W. Scott Cheney

It’s usually about 2 or 3 a.m., and I’m chasing a Coke Zero down with a Red Bull. I’m about fifty or sixty pages in, and I’m trying to put the final touches on what I think is pretty snazzy stuff. I’ve read (and read) the thing and can’t seem to find many major problems. It all seems fantastic as far as I can tell.

Then I turn it in to my dissertation director. And when I get it back, it looks like a whole pack of pencils died in the margins. Comment upon comment, and we’re not just talking theoretical issues. I’m talking about grammar and punctuation. And this from a writing teacher. Ugh. Do you want to know the truth? No one sits down and busts out a perfect dissertation chapter first try, and no smartypants scholars open their laptops and click save on polished book manuscripts on the first go.

If this is true about people who write for a living, then what should a writing teacher really expect from the first draft of a first-year college writer? And what about Peer Review Workshops–what can we expect from the peer reader of our first-year writer’s draft? The writer and reader are learning simultaneously, so is it even possible for them help each other? Should we even try?

Some writing instructors will answer with a big, fat “no.” They’ll say, “what’s the point?” I’ve heard these comments, and I think all writing teachers have that questioning voice lingering somewhere in the background. These questions are reasonable responses. Most peer editing workshops are a waste of time. Both students and writing instructors say so.

So why, you ask, am I writing a post on the topic? Because I think there are ways to make a peer review workshop work. Here’s a look at my strategies:

1. To start off, that’s what I call them…workshops. Workshops are places where you build things; they’re places where messiness is okay. In fact, messiness is the norm. Sawdust, miscut wood scraps, and bent nails litter the floor. Who has a neat and tidy workshop, anyway? We need to give students permission to take risks and muff it up once in a while. If I’m grading terrible essays, it’s because we didn’t spend enough time on the process, from invention to draft, from draft to “final” essay, from “final” essay to yet another revision of the thing.
2. I write best under a deadline…the more specific the better. If I don’t have a writing group to bring a paper to then I let myself go; I’ll do “research” and waste time until the real deadline comes. My students are the same way, and deadlines exist for a reason. For peer review workshops, I tend to assign as close to a full draft as possible. If it’s an 8-10 page paper, I expect 6 pages. If it’s a 4-5 page paper, I assign 3 full pages (more common). My students groan at first but thank me the night before the final paper is due; creating the bulk of the content early has its benefits. Also, I give them participation credit for showing up with a draft.
3. This is the first semester I feel like I’ve had some success with with peer review workshops in my freshman writing courses, and I attribute most of it to my new strategy: reading aloud. I break the students up into groups of two or three. (Two works better.) They take turns reading a paragraph at a time from the hard copy of another student’s essay. Some classes don’t mind this. Others put up a fight. And some flat-out ignore me…even after gentle nudges. But overall, it forces students to read slowly and closely. They are also forced to read *with* someone else, and this shared reading experience prepares them to make good final comments. (See next point.)
4. Finally, the students fill out a form (with their names on it). The purpose of the form is to guide them through productive thought processes for evaluating a draft. The questions are simple, but WE ALWAYS START WITH THE POSITIVE. Most of us can’t even begin to hear constructive criticism if we’re not built up and congratulated first. Here’s what I ask them to do after reading the entire draft: 1) Tell the author “Thank you for letting me read this” in your own words. 2) Finish this sentence: “The best part of this draft is…” 3) Finish this sentence: “If this were our draft, we would…” 4) Here are some ideas for adding content to your paper to reach the page requirement…

If nothing else, this strategy keeps things lively because there is a continuous buzz of voices from #3 above. Also, it warms my heart to hear two students saying things like: “What do you think is the best thing?” “Um, I don’t know…I kinda liked the introduction.” “Me too, that quotation was great.” Also, just last Friday a student got her paper back at the end of a workshop and said, “Oh, people are so nice in here. That makes me feel so good!” These kinds of comments make me think something productive is happening.

Here’s a couple of resources that have been floating around on the topic lately:

MIT Video One: No One Writes Alone

MIT Video Two: For the Instructor

What is your strategy for peer review workshops? I’d love to hear what you do!

[Tip: if you want to skip all the personal jibber jabber and get to the bit on Blackboard and grading, skip down a few paragraphs]

Come with me back to 1999. I was on a fishing boat in Alaska. I had decided about half way through the spring semester of my junior year that I would head up to Seattle and get a job as a deckhand. Well, I ended up working that summer and the next, making pretty good money and earning every penny. That first month was a learning experience to say the least. I learned to tie knots. A bowline, a shepherds hitch–you know, all the normal knots everyone knows. I would be there struggling to figure out how to tie the knot in under ten minutes; then I heard: “WS! What’s taking so long? Figure it the [eff] out!” I turned around with a look in my eye (ya, I was young and brash), “I’m trying! Leave me alone.” The friendly deck boss would then add, “I thought you were a college boy! Why can’t you figure it out? What do they teach you kids in college these days?” Apparently not knot-tying.

