So, regular readers of this space know that last year, at least before Baby Jane arrived, I was on sabbatical. It was always my intention to do a reflective post on "what I learned on my sabbatical" upon returning to work. But life with an infant does not allow for much reflection, so the post was never written.
I actually think that's a good thing, because now that I've been back at work for a few months, I think I have a better perspective on what my sabbatical taught me.
First, and most unexpectedly, my sabbatical brought me a new perspective on my relationship with my colleagues and my place in the department. I find that my interactions with and responses to my colleagues are more measured. I am more direct, in my opinions and requests. I speak up, but I choose my words more carefully. I am not afraid to stand up for something, but I also choose my battles better, and am more diplomatic than I used to be. Do things still bug me? Absolutely. Am I always listened to? No way. But I sense that my words and ideas now carry more weight, and that I'm getting people to listen to me and take my ideas more seriously. And that's making a huge difference, especially in how I feel day-to-day in my job.
Second, my sabbatical helped me gain a new perspective on my teaching. Actually I think it pushed along the natural evolution of my teaching, but the point is that ironically, stepping out of the classroom for a year was probably the best thing I could have done to improve my teaching. I've pared my classes down to the essentials. I teach less "stuff" than ever before, yet my students are learning tons more, asking better questions, making better insights about the material. My assignments are much better integrated into the fabric of the course---and in fact, inform the way I've structured each course. I tend to be such a detail person, which has hurt my teaching in the past, but the time away to reflect helped me develop strategies to combat this tendency. I feel comfortable in the classroom again, and confident in my ability to reach my students. I don't feel 100% sure that this will be enough to earn me tenure, but I also don't feel anymore like there's no way I'll get tenure.
Finally, as odd as this may sound given the tenor of recent posts here, sabbatical reaffirmed the importance of having some semblance of balance (ha!) in my life. OK, maybe "balance" is a little optimistic these days. But how important it is to do little things, like make time to work out every day, or take time off on the weekends, or for pete's sake enjoy my daughter and husband and do fun things as a family and get out of the house every once in a while. It's hard to justify taking the time to do these things, especially when the laundry is piling up and the kitchen floor hasn't been cleaned since Christmas and there's always more work that needs to be done, but not blowing this stuff off every once in a while is only going to make a person sick, or perpetually pissed off, and less able to Get Stuff Done. Having a chance to take an extended breather, and learning that I could be more productive when I did so, reminded me of that fact.
So there you have it. Sabbatical was of course valuable from a research perspective (although I didn't get as much done as I wanted---does anyone??), but for me, it was more valuable for the non-research related reasons. And that in itself was a particular kind of renewal for me.
scientiae-carnival
Showing posts with label teaching. Show all posts
Showing posts with label teaching. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Monday, February 18, 2008
Communication
A post in three unrelated (?) acts.
***
ACT 1
Baby Jane is trying her best to communicate with us. She is very vocal, which means that she spends a lot of time either babbling to herself (or her toys) or to us. When she babbles to us, she is very intent: she makes eye contact, she modulates her voice, she changes her inflection and her syllables. Clearly she has something very important to tell us! If only we could figure out what it was.
We have been signing to her for months now, and finally, she is signing back. Sometimes her signs are crystal clear, like the day she signed "Daddy" when Mr. Jane came home from running errands. But often they are a bit ambiguous. "Milk", for instance, is her general sign for "I'm tired and it's time for bed" (we breastfeed her as part of the bedtime ritual). Still, it's an exciting time: we know that she understands us, and finally, finally, we are starting to understand her.
***
ACT 2
Since returning from sabbatical, I've found that I am more direct with my colleagues. Maybe it's because the time away from my colleagues brought me a greater understanding of the ways in which we communicate poorly with each other. Or maybe it's because I have no time and am thus forced to be direct to save what little time I have. Whatever the reason, being direct is proving wildly successful. For instance: there's this particular thing that I've wanted to do for ages, but my chair always offers/delegates it to someone else. In the past, I've talked to my chair about getting a chance to do it, but for whatever reason, nothing ever changed. Which just led me to stew and be unhappy and complain. This time around, I decided to just tell my chair outright that I want to do this thing. No beating around the bush, no trying to find the "right" words, none of that. No, I just went to my chair and said "You know, I should do X this year." And he said "OK, that sounds like a great idea! You're on!"
How much time and energy have I wasted worrying about not being a pest or a bother, and thus not asking for what I want?
***
ACT 3
Dear Dr. Jane,
I am worried about my course grade. Could you please let me know if I am in danger of failing?
Thanks,
Stu Dent
Dear Stu,
Yes, you are in danger of failing. I don't know why it took you this long to get in touch with me. I mean, it's not like I haven't been begging, pleading, and cajoling you to meet with me since, oh, day 1 of the class since it is abundantly clear that you are so, so lost. I don't know how much more direct I can be with you, since I've written on every single quiz and assignment that you are NOT doing well and that you MUST come and see me ASAP so that we can stop the bleeding. I am always willing to help students, particularly with this subject matter, since it's not the easiest stuff in the world. But I can only help those who want to help themselves. You've dug yourself a hole that's pretty deep. I can help you dig out: I can loan you a shovel, and I can get you started. But ultimately, you're the one that has to do the digging. And frankly, I don't see that willingness in you.
Fondly,
Dr. Jane
***
ACT 1
Baby Jane is trying her best to communicate with us. She is very vocal, which means that she spends a lot of time either babbling to herself (or her toys) or to us. When she babbles to us, she is very intent: she makes eye contact, she modulates her voice, she changes her inflection and her syllables. Clearly she has something very important to tell us! If only we could figure out what it was.
We have been signing to her for months now, and finally, she is signing back. Sometimes her signs are crystal clear, like the day she signed "Daddy" when Mr. Jane came home from running errands. But often they are a bit ambiguous. "Milk", for instance, is her general sign for "I'm tired and it's time for bed" (we breastfeed her as part of the bedtime ritual). Still, it's an exciting time: we know that she understands us, and finally, finally, we are starting to understand her.
***
ACT 2
Since returning from sabbatical, I've found that I am more direct with my colleagues. Maybe it's because the time away from my colleagues brought me a greater understanding of the ways in which we communicate poorly with each other. Or maybe it's because I have no time and am thus forced to be direct to save what little time I have. Whatever the reason, being direct is proving wildly successful. For instance: there's this particular thing that I've wanted to do for ages, but my chair always offers/delegates it to someone else. In the past, I've talked to my chair about getting a chance to do it, but for whatever reason, nothing ever changed. Which just led me to stew and be unhappy and complain. This time around, I decided to just tell my chair outright that I want to do this thing. No beating around the bush, no trying to find the "right" words, none of that. No, I just went to my chair and said "You know, I should do X this year." And he said "OK, that sounds like a great idea! You're on!"
How much time and energy have I wasted worrying about not being a pest or a bother, and thus not asking for what I want?
***
ACT 3
Dear Dr. Jane,
I am worried about my course grade. Could you please let me know if I am in danger of failing?
Thanks,
Stu Dent
Dear Stu,
Yes, you are in danger of failing. I don't know why it took you this long to get in touch with me. I mean, it's not like I haven't been begging, pleading, and cajoling you to meet with me since, oh, day 1 of the class since it is abundantly clear that you are so, so lost. I don't know how much more direct I can be with you, since I've written on every single quiz and assignment that you are NOT doing well and that you MUST come and see me ASAP so that we can stop the bleeding. I am always willing to help students, particularly with this subject matter, since it's not the easiest stuff in the world. But I can only help those who want to help themselves. You've dug yourself a hole that's pretty deep. I can help you dig out: I can loan you a shovel, and I can get you started. But ultimately, you're the one that has to do the digging. And frankly, I don't see that willingness in you.
Fondly,
Dr. Jane
Monday, February 11, 2008
Returning to the classroom
I knew that returning to the classroom after a year away would be tricky. Now that I've been back for a bit, I can say that it has been easier in some respects, but trickier in ways that I maybe didn't expect.
The first week and a half was rough. The first day was fine, mainly because of (a) adrenaline and (b) I have pretty well established activities and such that I do on the first day, so by this time things flow fairly smoothly and are pretty strictly planned out. But in the days after that, I realized that I had forgotten how to "talk" to a class.
I normally go into class with notes. Depending on what I'm talking about and how familiar I am with the material, the notes may be quite detailed (a full-blown, bulleted list with definitions and diagrams) or sketchy ("Point out the parts of the loop, then show the averaging example"). But the notes mainly have (a) facts/details about the subject and (b) a general sense of the flow of the class (introduce topic, do activity, discuss what just happened, etc).
