Stealing Things

Dear Bobby,

I am so thrilled that we agree about using one anothers work. In fact, I'm not really sure how logical it would be to start over each time with something new, be it style or an entire curriculum. Especially since many grad students get thrust into teaching really quickly, I think it is necessary to borrow and learn from one another. Without the help of my peers I would be drowning with unhappiness and crap lesson plans and sobbing in the corner as my students beat me with their tiny fists, demanding I teach them.

"Teach us thesis!" they will cry.

"What is Synthesis! We must know!"

"Gretchen in World History won't date me because of my split infinitives!"

Gretchen, you know, is turned on by unsplit infinitives. She's classy.

Anyway, there is not much more to say, Boice. It's been such a pleasure perusing you this semester, and I wish you the best, especially as you reside on my bookshelf. Among some other books. Looking like a book. Ah, such a life.

Cheers and smoochies,
A

Sharing the Work Load

I enjoyed reading Boice's CH 7 about sharing the work-load of teaching. When I taught High School, this was the motto. Steal, Borrow, Steal, Steal, Steal. Just do whatever works. I have gained a lot more appreciation for this practice over the course of the semester by observing others teach. I sat in on Devoney Looser's Jane Austen seminar several times and observed the way that she structured her class. I especially appreciated the way that she handled class discussion. She gave the student's the control! She made them responsible for creating discussion questions for each class period. I was also thrilled to see how she incorporated interesting lecture pieces throughout the course period in a way that didn't feel dull. And, of course, she shared. She shared about herself. I always share about myself, mainly in ways that are embarassing.

Like Toby I tend to spend the first few minutes of class talking about trivial things: sports, weather, news, silly things my dog has done recently. I feel like it helps me get in touch with my students. By opening up to them, they in turn open up to me in an honest way. Don't get me wrong, I've had this go awry before and I definitely think that there is something about and English teacher especially that makes students feel like they can tell you things that you don't want to know, but a lot of times I appreciate it. I appreciated my students' free-write about an especially busy week and altered out syllabus to hold more in-class discussion and writing that week so that they could devote time to writing when they were less distracted. This definitely helped in the quality of writing that they produced (and that I in turn had to grade).

The Possibilities of Time Travel

I have a student this semester who I realized, too late, was a repeat CI offender. I’ve dealt with difficult students in the past, usually heading off the problem early on with an honest conversation. I’m used to more extreme problems in the classroom—students yelling at other students, etc—so this kid flew under my radar. His problem, I think, is that he cares too much about his academic success and is used to being right about everything. He talks too much, interrupts me, interrupts classmates, questions everything. And on top of that he has a catalogue memory of movie quotations he breaks out when nervous. He’s also prone to extensive sneezing fits. I’m at risk of sounding really evil here, so I should say I don’t think he intentionally sneezes sixty times to interrupt class. But maybe it’s his body’s way of rejecting any voice of authority louder than his own? No, definitely not. But, you know, it can feel that way.

Really, he’s a nice kid, but his absolute ignorance of social cues and his chronic know-it-all-ness has shut down the classroom conversation all semester. Students who were eager to talk early on have become quieter and quieter as this loudmouth dismissed everyone’s opinions but his own, mine included. The point is, I’ve been so trained to see CI as call-campus-security problems that I overlooked his behavior as simply obnoxious and missed the opportunity to shut him down early with a simple conversation. No doubt he would have listened and been more respectful, as I don’t think it’s his intention to be disruptive.

Instead I dealt with his interruptions on a case-by-case basis during class. So if he broke into a page-long quote from The Nightmare Before Christmas (in character), I quietly told him to hold on and redirected the conversation back to the original subject/speaker. I could have saved myself a lot of teeth-gritting and faking nice if I’d just told him in September, “Listen, we all love what you have to say, but you need to let other people get a word in edgewise. And maybe not go off on so many tangents about the possibilities of time travel and the merits of Star Wars over Harry Potter.”

If any of you have this kid in future English classes, you’ll know it’s him, and you can do better than I did. Shut it down early and enjoy the semester without all the interruptions. But I can’t help with the sneezing.

