Modes, Texts, and Affordance

I enjoyed reading both selections from “The Inner World of the Immigrant Child,” and “Literacy Moves On,” and feel that they are an appropriate compliment for each other, the former an experiential explanation of the latter. As there are a number of great discussions already underway concerning first article, I will devote this post primarily to the more analytical of the two texts.

Author Janet Evans presents a very interesting case surrounding the issue of multimodal literacy education and invites the reader to consider both the reality and the implications of students growing up in a technologically revolutionized age. She describes how user demands irreversibly enmeshed with technology changes, that is users (increasingly children) use technology to the point where user demands cause technology advances – and that it is the expectation that change will occur to meet those desires. One of the questions Evans brings out from her exploration of the public ire is to ask whether or not students are being prepared for the technology that is going to receive them after their schooling. I wonder how much of that should be the schools role? Should we be considering it to be increasingly a part of the core content in our classrooms (i.e., iMovie, Powerpoint, Ipads, etc.)?

I will say that I found the discussion on two points in Evans writing quite fascinating, though they were only brief (though important) markers throughout our readings. First is the essential question, “What is a text.” I find this point particularly interesting as it reminds me of one of the core questions in the field of linguistics, namely, “What is a word.” I linguistics, there are some who look to morphology (the study of parts of words) to say that a “word” can be something as plane as “plan,” as small as “-er” (plan-er) and as broad as including multiple “words” as one “word,” as it were. It seems here that the term “text” is asking for revision in response to a new age, a new generation of students and a new ideology about literacy, moving from mere text to a broader, more fluid definition:

“A text is now seen as a unit of communication that may take the form of something written down but also a chunk of discourse, for example speech, a conversation, a radio program a TV advert, text messaging, a photo in a newspaper, and so on.”

If this is how we define a text, and I do think this is an accurate description, how does this effect our instruction? Undoubtedly it is our role as teachers to move our students to a point to where they can clearly communicate their ideas in words alone – an important skill, especially in the context of certain professions (consider succinct business emails). But, if this has truly become only one aspect of literacy, how do we discover what our students already know about these different modes and how do we utilize that knowledge to help the explore them further while still teaching them the “hard word” of writing text only projects. Are there any who believe that this is outside of the realm of teacher responsibility – that is to say, it should not be incorporated into the standards?

Which brings me to my second point, perhaps one that will be explored in greater depth next semester (perhaps challenged outright): If we have redefined “text,” then a definition of “reading” needs to be rediscovered as well. Do we need to teach reading strategies for different modes? Or do we expect that students, having gained the basic power of reading books (however basic that is) to discover this on their own? In trying to think back on my own schooling, I do remember learning how to read a map (though I’m still not great at it), how to type, how to search for things on the web (and how to discern between what I found), and I even learned how to play video games from my friends. But, perhaps I’m old-school in that way.

Finally, what would be gained if we used many modes in teaching literacy in our classrooms? What would be lost? In the same way that we are asked by Evans to consider what is afforded by different texts, what does diversified “textual” instruction afford the students, and what might it take from them?

MGRP Reflection

This was easily the most enjoyable project of my entire collegiate career, and it’s little wonder why. Everything was my choice, my design, my interest, my creativity. It was liberating… which is surprising for me as I generally tend to grow in anxiety with fewer directions. Researching my topic was almost… thrilling. Choosing and creating the genre pieces was addicting and borderline debilitating, given the other work I have to do which often found itself skirting the border of neglect. I am excited to present tomorrow because I know that, though my work is not what I consider totally complete, it is still a full representation of both my topic and the fun I had in making it.

If I had to go back and tweek anything, it would be keeping to a timeline. Admittedly, the due date crept up on me a little bit – I think I mentally posted it under “Finals Week,” and never went back to reorganize my files. Other than allowing myself more time to hone and perfect what really felt like my craft (which would have meant more and perhaps more complex genres), I can’t think of much I would have changed.

I am convinced that I want to do this with my students. Why wouldn’t I? With the fun I had, I can only imagine what a 3^rd, 4^th or 5^th grader might do with this! Granted, I recognize that there are often institutional restrictions in some schools and districts, but let’s pretend we can circumnavigate those obstacles for now.

In terms of teaching inquiry and writing through the MGRP, there is no question that this is a deep resource. Everything about it involved writing, reading, re-reading, comprehending what I read and re-reading it again to get the right feel. For a kid like me who wants to get it “right,” this would keep me at my table all day. I love that it is so interesting! If it would be possible to make all of school this engaging, I think we would have a different picture of student achievement.