In the past, when I've been teaching regularly, these notes were sufficient for running a class. I could just go in and talk intelligently off of these notes.
Being out of the classroom, though, meant that I was out of practice in this skill. In one of my classes on the second day, I said "OK, today we're going to talk about Concept X"....and then I stopped cold, because I had no earthly idea how I was going to talk about Concept X. Even though I had a page full of notes and a firm idea of where I wanted to lead the class, I couldn't vocalize anything about Concept X that would start us down the right path, or even sound halfway intelligent. Finally I just started talking, and I think ultimately it was okay (not my best class, but certainly not my worst). But boy, was I rattled.
This sense of being a fish out of water lasted a good week or so. With time and practice, though, talking to my classes became easier. I started to remember the "hows" of teaching. More importantly, I regained my sense of comfort in the classroom, and my teaching became more natural and less stilted.
I still have days here and there where I get that fish out of water feeling again and forget how to talk about some concept or another. I had one such moment again in my last class, on a subject that I've taught a zillion times. I'd developed a particularly good way of introducing this concept, which is one of the trickier ones in the course, and I tried to recreate that in today's class, but it fell short. Ah well, there's always next class. But these days are becoming more and more rare.
I do think in general that my time away has ultimately made me a better teacher....but that's a subject for another post.
The first week and a half was rough. The first day was fine, mainly because of (a) adrenaline and (b) I have pretty well established activities and such that I do on the first day, so by this time things flow fairly smoothly and are pretty strictly planned out. But in the days after that, I realized that I had forgotten how to "talk" to a class.
I normally go into class with notes. Depending on what I'm talking about and how familiar I am with the material, the notes may be quite detailed (a full-blown, bulleted list with definitions and diagrams) or sketchy ("Point out the parts of the loop, then show the averaging example"). But the notes mainly have (a) facts/details about the subject and (b) a general sense of the flow of the class (introduce topic, do activity, discuss what just happened, etc).
In the past, when I've been teaching regularly, these notes were sufficient for running a class. I could just go in and talk intelligently off of these notes.
Being out of the classroom, though, meant that I was out of practice in this skill. In one of my classes on the second day, I said "OK, today we're going to talk about Concept X"....and then I stopped cold, because I had no earthly idea how I was going to talk about Concept X. Even though I had a page full of notes and a firm idea of where I wanted to lead the class, I couldn't vocalize anything about Concept X that would start us down the right path, or even sound halfway intelligent. Finally I just started talking, and I think ultimately it was okay (not my best class, but certainly not my worst). But boy, was I rattled.
This sense of being a fish out of water lasted a good week or so. With time and practice, though, talking to my classes became easier. I started to remember the "hows" of teaching. More importantly, I regained my sense of comfort in the classroom, and my teaching became more natural and less stilted.
I still have days here and there where I get that fish out of water feeling again and forget how to talk about some concept or another. I had one such moment again in my last class, on a subject that I've taught a zillion times. I'd developed a particularly good way of introducing this concept, which is one of the trickier ones in the course, and I tried to recreate that in today's class, but it fell short. Ah well, there's always next class. But these days are becoming more and more rare.
I do think in general that my time away has ultimately made me a better teacher....but that's a subject for another post.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Persistence: How much is too much?
Man, is this week kicking my butt. Hence, the silence. But I do have something that's been on my mind all week, that I've been turning over and over in my mind but haven't really come to a good resolution.
So. We all have students in our classes that are maybe not doing as well as we think they could or should. That would benefit from coming in and talking to us during office hours, for instance. Asking questions about the course material, yes, but also discussing strategies for how to study, how to read the text, how to approach the homework assignments, even how to ask for help from the TAs and/or other sources.
Some of these students, left to their own devices, may in fact find their way to office hours, will figure out how to be successful in class, and find enlightenment. Many, though, will not, and will struggle unnecessarily.
For some, laziness may be the main factor. But for others, it may be a fear---of the professor (hey, I was scared to death of my professors, and never went to any office hours until my senior year), of who knows what. And it may even be one of those tricky "cultural capital" things---not coming from an environment where you know how to utilize the available resources, including professors. It's hard to tell, sometimes, what forces are at work.
How, and when, and how much, do you reach out to these students?
I probably do more than most. I keep a careful eye out early on to catch those who are struggling right off the bat. I reach out to them as soon as I sense there's an issue---usually by email, because I figure that's less awkward than confronting them face-to-face. ("Hey, you're failing! Why don't you stop by and see me?" Yeah, awkward.) I do this throughout the course, too, especially after exams and other milestones. And I try to check in periodically with those who have taken the time to come and see me.
Many students, though, never take me up on my request, and continue struggling.
Now, I'm not talking about excessive hand-holding here or dealing with lazy students. But sometimes I wonder if I should be doing more for some of these students who maybe fall into one of those latter camps: the fearful ones, or the ones lacking cultural capital. Should I be more persistent? Where is the line between persistent and annoying? In short, how do I help the ones who want my help (but may be too intimidated to take advantage of it, even if I'm the one who reached out) without annoying those who don't?
Maybe this is one of those questions that doesn't have a nice, pat answer.
So. We all have students in our classes that are maybe not doing as well as we think they could or should. That would benefit from coming in and talking to us during office hours, for instance. Asking questions about the course material, yes, but also discussing strategies for how to study, how to read the text, how to approach the homework assignments, even how to ask for help from the TAs and/or other sources.
Some of these students, left to their own devices, may in fact find their way to office hours, will figure out how to be successful in class, and find enlightenment. Many, though, will not, and will struggle unnecessarily.
For some, laziness may be the main factor. But for others, it may be a fear---of the professor (hey, I was scared to death of my professors, and never went to any office hours until my senior year), of who knows what. And it may even be one of those tricky "cultural capital" things---not coming from an environment where you know how to utilize the available resources, including professors. It's hard to tell, sometimes, what forces are at work.
How, and when, and how much, do you reach out to these students?
I probably do more than most. I keep a careful eye out early on to catch those who are struggling right off the bat. I reach out to them as soon as I sense there's an issue---usually by email, because I figure that's less awkward than confronting them face-to-face. ("Hey, you're failing! Why don't you stop by and see me?" Yeah, awkward.) I do this throughout the course, too, especially after exams and other milestones. And I try to check in periodically with those who have taken the time to come and see me.
Many students, though, never take me up on my request, and continue struggling.
Now, I'm not talking about excessive hand-holding here or dealing with lazy students. But sometimes I wonder if I should be doing more for some of these students who maybe fall into one of those latter camps: the fearful ones, or the ones lacking cultural capital. Should I be more persistent? Where is the line between persistent and annoying? In short, how do I help the ones who want my help (but may be too intimidated to take advantage of it, even if I'm the one who reached out) without annoying those who don't?
Maybe this is one of those questions that doesn't have a nice, pat answer.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Getting back into the teaching mindset
In a post last week, I mentioned that I was struggling a bit with the whole class prep thing, since it's been over a year since I've been in the classroom, and how this came as a bit of a surprise to me. I guess that teaching is more of a skill than we tend to think, and like any other skill, if we don't practice it regularly, we get a bit rusty. That's what I'm facing right now.
I'm teaching two classes when I return: a section of intro and an elective. For various reasons---some externally imposed, some interally imposed---both courses are undergoing some not-trivial revisions this time around. So I'm trying to figure out how these changes fit into each course while at the same time trying to construct the flow of each course (syllabus, assignments, core concepts, objectives). And having a hard time trying to wrap my mind around it.
I was complaining about this to a friend and colleague from another department, and she gave me a great idea. "Why don't you start from the end, and work backwards?"
Well. This turned out to be brilliant advice, at least for the intro course. Once I started from the end, the course almost seemed to construct itself. Getting from Point A to Point B, it turns out, is easier if you've been to Point B and know what it looks like. And, as a bonus, I'm actually now really excited about this iteration of the course, and can't wait to introduce the series of assignments to the students.
Unfortunately, the advice is not working so well for the elective. The elective is less "linear", let's say. I have a very clear picture of where the students will end up, but because of the nature of this course, the path back from that to the beginning is not as clear. Actually, the unusual thing is that I've structured the first and last assignments already, and have some ideas for the middle assignments, but matching up the course concepts to the assignments (and some of the segues) is proving tricky. I do remember not being happy at all with the way I matched concepts to assignments the last time around (which was echoed in the student evaluations), and I want to avoid that this time around, but the way forward is not clear at this point.
(Changing the first and last assignments is not an option---I have very specific reasons for doing these two assignments when I do them and how I do them, and I think that these two assignments are the perfect bookends for this class. And the students agree with me. The issue is that the assignments don't neatly fit in with the "traditional" ways that this particular subject is taught. I have to think carefully about how I introduce the related concepts, so that the assignments don't seem so....standalone is probably the best way to describe it.)