Open Things Up

I have to say that I really enjoyed reading chapter 7. I find that making connections with other instructors has helped me immensely in my own teaching. I did have the privilege of visiting Jonas' classroom, and it really gave me some insight into how a different approach can work. There were a lot of little things that I noted during that visit that I have packed into my teaching toolbox.

Another thing that Boice recommends is telling students about yourself. This is something that I felt very hesitant to do at first. I was worried that if I became too familiar then students would devolve into trying to be my "buddy" and not respecting my authority in regards to grades, deadlines, etc. While I still certainly think that it is a mistake to be too casual or familiar with students, I find that casual talk and talking about myself really helps the classroom.

My students know that I love medieval literature and Tolkien. They know that I like The Office and that I completely obsessed with video games. In almost every class I begin with 2-3 minutes of talk about trivial things. I talk about myself, things I do, things I have read. I ask them what they did over the weekend and what the craziest things are happening in the dorms. I ask them about their other classes. Sometimes I try to work in a joke. During this period students know that they can just talk to me or each other--it is essentially casual time. While it may seem like this wastes what little time I have, I have found that since initiating it, the rest of the class becomes much more productive. The students are relaxed and not afraid to ask questions.

I have found that students really are interested in their instructors. They have asked me what I think about certain books, they laugh at my ancient cellphone and my confusion about Facebook (I play up the backward medievalist trope). They ask me what I did on Thanksgiving break.

I don't think Boice really addresses it, but I do think there is a danger of taking all of this too far. In the end, I don't want to be their buddy, but I do want them to see me as a warm, but strict, mentor. I think that I am successfully negotiating this balance in my classroom, mostly through social intuition I suppose. We shall see what the teacher evaluations say!

Incivilities

In Boice’s discussion of “classroom incivilities,” he points out that many new graduate students begin their TA careers with little or no idea of what “regular” college students are like. I believe this is true. As a college student, I managed to surround myself with people who were just as nerdy as I was, so it hardly occurred to me that some college kids might not even want to BE in college. When I first arrived in grad school and had to teach, it was quite shocking to realize the huge range of possible student responses to college.

Something that’s been weighing on my mind throughout the semester is the utter lack of teaching training that I received as an advanced undergrad/prospective grad student. When I was thinking about applying to grad school in Classics, the only things I was encouraged to consider were “do I want to study the Etruscans?” “How is my Latin?” “do I want to study 2^nd-style Pompeian wall painting?” et cetera. All of my classes in my junior and senior years as an undergrad were focused on preparing myself to study Classics. In some vague way, I understood I’d be teaching as a grad student, but nobody suggested to me that I should prepare to do this in any way, and this idea certainly didn’t occur to me either. Teaching wasn’t “the point” of being a grad student in Classics, or indeed of being a professor of Classics—the goal was to become a scholar, not a teacher.

But I learned that teaching was not a skill I could just “pick up.” I have to work at it, and it’s as hard to do well as translating a passage of Thucydides. I want to emphasize that I don’t mind being a teacher. In fact I'm learning to like it. But it frustrates me that my whole conception of the professorial career, when I was set to begin training for it, left out the actual day-to-day exercise of being a prof: Professing. So then when I entered grad school for the first time, I got the (implied) message: “Surprise! Congrats on studying all that Catullus. Now you have to learn an entirely new skill set that has nothing in the world to do with the literature of ancient Rome. Good luck.” I’d been had.

I think that teacher-training should really begin when one’s a senior in college, and we should stop pretending that professorial work is mostly scholarship—because God knows that’s not true. I’m not annoyed about the nature of the job, though. What I’m annoyed about is the lack of preparation I really received for it at the start. In what other career track is this the case for its trainees? It’s really too late to begin learning to teach when one arrives in grad school. Teaching involves so many specific skills that it’s impossible to learn competence in a single semester, or even a year, and we should stop expecting our grad students can do so.

Perplexed and Confused About Chapter 8

I was very surprised by the inclusion of chapter 8 in Boice’s book. This surprise, however, is not to suggest that I doubted Boice. In fact, I think I have, in a sense, been holding my breathe a little, waiting for him to tackle some of these issues. To some extent, I feel as thought I have been playing the believing and doubting game throughout the entire book, just knowing that he will eventually be compelled to take on what he calls the “classroom incivilities”, or CIs (which I cannot help but comment on the pleasant nature of this name). And, now that we are finally at this point, I am a little curious to know why he places this chapter at the end of section one, particularly as he touches on several legitimate issues that new instructors face. Would it not be useful to bring some of these practical issues to the book’s forefront, so that, after he works his magic and diffuses the tension surrounding these CIs, the reader can be at a greater level of ease and more open to what Boice presents in the rest of his chapters.