It does point out areas for concern and improvement as I move forward personally as a teacher. The amount of preparation and organization to keep this project rolling smoothly for a class of some thirty-odd students would be immense – it would be on me to find a way to make sure that I had as many safeguards to divert the chaos which is breeding just beneath the surface of this project. It would also be important to keep on top of the time – making sure that I knew, that my students knew and that my students’ families knew exactly where we were and how much further we had to go in the project.

All in all, this project is a big “Win” for me. I enjoyed it thoroughly and am looking forward to seeing it come to life in whatever classroom life affords.

Bright as a Button

Allen’s discussion of bringing subjects to life felt like a flyover, but I think she gave us a brief look at the important landmarks. For me, there were three main points that caught my attention.

First was her point of showing instead of telling. I have heard this mantra before and when I read a well shown story I do appreciate it more than a well-told story, but I have to admit, when I’ve tried to address this in my own writing I have felt a little like I was splitting hair. Finding a way to explain this idea to students who notice or create fine details in their writing I think might be a challenge because I know that, for me, sometimes “telling” feels an awful lot like “showing.” [For my part, I should probably practice a little more, too].

When Allen gave the “model a quickwrite, then revise,” I have to admit I cringed a little. I didn’t cringe because I disagree that it would be a good tool to use for students who are having trouble getting their MGRP started, but because I know how much I dislike doing it myself. My tendency has always been to lumber through a piece, sentence by sentence, making as many changes through the writing process as I can, reducing the revision process. However, I do see the value in this tool and do use it myself from time to time.

Last but not least, Allen implores us to kill clichés – to avoid them like the plague. She is dead serious and has a real bone to pick with these phrases which have been worn to a frazzle, and I agree – her point is as plain as the nose on your face. Though it may be an uphill battle, cutting these out of your writing does help with clarity and allows for the writers creativity to create depth for the reader. I know of a man, a prominent Christian preacher, who spent time as a young man writing out certain ideas in a hundred (literally) different ways, forcing himself to stretch his vocabulary and syntactic limits. Though this task may be dull as dishwater for many, he seemed to express that he was happy as a clam when he had finally found these new forms. In a nutshell, I think Allen’s heart to heart about avoiding clichés hit the nail on the head, and we should all keep a stiff upper lip with our cliché using students who are stubborn as a mule and won’t give them up.

Naked Verse

“Poetry [like death?] is the great equalizer.” –Camille A. Allen

There is little more I can see to add to Allen’s chapter except to add my personal experience with poetry and think about how I can use both in my classroom.

I have to admit that I made a start at writing my response in the form of a poem. However, as I share many of the same feelings shared in the opening of our poetry chapter, I couldn’t bring myself to finish it, much less present it. This was due in part to my recently developed cold and in part to the fact that poetry and I have as strained a relationship as any.

I do remember experiencing many of the lessons mentioned in Allen’s chapter, from acrostics, to “I Am” poems and the like. They were for me an entrance into a form with which I would have a long and fractured romance.

As soon as I was introduced, I loved poetry. It was freeing for me. For most of my gradeschool years, I had great difficulties writing. The chore that I could never seem to overcome was the incessant need to neatly organize (word-for-word) all that I was about to write before I set pencil to paper. This was true no matter whether it was a grades essay or a free-writing session. I don’t know what it was exactly, but I do know it took some time and the help of two amazing women to get past my hesitancy in writing.

Poetry, though, seemed easier somehow. I will be honest and say that I don’t know how the timeline works out exactly, I just know that around the time I was receiving help was around the time that I began to write poetry.

What poetry was able to do for me was to give me an outlet to play with words without remorse and, most fantastically, without a wild amount of punctuation (I still haven’t fully grasped all the nuances of punctuation). To condense the story, I eventually began writing poetry constantly, even up through my early college years, sometimes penning as many as one every other day (though, I would have only dared to share perhaps three from the lot).

Then, one long summer day, I was duped. My grandmother and mother, with the greatest intentions, took a short piece of my prose, modified it into a more poetic look and entered it into some national contest. I didn’t know about it until I had won. And, I’ll admit it – I was thrilled. I had put down my pen for some time leading up to that point, for various reasons, but this afforded me new steam. I began writing again with a fervor and confidence I hadn’t felt in years.