I know that I will get unstuck eventually, but in the meantime, I continue to spin my wheels a bit. I think what I might need to do is take a step back from the details and spend some time thinking of the larger picture. Maybe that's the thing that will get me unstuck and get the course flowing again.
Where do you get stuck when you're planning your courses?
I'm teaching two classes when I return: a section of intro and an elective. For various reasons---some externally imposed, some interally imposed---both courses are undergoing some not-trivial revisions this time around. So I'm trying to figure out how these changes fit into each course while at the same time trying to construct the flow of each course (syllabus, assignments, core concepts, objectives). And having a hard time trying to wrap my mind around it.
I was complaining about this to a friend and colleague from another department, and she gave me a great idea. "Why don't you start from the end, and work backwards?"
Well. This turned out to be brilliant advice, at least for the intro course. Once I started from the end, the course almost seemed to construct itself. Getting from Point A to Point B, it turns out, is easier if you've been to Point B and know what it looks like. And, as a bonus, I'm actually now really excited about this iteration of the course, and can't wait to introduce the series of assignments to the students.
Unfortunately, the advice is not working so well for the elective. The elective is less "linear", let's say. I have a very clear picture of where the students will end up, but because of the nature of this course, the path back from that to the beginning is not as clear. Actually, the unusual thing is that I've structured the first and last assignments already, and have some ideas for the middle assignments, but matching up the course concepts to the assignments (and some of the segues) is proving tricky. I do remember not being happy at all with the way I matched concepts to assignments the last time around (which was echoed in the student evaluations), and I want to avoid that this time around, but the way forward is not clear at this point.
(Changing the first and last assignments is not an option---I have very specific reasons for doing these two assignments when I do them and how I do them, and I think that these two assignments are the perfect bookends for this class. And the students agree with me. The issue is that the assignments don't neatly fit in with the "traditional" ways that this particular subject is taught. I have to think carefully about how I introduce the related concepts, so that the assignments don't seem so....standalone is probably the best way to describe it.)
I know that I will get unstuck eventually, but in the meantime, I continue to spin my wheels a bit. I think what I might need to do is take a step back from the details and spend some time thinking of the larger picture. Maybe that's the thing that will get me unstuck and get the course flowing again.
Where do you get stuck when you're planning your courses?
Monday, December 10, 2007
Random Bullets of Monday
* I had the craziest morning today. It's amazing how one little thing going slightly awry can throw off your entire morning. Luckily, things greatly improved around lunchtime. Otherwise, I might have just gone home and gone back to bed.
* Even so, it was a very, very long day.
* Class prep. It's only been a year since I last did this, but man, has it been hard to get back into the mindset of class prep! Even simple things like "how long does it take to cover Topic X" and "how much can I realistically expect intro students to be able to do on an assignment in Week 3" are baffling me right now. (I'll post more on this later this week.)
* Research has been going much easier. Perhaps because most of the "work" I was doing while on leave was research, so I didn't have to adjust my mindset as much.
* One of the other things I'm having problems adjusting to: re-learning how to make small talk with my colleagues. It's been so long since I hung around adults all day....
* Recommendation letters are the bane of my existence right now.
* Since entering day care a mere week ago, Baby Jane has not only decided to drop a daytime feeding, but has also gotten herself on a completely predictable napping schedule. And her "vocabulary", such as it is, has increased exponentially. Unbelievable.
* Oh, and the best part of the day? Learning that classes start a few days later than I originally thought. Woo hoo!
* Even so, it was a very, very long day.
* Class prep. It's only been a year since I last did this, but man, has it been hard to get back into the mindset of class prep! Even simple things like "how long does it take to cover Topic X" and "how much can I realistically expect intro students to be able to do on an assignment in Week 3" are baffling me right now. (I'll post more on this later this week.)
* Research has been going much easier. Perhaps because most of the "work" I was doing while on leave was research, so I didn't have to adjust my mindset as much.
* One of the other things I'm having problems adjusting to: re-learning how to make small talk with my colleagues. It's been so long since I hung around adults all day....
* Recommendation letters are the bane of my existence right now.
* Since entering day care a mere week ago, Baby Jane has not only decided to drop a daytime feeding, but has also gotten herself on a completely predictable napping schedule. And her "vocabulary", such as it is, has increased exponentially. Unbelievable.
* Oh, and the best part of the day? Learning that classes start a few days later than I originally thought. Woo hoo!
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Textbook woes
I foolishly thought that ordering textbooks for my classes would be easy this time around. I'm only changing one text, so how hard could it be?
Well. I forgot that in one class I have two required texts. The last time I taught this particular class, the second required text was a bit out of date in parts, but easy enough to work around. This time, it's very much outdated. But I figured hey, there has to be a new edition of it!
Yes, there is. But it's not being published until next spring.
Aaaarrrrgh.
So now I have to decide if I want to:
(a) go with the outdated text. The concepts are still all good (very good, in fact---I really love this book), but the examples are not---and without going into a ton of detail, the examples are rather important to the course in this case. So if I went with this, I think I'd have to do *a lot* more in-class work "fixing" the outdated examples.
(b) go without this text altogether, and figure out some sort of course-packet-esque thing to throw together.
(c) find another text to fill the void. I've been looking, but so far have come up empty-handed on this. The problem is that the book I was using really was a perfect fit, and I'm having a hard time finding something even remotely equivalent.
The old text is unfortunately in my office at school, so any decisions will have to wait until I can get there and get the book and see just how outdated it is.
Not exactly what I want to be stressing about this week!
Well. I forgot that in one class I have two required texts. The last time I taught this particular class, the second required text was a bit out of date in parts, but easy enough to work around. This time, it's very much outdated. But I figured hey, there has to be a new edition of it!
Yes, there is. But it's not being published until next spring.
Aaaarrrrgh.
So now I have to decide if I want to:
(a) go with the outdated text. The concepts are still all good (very good, in fact---I really love this book), but the examples are not---and without going into a ton of detail, the examples are rather important to the course in this case. So if I went with this, I think I'd have to do *a lot* more in-class work "fixing" the outdated examples.
(b) go without this text altogether, and figure out some sort of course-packet-esque thing to throw together.
(c) find another text to fill the void. I've been looking, but so far have come up empty-handed on this. The problem is that the book I was using really was a perfect fit, and I'm having a hard time finding something even remotely equivalent.
The old text is unfortunately in my office at school, so any decisions will have to wait until I can get there and get the book and see just how outdated it is.
Not exactly what I want to be stressing about this week!
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Getting my feet wet again with the whole teaching thing
It's hard for me to believe, but it's been nearly a year since I last taught a class. A year! So the idea of getting back into the swing of preparing courses has been a bit daunting. But I can't put these things off forever, so over the past week I've started thinking about and prepping one of my classes.
One of the bad things about being out of the classroom for a year, and from being away from my department for a year, is that all of those criticisms about my teaching, significant and niggling, that came up in my review, became magnified in my brain. It got to the point that I had completely convinced myself that I was the World's Worst College Professor and that there was nothing remotely redeeming about any of my courses. (Yes, I am a bit of a drama queen.) And, of course, that there's not a snowball's chance in hell that I will get tenure.
So I decided to start my preparations by reading over my end-of-course notes to figure out what went well and what didn't go so well the last time I taught this course. And I realized that, you know, the course didn't go so badly last time. And that students actually *liked* the course and *liked* my teaching. Huh.
Tonight, I'm reading over some of the assignments from last time around---I'm trying really hard this time to configure my course around the assignments (and thus, around the learning objectives), rather than around particular topics as I've done in the past. And, you know, those aren't so bad, either. In fact, after reading over one particularly strong assignment, I wondered if I had actually written it myself! (Answer: yes.)
Getting back into the teaching mindset is tough. I've taught this class before, but thinking about things like learning objectives and what kind of things I can assume the students know/can do has been tricky. The whole pacing thing, too---I know in the past that I've tried to jam too much into the course, and I'm working to cut that down to a manageable size this time around, but it's hard to judge things like that when you haven't been standing in front of a classroom day in and day out for a while.
But being away for a year has also given me some much-needed perspective. I'm committed to changing my textbook this year (the text I used to use was good info-wise, but tough to read, and I want to move in a new direction with the material), and I have to say that the time away from the classroom has helped me read textbooks with a more critical eye than before. I have a better idea of what I want a text to do, and I'm looking explicitly for that as I review texts. I'm less frantic about covering certain material and more focused on what skills and ways of thinking I'd like students to gain from my course(s). I have a lot of new ideas I'd like to try in the classroom, things that will require less lecture and more participation on the part of students, but that I think will ultimately make them better computer scientists.
