Blogging Pedagogy - essays

Digital Midterm

Rosen — Tue, 14 Aug 2012 03:05:05 +0000

Author:

Stephanie Rosen

Image Credit:

In the week or two before Spring Break, it’s customary for lab chit-chat to turn towards what we look forward to on break. This spring, as my colleagues told me how they anticipated getting out of town or getting some writing done, I told them that I was looking forward to my students’ midterm. “I’ve never given a midterm,” was the repeated response. Before this semester, neither had I. So I’ve decided to write here about why I gave the midterm and how I used the Lab resources to enhance it.

The midterm I gave was a standard open-book essay exam. Students were required to write one essay in which they advocated a position, engaged the position in one foundational article, and incorporated three additional sources from our reading list. The essay prompt was available to them from day one (it was printed in the syllabus) and students were allowed to refer to the required readings, as well as any notes they made in their course-pack, during the exam. (The complete Digital Midterm lesson plan is available on the DWRL site.)

One major reason behind my midterm was my own curiosity. I often incorporate in-class writing so students have a low-stakes context in which to explore their ideas through writing and to synthesize major ideas, concepts, and connections of the course. I believe that these writing assignments allow students to grasp major trends in the course and that they better prepare them to move forward with the material. But I never get to see the writing assignments. Part of the “low-stakes context” is the promise that students don’t have to turn the work in — or show it anyone, although they’re often asked to speak afterwards, using the writing as an aid to their spoken response.

The midterm gave me a chance to see how students were synthesizing ideas, grasping major trends, and understanding the course concept. My curiosity was satisfied. Students put texts together in interesting and unexpected ways, using several readings to support their own arguments, or using one text to support their reading of another. Furthermore, they consistently demonstrated that they understood the basic argument of the course, “Health Rhetoric”: that “health” is a problematic term in argument because rhetors agree on its value but not on its definition. And students supported (or complicated) that argument in a variety of fascinating ways.

Another reason I gave the midterm was to let students craft a written argument earlier in the semester. In my syllabus, students complete several writing assignments — a summary, a rhetorical analysis, a synthesis, a bibliography, a proposal — before they finally write a persuasive argument in their final paper. However, I often encourage students to argue for their positions in class discussion, and I wanted to give them a chance to do that in writing before the semester’s final weeks.

As I fielded questions the week before the midterm, I realized that the prompt was confusing to students, precisely because it asked them to write an original persuasive argument — something they had not done before. They needed extra explanation and encouragement to employ the rhetorical figures and appeals we had been analyzing. But that explanation and encouragement paid off in their writing. They made strong cases for their positions, using the appeals and figures they had studied appropriately and to great effect.

Although my midterm was similar to every essay exam I’ve proctored as a Teaching Assistant or taken as a student, I modified the template in one important respect: no Blue Books. I had students write their essays on the Lab computers. They were therefore able to revise, or at least edit, on the fly and submit more polished, better organized writing. This system also eliminated the grading bias that I know I’m subject to when I read a barely legible student essay. Every essay looked the same. I believe that this made the midterm grades more objective. And it certainly made me better enjoy reading them over my Spring Break.

On the day of the exam, students arrived in class to find a printed midterm prompt in front of each lab computer. They logged on and opened the word processor (opening other programs or using a web browser would result in a failing grade). And they printed and stapled their finished exam essay for me before they left. Some students will need accommodations or prefer Blue Books. I had a private conversation with a student who has a learning disability; I gave them the option to write the essay by hand (they chose to do so). I also made an announcement that anyone with a legitimate reason for preferring a Blue Book instead of the word processor could see privately me to make that request. In my class, no one did.

Overall, the midterm was a success. The grades were high, the essays were interesting and well-written, and the students took the process very seriously. I didn’t realize, when I included the exam on my syllabus, how much a midterm would mean to the undergrads. I got the sense, however, that the inclusion of a midterm gave my course more weight in their minds. On the one hand, it took up more of their study time and gave them more anxiety. On the other, the studying and anxiety led to quality writing, though which they came to a fuller understanding of what the course is about and why it is important. This is what made the midterm most worthwhile. By synthesizing ideas through writing in a high-stakes context, my students “got it” fairly early on in the semester. And having done that, I’d like to think they especially enjoyed their Spring Break.

