Process Analysis of a Process Analysis

I haven't been blogging lately, but I've been reading - a lot.  I've got posts upcoming on Rick Riordan's The Kane Chronicles (preview: loved) and Syrie James' The Secret Diaries of Charlotte Bronte, which made me want to re-read Jane Eyre, Villette, Wuthering Heights, and The Tenant of Wildfell Hall IMMEDIATELY.  I resisted and instead devoured A Wrinkle in Time by Madeline L'Engle (what have I been missing all this time?!), Cut by Patricia McCormick, and Staying Fat for Sarah Byrnes by Chris Crutcher.  Detailed posts to come.

Regular readers of this blog know that I am an English teacher at a community college.  It's hard, but when everything comes together, it's awesome.  I had one of those moments yesterday when my students gave their Process Analysis Presentation.  This project has matured a lot over the past two years, and I'm just so damn pleased about how it all went down yesterday that I wanted to share with someone other than my husband, who listened politely and then changed the subject. 

I teach ENG 111: Expository Writing.  What began as an unsavory challenge while I was a teaching assistant at N. C. State is now my baby.  I love this class, and I am constantly tweaking it to (I hope) make it better.  We teach the modes at my current college, and I have always assigned some form of a process analysis.  At first, it was just an essay, but I allowed students to pick topics they are experts at (with my approval!! I learned that lesson the hard way...) and design the document as if it were going in a magazine - color, bullets, photos, etc.  It was generally well received, and at the request of my students, who wanted to share their essays with the class, I added an oral presentation component.  In keeping with the visual interest of the project, I stated they had to have a visual aid of some sort - poster, PowerPoint, demonstration, etc. (but NOT the essay).  I've had students come in and wow us with their musical skills or baked goods, but while the project showed promise, students were not demonstrating the oral communication skills I wanted.  Instead students couldn't understand what their presentation should be about or put tons of energy into the essay and minimal thought into the presentation.  The presentations themselves, conducted in traditional one-to-twenty format, were excruciating - not because the topics were boring but because the students lacked finesse in their delivery.  They continued to indulge in the same presentation pitfalls:

• minimal eye contact,
• no practice/confidence resulting in stumbling, stuttering, umms, and general awkwardness for all,
• hiding behind technology with little to no knowledge as to how to actually use it,
• reading off of slides or posters with no room or desire for improvisation.

You get the idea.  I knew something had to give, and in a bold move for an English teacher, I let go of the essay.  I reasoned that a well-thought presentation required written and organizational skills of some sort, the final product would just be different.  I also addressed two of the main issues listed above head on.  I banned technology and required old school posters ONLY.  I also implemented a strategy I learned as a teaching assistant, perfected by my friend and fellow teacher Erika, the gallery walk.  On presentation day, instead of suffering through one dry, uncomfortable presentation after another (again not because of topics but because of nerves on the part of the presenter), I split the class in half and station the presenters with their posters at various points around the room.  The other half of the class acts as audience and must visit each presenter.  Therefore, each presenter has to deliver his or her presentation multiple times, allowing for a growth of confidence in delivery and the ability to revise for better content on the spot.  The first semester I implemented the gallery walk it was well-received; the only real complaint was that the presenters didn't get to visit the presentations of the other students in their group - a surprising problem!

Still, I was having problems with students practicing and reading straight off their poster and plagiarism was rampant because I was still requiring an essay.  This summer I made drastic changes including the following:

• no essay, but a formal outline,
• a clear no research (not even Google) mandate,
• 20 word maximum on the poster (just enough for the main points - thanks Erika!),
• pre-presentation conferences in which students deliver the outline, poster, and presentation to me one-on-one, and I give them feedback to incorporate into their final in-class delivery.

And the results were outstanding!  The requirement of the outline and poster ahead of time meant everyone was prepared on the final presentation day and encouraged the drafting and prewriting that most students neglect.  Every one delivered original work, and not one student even read off of his/her poster, outline, or notecards when delivering his/her presentation.  Also, as an added workload benefit, since I had already heard their presentations during conferences, I merely observed students as they interacted with each other and graded on the spot - done! 