The truth was that I needed help. As gruff as he was trying to be, the deck boss helped me out, and I eventually learned to tie the knots I needed to. (It could be argued that the yelling is good motivation, and it’s a good argument if your poor knot-tying skills lead to injury and death.) By the way, if you’re wondering, yes, it was pretty close to Deadliest Catch…though we fished for salmon not crab.

As a greenhorn (yes, they called me that), I wasn’t quick to ask for help, but the fishermen knew how to give it. And all this leads to this question: when do I ask for help as a writing teacher? Sometimes it just comes to you, like last year when a member of the digital technologies committee I’m a part of asked me why I was carrying around a big stack of papers. She said, “You should really go digital. It will make your life a lot easier.” For some reason, I had been resistant to the idea without even knowing it. Another time, I was talking to the only other instructor I knew who did digital grading. We swapped ideas, and it was helpful. (Did you now Word will compare documents for you so you don’t have to search to find student changes?) Other than these two instances, I’ve done it on my own. I’ve fought Blackboard late into the night, trying to bully it into helping me. I’ve slogged through different versions of Microsoft Word, searching for the place they hid Track Changes and Commenting. This post reveals my hours of toil and asks, was it worth it? Can you help me do it better?

So here’s my process now. First, I have my students upload their Word document (.doc or .docx) to a Blackboard Assignment (explanation). At this point, I used to download the Blackboard .zip file that would batch all student papers together for easy access. Easy. Access. Ya, right. If you download the .zip file, you get a jumble of work files, and student names are basically translated into binary code. Good luck searching for papers in that mess.

Instead, I now click the handy “Needs Grading” link under “Grade Center” on the left.

When the next screen loads, I click the two little chevrons next to the first student’s name. This reveals the little dialogue box with two options; I choose “Grade All Users.”

Next, I download student papers individually by control-clicking (right click on PC) the paper (see below). I choose “Save As,” use a common file name (i.e. “LastName Narrative Comments.docx”), and save it to a designated folder on my computer.

After commenting and adding grades with Word using track changes and comments, I reverse the process, uploading the new document to each student’s grade attempt.

So, what do you think? I’m pretty sure I’m doing something right. But I’m even more sure that I’m missing something. If you’re considering the move to digital, this might give you an idea of what the process might look like. Or, if you’re an old pro then…HELP! Leave a comment with your methods.

And now, let’s throw a wrench into all this: I might be going all-iPad and all-PDF soon. What? Really? This idea started in a late-night grading conversation. Take a look:

This post is about Blackboard; here’s a few others on group work, grammar, and hard reads.

And a few other recent posts about grading: FYCchat archives and @ReadyWriting‘s post.

How long have you been using email? When was the first time you purchased something online? Who did you send your first text message to? Or when did you post your first status update on Facebook?

Many of us can remember a date or at least a year. I was first downloading content over a 14.4 modem in the Portola High School library in 1995. (If you’re wondering, using a 14.4 modem is roughly the equivalent to mowing the lawn with fingernail clippers.) But many of our students don’t have a beginning point for technology. If they were born in the nineties, their experience has always—in at least some way—been informed by the Internet. They are (in some senses) digital natives.

So how do we approach the subject of technology and how should we talk about it? And why does it make a difference for writing teachers in 2011?

In my experience (and research), I have found that we should approach technology as a vital part of culture and that we need to help prepare our students to be informed, critical users and creators of digital media. Lately, I’ve used the term “digital literacy” because it seemed like a broad enough term to encompass all forms of electronic communication, and it avoids some of the connotations that come with the more prevalent and problematic term: “new media.” (Even more lately, I’ve tried this one too: plain old “Digital Media.”) But back to the problem: new means, well, new. And the media we encounter every day may be progressing and evolving, but I believe it is a mistake to call it new–at least going forward. (It is 2011, y’all.) If our primary descriptor of what we’re doing is “new,” then it’s easy to write off as merely popular or ephemeral. But the technology we are using is habitual and mainstream, so our teaching ought to assume not only its existence but it’s importance and pervasiveness.

Antero Garcia puts it this way: “Collectively, we are stalling the development and adoption of participatory learning practices through the use of this language. As long as teachers (both veteran and ‘new’ teachers) consider tweeting, wiki integration, and the bevy of other exciting learning tools and practices that the digital media community is creating to be ‘new,’ there will be a reluctance to accept them as legitimated components of classroom practice.” (Here’s the article, which was published by @dmlcentral.)