And so, the adventure begins....again.
One of the bad things about being out of the classroom for a year, and from being away from my department for a year, is that all of those criticisms about my teaching, significant and niggling, that came up in my review, became magnified in my brain. It got to the point that I had completely convinced myself that I was the World's Worst College Professor and that there was nothing remotely redeeming about any of my courses. (Yes, I am a bit of a drama queen.) And, of course, that there's not a snowball's chance in hell that I will get tenure.
So I decided to start my preparations by reading over my end-of-course notes to figure out what went well and what didn't go so well the last time I taught this course. And I realized that, you know, the course didn't go so badly last time. And that students actually *liked* the course and *liked* my teaching. Huh.
Tonight, I'm reading over some of the assignments from last time around---I'm trying really hard this time to configure my course around the assignments (and thus, around the learning objectives), rather than around particular topics as I've done in the past. And, you know, those aren't so bad, either. In fact, after reading over one particularly strong assignment, I wondered if I had actually written it myself! (Answer: yes.)
Getting back into the teaching mindset is tough. I've taught this class before, but thinking about things like learning objectives and what kind of things I can assume the students know/can do has been tricky. The whole pacing thing, too---I know in the past that I've tried to jam too much into the course, and I'm working to cut that down to a manageable size this time around, but it's hard to judge things like that when you haven't been standing in front of a classroom day in and day out for a while.
But being away for a year has also given me some much-needed perspective. I'm committed to changing my textbook this year (the text I used to use was good info-wise, but tough to read, and I want to move in a new direction with the material), and I have to say that the time away from the classroom has helped me read textbooks with a more critical eye than before. I have a better idea of what I want a text to do, and I'm looking explicitly for that as I review texts. I'm less frantic about covering certain material and more focused on what skills and ways of thinking I'd like students to gain from my course(s). I have a lot of new ideas I'd like to try in the classroom, things that will require less lecture and more participation on the part of students, but that I think will ultimately make them better computer scientists.
And so, the adventure begins....again.
Thursday, October 04, 2007
Random scattered thoughts
- The latest installment of the Scientiae Carnival is up at Wayfarer Scientista's! Great stuff as always. Yami's hosting the next one on or about November 1; here's the call. (And I love the theme for the next one, too---very creative!)
- I am at an exciting phase in my work right now. See, I had this idea for a journal article that I could construct out of my two most recent conference papers, but I needed to do some additional analyses. Well, I just finished the analyses, so now I can proceed ahead with the paper. Given that on most days I have maybe a half hour to devote to research, this will be a challenge....but I just keep telling myself that a half hour a day is better than nothing, and that eventually I'll finish the article.
- I'm starting to panic about the classes I'm teaching when I return. I think this is fallout from the pre-tenure review from hell: all those inadequacies I've felt as a teacher since then, that I largely felt free to ignore while on sabbatical, are back in full force. I really have no reason to panic, since I'm not even being observed until next year and Baby Jane will be going into full-time daycare about a month and a half before classes start. Rationally, I know this, but it's not helping.
- Where did the week go? I've been so overwhelmed by life this week---even the most mundane household tasks have seemed monumentally difficult. There are a ton of little things that need to be done, and I think I'm just letting the sheer volume of them get to me (even though each one would take in the range of 30 seconds to 5 minutes)....It's made me wonder how the heck I'm going to be able to handle working full time.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Time for some drama, apparently
I should have suspected something was up. Things were quiet, too quiet. I should have known that sooner or later, the peace and serenity of my sabbatical would be shattered by....Departmental Drama!
Apparently sabbatical does not provide shelter from being shafted by one's department. Why, just the other day I was marvelling about how relaxed I am, not having to deal with the daily and weekly stupid little things that make me want to pull my hair out, about what a great job my chair was doing in insulating me from any and all obligations beyond getting research done....
But this was all before The Email arrived. Topic: next year's class schedule. Or, more specifically, the scheduling of my "pet elective" in such a way as to guarantee that *no one* (or very few people, likely not enough to run the class) will sign up for it.
I'm way too upset to deal with this right now, so I'm doing the smart thing and sitting on this for a few hours before I reply, at least until the urge to hurl things across the room subsides. But right now, I just can't help thinking that my department really doesn't want me to succeed. And that's a shitty, shitty feeling.
Apparently sabbatical does not provide shelter from being shafted by one's department. Why, just the other day I was marvelling about how relaxed I am, not having to deal with the daily and weekly stupid little things that make me want to pull my hair out, about what a great job my chair was doing in insulating me from any and all obligations beyond getting research done....
But this was all before The Email arrived. Topic: next year's class schedule. Or, more specifically, the scheduling of my "pet elective" in such a way as to guarantee that *no one* (or very few people, likely not enough to run the class) will sign up for it.
I'm way too upset to deal with this right now, so I'm doing the smart thing and sitting on this for a few hours before I reply, at least until the urge to hurl things across the room subsides. But right now, I just can't help thinking that my department really doesn't want me to succeed. And that's a shitty, shitty feeling.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Happy Woman Professor Day!
As promised, here is my contribution to HWPD, aka Why, Despite All the Crap, I am Insanely Happy With My Job. In no particular order.
1. I get paid to play around with technology. How cool is that?! I get paid to break things, take them apart (sometimes figuratively, sometimes physically), figure out how they work, put them back together, figure out how to improve them, ... How many people can say they get paid to *play*?
2. If I want an excuse to learn about a new technology or a new-to-me subfield, I can always do something like offer to teach a class in it. This allows me to make the time to play around with something (see #1), dabble in different subfields, and, best of all, drag students along with me. And, once again, I'm not only paid to do this, but highly encouraged to do this!
3. My students. Sure, there are the ones you want to strangle, but the vast majority of my students are truly a joy to me. I think sometimes that my students teach me more than I teach them. I love getting to know a new crop of students every term/semester, figure out what makes them tick, figure out how to reach them....and just get to know them. They are fascinating people doing remarkable things. They never cease to amaze me.
4. My research undergraduates. I want to put them in a separate category, because these are the students I get to know the best. I love working closely with such students, getting to know them, etc. Most of all, I love wrenching them out of their comfort zones (sometimes kicking and screaming) and getting them to accomplish things they never dreamed possible. Plus, working with undergrads has tremendously helped my own research, bringing a clarity, focus, and organization that was not there before.
5. Teaching. Teaching is hard work, and something I struggle with (but really, who doesn't?), but I love love love the challenge of teaching. Boiling down tons of information to the essential points. Figuring out ways to get students to grasp these essential points. Designing activities and assignments to get students to learn and practice the important concepts, activities that are relevant and that speak to the students' experiences. It's the hardest work I've ever done, but definitely the most rewarding---and, frankly, the reason why I'm working in academia and not in a straight research lab somewhere (or industry).
6. Finally, I love that this job gives me the visibility and opportunity to be a mentor, particularly to young women. I didn't have a single woman professor or role model in college (in my technical courses, that is). I appreciate that I can be that role model to our majors (and the non-majors who end up in our courses), even if I am the only one. I am so grateful that I can be the voice for our women majors, that I am in a position where I can encourage them to do things they would never consider doing, like applying for REUs or going to graduate school or applying for a prestigious fellowship. Our women majors are truly amazing people, and I am so blessed that I get to know them as part of my job.
So that, in a nutshell, is why I am a Happy Woman Professor.
1. I get paid to play around with technology. How cool is that?! I get paid to break things, take them apart (sometimes figuratively, sometimes physically), figure out how they work, put them back together, figure out how to improve them, ... How many people can say they get paid to *play*?
2. If I want an excuse to learn about a new technology or a new-to-me subfield, I can always do something like offer to teach a class in it. This allows me to make the time to play around with something (see #1), dabble in different subfields, and, best of all, drag students along with me. And, once again, I'm not only paid to do this, but highly encouraged to do this!
3. My students. Sure, there are the ones you want to strangle, but the vast majority of my students are truly a joy to me. I think sometimes that my students teach me more than I teach them. I love getting to know a new crop of students every term/semester, figure out what makes them tick, figure out how to reach them....and just get to know them. They are fascinating people doing remarkable things. They never cease to amaze me.
4. My research undergraduates. I want to put them in a separate category, because these are the students I get to know the best. I love working closely with such students, getting to know them, etc. Most of all, I love wrenching them out of their comfort zones (sometimes kicking and screaming) and getting them to accomplish things they never dreamed possible. Plus, working with undergrads has tremendously helped my own research, bringing a clarity, focus, and organization that was not there before.