Speaking from the reader’s perspective, I am not entirely sure I understand why Boice has chosen to end his section on teaching with such a complex and problematic topic. As I read through, I even find much of what he has to say extremely useful, but these tips seems to lose their effect by their placement in the book. Therefore, while I have enjoyed this journey that we have taken with Boice, I, reflecting back, think I would have appreciated this discussion of CIs much earlier, in that—whether we like to admit it or not—these issues are what new instructors often struggle with as they begin to teach. So wouldn’t it make sense to begin with issues? I only bring this point up because it seems to me that this way we would be able to overcome whatever small or immediate issues were interrupting our focus and be more open to thinking about how we perceive the bigger picture of how we teach.

Boogers and Eye-Rolling

I must admit that I’m a little nervous about encountering an “uncommonly traumatic kind of CI” on my student evaluations. I don’t have any reason to think that this may actually happen, but I’m hyper-aware of the fact that my students stare at me for three hours a week. What if they comment on my frizzy hair? The fact that I tend to wear the same shoes every day? What if I had a booger? Am I the only one who thinks about these things?

I really liked the fact that this chapter addressed classroom problems that are caused by students, by instructors, and those that are the result of both students’ and instructors’ bad vibes feeding off of one another. I have been very lucky this semester, I think, because my students and I get along really well, and we respect one other enough to avoid most of the problems mentioned in this chapter. Except for one student. For the first half of the semester, she talked to the student next to her all through class, rolled her eyes any time I asked the class to do anything, and basically made me feel like I was teaching at a middle school. After our first conference, however, all of that stopped. When she talks in class now, it’s to add to the discussion, and I haven’t noticed any eye-rolling. I’m not sure what happened; maybe I just became human to her after we had a conversation. I will definitely be taking Boice’s advice on having conferences early in the semester next time.

Emotions

While I think I might agree with Boice in theory, I just don't know about it in practical situations. For one thing, while it is true that many great writers have gone mad and had mental breakdowns due to their maniac ways, it remains that they were great writers. While certainly not all writers have proceeded in such a way, the fact that many have points to something.

When it comes to academic writing, however, I think Boice's advice is more applicable, even if he does overstate his case. The idea of stepping away and being less attached to your work is certainly necessary in order to properly revise and cut even those parts we think are great or that we put a lot of work into.

One area where I think Boice is wrong, however, is in showing others early work. While Boice advocates this in order to get past the ego, I would argue that the ego needs some protection here. Writers (academic or otherwise) are often fragile beings. If your work gets criticized too much at an early, unpolished stage, it might convince you that your project is less worthy than it is. I've had a long standing rule that no one reads my first drafts, and I mean no one. I have a 300 page novel that I've written and even my wife has only seen the first chapter of it--since that is the only part I have a second draft of.

It is different with creative and academic writing. I do both. The rules are different. While I don't write poetry I am sure that is different yet again. While there is creativity and organization in both creative and academic writing, the priorities of each differ, and so must the rules.

5 Signs of Hypomania (please don't read this)

1. Leaving campus today I discovered I didn’t have my keys. I retraced my steps, checked every surface I’d come into contact with, asked around at a few main desks, no keys. Went to the parking lot and discovered my keys were locked in my car, in the ignition, car running. For over an hour. Stupid!

2. I have a piece due for workshop this week and because I’d been working immoderately on my seminar paper—more bingeing than pausing—I didn’t get around to starting until Thanksgiving break. I had a week to start and finish the thing, did not monitor my emotions (or chart them, per Boice), so when I gave Kyle the finished essay Sunday night and he didn’t like it, I had a hypomanic meltdown. I’m not prone to extreme highs or lows—my typical emotional chart would read like a straight line—so melting down over a little constructive criticism was a red flag. Hypomania.

3. I’ve baked two loaves of cranberry bread and about a million chocolate chip cookies this week with no plans for stopping.

