The Fantastical Designs of the Robinson Five

When the five of us met this Monday, we shared some of our wildest ideas for the design of a writing course—from asking students to produce a collaborative anthology to modeling the course’s structure upon the leveling-up system of a video game. Many of the questions this brainstorming session raised were both troubling and exciting.

How do we deliver a skills-based course via an online system constructed with content-based courses in mind? How can we see and evaluate a student’s writing process beyond grading their finished written products? How do we motivate students when we know, as writers and teachers, that the most successful students are self-motivated, are those who would complete the assigned tasks without our insistent prodding?

The problem of student motivation has occupied much of my thinking about my 101 course’s design over the past couple of weeks. Conventional OWI wisdom holds, quite rightly, that students will not complete assignments unless their grade is at stake, or that grades alone can serve as sufficient motivation for completing activities online. This seems functionally true to me. But, I also want students to understand the real-life need for writing, to think of writing not simply as a skill they can must learn competently enough to cobble together a report for a professor but as a tool for critical thinking, introspection, and giving voice to personal agency.

My initial impulse in this direction is to in some way incorporate personal writing, an approach that will no doubt elicit groans from many an experienced rhet/comp pro. (For many instructors, the phrase “personal writing” raises the specter of meandering and self-indulgent prose, nostalgic essays about the meaning of getting your first puppy or, worse, last weekend’s kegger.) Still, in Personally Speaking: Experience as Evidence in Academic Discourse, Candace Spigelman argues that narratives (e.g., literacy narratives), which are often assigned at the beginning of a Comp I course because they are an easy way to get students writing without their having to conduct research, actually do involve research because of the need to select, evaluate, and incorporate experience into their writing as evidence. I haven’t yet finished Spigelman’s book and have my own questions and skepticism toward some of her points so far, but one takeaway I have garnered is that reflection or introspection or memory, i.e., the processes involved in drawing on the personal, involves a guarantee that online students must spend actual time in critical thought. An assignment that asks them about themselves, especially if it also asks for outside research to contextualize their experience, ensures that students are not simply choosing a side in some debate and Google-Scholaring a few quotes from supporting or opposing voices.

I think of this also as a means of connecting the act of writing to some real-world importance. This sort of discovery writing is the process of inquiry we emphasize among our outcomes in all writing courses. Statements like “I write to find out what I think” appear in essays on the writing craft from Joan Didion to the Norton guides. Many of my students don’t understand at first that, when they write, they interrogate their own presuppositions. Until they are writing, they do not understand that they gather research not to affirm their views but to inform themselves of other views.

This brings up a second odd idea we discussed in our meeting—namely, is collaboration necessary in the online writing classroom?

I find myself considering two contradictory impulses. One is to maximize collaboration; the other, to allow self-directed flexibility. A self-directed course could incorporate gateways (or levels, in that aforementioned video-game model) that students would pass through as they developed certain skills, giving more experienced writers the chance to demonstrate their understanding quickly—“Independent” and “reflective” students tend to be most successful in the online classroom according to a couple studies I’ve run across recently—and leaving instructors more time to devote their attention to students with the most need.

Social-constructivist pedagogy, though, from Vygotsky onward, tells us that this approach is wrong. The social-constructivist model is built entirely on collaboration, discussion boards, group work, peer reviews, and debate. I have been thinking through the benefits of this model and collaboration in general. Here’s what I’ve got (please suggest more if any occur to you):

  1. Student writing has a tangible audience, actual peers who can respond so that a written assignment doesn’t seem to disappear into the void of the internet.
  2. Group work and debates force students to confront divergent views and to negotiate tea dynamics.
  3. Transitioning to an online learning environment, much of the complexity of the individual student’s identity can remain hidden. But writing activities can benefit from exploring precisely those issues regarding the way online communications reduce or hide personal traits that would be evident in a f2f classroom.
  4. Zones of proximal development can be planned, monitored, and evaluated more evenly, and activities can be designed or adjusted in response. (Ben, you may have more to say about this, given that you’ve mentioned Vygotsky in your last post.)
  5. Engagement with others fights against the sense that online activity is unreal.