5. Teaching. Teaching is hard work, and something I struggle with (but really, who doesn't?), but I love love love the challenge of teaching. Boiling down tons of information to the essential points. Figuring out ways to get students to grasp these essential points. Designing activities and assignments to get students to learn and practice the important concepts, activities that are relevant and that speak to the students' experiences. It's the hardest work I've ever done, but definitely the most rewarding---and, frankly, the reason why I'm working in academia and not in a straight research lab somewhere (or industry).
6. Finally, I love that this job gives me the visibility and opportunity to be a mentor, particularly to young women. I didn't have a single woman professor or role model in college (in my technical courses, that is). I appreciate that I can be that role model to our majors (and the non-majors who end up in our courses), even if I am the only one. I am so grateful that I can be the voice for our women majors, that I am in a position where I can encourage them to do things they would never consider doing, like applying for REUs or going to graduate school or applying for a prestigious fellowship. Our women majors are truly amazing people, and I am so blessed that I get to know them as part of my job.
So that, in a nutshell, is why I am a Happy Woman Professor.
Friday, February 09, 2007
Learning (and teaching) about technical writing
Over at Adventures and Ethics and Science, there's been a discussion going on (over several excellent posts, and another one here) about how scientists learned to write as scientists, and subsequently how we teach our students to "write science". Definitely worth a read, and very thoughtful.
The posts got me thinking about how I learned to write as a computer scientist, for other computer scientists (i.e., in an academic sense). It also got me thinking about how I approach teaching these skills, particularly to my undergraduate research students, and how this has evolved over time. So I thought I'd share some of my own thoughts on the subject, inspired by those posts.
Like most scientists, my first exposure to scientific/technical writing was the ubiquitous lab report. In fact, this was my only real "formal" exposure to technical writing; I don't even think there were any courses available when I was in college. The lab report introduced me to the general format of technical papers: objective, procedure, results, analysis, conclusion. But it lacked the key component of any writing: revision. And so like most people, my goal in writing any lab report was to get it done as quickly as possible, style be damned.
My first real experience with technical writing came my senior year of undergrad. My research advisor asked me to write up what I had done so far. Not having read many academic papers at that point, I used the only format with which I was familiar: the lab report. I can still remember the day I got back my first draft. My advisor had crossed out the entire first two pages of my writing, and there were liberal red marks throughout the rest of the paper. That was my first clue that academic technical writing was much different from what I was used to. That was also my first clue to what would become my greatest struggle in becoming a technical writer: boiling down my work into something that could be clearly and succinctly stated in an introduction/motivation section.
Like most other scientists and techies, my writing "education" in grad school consisted solely of reading academic writing (and trying to mimic that voice) and feedback from my advisor. I found that I was fairly adept at writing up the results and analysis of my work, but still struggled with the whole motivation section. I found it hard to articulate why my work was compelling/important/a new contribution to the field. I had a lot of experiences like that first experience with my undergraduate advisor: first drafts coming back with the entire "Introduction" section crossed out. It was humbling, and slow learning for me. But over time, by listening carefully to my advisor's feedback and paying attention to how he wrote about his own work, I improved in this area substantially. (Although I still do struggle with that part of my writing more than any other.)
I think the experience that taught me the most was preparing (and then substantially revising after the first round of reviews) my first journal paper. Trying to figure out how to respond to reviewer comments, especially, forced me to really think about how I present my work and contributions. And the extensive rounds of revisions taught me that writing anything good and technically sound requires lots of work, lots of reading and re-reading, and lots of ripping things out and starting over.
Now, as a professor who works quite a bit with undergrad researchers, I feel like it's my responsibility to expose them to technical writing, both as consumers and producers. I do this because I know that they aren't getting this exposure elsewhere, and I think it's important that technical people know how to communicate technical things, to both technical and non-technical audiences. I also do this because I think writing about the research they're doing helps the students to understand it and synthesize it on a deeper level. The more I do research with students, the more strongly I feel about this. But teaching them how to write technically, as others have pointed out, is hard, particularly when doing so may come at the expense of, say, having them run another set of experiments or analyses.
I used to have a laissez-faire attitude about writing ("just summarize your results and experiments in a page or two"), but quickly found that, except for a few truly exceptional students, what I got back was crap. (and usually entailed me re-doing whatever the students had done, because I couldn't figure it out for the life of me.) Now, I try to set aside time for the students to write at least two drafts on their work for me.
I also give them a strict format to follow when writing for me. The format is basically the structure of a common paper in my field---abstract, intro/motivation, related work, algorithm, etc. But I also give them guidelines as to what sort of material to include in each section, what voice to use, etc. I tell them to spend more time on the sections most closely related to their work---the algorithm, experimental setup, results/analysis---but I don't give them a complete pass on the other sections. For instance, I'll tell them that for the related work section, they should summarize the papers that I've had them read at the start of the project. This saves them some work, but still exposes them to the process of synthesizing, incorporating, and critiquing prior work in the field.
I've found that by being more specific with students about my expectations for their writing, and by emphasizing multiple revisions, I get a much more thoughtful, thorough, and polished product. I also have found that students take the writing-up portion of their work much more seriously. (I think I also emphasize this by talking about what I'm currently writing up, during research meetings and such. I try to model "write as you work" for them, both to show them that this is a good strategy to use and that writing is just as valuable to research as the actual construction of algorithms and carrying out of experiments.)
So that's how I've evolved as a technical writer, and how I try to help my students evolve as technical writers. No doubt, my approaches to both my own writing and my students' writing will continue to evolve, but this is a snapshot of where I am at this point in my career.
The posts got me thinking about how I learned to write as a computer scientist, for other computer scientists (i.e., in an academic sense). It also got me thinking about how I approach teaching these skills, particularly to my undergraduate research students, and how this has evolved over time. So I thought I'd share some of my own thoughts on the subject, inspired by those posts.
Like most scientists, my first exposure to scientific/technical writing was the ubiquitous lab report. In fact, this was my only real "formal" exposure to technical writing; I don't even think there were any courses available when I was in college. The lab report introduced me to the general format of technical papers: objective, procedure, results, analysis, conclusion. But it lacked the key component of any writing: revision. And so like most people, my goal in writing any lab report was to get it done as quickly as possible, style be damned.
My first real experience with technical writing came my senior year of undergrad. My research advisor asked me to write up what I had done so far. Not having read many academic papers at that point, I used the only format with which I was familiar: the lab report. I can still remember the day I got back my first draft. My advisor had crossed out the entire first two pages of my writing, and there were liberal red marks throughout the rest of the paper. That was my first clue that academic technical writing was much different from what I was used to. That was also my first clue to what would become my greatest struggle in becoming a technical writer: boiling down my work into something that could be clearly and succinctly stated in an introduction/motivation section.
Like most other scientists and techies, my writing "education" in grad school consisted solely of reading academic writing (and trying to mimic that voice) and feedback from my advisor. I found that I was fairly adept at writing up the results and analysis of my work, but still struggled with the whole motivation section. I found it hard to articulate why my work was compelling/important/a new contribution to the field. I had a lot of experiences like that first experience with my undergraduate advisor: first drafts coming back with the entire "Introduction" section crossed out. It was humbling, and slow learning for me. But over time, by listening carefully to my advisor's feedback and paying attention to how he wrote about his own work, I improved in this area substantially. (Although I still do struggle with that part of my writing more than any other.)
I think the experience that taught me the most was preparing (and then substantially revising after the first round of reviews) my first journal paper. Trying to figure out how to respond to reviewer comments, especially, forced me to really think about how I present my work and contributions. And the extensive rounds of revisions taught me that writing anything good and technically sound requires lots of work, lots of reading and re-reading, and lots of ripping things out and starting over.
Now, as a professor who works quite a bit with undergrad researchers, I feel like it's my responsibility to expose them to technical writing, both as consumers and producers. I do this because I know that they aren't getting this exposure elsewhere, and I think it's important that technical people know how to communicate technical things, to both technical and non-technical audiences. I also do this because I think writing about the research they're doing helps the students to understand it and synthesize it on a deeper level. The more I do research with students, the more strongly I feel about this. But teaching them how to write technically, as others have pointed out, is hard, particularly when doing so may come at the expense of, say, having them run another set of experiments or analyses.
I used to have a laissez-faire attitude about writing ("just summarize your results and experiments in a page or two"), but quickly found that, except for a few truly exceptional students, what I got back was crap. (and usually entailed me re-doing whatever the students had done, because I couldn't figure it out for the life of me.) Now, I try to set aside time for the students to write at least two drafts on their work for me.