4. I started a fight with Occupy Columbia today just because I felt like yelling. (That’s not actually true. I’ve never yelled at the Occupy Columbia movement)

5. This blog is probably a sign of hypomania, but I’m in it too deep to see a way out. Off to pause/breathe/monitor/moderate myself out of this mess.

CIs and classroom layout?

Boice’s chapter 8 on classroom incivilities (and how to moderate them) was quite interesting to me. He looked closely at the messages professors and students send, and how those messages are received, focusing particularly on that personal dynamic to discuss this issue. I’m curious, though, if the classroom layout and size has any impact on these CIs.

I ask because I recently switched my class from our intimate classroom with no windows in the basement of Strickland into a room 4 times the size with 30 computers and 3 large windows on the second floor of Strickland. Since the relocation, my students’ behaviors have changed. I’m not sure if this is because of the room, the timing in the semester, the paper load, their stress levels, how they feel about me, or what. However, they’re chatty now, during times when I’d prefer them not to be chatty. And, getting them to make eye contact is harder. Only a select few answer questions and participate in group discussions. It was never this way before!

My hunch is that it’s a combination of all these issues: the room is too big. There’s too much technology distracting them. It’s the end of the semester and they’re ready to be done. They’ve made friends and it’s nice to catch up when they get to see each other. I haven’t had to stop them from being chatty in this way before, and they’ve realized that I’m kind of a softy. Etc.

Even though my students are being disruptive, I don’t necessarily think the solution is to chastise them. I think that the solution might just be to let them work on their sparkly computers and converse with each other when needed—give them a task and let them work at their own pace, reporting back at the end of class. I think I’ll try that tomorrow. Maybe it’ll help to moderate what were once classroom incivilities.

PS: I apologize for reading ahead and jumping the conversation for next week. Chapters 7 and 8 are interesting, btw, particularly the part in chapter 7 about collaborating and letting others do some of the teaching work for you—I like that idea.

sing, O Muse...

An interesting idea that Boice brings up this week is the perennial question of writers & madness. Why do we often think writers are nuts? Or rather, why do we think GENIUS writers are nuts? From my preliminary speculations this afternoon, post-latte, it seems to me that one aspect of this association has to do with the hidden source of a good writer’s writing. How did Milton ever come up with the idea for “Paradise Lost”? Good question. I doubt that even he could tell us exactly, though he could clarify things by telling us what he was reading and thinking about at the time. There is something stubbornly mysterious about the source of good writing. I’m not saying I don’t edit my poems and seminar papers, because I sure do—over and over and over and over. But the precise genesis of my ideas remains foggy. There’s a famous passage in the Aeneid in which the Sybil gains access to divine prophesy by being ridden or tamed by Apollo—violently, it seems, and almost against her will. And of course it was “the thing” to invoke the Muse before beginning one’s epic poem. (“Tell me, Muse, of the man of many ways, who was driven far journeys, after he had sacked Troy’s sacred citadel.”-the Odyssey) So it seems that nobody is sure where ideas come from. But isn’t it okay not to entirely understand it? However, I don’t think we can say that “madness” is essential to good writing, or even that it’s particularly helpful.

In my opinion, serious emotional disturbance hampers writers, rather than makes them writers. Poets/novelists/essayists write IN SPITE of such difficulties. In the times when their manias were most intense, Lowell and Woolf were utterly incapacitated. Lowell roamed the streets and said he was Napoleon. Woolf lay in bed for days and was unable to say anything. Though I do think that some aspects of these altered states made it into these authors’ work later (for instance, Septimus in Mrs Dalloway hears birds speak Greek, which was apparently one of Woolf’s own symptoms), I don’t think their work depended on the emotional turmoil that these authors experienced. The interplay of Woolf’s identity, talents, ideas, and acquired skills can’t possibly be the result of her manic-depressive condition, because her illness was just one aspect of her complex personality. If Woolf had been completely stable, I think she would just have found other things to write about.

In sum, I think our idea of “inspiration” or writerly madness is just a theory to explain a process we don’t understand. Fantastic writing, in its finished form, is so unusual and special that it seems inspired by either a god or a disease. But I think we should allow for the simple (!) human capabilities of taste, imagination, curiosity, and speculation.