So how do I approach digital media in the writing classroom? I ask students to expand their definitions of writing and text. Students need to learn how to write for college, but I hope they will leave my classroom with more than the ability to write a marginally-acceptable research paper or to correctly use a semi-colon. My hope is that they will be able to write clearly and critically on everything from Facebook to Wikipedia and from Weebly to the workplace.

I told one of my classes the other day: “If you graduate from college without making a website, your college sucks.” That got some looks. But I believe it.

As teachers of English, we ought to be digitally literate, and there is a very strong need to push our students to be as well. We must have a game plan, and that plan ought to include student-made media, among other things.

So, let me ask. What approach do you use in the classroom? And what term do you prefer? Do you think it matters? Or…in other words, what’s new?

When is the last time you mentioned Justin Timberlake in class? I’ve been teaching since 2003, and I don’t think a semester has passed without him coming up. Here’s how it goes down. (This a post about grammar and punctuation…just wait.)

I stand in front of class and ask, “So what’s your favorite boy band?” Usually the response is something like, um what? Three to five students instantly look up from the “secret” cell phones in their laps. “No really, what’s your favorite boy band?” Then we discuss 98°, N-Sync, NKOTB, the Jonas Brothers, and [insert your favorite boy band here]. Now I have their attention. Here’s the next question: “Can you imagine me in a boy band?” Feel free to snicker; they do. When they all agree that I would be a sensation, I tell them what I’d name my band: The Fanboys.

Aaaand now we’re talking about coordinating conjunctions. See how I did that? No? Then let me introduce you to the Fanboys: for, and, nor, but, or, yet, so. This gets me into a discussion of the fanboys, which then leads to a discussion about independent clauses, dependent clauses, and phrases. It might seem like a stretch to come at it this way, but I’ve tried it the other way with very little success. This is how that goes down: “Okay, let’s talk about sentence structure for minute.” Three to five students instantly look down at the “secret” cell phones in their laps. Everyone else’s eyes glaze over, and even the best students begin to doze. I’m bored. They’re bored. And no one learns much of anything.

And one more thing…for those of you who think this is a little too much entertainment for the college classroom, here’s  something to consider: McLuhan (1967).

P.S. I’d really like to know how you all approach grammar and mechanics in the classroom. I seriously welcome any advice you have to make the lessons stick. Thanks!

Look at these letters. No, really. Look at them. Now look at the letters you’re reading at this very moment. Examine the curves of a particular letter. How about the one at the end of this sentence? The lowercase “e.” I just picked it randomly. But if you think about it, you’ve got what looks more like an animal symbol or a robot than a building block for words and meaning. Letters and words are empty containers. Gunther Kress makes this point in a much more advanced way in the preface to his book Literacy in the New Media Age (2003).

“Words are, relatively speaking, empty of meaning, or perhaps better, the word as sound-shape or as letter-shape gives no indication of its meaning, it is there to be filled with meaning. It is that ‘filling’ with meaning which constitutes the work of imagination that we do with language” (3).

Later Kress brings images into the discussion: “Images are plain full with meaning, whereas words wait to be filled” (4).

In other words, images are (to borrow a phrase from a student) “immediately meaningful.” This student understood what Kress was talking about. But she may have been the only one. Okay, so let me be honest here…

I made a mistake. I learned from it. And now I get to share a success story with you.

A few years ago, I revamped my freshman writing course. I have been teaching it since 2003, and I needed a boost–something to get me interested in it again. At the time, I was studying for PhD exams and reading all sorts of fancy-pants academic writing about composition and new media. (You can see where this is going, right?) So I did it; I assigned the Kress article to an unsuspecting group of freshman writers. I liked it, and the guy is brilliant…so it’s natural that my students would like it too. Wrong.

Here’s one student’s reaction: “I would rather be mauled by a bear than reread this article.” This coming from one of the better students. What went wrong? I made some assumptions, and I didn’t properly prepare my students for reading tough articles.

So I told you I learned something from my mistake, right? Here’s what I did this time around. First, I warned them that I was going to assign a seriously-hard article over the weekend. I told them things like: “Plan to spend a few sittings with this article” and “This thing will probably bake your noodle.” I also told them that other students have had a hard time with this article (cf. earlier bear quotation). I think some students take these warnings as a challenge to crack the code. Second, I started our discussion with a request for honest feedback and a description of the reading process. This allowed them to see other students had a hard time decoding the article too. Third, we discussed the ninety-nine cent words (like “quasi-temporal,” “affordance,” and “epistemological commitments.”) I take them to Google and introduce them to the “define:word” command for finding various and reliable definitions on the Web. (Be sure to click on the “more” link in the results.) Finally, we discussed what Kress actually meant, and students were eager to show that their hard work and close readings had paid off. It was the best discussion of the term, and it came from the hardest text I ever assign undergrads.

I had to remind myself not to write them off but rather to give them the tools they needed to succeed. It sounds silly, but it’s easy to forget the most basic stuff sometimes. Can you relate? What strategies do you use to help students read difficult texts?