I also give them a strict format to follow when writing for me. The format is basically the structure of a common paper in my field---abstract, intro/motivation, related work, algorithm, etc. But I also give them guidelines as to what sort of material to include in each section, what voice to use, etc. I tell them to spend more time on the sections most closely related to their work---the algorithm, experimental setup, results/analysis---but I don't give them a complete pass on the other sections. For instance, I'll tell them that for the related work section, they should summarize the papers that I've had them read at the start of the project. This saves them some work, but still exposes them to the process of synthesizing, incorporating, and critiquing prior work in the field.
I've found that by being more specific with students about my expectations for their writing, and by emphasizing multiple revisions, I get a much more thoughtful, thorough, and polished product. I also have found that students take the writing-up portion of their work much more seriously. (I think I also emphasize this by talking about what I'm currently writing up, during research meetings and such. I try to model "write as you work" for them, both to show them that this is a good strategy to use and that writing is just as valuable to research as the actual construction of algorithms and carrying out of experiments.)
So that's how I've evolved as a technical writer, and how I try to help my students evolve as technical writers. No doubt, my approaches to both my own writing and my students' writing will continue to evolve, but this is a snapshot of where I am at this point in my career.
Monday, February 05, 2007
An intriguing idea
In the comments to one of my recent posts, anne asked if I would participate in something called "Happy Woman Professor" blog day. The story of how this came about is here, and the official proclamation is here. The idea seems to be that there are not a lot of (or perhaps a dearth of Google-able) stories about, well, women professors who are happy in their jobs, and so this is a call to arms of sorts for us to talk about what makes us happy about our jobs. The big day is February 14.
Of course, the cynical side of me is thinking "of course I can be happy about my job right now....I'm on sabbatical!" But I'll supress my cynical side that day, and come up with non sabbatical-related reasons why my job makes me happy. :)
Spread the word, and consider participating yourselves! (and thanks to anne for bringing it to my attention!)
Of course, the cynical side of me is thinking "of course I can be happy about my job right now....I'm on sabbatical!" But I'll supress my cynical side that day, and come up with non sabbatical-related reasons why my job makes me happy. :)
Spread the word, and consider participating yourselves! (and thanks to anne for bringing it to my attention!)
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Reflections on teaching
I've had this post, or versions of it, rattling around in my head for the past week. As the semester/term winds down, and the reality sets in that I will be out of the classroom for an entire year, and I think about how I've been viewing myself as a teacher after having my view of myself as a teacher turned upside-down as part of the third year review from hell....well, naturally, my thoughts and reflections have turned to teaching. Specifically, what have I done differently this time around? Did I meet my own personal expectations for my teaching these past few months? Am I becoming a more effective teacher to my students? Did things go the way I expected and/or the way that I hoped?
Here are some of the things I've been reflecting on.
Coming out of my review last year, there were a set of things I wanted to work on before going up for tenure. One of the main ones was in being more thoughtful about how I constructed classes. For instance, rather than constructing classes around the material I wanted to cover that day or for that topic, I wanted to construct classes around the bigger ideas I wanted the students to learn: do I want this to help improve their analytical skills? do I want them to be able to tie this to something they learned last week? etc. I also wanted to be more thoughtful about how I organized a course, from start to finish, as another way to keep focused on the big ideas and "big picture" of the course.
I had mixed results on this. I did really well with this in the course that I've taught before. Perhaps the fact that I was familiar with the material already meant that I was ready to think about the course from the thousand-foot view. I came out of about 90% of the class meetings thinking that I really succeeded in striking the right balance between introducing material and getting them to see the bigger picture (and work on developing those other, necessary skills like analytical thinking). And judging from the students' responses on the final exam---which was structured to see how well the students met the learning objectives of the course, as well as how well they learned and could apply the material---this strategy was successful. I was less successful in the other course, which was an entirely new prep. I was not as satisfied with the class meetings---I often felt like classes went ok, but that something was missing. The evaluations reflected this, too. I know that I did not plan out the middle part of the course as well as I should have, and that's the part of the course that I thought was weakest. So I still clearly have some work to do here.
One thing I am very proud of was the environment and rapport I had in each of my classes. I enjoyed both sets of students immensely; in fact, I told my one class, truthfully, that their class was the one I've had the most fun teaching, ever. I chalk this up to being more relaxed in general. I finally feel like I understand the student culture here. This has made it much easier to interact with the students, both formally and informally. It has also made it easier for me to diffuse some potentially sticky/bad situations with students---I have a better sense of how to effectively have tough conversations with students, and these conversations are more effective now. (Which is great since my department colleagues have been zero help in this regard. Their idea of helping is saying "hm, I think you handled that poorly" after the fact. Gee, thanks.) I also feel like I've passed some magical threshold, and that now the students accept me. It's kind of hard to explain, but my colleagues who are further along the tenure track have said that they felt the same thing in their 4th year, too. I think this comfort level, on my part and on the students' part, has also helped me be more effective in the classroom, too. I am really happy about this aspect of my teaching.
So all in all, a mixed bag. I'm making some progress in some major areas, like course structure, but there's still lots of room for improvement. I've seen my evaluations, and they were better this time around, but not quite up to where I'd like them. But I was able to regain some of the teaching self-esteem that I lost, and I really did enjoy my time in the classroom this fall (which is nice, considering I had a major crisis of confidence right before classes began). And now that I have a year away from the classroom, I plan to continue reflecting on where I want to be as a teacher when I return, and on how I want to get myself there.
Here are some of the things I've been reflecting on.
Coming out of my review last year, there were a set of things I wanted to work on before going up for tenure. One of the main ones was in being more thoughtful about how I constructed classes. For instance, rather than constructing classes around the material I wanted to cover that day or for that topic, I wanted to construct classes around the bigger ideas I wanted the students to learn: do I want this to help improve their analytical skills? do I want them to be able to tie this to something they learned last week? etc. I also wanted to be more thoughtful about how I organized a course, from start to finish, as another way to keep focused on the big ideas and "big picture" of the course.
I had mixed results on this. I did really well with this in the course that I've taught before. Perhaps the fact that I was familiar with the material already meant that I was ready to think about the course from the thousand-foot view. I came out of about 90% of the class meetings thinking that I really succeeded in striking the right balance between introducing material and getting them to see the bigger picture (and work on developing those other, necessary skills like analytical thinking). And judging from the students' responses on the final exam---which was structured to see how well the students met the learning objectives of the course, as well as how well they learned and could apply the material---this strategy was successful. I was less successful in the other course, which was an entirely new prep. I was not as satisfied with the class meetings---I often felt like classes went ok, but that something was missing. The evaluations reflected this, too. I know that I did not plan out the middle part of the course as well as I should have, and that's the part of the course that I thought was weakest. So I still clearly have some work to do here.
One thing I am very proud of was the environment and rapport I had in each of my classes. I enjoyed both sets of students immensely; in fact, I told my one class, truthfully, that their class was the one I've had the most fun teaching, ever. I chalk this up to being more relaxed in general. I finally feel like I understand the student culture here. This has made it much easier to interact with the students, both formally and informally. It has also made it easier for me to diffuse some potentially sticky/bad situations with students---I have a better sense of how to effectively have tough conversations with students, and these conversations are more effective now. (Which is great since my department colleagues have been zero help in this regard. Their idea of helping is saying "hm, I think you handled that poorly" after the fact. Gee, thanks.) I also feel like I've passed some magical threshold, and that now the students accept me. It's kind of hard to explain, but my colleagues who are further along the tenure track have said that they felt the same thing in their 4th year, too. I think this comfort level, on my part and on the students' part, has also helped me be more effective in the classroom, too. I am really happy about this aspect of my teaching.
So all in all, a mixed bag. I'm making some progress in some major areas, like course structure, but there's still lots of room for improvement. I've seen my evaluations, and they were better this time around, but not quite up to where I'd like them. But I was able to regain some of the teaching self-esteem that I lost, and I really did enjoy my time in the classroom this fall (which is nice, considering I had a major crisis of confidence right before classes began). And now that I have a year away from the classroom, I plan to continue reflecting on where I want to be as a teacher when I return, and on how I want to get myself there.
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
Secret confession time
I actually enjoy writing exams.
To me, writing exams is like putting together a puzzle. You have all the pieces there: all of the topics that you want to cover on the exam (the ones you've covered in class since the last exam, along with the ones you want to reinforce/retest from previous exams. In CS, it's hard to have an exam that is not at least partially cumulative). And you have the ways in which the pieces can fit together: the concepts within the topics that you want to test. Putting these together in such a way that (a) the exam assesses the students' learning in an appropriate way and (b) the exam is do-able within the allotted time is, to me, an interesting challenge.