The more I teach the more I am enjoying this hands-off, activities based approach.  In this day and age, I think students need to learn by doing.  I am only too happy to answer questions and assist.  I will provide all the tools, but it is up to the student to learn how to use them. 

Any good activity suggestions out there I haven't considered?

Review: How They Met and Other Stories by David Levithan

I am not usually a fan of short story series.  A well-crafted stand-alone short story is one thing, but I tend to find short story collections to be obscure, unrelated, and uninteresting.  However, David Levithan's collection How They Met and Other Stories was entertaining and engrossing.  This collection of stories, some penned by Levithan in high school, about lovers from all walks of life and in all stages of their respective relationships was touching and most importantly honest.  Although the protagonists are not related nor do the stories overlap, I couldn't help but imagine the characters as all members of the same high school class or community - not friends, but acquaintances - and the reader gets to glimpse their private flirtations and frustrations reminding us of the common need we all have to be desired and cherished.

Although most of the stories are told from a teenager's point of view, my favorite of the bunch, "The Number of People Who Meet on Airplanes," follows a couple from their first meeting (on an airplane) to their celebration of ten years together.  That kind of longevity is merely wished for nowadays, but Levithan demonstrates in simple prose how the unlikeliest of meeting places and people can come together to create a lifetime of shared memories.  This theme is apparent in another of my favorite pieces in the series, the title story "How They Met," that details the blossoming of relationships between the narrator's grandparents and parents that ultimately led to the existence of the narrator.  Levithan's interest in family dynamics is precluded by "What a Song Can Do," which begins with a struggle to balance a love of music with a lover's differing interests but ends as a meditation on the accepting love between mother and son.  Each story demonstrates in one way or another that true love is about the courage to be yourself in every relationship - faults and all - and that's a lesson worth learning.

Best matched with anyone who has ever fallen in (or out) of love...and hopes to do it again.

Not Quite a Review: The Fault in Our Stars by John Green

I could write paragraphs upon paragraphs raving about John Green's The Fault in Our Stars, complete with textual evidence from the pages and pages I underlined, circled, and folded to preserve his beautiful, profound prose.  I could follow my rave with paragraphs upon paragraphs of ranting response to the poor reviews I read on Goodreads, but I will not.

I will say only this: any author who can quote T. S. Eliot's "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" in his novel without skipping a beat will forever hold a special place in my heart.

Why I Love Megan McCafferty

I won't bore you with yet another gushy post about how much I love Megan McCafferty's newest duo, Bumped and Thumped.  Instead, I will share with you solid, textual evidence that I hope will encourage you to pick up these two books (and the Jessica Darling series) if you haven't already.

"I'm sobbing...for...all girls everywhere who are valued far more for what's between their legs than what's between their ears." - Bumped

"I'm sitting in the bleachers, watching longingly as all the boys and unbumped girls in my Personal Health and Fitness class play Muggle Quidditch." - Thumped (yes - Muggle Quidditch)

Lost, Found, and Homeward Bound

My puppy, Chloe - Look at that sweet face!