This last point may be one for further consideration. Online activities often seem unreal. Twitter posts and their replies do not force us to negotiate difference, and most social media relies on argumentation via “likes” or trolling. If this past election cycle has shown us anything, it is that the nature of our online activities and communications resides in the option to construct a personal echo chamber. Our students are familiar with this as a form of sharing viewpoints and information. How, then, do we use writing and this familiar online interface to force students to that uncomfortable place where they must question their own thinking and learn to negotiate with opposing views?

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Supporting/Supportive Roles

I’ve been thinking my way through Kerry’s post — particularly the challenge of “What do I want to do and why do I want to do that?”

So there are two things I’m struggling with and they both relate to transitioning from 302 to 101. I’ve spoken about some of these issues before, but the closer I examine my teaching methods, which I’m finding is the #1 consequence of building a class like this from scratch, the more I’m questioning how to best support my students. The two related issues: How do I fulfill my role in the 101 digital classroom? And how do best I deliver my course within that role?

Teaching F2F 302 for the past few years, for better or worse,  is typically populated by graduating seniors and the far-too-occasional ambitious/daring junior has ingrained in me a certain trust of my students in a lot of ways. Because of their experience as upper-classmen, I can trust that they largely know their way around campus, around Blackboard, and even to an extent, how to manage their academic, social, and budding professional lives. As a teacher, this trust has translated to a bit of a “looseness” in my pedagogy (something I’m actually very comfortable with and I think my students appreciate about me)  — I can and do expect a lot from them. They are expected to look at the schedule independently, get notes from classmates when they miss class, navigate our readings even if I don’t always “check-in” with a quiz or some other formal evaluation every time, etc. I can even change a reading or lesson somewhat on the fly if need-be, and they can keep up because they’ve largely become adept at college-ing, so to speak. They know the deal re: college and within a week or so, my class, and so for the most part, they respond accordingly and are successful at the practical, logistical, and “administrative” aspects of taking a university writing course. I’m a different teacher though when I teach 101 and I blame my very first class for this.

Back when I first received an MA TA-ship, and had “graduated” from the Writing Center and into the Classroom (teaching a 7:30 am MWF course), I was newly 23 years-old, teaching 18-19 year olds and not only did I have no real idea what I was doing, I was terrified my students would “find me out” as a fraud. So, I did the only logical thing (I thought) and presented myself as a no-nonsense kinda guy. “Here’s the schedule, do this, read that, come prepared, you’re adults, no excuses.” That lasted about 3 weeks, until our first major assignment was due. I asked the class how the paper had gone (a little debriefing to blow off steam) and then carried on with a new lesson. Later I wrapped up class and bid them goodbye  when I noticed a student had stayed behind in their seat to talk to me. I approached them and as they lifted their head I could see the hint of tears in their eyes — “I think I did the wrong assignment and I know how important it is and now I’m going to do bad and I don’t know what to do…” Seeing this terrified student, my wanna-be-business-man affect was gone as I went from “College Instructor” to similarly terrified recent graduate, watching a young student just be scared about school — something very familiar to me.

Since then, I’ve always sort of seen my job when teaching 101 as two-fold: I teach writing and I teach “college-arts.” They both require certain kinds of support.

In my time at Mason, I’ve mostly taught upperclassmen, but before coming here full time, I had a handful of 101s at GMU and exclusively taught 100-level FYC at George Washington. I talked about this a bit in my last post, about losing F2F seat time. Mentors from both schools consistently reminded me that with our course caps — even when they feel too big — in writing classrooms (20-ish at Mason; 15 at GW), we may very well be the only professor that student has that 1) knows their name 2) knows when they aren’t present 3) knows when they are struggling. So, to take a bit of pressure off, at the beginning of the term, I let my freshmen know “You’re going to screw up. College is hard. This is a class where it’s okay to practice.” They get “get-out-of-jail-free” cards, a little more leniency when it’s warranted, and a lot more guidance (cynically, I think, called hand-holding, or worse, policing). Not every student needs or wants it. It’s not a regular occurrence to have to calm down a hyperventilating student, or grant an 11th-hour extension, or explain three or four times how to access a reading or handout, but it is an occasional occurrence, and I’m pretty okay with that. I’m not prepping them for the harshness of the “Real World” — I’m teaching them writing in a relatively-cozy, if poorly-lit, college classroom.