My strategy for writing exams has evolved over the years, but I've finally settled on something that seems to work well for me. First, I put off writing the exam until the day before. This is probably not the most effective working strategy, but I find that I just cannot write an exam until the day before. However, I probably start thinking about the exam about a week before I start writing it: what have we covered? what would be a good way to test that particular concept? would a problem like X be too weird/too esoteric for this crop of students? So by the time I sit down to write it, I already have some good ideas for questions.
Second, I sit down and list all of the topics that we've covered since the last exam, along with any other topics I want to include on this exam. For each topic, I list two categories: "base knowledge" and "master knowledge". The "base knowledge" category lists the basic things I want students to know about a topic, the things that I think demonstrate the most basic understanding of a topic. The "master knowledge" category lists things that demonstrate what I think constitute "mastery" of a topic: things that show that students understand the topic and can reason about it in unfamiliar contexts. (Or, to put it bluntly, the level of understanding needed to earn an A for that particular topic.)
Third, I take each topic and the knowledge lists, along with the scattered ideas for questions that have been floating around in my head all week, and start to structure each question. The knowledge lists help shape each question, and also help me tailor the exam to the exam context. For instance, an in-class exam will focus more on base knowledge than on mastery (maybe 80%/20%, sometimes 70%/30% depending on the level of the class), while on a take-home exam the mix may be closer to 60%/40%. I also think about the context when structuring the exam: on a take-home, for instance, I'm more comfortable writing a problem that is instructive as well as assessive (is that a word?)---a question in which the students learn something even as they are demonstrating their understanding of a topic.
Fourth, I treat writing an exam like writing a paper: I write a first draft, print it out, then leave it alone for a couple of hours before going back to edit it. This helps me disconnect from the exam a bit and go back to it with a somewhat fresh perspective. Often while editing, I will actually do the problem, to make sure that my assessment of the difficulty level and time required matches up with the actual problem I've written. I will sometimes bug my colleagues to help me with the wording on questions, too.
This process is a bit time-consuming, but as a result I am rarely unhappy with an exam that I've written. The process forces me to be thoughtful about how I'm assessing the learning in my classes. It forces me to really think about *what* I want my students to know and *how* I want them to demonstrate that to me. And I think ultimately, it's made me a more thoughtful teacher as well: while planning out a new unit, I'll often think "what do I want my students to demonstrate to me at the end of this?" And I hope that ultimately, that makes me a more effective teacher as well.
To me, writing exams is like putting together a puzzle. You have all the pieces there: all of the topics that you want to cover on the exam (the ones you've covered in class since the last exam, along with the ones you want to reinforce/retest from previous exams. In CS, it's hard to have an exam that is not at least partially cumulative). And you have the ways in which the pieces can fit together: the concepts within the topics that you want to test. Putting these together in such a way that (a) the exam assesses the students' learning in an appropriate way and (b) the exam is do-able within the allotted time is, to me, an interesting challenge.
My strategy for writing exams has evolved over the years, but I've finally settled on something that seems to work well for me. First, I put off writing the exam until the day before. This is probably not the most effective working strategy, but I find that I just cannot write an exam until the day before. However, I probably start thinking about the exam about a week before I start writing it: what have we covered? what would be a good way to test that particular concept? would a problem like X be too weird/too esoteric for this crop of students? So by the time I sit down to write it, I already have some good ideas for questions.
Second, I sit down and list all of the topics that we've covered since the last exam, along with any other topics I want to include on this exam. For each topic, I list two categories: "base knowledge" and "master knowledge". The "base knowledge" category lists the basic things I want students to know about a topic, the things that I think demonstrate the most basic understanding of a topic. The "master knowledge" category lists things that demonstrate what I think constitute "mastery" of a topic: things that show that students understand the topic and can reason about it in unfamiliar contexts. (Or, to put it bluntly, the level of understanding needed to earn an A for that particular topic.)
Third, I take each topic and the knowledge lists, along with the scattered ideas for questions that have been floating around in my head all week, and start to structure each question. The knowledge lists help shape each question, and also help me tailor the exam to the exam context. For instance, an in-class exam will focus more on base knowledge than on mastery (maybe 80%/20%, sometimes 70%/30% depending on the level of the class), while on a take-home exam the mix may be closer to 60%/40%. I also think about the context when structuring the exam: on a take-home, for instance, I'm more comfortable writing a problem that is instructive as well as assessive (is that a word?)---a question in which the students learn something even as they are demonstrating their understanding of a topic.
Fourth, I treat writing an exam like writing a paper: I write a first draft, print it out, then leave it alone for a couple of hours before going back to edit it. This helps me disconnect from the exam a bit and go back to it with a somewhat fresh perspective. Often while editing, I will actually do the problem, to make sure that my assessment of the difficulty level and time required matches up with the actual problem I've written. I will sometimes bug my colleagues to help me with the wording on questions, too.
This process is a bit time-consuming, but as a result I am rarely unhappy with an exam that I've written. The process forces me to be thoughtful about how I'm assessing the learning in my classes. It forces me to really think about *what* I want my students to know and *how* I want them to demonstrate that to me. And I think ultimately, it's made me a more thoughtful teacher as well: while planning out a new unit, I'll often think "what do I want my students to demonstrate to me at the end of this?" And I hope that ultimately, that makes me a more effective teacher as well.
Monday, November 13, 2006
A sign from the universe
I've been spending the whole evening procrastinating on doing some work for one of my classes. This is something I promised my class would be done over the weekend, but I didn't get around to it, so I promised I'd do it tonight. It's not a particulary hard thing---maybe 30-45 minutes of work---but for some reason I just couldn't get motivated to do it.
This work requires me to be logged in to our course management system. Which, it appears, is currently down.
I'm interpreting this as a sign from the universe to shut down my computer and go to bed early. Thank you, Universe!
This work requires me to be logged in to our course management system. Which, it appears, is currently down.
I'm interpreting this as a sign from the universe to shut down my computer and go to bed early. Thank you, Universe!
Sunday, October 29, 2006
Frustration defined
There is nothing worse than thinking that you can spend about 20 minutes editing an assignment you're handing out tomorrow that you *know* you've written already, then going to edit the assignment and not being able to find it, anywhere.
So much for that relaxing Sunday night I had planned!
So much for that relaxing Sunday night I had planned!
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Random Thursday Morning Snippets
* Apparently "doing just enough to get by" has found its way into my blogging habits, too. Oops. I do have a lot to say (I still go around mentally composing blog posts in my head), but this week the last thing I've felt like doing in the evenings at home is turning on my computer (and the late nights at school aren't helping, either). I'll be back to regularly-scheduled blogging soon, I promise.
* The research impasse has been overcome---I am once again regularly doing research. It is going painfully slowly, since I'm in a phase where I'm (a) debugging code and (b) trying to figure out my students' code and (c) I'm limited to half-hour or hour-long blocks, but research is happening again. Happy happy joy joy!
* Yesterday I did a Bad Thing. I skipped out on a lunch with a visiting bigwig. I should have gone, really. But it was clear across campus and sandwiched (hee!) into my really short break between my two classes, and the last thing I felt like doing after my first class was schlepping myself over there and then running back for class #2. So I skipped. And I felt relieved, strangely, about letting that commitment go.
* However, the universe punished me for my actions, since no lunch meeting = no lunch = time to hit our evil overpriced gross snack bar. 6 bucks for a veggie burger and Sun Chips, no drink. (I think they double-charged me for the cheese.) Highway robbery. And the food made me sick, too, for the rest of the afternoon. This is why I always pack my lunch.
* A tale of two classes: My first class yesterday went spectacularly well. My second class yesterday fell spectacularly flat. Sometimes I think there is an inverse relationship between time spent prepping a class and how well the class goes.
* After resolving this student problem (well, it actually resolved itself, which was nice---I've had no problems with those students since), I now have a new set of problem students. This one's a group of 3, and they apparently are big into the note-passing. How they think I don't notice them doing this is a mystery to me. Sigh. I have a plan for dealing with these students, though, so I think I'll be able to nip this in the bud rather easily. But I hate having to waste time and energy dealing with junior-high level behavior. This is college, people; grow up already!
* The research impasse has been overcome---I am once again regularly doing research. It is going painfully slowly, since I'm in a phase where I'm (a) debugging code and (b) trying to figure out my students' code and (c) I'm limited to half-hour or hour-long blocks, but research is happening again. Happy happy joy joy!