But then, as you might have guessed, the contest turned out to be a sham. A hoax. There was no committee that read my work. No real appreciation of what I had done. No, I was being used and, had they tugged me one step further, they might have had me swindled.

So, I stopped. I no longer write poetry. I’ll admit an occasional rhyme in jest, but, for the most part, the serious stuff is over. I don’t know if I will ever start again.

Now, from the autobiographical mess above I do think there is an application to be drawn out. Allen mentioned that poetry is an emotional experience, and I couldn’t agree more. Poetry is a mode of expression that begs for the soul’s dances and dirges. It is intimate. That is why it is freeing and beautiful. That is why it is terrifying.

When I found that my work was being exploited, I felt exploited. I still do, in many ways. How profoundly connected can a writer be to his or her writing?! I think it will be important for us to remember that when we begin to use poetry in our classrooms, we are asking our students to do something that can be frightening, uncomfortable and at the same time be beautiful and liberating. We will need to find a way to honor whatever they write and be ready for some of the big, “hard-to-deal-with” stuff that comes out on their pages. I know that not everyone will enjoy poetry (I’ll be the first to admit that reading it can be a bore). But, there will be a happy few who will see this new writing landscape and pour streams of themselves out into its fields and valleys. That’s when we need to be ready to honor and affirm not only their writing but the person they choose to share.

MGRPs in Action

Perhaps I’m easy to catch, but I couldn’t help but notice the emphasis of teaching students “skills in context” (Allen, 2001). Perhaps that was by design, or it could simply be because my research for my own Multigenre Research Paper (MGRP) (which has unfortunately pushed this post to the periphery) has a focus on this point as well. Either way, it caught my attention.

MGRPs, from both the book’s description and even in our short experience so far in doing one on our own. Hopefully I will be able to return to this in more detail later on in the week, but I found Powell and Davidson’s article to be a great example of the process and benefits explained by Allen. Removing the “meaningless” and “degrading” effects of treating students as passive recipients of information and knowledge (Powell & Davidson, 2005) by allowing them to engage in interesting and, in the case of the MGRP model, self-chosen topics which still reach out to meet the standards of their respective school systems.

An interesting point is the difference between Allen’s interaction with parents and Powell and Davidson’s note about their less than ideal communication. This does highlight in a testimonial how important, and perhaps difficult, it is to allow parents to also play an active role through informing and involving them throughout. Powell and Davidson’s description of the low, three-parent turnout is discouraging to hear, especially given the high level of investment and excitement on the part of the students (Powell & Davidson, 2005).

Works Cited

Allen, C. A. (2001). The Multigenre Research Paper: Voice, Passion, and Discovery in Grades 4-6. (B. Varner, Ed.) Portsmouth, NH: Hinneman.

Powell, R., & Davidson, N. (2005). The Donut House: Real World Literacy in an Urban Kindergarten Classroom. Language Arts , 82 (5), 248-256.

Proceduring Process

Whew.

Let me begin with this: I'm finally ready to start. Having moved in from Jersey the week before school began, it has taken me until now to finally get situated, organized and to get rid of that terrible fog of not knowing where everything was or what I needed to do next. It is truly a relief.

I was, interestingly, startled with a simple idea as I was finally putting giving everything a place and putting everything in them. Something many of you know and have known for years (as I have, to a degree) and perhaps some of you have even implemented with success. As I was trying to motivate myself in the usual way to "keep myself organized" with the same bored self-talk and rhetoric, admonishing, threatening and encouraging myself to "just keep it clean," I began to feel that same dread that always comes in a clean room. I remember life will happen, tired and apathetic days will come, and two or three weeks from now I'll have to start all over again.

But, this time there was something new. In observing classrooms this semester, both the good and the works in progress (hopefully), one theme continues to resurface again and again: Procedures are important. Teachers who have them seem to be able to move effortlessly from lesson to lesson, student to student, and task to task. Those who don't (or haven't found a way to implement the ones they have) are struggling and sometimes begging for the students attention and cooperation.

Procedures are important. That was the thought. If they are so important in the classroom for classroom management, teacher success and (thus, in theory) student success, why not start trying a few on now? Why not start making some procedures for my life so I can learn what it's like to live and work with them?