Teaching Philosophy Stuff

Thanks to Megan for this link from the Chronicle of Higher Education: "How to Write a Statement of Teaching Philosophy"

It's super helpful!

Monitor my emotions? Erm.

Dear Boice,

I see that you wish me to monitor my emotions this week and, indeed, keep track of them. This makes me think I am going to need another version of myself (mayhaps in a little white nurses uniform, complete with starched hat) taking notes on how I feel as I write. I haven't ever tried this and I balk at the notion and even the rationale for it, but of course I am wondering how this might benefit me, besides perhaps some realization that I should get a prescription for anti-depressants before the good insurance runs out.

So, Boice, I don't know if this is something I am courageous enough to do, so let me set that aside on the back burner until I am in more of a fit mind to think of such tasks. Instead, let me glom merrily onto something you states in your next love letter to me, about asking for specific criticism. As usual, I read everything in this book in relation to my creative writing, and of course I have been in numerous workshops where my fellows and even professors give the most vague, vague, vague comments imaginable. And then go into arguments about who can be the vaguest. The winner is never me, alas.

In creative writing workshops one's voice is usually silenced (to keep up from arguing) but I always thought at a certain level we matured enough to be able to ask questions and not have to wait until the bleeding end when I'm overwhelmed and have forgotten what everyone has said. So you know what, eff that noise Boice, I am going to interrupt and be like "hey, you, clearly you did not read my story so shush. Explain what you mean. Point out where this happens. You smell like sausage and I don't eat that so meh. Meh!"

Things will rumble and shake.

Hugs and smoochies,
Alison

Emotions and the Writing Process

I did not initially know how to react to the “Moderate Emotions” chapter. I suppose in one sense I had failed to consider how drastically emotions affect our ability not only to write but write successfully and efficiently. Now this is not to say that I was blind to the impact our emotions can have upon writing. Rather I am not entirely sure I thought it was really possible to fully control or moderate emotions. This unexpected and unregulated aspect seemed more like a natural part of any person’s life.

Therefore, why does it get special attention in this book? However, in all actuality, why wouldn’t it? Emotions undoubtedly play a crucial role in daily lives, our decision-making process, our attitude and more. Why wouldn’t it be a key factor in our daily habits as writers?

Therefore, what I appreciate about this chapter is the way in which Boice breaks this process down for us and offers some useful advice. If I do have some type of drastic interruption in my writing, I do tend to abandon the process all together. In fact, I usually have to turn to some other medium, such reading or—even less productive—watching tv—to clear my mind of the stress associated with this new interruption. More importantly, by taking this route, I impose a significant break in my routine. My productivity drops dramatically. Boice, however, proposes a way to account for these interruptions and work through them in order to maintain efficiency and productivity. Although the reason I am drawn to this idea is not because it is radically new, rather, Boice, through its inclusion in a book dedicated to advice for new faculty and teachers, seems to suggest the great importance it can have on an academic-oriented lifestyle. After all, we, as writers and teachers, have to be largely self-regulated and self-motivated. Our routines are not typically dictated by an 8-5 work day, nor are they directly overseen by a supervisor. For the most part, we are left to our own devices. So, in this respect, I find Boice’s comments useful, in that they offer yet another way to tackle the many challenges we face as writers and instructors.

I’ve been trying to get my students to become less attached to their writing from the beginning of the semester. This chapter is particularly helpful now, since we’re working on the last assignment from the starter syllabus. We’ve been talking a lot about how students should cut out huge chunks of their writing from their papers to present their arguments in another format, and some of them are having trouble.

I think that next semester I might teach the steps for soliciting criticism on pages 180 and 181 when I introduce the idea of peer reviewing. (I would scan it and give them copies, but I honestly can’t imagine discussing #3, the part about breathing mindfully, with freshmen.) At the beginning of the semester, I felt as if I did a pretty good job of getting them to understand how to criticize, but I wasn’t sure I was really able to teach them how to take criticism. I guess they learned the hard way.

Of course, when I do this, I will be a giant hypocrite. I absolutely hate letting other people read my writing (including everything I’ve written for this class), and I’ve felt guilty many times for making my students do things that would probably have made me drop the class if I had to take it. My students understand this stuff better and are more comfortable with it than I am (because I’ve taught them so well), so now it’s my turn to learn it.