I don't even know how to start this post.  Everything I think of sounds cheesy, so I am just going to jump in.  For the past week, I have been a complete wreck.  I was administering and grading finals for my five ENG classes (times that by five essays, paragraphs, and short answer exams; then start hyperventilating); I stayed up for almost 30 hours on Friday/Saturday (Friurday?) for Relay for Life (and anyone who knows me knows I am the world's grumpiest person if I don't get my eight hours at night...), and my dog has been missing.  Yes, while I was grading those finals and raising money for the American Cancer Society, my sweet one and half year old rescue puppy, Chloe, was frolicking in the fields, woods, and roads(!) behind my in-laws' house.  Anyone who has a pet, especially one that lives indoors, can testify that it is like a child.  When it hurts, so do you.  Up until Tuesday, my husband and I had absolutely no idea where she really was.  We had posted over 700 flyers in the area and had received calls about sighting her, but these calls never came from the same area.  So we would drive around, canvas the neighborhood, talk to people, and post more flyers.  I would wake up every morning crying and come home from work or searching for her every evening crying.  Being at home, where she was supposed to be, with all her toys and her food bowl and her chair (yes, she has her own chair) was absolute torture.  Tuesday afternoon, my dad and I decided to return to the scene of the crime - my in-laws' house from whose fence she escaped - and drive around the surrounding roads.  We hadn't had any luck and were about to return to town when one of my husband's friends called me.  "I've got her," he said, but there was a catch.  She wouldn't come to him.  No problem, I thought - I told him to keep an eye on her, figuring as soon as I arrived and she saw me and the box of treats I was shaking, she would come running.  But no, once I confirmed that was my baby way out in the field and called her name, she looked at me and trotted off in the other direction.  I was distraught, but I didn't want to scare her further, so I not-so-patiently waited for my husband to arrive.  Chloe could not ignore his deeper, more authoritative voice, but she did.  She disappeared into the woods, and we didn't see hide nor hair of her for the rest of the afternoon.  Yesterday morning, my father-in-law was driving around and spotted her on a road a few miles away from where she was Tuesday although this road was closer to their house.  He stopped and got within 15-20 feet of her before she turned and wandered into the woods again.  I immediately left work and met him.  He sat at one end of the road, and I sat at the other waiting for her to emerge from the woodline (I have never felt like such a stalker in my life), but she never appeared.  Frustrated, exhausted, and angry, I went to my in-laws' house to wait for my husband.  When he arrived later that afternoon, it had been raining, but we set out to search for Chloe again.  Suddenly, we spot her in a field - this is the first time my husband has seen her - I don't think he believed I had really seen her until this moment.  He called her, and she turned and darted into the woods.  We quickly reached a private lane by the woodline and flew down it - cutting Chloe off just as she emerged on the other side of the woods.  She lifted one paw, turned, and darted back into the woods.  Rob called and called; we drove back to the field we had seen her in; nothing.  We stopped and talked to some people who lived by the field and confirmed that they had seen her in their yards Tuesday night and Wednesday morning.  We gave them flyers and drove home totally dejected.  My husband was happier because we knew where she was.  I was worried that we had scared her from the area and terrified because the hard part was supposed to be finding her, not catching her.  My husband takes a night class on Mondays and Wednesdays, so he went to class, and I pulled myself together and went and had dinner with my mom

Chloe helping me grade papers.

and sisters.  Rob called earlier than usual to say he was on his way home.  He asked me to meet him there.  Worried that the events of the day had finally caught up with him, I made my way home and met him at the door.  He insisted he was alright, and we were sitting at the table talking when I noticed headlights turning into our driveway.  "Who's that?" I asked.  "It's my mom," my husband replied.  He paused.  "She's bringing Chloe."  I screamed, "Are you serious?!"  He was.  My baby was home.  The people we had spoken to earlier that day saw Chloe again in their yard and called my husband.  He called his mom, who was in church down the road, and she drove over.  She knelt in the yard with a treat; Chloe came and took it; she opened the car door, and Chloe jumped in.  I could not believe it.

Chloe snoozing in her cozy chair
now that she's home!

Although this has nothing to do with books, I feel compelled to share my story because I am brimming with gratitude for everyone who saw the flyer and called just to offer advice or check on us, for the people who spent hours looking with us and consoling us when we did not find her.  The kindness I saw this last week is astounding.  The miracle of Chloe's return - safe and uninjured - is even more astounding.  I don't know why she wouldn't come to us right away.  Maybe she was afraid, but watching her sleeping in the chair beside me right now is the best feeling in the world.  Maybe God was trying to teach me a lesson about faith and trust.  Whatever the case, I am so blessed today.

Update: Innovation in Instruction

Hey guys - I posted a few days ago about the Banned Books project I do with my ENG 111 students and the recent recognition I have gotten for it.  Two days after I received the grant, my partners in crime, or in significant gimmicks, Summerlin and Erika, and I received confirmation that our proposal had been accepted for the National Council of Teachers of English conference, which will be in Vegas this year!  Woohoo!!  Any tips for good food and fun in the Vegas area would be much appreciated.