I'm still at the start and I haven't written any down yet (that's on my to-do list), but I have noticed that my initial reaction is to pull away from them. Procedures and protocols are tiresome and oppressive, at first. They sometimes tell me that I can't do what I want to do right now and ask me to look further down the line. For instance, I sometimes want to walk into my room, kick off my shoes, toss my bag down and go straight to Hulu (online television), but my procedure is to empty my bag, hang up my keys, put away my shoes and check my to-do list. That's not what I want or what is natural at first. But, I have hope that given time and practice, they eventually will become easier and more second-nature (plus, when I break a protocol, I have to give myself 10 pushups -- which is kind of a win - win, when you think about it).

Learning how to implement procedures that I have to follow is fun not only because I'm learning how to look for situations that require them and then creating them, but I'm also learning how it feels to follow them. It takes time. It's hard. It's uncomfortable. If this is what we are going to be asking our students to do, I am thankful to be figuring out the kinks now. I am seeing how important it is to have procedures, how hard it is to adopt them and understanding why it is so important for students to own them -- if I didn't have the intrinsic motivation to keep them, I wouldn't. It would be easy to let them go. For now, I'm learning how to see the need and fill it with procedures. Hopefully I will learn how to encourage student ownership and the development of intrinsic motivation as I go along.

Dilemmas and Discourses

I appreciated the attention which Karen Wohlwend’s article “Dilemmas and Discourses of Learning to Write: Assessment as a Contested Site” drew to the realities of teaching in an actual, student-filled setting. Her discussion of the “surface dilemmas,” or, “clashes between overlapping discourses,” experienced by actual, practicing teachers is a comfort to me (perhaps strangely) as an aspiring educator. Much of the coursework thus far (in all our classes) has been chalk-full with practical, intellectually verifiable ideas printed on white pages, discussed in orderly rooms with highly educated adults, and therefore out of context. Thankfully so, on the one front, for where else can one prepare for the task of teaching students than outside of the context of students – this would have to mean, as I intend it, that when we are “learning” to teach with students, we are actually teaching. On the other hand, though, it is refreshing to read about the reality of putting ideologies and discourses into practice in the classroom where tests loom.

There are two points from this article which I hope to discuss and elaborate upon, namely the issue of navigating the tension between the desire to “provide developmentally appropriate literacy activities” (349) especially as it relates to a situation developing in the state of New Jersey (which I realize I likely out of the scope of interest for many in our cohort), and how does one address discriminatory ideologies and practices in relation to literacy education?

To address the issue of tension between state requirements and appropriate instruction, my question is simply: How does one make choices in this environment and how does this benefit students? In the particular case of New Jersey, where the current Governor has gone on record explaining his plans for tenure changes and where discussion on teacher’s job retention on students’ test scores is buzzing at high pitch.

Basing job retention on student test scores, in one line of thinking, might help to ensure that ineffective and uninterested teachers are no longer allowed to dawdle around in the system. It could help to “cut dead weight.” This, however, is true only in the case where the tests and standards are consistent, developmentally appropriate and student interested. I am confident that I am not the only one to suggest this may not be our current situation. What seems more likely to me is that more teachers will find themselves in Diane’s situation where they feel they must teach in developmentally inappropriate ways in an attempt to retain their jobs.

If it is our goal, as Americans interested in education (as many more seem to be today), to be effective teachers in student-focused learning environments, then this idea of test-based-job-retention is ridiculous. A teacher faced with the choice between giving her students what is best for them as individual learners and keeping her job, I have to imagine, will almost always choose to protect herself first. I would expect every individual, whether an educator or entrepreneur, politician or clergyman, to value their family’s welfare highly, which is why magnifying tests and standards to such a degree seems to be without much sense. I am not against tests or standards, provided they are responsibly crafted and are used as a one barometer or many for determining teacher effectiveness. Otherwise, the tension between what is developmentally appropriate (or just simply “right”) for individual learners and “the test” will only be amplified.

Perhaps less off course than the thought strand above, I found the discussion about the marginalized students in Diane’s classroom intriguing. On the one hand, there are students who are fully engaged and involved in self-led and group learning. However, a student like Jamal is not able to be included at the table because he is not like those students in either ability nor appearance. As a teacher, how does one accommodate for this? Are we to take away the table (or whatever activity or situation would be appropriately analogous) so Jamal is not forgotten, while leaving the other students without this valuable resource? So students are left out socially due to their absence with a specialist, how do we as teachers reintigrate them into the classroom? Is this simply a matter of vigilance on our part (that is, noticing these moments and situations and addressing them immediately—though, this would require more attention than we are likely able to spare), or are the tools and processes which can guide this process?