Early Criticism: A Reply to Megan

I wish I could reply to your posts and interact with your blogs like a full member of the class. When I attempt to do so, the blog asks me which profile I would like to use. It won't accept my Google profile, and I don't recognize the others, so it bounces me like a drunken sailor. I can't count the times I would have liked to respond. There was talk of bees a few days ago. I used to keep bees. I wanted to respond about how beekeeping is wonderful for developing self control because you must continue to move slowly and deliberately even if (as in when) you get stung. If you react in a natural way --like swatting, shaking, running, or screaming, the bees will become upset and attack... and then you'll really have have trouble. There are many life lessons to be learned from beekeeping.

Anyway.....

Megan's post concerning early feedback on ideas that are not fully formed in the writer's mind--let alone on paper--struck a chord with me because I see the result of the type of interaction she describes in workshop (peer review) all the time. Well-meaning students with strong personalities and well-developed vocal chords (and perhaps red pens) walk all over the seedling ideas of students who, by nature, take their time in maturing their thoughts. I hate to see poor, big, ole Sam sit quietly and listen, again, as feisty, little Tiffy rips his draft apart. I wonder why he doesn't move to another workshop group. Should I step in and separate them? How much of his paper is Tiffy's vocal criticism?

I don't know what the answer is, but I recognize that there is a problem with universally accepting the idea that feedback for is everyone as though all of us benefit from early intervention.

Attachments: Early Criticism

In chapter 16 Boice talks about "Encouraging Criticism, The Earlier the Better". This idea really overwhelms me, in part because I am a very slow brainstormer/worker. I spend ages making lists, tables, spreadsheets, freewriting, just to get my thoughts/ideas for a project in order. The thought of allowing someone to give me feedback during this heavy drafting stage is terrifying to me. I'm not sure if it is because I am afraid that people won't understand what I am trying to say because my work is so drafty, or if I am afraid that they will think I'm 'not smart' or 'a mess' if they see my work in its earliest drafting stages. And, I have to wonder, if I should be putting my work out there if I am not even really sure what it is yet, only because people tend to give you advice/criticism based on how THEY would complete the project/task and how it would work for THEM and THEIR RESEARCH. If it is a young idea, can asking for criticism early on derail the project from what would make it interesting to you?

I am really all for receiving criticism once I feel like I have something to say. Is it wise to ask for feedback on a brainstorm? Can this help our work find direction, or will it take it in a direction that isn't "us"?

Is anyone teaching the fourth unit from the starter syllabus?

Hello, fellow teachers. I'm hoping that someone can help me out. I'm teaching the fourth unit from the start syllabus (the visualizing an argument one), and it's my first time doing this kind of assignment. Since I'm short on time (both for me to prep and for my students to work), I'm wondering if any of you have any lesson plans, activities, assignment sheets, rubrics, anything that you'd be willing to share with me. I have 5 class periods to do this unit: 3 next week and 2 the following week. I've reserved a computer lab for this whole time so that I can do mini lessons and then give them in class work time. I think I'll do peer review on Monday the 5th, and then it'll be due on the 7th. I'm guessing that my students will want to do power points, brochures, or posters. (But who knows...?)

So, does anyone have anything to share? If so, will you email me at my Mizzou address (which is my last name plus my first initial @missouri.edu).

Return to Stopping, or is it Stoppage? Meditation with an assumed audience.

I was mistaken when I said that I never stop. I first realized that I was mistaken about this during meditation practice, that day in class. Meditation is a great deal like prayer, and I pray alot. I really need to pray every day for at least an hour because I can use all the help I can get. Why I didn't count this as Boyce's stopping, I'm not sure.

As we were participating in our little meditation exercise, I thought to myself that prayer is meditation with an assumed audience. Meditation requires you to empty your mind; Prayer requires you to empty yourself of yourself, and fill your mind with good thoughts. Whatsoever things are true, honest, just, pure, if there be any virtue, think on these things. You know the drill. Then, when your mind is in the right place, you let your requests be known to God, who--by the way-- already knew them.

If I didn't make time for this type of stopping, I'm sure I'd be crazy by now, and I highly recommend it regardless of your faith system... or lack thereof. Even ten minutes of meditation is helpful, with or without an assumed audience. There's something great about letting go of worries for the day. You know what they say about that....