AND...my copy of Thumped came in!  It's a good thing that the end of the semester is on the horizon.  I need time to catch up on some reading.

Review: When She Woke by Hillary Jordan (Spoilers)

When She Woke by Hillary Jordan is a modern re-telling of Nathaniel Hawthorne's The Scarlett Letter.  Jordan takes Hawthorne's classic plot, an adulterous affair between a revered pastor and a young woman of the community, and turns it on its head by placing it in a futuristic society defined by several distinct groups - the uber-religious, those who oppose them, and the Chromes.  Previously a member of the first group, Hannah Payne, Jordan's Hester Pryne, wakes on page one as a member of the latter group based on her interactions with the famed Reverend Aidan Dale, Jordan's Reverend Dimmesdale.  The Chromes are the futuristic United States' version of India's "Untouchable" caste.  Injected with a melachrome "virus," which turns the victim's skin a bright color synonymous with his/her crime, a Chrome is a visual and vivid reminder to the populace of the consequences of breaking the rules.  Hannah wakes as a red for murder.  To protect the reputation of the man she loves, Hannah terminates the illegitimate pregnancy that results at the end of their two year tryst.  Abortions are illegal in Hannah's world, but there are still a few doctors willing to perform them if the price is right or the need dire.  Hannah's interaction with her abortionist, a man known only as "Raphael," is her first contact with the subversive, anti-abortion group The Novemberists and her first act of independent rebellion against the community of family and faith that has controlled her until now.

All the passion, intrigue, and originality expressed in the plot summary above are met and exceeded in the first half of Jordan's novel.  The opening chapter is gripping in its strangeness and in the primitive emotions felt by Hannah as she must learn to traverse this world as a Chrome without her family, friends, and lover.  Despite her transgressions, Hannah is a woman of unwavering principle as demonstrated by her refusal to provide the name of her lover or abortionist during her trial and the inhumane treatment she suffers in the televised Chrome Ward and later in the "Straight Path" shelter; however, as poignant and riveting as the first half of the novel is, the second half does not deliver the same quality of prose.  In fact, it is like reading an entirely different book and an entirely different genre.  What began as a dystopian remake of a 19th century classic morphs into a mission impossible/Bourne Identity spoof.

Jordan lost me the minute the Novemberists swooped down to rescue Hannah and her new friend and fellow Chrome, Kayla, and put them on the "path" to melachrome reversal.  While ideal, the rescue and new identity motif is not one supported by the 200+ pages that came before or in the original.  The novel would have been more compelling had it remained focused on Hannah's struggles to redefine herself in a world she no longer fits into - visually, emotionally, and spiritually - instead of forcing an entire new cast of characters and plot points on the reader.  I understand that Jordan wants the reader to see Hannah turn into a confident, independent thinker and woman - controlled by no one but her own self and desires - but the methods she took to get her there were unnecessary and, at times, off-putting.  I am speaking of, as one reviewer put it, the "contrived lesbian experience."  I went to an all women's college, so lesbianism is by no means a foreign concept to me, however, I resent Jordan using lesbianism or bi-sexuality as a vehicle for gratitude and an obvious example of Hannah's departure from her previous held beliefs.  Hannah's fundamental change as a person is evident without this drastic, and doubtful, change in her behavior.  Jordan seems to realize this mistake, and Hannah shrinks from further encounters with her female partner, but this detail rings untrue like a sour note in an otherwise harmonious chorus. 

The conclusion with its implied melachrome reversal was also a disappointment.  After so much thought and detail had gone into the explanation and description of the melachrome process, no time at all was devoted to its equally interesting and complex reversal.  Although I appreciated the symmetry of the waking opening and closing lines, on a whole I was disappointed with the ambiguous conclusion.

Best matched with fans of dystopia and contemporary, revitalized fiction.