* Yesterday I did a Bad Thing. I skipped out on a lunch with a visiting bigwig. I should have gone, really. But it was clear across campus and sandwiched (hee!) into my really short break between my two classes, and the last thing I felt like doing after my first class was schlepping myself over there and then running back for class #2. So I skipped. And I felt relieved, strangely, about letting that commitment go.
* However, the universe punished me for my actions, since no lunch meeting = no lunch = time to hit our evil overpriced gross snack bar. 6 bucks for a veggie burger and Sun Chips, no drink. (I think they double-charged me for the cheese.) Highway robbery. And the food made me sick, too, for the rest of the afternoon. This is why I always pack my lunch.
* A tale of two classes: My first class yesterday went spectacularly well. My second class yesterday fell spectacularly flat. Sometimes I think there is an inverse relationship between time spent prepping a class and how well the class goes.
* After resolving this student problem (well, it actually resolved itself, which was nice---I've had no problems with those students since), I now have a new set of problem students. This one's a group of 3, and they apparently are big into the note-passing. How they think I don't notice them doing this is a mystery to me. Sigh. I have a plan for dealing with these students, though, so I think I'll be able to nip this in the bud rather easily. But I hate having to waste time and energy dealing with junior-high level behavior. This is college, people; grow up already!
Monday, September 18, 2006
Testing the limits
I am teaching a class that has a high number of freshmen boys young men in it. So far, the energy and attitude of the class has been overwhelmingly positive, and the students are great, individually and as a group. But given the demographics, and given that I am a young-looking female authority figure, I figured it was a matter of time before someone in the class tested me.
That moment came today.
It wasn't anything blatantly bad (and I've certainly had to deal with Mr. Toxic in my classes before---today's issue was not even in the same universe as that). It was basically two overly-chatty young men in the front row who were just a little too disruptive to the class. Now normally, I'm ok with a little bit of chatter, when it's students clarifying points for each other or asking "did you get that?". That's fine, as long as it's kept discreet and short. This was neither. This was prolonged and obvious.
My first strategy in this situation is to stare directly at the chatters and say loudly "is there a question?" This is usually enough to mortify one or both participants into silence, or if not then they're usually bright enough to know that what I'm really saying is SHUT UP ALREADY and they comply. So of course I tried that, and it had no effect.
Because I was still trying to assess the situation (clueless freshmen or testing-authority freshmen?), I stuck to more subtle forms of shut-up-please strategies for the rest of the class period: standing directly in front of them while talking to the class,glaring focusing my glance on them more frequently, using the line "So-and-so just had a great question; let's all pay attention while she repeats it for us." After reflecting on their behavior and on how the class went, I'm convinced that this was definitely a mild testing-of-authority. I don't think they meant to do it maliciously; rather, I suspect this is part of the I'm-away-from-home-for-the-first-time-let's-see-what-I-can-get-away-with adjustment to college. But I do know that I have to nip this in the bud, because I can see this getting out of hand rather quickly if I don't do something.
Figuring out what to do in this situation is always tricky. I suspect I will see what happens on Wednesday, and step in more quickly if I have to. I suspect I will have to talk to one or both chatters after class and let them know what's acceptable behavior and what is not. I just have to figure out what's the best way to convey to them that I may look like Dr. Nice Gal, but that doesn't mean that they don't owe me the same respect that they give to their other professors. And I have been known to turn into Dr. Raging Mean Prof when pushed too far. And that they really don't want to go there.
We'll see how it goes.
That moment came today.
It wasn't anything blatantly bad (and I've certainly had to deal with Mr. Toxic in my classes before---today's issue was not even in the same universe as that). It was basically two overly-chatty young men in the front row who were just a little too disruptive to the class. Now normally, I'm ok with a little bit of chatter, when it's students clarifying points for each other or asking "did you get that?". That's fine, as long as it's kept discreet and short. This was neither. This was prolonged and obvious.
My first strategy in this situation is to stare directly at the chatters and say loudly "is there a question?" This is usually enough to mortify one or both participants into silence, or if not then they're usually bright enough to know that what I'm really saying is SHUT UP ALREADY and they comply. So of course I tried that, and it had no effect.
Because I was still trying to assess the situation (clueless freshmen or testing-authority freshmen?), I stuck to more subtle forms of shut-up-please strategies for the rest of the class period: standing directly in front of them while talking to the class,
Figuring out what to do in this situation is always tricky. I suspect I will see what happens on Wednesday, and step in more quickly if I have to. I suspect I will have to talk to one or both chatters after class and let them know what's acceptable behavior and what is not. I just have to figure out what's the best way to convey to them that I may look like Dr. Nice Gal, but that doesn't mean that they don't owe me the same respect that they give to their other professors. And I have been known to turn into Dr. Raging Mean Prof when pushed too far. And that they really don't want to go there.
We'll see how it goes.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Embracing "good enough"
As a recovering perfectionist, one of the things I struggle with is leaving things "good enough". In some areas of my life---my research, especially---I've come a really long way. For instance, I am getting pretty good about sending out results in a more timely manner, rather than holding on to them until they are "perfect". Sure, this means that the reviews the first time I send something out are not all sweetness and light, but sending out my work earlier = more feedback earlier = better work as a result. So this is one place where "good enough" is actually much more effective than "perfect".
I'm having a much harder time doing "good enough" in my teaching, though, and I think this might be one of the big things that's standing in my way.
I'm a detail person. That's why I got into this field---all those little technical details are so darned fascinating! Unfortunately, sometimes I get so hung up in the details part that I forget that there's a big picture lurking in there. I tend to focus on the details so much that those details become the focus, rather than the big picture being the focus. And that gets me into trouble---because the students need the big picture (and can probably handle figuring out those fascinating details on their own, for the most part).
Today was a perfect example of this sort of behavior. The original plan: class prep in the morning, freeing up at least part of the afternoon for research. In one class, I'm teaching a topic I've taught several times before, but haven't been really happy with the example I used. So part of this morning's class prep task was to find/develop a better example, and then outline the class based on and around that example. Perfect situation for "good enough", right? Yet I got completely mired in the details. Rather than picking a "good enough" example and running with it, I got stuck trying to find the "perfect" example for this topic. You know, the one that is easy enough to use in a class period yet cutting-edge and current, pedagogically perfect....etc. I completely got lost in the details---the actual example---to the point of forgetting, well, the point: the core concept that I want my students to LEARN. I spent way too much time on this task, which meant that instead of relaxing at home tonight, I'm sitting here writing up my class outline instead. Bleh.
My most successful classes have been the ones where I've let go of the need for perfection, let some of the details slide, and focused on a couple of key concepts. I did this pretty consistently in my intro class last year, from start to finish, with great success. And you know what? The students *learn more*. Much more. And are happier. Which makes me happier, and more relaxed as a teacher, and thus more effective as a teacher.
I'm making a concerted effort to teach less perfectly this year, although as today's example shows, I have a long way to go on this. I do wonder, though, why a lesson I've embraced in other areas of my life is so hard to embrace in my "teaching life".
I'm having a much harder time doing "good enough" in my teaching, though, and I think this might be one of the big things that's standing in my way.
I'm a detail person. That's why I got into this field---all those little technical details are so darned fascinating! Unfortunately, sometimes I get so hung up in the details part that I forget that there's a big picture lurking in there. I tend to focus on the details so much that those details become the focus, rather than the big picture being the focus. And that gets me into trouble---because the students need the big picture (and can probably handle figuring out those fascinating details on their own, for the most part).
Today was a perfect example of this sort of behavior. The original plan: class prep in the morning, freeing up at least part of the afternoon for research. In one class, I'm teaching a topic I've taught several times before, but haven't been really happy with the example I used. So part of this morning's class prep task was to find/develop a better example, and then outline the class based on and around that example. Perfect situation for "good enough", right? Yet I got completely mired in the details. Rather than picking a "good enough" example and running with it, I got stuck trying to find the "perfect" example for this topic. You know, the one that is easy enough to use in a class period yet cutting-edge and current, pedagogically perfect....etc. I completely got lost in the details---the actual example---to the point of forgetting, well, the point: the core concept that I want my students to LEARN. I spent way too much time on this task, which meant that instead of relaxing at home tonight, I'm sitting here writing up my class outline instead. Bleh.
My most successful classes have been the ones where I've let go of the need for perfection, let some of the details slide, and focused on a couple of key concepts. I did this pretty consistently in my intro class last year, from start to finish, with great success. And you know what? The students *learn more*. Much more. And are happier. Which makes me happier, and more relaxed as a teacher, and thus more effective as a teacher.
I'm making a concerted effort to teach less perfectly this year, although as today's example shows, I have a long way to go on this. I do wonder, though, why a lesson I've embraced in other areas of my life is so hard to embrace in my "teaching life".
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