Don't sweat the petty stuff; and don't pet the sweaty stuff.

Don't fall in love with your work

My first semester of teaching (at the University of Minnesota, Duluth), I had the privilege of shadowing the head of the Writing Department. She taught at 9:00 am, I watched and scribbled notes, and then I taught at 2:00 pm. The idea was that I could just mimic the first time around and then assess over Xmas break and tweak things for myself the following spring. This worked tremendously well! It meant that I didn't stay up all night prep-ing and it meant that I didn't need to labor over creating a syllabus or assignment sheets (at least that first semester). Sure, it was limiting, but as a first time teacher, it was actually quite liberating.

How does that relate to Boice, chapters 15 and 16, though? Well, the head of the department had this saying that she would repeat throughout almost every stage of the writing process for her students: "Don't fall in love with your work." She'd spend good chunks of time explaining how getting too attached can be limiting and it can cause writer's block and it can make writers ignore feedback from others. I loved this from the first time I've heard it, and I continue to use it with my students. Before reading Chapters 15 and 16, I just thought this was something the department head made up (and others didn't use). However, Boice seems to be stating this in his chapter on "Moderate Attachments."

His whole idea is that sometimes we have to let go of our "ideal" piece of work. We have to avoid overattachment and occasionally let go of concerns. While I teach my students this, I guess I've never really applied this to myself: until now. It's hard to admit this (especially as someone who self-admittedly overachieves), but I have to let go of being so attached. There are only so many hours in a day, and there are only so many days left before the end of the semester: I could get really attached and stress out while writing seminar papers, book reviews, and compling portfolios. However, just a few days of break and realization has made me recognize that this isn't good for me or my home-life. So, I'm officially moderating my attachments to my teaching, grading, and paper writing. I've decided that I won't work after 11:00pm and that I can't talk about work or school or teaching after that time. I've also decided that there need to be documentary film breaks and dominoes playing breaks and cooking breaks regularly. Hopefully taking these breaks and focusing on keeping my mind and body healthy will help with some of the negative feelings I expressed last week. So far, so good.

Textbook Reviews. But wait, there's more...

I'm enjoying the textbook reviews in class these last couple of weeks. It's interesting to see the similarities and differences in Composition textbooks. I've come to see myself as a consumer and Composition textbook producers as advertisers and commercial entities. This was never more true than when I presented an MLA tutorial prepared by Owl at Purdue this week. I've used this little PowerPoint before and never noticed the product placement, at least not as such. It's not even subtle. For the first time, as I used this resource, I felt like a sellout to "the man." Very weird.

Later in the week, I was clearing out my office at home and happened upon a Comp textbook I found on EBay some years ago. It boasts a 1967 copyright date, and is 891 pages long with not one single page of "Readings" we so highly value. This book is entitled Warring's English Grammar and composition. It is intense, covering grammar concepts I didn't study until I was a senior as an English major. The text begins at the sentence level and takes students through parts of speech, the phrase, complements, the clause, sentence structure, usage, punctuation, and finally all sorts of writing projects. It also covers using the library sources available in 1967. And, finally, oral communication, which was apparently part of the Composition class in that time.

Imagine having to lead our students through all these avenues today. Our classes take a mere 100 pages out of the middle of this vast text. And, it seems we (at least I) have plenty to accomplish in a sixteen-week course. I wonder many weeks instructors required to complete a course of this nature; and I wonder how successful they were.

Use Balance to Keep a Second Writing Project Going

I agree with Boice that having multiple projects going at the same time can be strangely relaxing. This is true for a number of reasons. First, it allows you to take a break from a project while still working on something. This is clever--working while taking breaks. But seriously, it is all too easy to get burned out from a topic, and to have a need to step back to get focus. Having a second or third project going allows you to do this without wasting any precious time.

But there is an even better reason for working on multiple things at once: it greatly increases your creativity. I have found that this is true both in creative writing and in scholarly work (yes, I do both). It is really interesting how blending two different things together can create interesting new ways of looking at things.

