find that the slower technologies--paper, ink, stamps, magnetic tape--slow me down, too. And, I like that. The reward is in the doing, in the process, in the unfolding. It's also in the inconsistencies and idiosyncracies of these tools. ("Oh darn! The rain is smudging the fancy ink on the card! I should have used ballpoint. Oh well, I'll put it in the mail anyway and see what happens.")

The faster technologies--namely Twitter and Facebook, all accessed with one device, my iPhone--allow me to cast a wide net and catch halfway decent-sized fish very quickly. The reward is in the instant gratification. The reward is in the instantaneous publishing of, well, anything. ("Look at what I found, everyone! Make sure you read this! Right now! It's important! I'm important!)

These two modes of being--slow, deliberate and quiet and hasty, multifaceted and public--have gotten me thinking a lot about teaching and learning and schooling. As with most things in life, the answer to the riddle we are all trying so desperately to solve lies in the balance: balancing what we know about how people learn and grow with preparing young souls for the the imminent rapidity of technological change in this futureworld.

I read an article last summer about how young children in China are growing up without knowing how to create, with brush and ink (or brush and water for the novice), the individual characters of their language because they've been taught to read and write on computers and keyboards, where they press a button for a character instead of learning the brushstrokes needed to create it. Surely this isn't only happening in China. I think about the muscle memory of learning how to write, the slow, artistic process we use when we create letter after letter, words after word, the complex brain and fine motor function that we cultivate by practicing and practicing this most basic form of communication. I think about a teacher showing her students how to make letters, how to move their fingers, hands, and arms to create these abstract symbols that indicate sounds that make up words that form sentences that allow us to talk to one another, face to face and screen to screen.

I worry about losing these things--these ancient human traditions and interactions--because we are so drunk on solutions, competitiveness, and "reform." We need to resist this strong pull to let the machines and the men who own them take over our schools, our jobs as teachers and teacher educators, and our expertise. There's no balance in their "solutions;" they are quite one-sided, in fact, in that these "solutions" benefit the purveyors and not the consumers. Until we remember that balance--of the old and the new, of the slow and the quick, of the bland and the sexy--is how we achieve our fullest potential, we won't be able to "fix" anything. Balance=sanity.

Here's some further reading to get you up to speed.


http://blogs.edweek.org/edweek/Bridging-Differences/

http://blogs.edweek.org/teachers/living-in-dialogue/2012/06/technocratic_groupthink_inflat.html?cmp=SOC-SHR-TW

http://jerseyjazzman.blogspot.com/

http://susanohanian.org/