[Click the image to watch video: The IT Crowd - Team Players - Channel 4.]

Group work? …Really? That’s the question I usually get…or at least the look (or glare) that directs itself to me from the sleepy eyes of my undergraduates. So how do I ease them into it? How do I make the best out of a collaborative writing assignment?

I ask them to tell me why they HATE group work. Yep, I get all the reasons they hate working with their peers out in the open. Things like: there’s always somebody who sucks OR I never get the grade I want OR I don’t like the people I have to work with.

I start by writing these ideas on the board (hate). Then I ask them the benefits of group work (like). At first, no one wants to admit they like group work. But after a few seconds, people begin to realize there are actually benefits. Like: I don’t have to do as much work OR we get to benefit from other people’s good ideas OR I might meet my new best friend. Today, I even had someone say she loves group work. That was a first.

Anyway, that’s how I ease them into the idea. Next we read the prompt. Then I let them choose how we’ll choose groups (students choose, Scott chooses, or random). They usually choose me, but sometimes they don’t. And that’s okay.

The point is that they have a voice and a choice in the matter. 

I call this process “Getting Your Students To Do Group Work Without Wholesale Revolt.” It usually works. And they usually don’t hate it. (Okay, at least one person hates it.) But the benefits easily outweigh the drawbacks.

An aside on technology: I suggest they use Google Docs to work collaboratively. I show this video (or this one) to introduce it. Sometimes they take my advice, and the ones who do benefit from the collaborative possibilities of the application.

My most embarrassing moment? A family reunion in 1998. My (future) wife’s cousin got up to read something he found on the Internet. Turns out, it was a passionate and private apostrophe to my fiancée from yours truly. I should have tackled the guy, but instead I melted into the sofa, hoping to disappear. It was a hard lesson to learn about audience and what is appropriate material to be published online. Since this first ill-conceived but highly-romantic website (which was written by hand in HTML), I have had a couple of personal blogs. The first I did manually in Dreamweaver before Blogger became popular. Then I used Blogger for a few years. Then I gave up. I had lost focus and energy. But most of all, I was bored.

Fast forward. It’s been over a decade since my first blog post, and I’m ready to roll again. This time I’ve created a professional blog with a personal twist. I’ll be writing about topics that matter to me as a teacher and researcher. This doesn’t mean I will only post on pedagogical issues, but it does mean I will be writing from the perspective of a writing teacher. For more on this approach to blogging see Tim Carmody’s (@tcarmody) post from last year on what he calls the lens blog.

I started teaching college writing in the fall of 2003 at Eastern Washington University. In two years, I received my Master’s in English literature and began teaching English 101 and 201. With degree in hand, I did what most responsible graduate students do…got a job at Starbucks. For the next three years, Starbucks made my habits of family growth and adjunct teaching marginally sustainable. In 2006, I moved to Chicago to begin work on my PhD at Loyola University Chicago. While finishing this degree, I’ve also started teaching at College of Lake County and Oakton Community College. In the last eight years, I’ve taught twenty-five courses (including Composition, Developmental Writing, Business Writing, African-American Literature, and Introduction to Poetry), directed a writing center, served on an academic technologies committee, volunteered at the community literacy center, and tutored students of all ages.

My writing course has changed dramatically since my first course in the fall of 2003. Though my foundational goal has always been to help students find their voice in the academic conversation, the meaning of this has changed. Lately, I am trying to negotiate a balance between my traditional composition classroom and the need to prepare students for the real world where email, websites, text messages, and social networking are central to professional life. My biggest question? How do I help students become good writers in every aspect of their lives. I want to help students enter the academic conversation (of course), but I feel responsible to give them the tools to survive in a Burkean Parlor that is more online than it isn’t. I want students to leave my classroom knowing they can write for other courses and majors, but I also want them to be able to write responsibly on Facebook, Blogger, Tumblr, Twitter, and LinkedIn–or whatever online forum that will help them become successful employees and responsible citizens.

So this blog is, in large part, a public forum for me to document recent findings, share classroom practices, and ask questions about how to best teach writing in the twenty-first century. I (hopefully) won’t post anything embarrassing about my love life. And to all my distant relatives reading this blog, feel free to read anything I post at the next family reunion. My only hope is that you’ll choose a post on highfalutin rhetorical theory so I can feel vindicated for the digital faux pas that made me melt into the sofa thirteen years ago.

Hang around for a minute and check out the other pages: About, Resources, and CV. Thanks for reading!

As you can see, I’ve got a blog. If you like to watch things grow and change and evolve, feel free to check back from time to time. I’ll be writing about writing and technology. And I’ll tell you who is saying smart things about writing and technology. Let me know if you have a burning question you’d like answered.