As an example, I was once working on a scholarly paper concerning 18th century editing practices of Shakespeare's work. At the same time I was doing research into Asser's biography of Alfred the Great. With the Shakespeare project, I was concerned how editing practices of the 18th century helped to maintain certain untrue myths about Shakespeare due to the way scholarship works (scholars quote older scholars who quote older scholars, and so on). The realizations I had come to concerning Shakespeare drifted over into my Alfred work, eventually leading to some interesting thoughts concerning 19th century medievalisms.

Sorry if all that is a bit wordy. The point is, I think it is very good and helpful if we can allow our different work to bleed into each other as much as possible. Being a very cross-disciplinary medievalist, I find this to create all sorts of opportunities if I mix what scholars in other fields are doing with our own scholarly traditions.

Boice is Pollyanna?

Have you ever seen Pollyanna? (Or read it, I suppose?) If so, then you might see, like I did, that Boice sounds a bit like Pollyanna in Chapter 14. Pollyanna is famous for playing "the glad game" in which she always tries to find the best in bad situations. Basically, she does what Boice suggests: she pushes out the negative to try and find the positive (for her in life, and for him in writing). She chooses to see the positive side of the situation. And, Boice suggest that if we let go of pessimism, we might see the "efficiency of optimism" (163) and be more productive writers. Yes, being positive about things generally reduces stress and helps you be more productive. I realize this, and in previous years, people often teased me that I was Pollyanna. I could find the positive in almost everything. However, I'm finding this more difficult in this round of graduate school. I used to feel super positive about everything I wrote and about all of the assignments I was given, but it's not that way this time around.

For some reason, it's been really difficult to let go of the negative this semester. I've been upset more than not upset when it comes to school, which is very unusual for me. I could go on-and-on, but I won't, because that's not what Boice suggests. I read the chapter on letting go of the negative, hoping that it would help me let go of it. I even watched my clip of Pollyanna, which usually gets me into a chipper mood, and I pet my cat for goodness sakes. However, the negative is still there. Honestly, the chapter just made me more upset. Maybe I just need to reread tomorrow, but as for now, Boice didn't really convince me of much. Maybe it's just that it's hard to read a chapter on letting go of the negative when you're already in the negative. I feel weird even blogging about this, since I try to put on a facade of being positive, but I'm doing it any way: that's what informal writing is for, right? To share how you're actually feeling and thinking (not just some fake version of what you're thinking)?

I want to get out of this negative zone, but it's going to take more than Boice to get me there. Hopefully some one-on-one cat time and Thanksgiving break will help. Here's some positive: we have Thanksgiving break coming up! That means time to spend with family and time to actually get our work done. Even if right now feels overwhelming and if there are literally too many assignments to complete in my planner than there is time, there is Thanksgiving Break. And, after Thanksgiving Break comes Christmas break which means a month of self-directed writing, fun with family, presents, and then a new round of classes in the spring. There. I found the positive.

Balance This

Balance seems like such an ideal, never a reality. Part of me envies those people who are great at balancing, multi-tasking, scheduling, forward-thinking, whatever you want to call it. Or in the least people who give the illusion of a balanced life. I think people who maintain day planners must be great at balancing. Sometimes those people piss me off; sometimes I want to be them. Mostly I want to be them. I operate more often than not on the principle of selective memory. If I have a task to complete and I remember to do it, it must have been important; otherwise it didn’t really matter in the first place. That’s my balancing act. Probably not very wise. I must also admit that part of me wants to throw a brick through the window of the person who suggests we need balance to have success. Really? Go tell bees to make honey while you’re at it. Hmmm...honey. On a side note, the honey in Columbia sold at the local Farmer's Market is much better than what I used to get in Texas. Just sayin'. And my in-laws used to be beekeepers until the Queen committed suicide. Seriously.

But I believe in balance and this is a good time in the semester to hear a chapter on Boice barraging me with reminders that I need to balance teacher and scholar duties, writing and waiting, writing and pre-writing, etc. Balance the small things and perhaps this will force the larger things into line? Maybe that’s what I’m getting out of all this balancing talk. This is the most unbalanced time of the semester, so, I will renew my commitment to have a more balanced beginning to next semester, I will enthusiastically balance teaching and other commitments and dedicate my students to being balanced in their own writing…and then forget it all by mid-March and give myself to the frenzy. So much for moderating the negative thinking.