Technology and Pedagogy: The Forum and Form of Blog Posting

Anonymous — Tue, 14 Aug 2012 02:47:19 +0000

Author:

Matt Reilly

Image Credit:

via msagostino

According to legend, the Athenian orator, Demosthenes, overcome a speech impediment and a weak delivery through a practice of filling his mouth with stones and speaking through them. One might argue that Demosthenes was ahead of the curve in his use of technology. Others might suggest that my example is perverse, since 1.) the stones impede his natural ability to speak, and 2.) they were removed when he spoke in public. But what if we compare Demosthenes’ stones to our current use of loudspeakers, microphones, and PA systems, which achieve a similar end as long as the electricity is running. The individual speaker, however, experiences no benefit from these technologies once they no longer have access to them. To put it another way: instead of thinking about how technology expands our capacity to perform specific tasks, I’m trying to think about technology as an interface that actually develops a proficiency to do something we could not do before (amplifying the voice, in Demosthenes’ case). Blogs, for instance, might be thought of (on one hand) as a forum for advertising our day-to-day thoughts and activities to an audience that isn't immediately present. Blogs might also be thought of, however, as a means of improving our formal academic writing. I argue that the "form" of blogs might benefit writers at every level if we think of their formal demands. While a majority of the population treats blogs as a more “natural” form than the critical essays, many English teachers have a unique perspective into the blog's technical and stylistic demands.

I should make two points about what I’m not interested in here. First, I am not trying to pose questions about whether we should expect students to devote their limited time to one task or another (as in, should they express their ideas in twitter posts versus five-paragraph essays). Instead, I’d like to ask how a semi-trained academic writer might improve his or her craft by means of a blog. I’m less concerned here with the concept of feedback and sharing ideas than I am invested in questions of individual writing style. Second, I am not questioning whether new technology makes specific tasks easier (it obviously does in so many cases). It is more than likely that new waves of technology will continue to be promoted and implemented as long as we continue to teach. What I’ve been thinking about is the potential for a new technology to help us re-think (and not replace) old ones. I’m also addressing a subsection of literature teachers who may be ambivalent about this constant stream of technology (and what it does to the future of their book-based pedagogy). Below, I’ve posted a video that demonstrates one gross abuse of technology as a replacement for “old” models of instruction. Watch from 4.30–6.00 min., and scoff at Tim Pawlenty’s proposal for “i-College” (a downloadable app.): “[TP:] Do you really think in twenty years, somebody is going to put on their backpack, drive a half-hour to the University of Minnesota from the suburbs, haul their keester across campus and listen to some boring person drone on about Spanish or Econ 101? [JS:] “Isn’t that what college is supposed to be, sir?” When Pawlenty talks about how “technology can help a lot,” we can seriously question his priorities and motives. I raise this example not to stoke quasi-Luddite/real economic anxiety, but to point out a pitfall in thinking about technology. Although I would have classed myself as a sort of Luddite in the past (and somewhat still in the present), I can attest to having had a positive experience when in my recent use of the new forum and form of “blog” writing.

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart

Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c

Tim Pawlenty

www.thedailyshow.com

Daily Show Full Episodes

Political Humor & Satire Blog

The Daily Show on Facebook

When I first encountered blogs as a contributor to the DWRL's viz., I did not feel liberated by the interface or form of online writing. Many people think this is an “easier” form than that of academic essays, but I did not. I contacted my sister, Meghan (who had already worked as a blogger for ONEin3 Boston), and asked her for advice. She taught me the basics of the blog “form,” and urged me to think about how I might develop a rapport with a hypothetical audience of readers. This is Rhetorical Appeals 101, but in an unknown world without clear boundaries or editorial policies. How to enjoy (and respect) my own blog posts and still appeal to some normative impartial spectator? My sister had expressed that it is important to come across as a “natural” writer and likeable person, who could be trusted for regular/readable updates. The idea is that, in blog posts, one really has to aim for clarity (somewhat more faithfully than in “academic” writing). Many blogs also seem to shift the emphasis from specialist expertise to a criteria based on approachability. I interpreted the undertaking as one in which I might experiment with different combinations of style. As it turns out, I have come to the decision that “academic” and online writing share about as much DNA as a great ape and a human do. Depending on how one looks at it, they share almost everything and nothing in common. The crossover between the two, however, produces interesting hybrid effects. For example, I decided that any research I introduced into my blog would need some veneer of storytelling, mystique, or performance. At the same time, I would need to write direct and honest statements, which might be read by someone with no idea about my topic or interest. The practice of shifting between registers of storytelling and personal clarity has benefitted my “academic” writing, and I have a will continue to have a good impression of blog-form even if the forum were to disappear tomorrow. I hope it doesn't, because blogging has become an exercise that I very much enjoy. Thanks for the helpful advice, Meghan. Check out her posts at ONEin3 Boston!