So, here’s where I’m struggling now, as I attempt to build a 101 DE course from the ground up — how much “support” is enough/too much and how do I enact it remotely?
My “looseness” — the trust that my students can pretty easily navigate 302 has translated well enough from F2F to DE — I create a learning module on Bb, drop in a reading, a handout, a lecture video, and a writing activity, or some combination therein, and send them on their way. It’s never been a problem for the vast majority of my 302 students to “Attend” my course and do what needs to be done to succeed (as long as they are interested in succeeding). Now though, the kind of educational and organizational support, repetition, “checking-in” etc that I can do in a F2F 101, feels a little daunting in its translation to DE courses.

The last 101 I taught was (horrendously) 3 hours long, once per week. It was rough. It had been a while (4+ years?) since I’d taught the course — I tried too many new things, I was rusty, I was expecting, unconsciously, 302-level students and it was rough. Seeing them only once per week required a different approach to logistics that I didn’t totally possess or understand. And I’m not just talking a clear and organized schedule. I mostly had that, but what I didn’t have was, at least starting out, the ability to recognize that I was asking a lot (too much?) of brand new students, moving too fast, and expecting each of my 20 students to keep up without issue. It’s a lot easier to help your students stay “on the path” when you see them 3 times a week. Once was tough and zero frightens me a bit.

After a few weeks, in my once a week section, I noticed that while attendance was mostly steady, engagement was down. The class, save a few overachievers, was lost, and it was clearly my fault. I made a few changes — started saying the same things in different ways, repeating instructions as I made my way around the room, trying to reinforce things visually and verbally, started making “how-to” models on Bb, started structuring the physical classes to match previous ones, and opened up an Open QandA forum that we could use between our too-few F2F meetings that, unlike email, everyone could see. Things got better, mostly, and when students struggled, it wasn’t because they were lost, at least not administratively.

Part of what I’ve been talking with my ID about is leaving “Breadcrumbs” in my DE sections.

How can the design allow easy steps-tracing, back to important moments, comments, files, etc without going through the main path I create in a lesson or unit. Some of it means re-learning Bb (or learning it for real for the first time) but the rest is thinking like a new student. Not assuming every module is completed start to finish in one sitting, or that every step is done in the order I set up, or that every (or any) student thinks or learns like I do. I’ll likely be spending more energy on “teaching” Bb itself and “teaching” college-arts, as well as teaching “taking an online class in the university.” So our task becomes 3 or 4 fold. The “stuff” I can recognize in F2F sessions, when my schedule or scaffolding or lesson-plan doesn’t logistically click (or they ignore me or forget or just have a tough week) doesn’t show up the same ways in DE, so I have to be proactive and maybe even assume that that “stuff” is just there for some.

Which brings me to my second issue — part of how I can address the “orienteering” is good, solid, consistent design. Clear expectations. Clear instruction. A routine and scaffolding as seamless as one can reasonably expect. The problem is: we teach two occasionally conceptually incongruent (or at least not-seamless) courses, whatever you wanna call them– Rhetorical reading/writing and Technical Writing.

The conceptual and the practical, can sometimes, in my best and sharpest teaching moments, come together nicely– using the rhetorical and conceptual, Visual Analysis, as an entry point into the technical, Citation or Cohesion or Paragraphing, works and everything links together smoothly — but only sometimes. There are moments where I need to deviate from the conceptual and step out into “Now we just talk about syntax” or “Stop! Grammar-time” (sorry). So how do I reconcile these competing impulses to have a seamless unit-to-unit, lesson-to-lesson scaffold (so that my students can navigate what I want them to do and where I want them to go with minimal effort), with the need to fully teach 101 and have lessons and skills integrated that just don’t want to fit uniformly into the puzzle? I worry about sending students outside the nice and neat module to something that, perhaps to them, feels distinct, unrelated.

I’m still spit-balling design and trying, when possible, to have my technical lessons “fit” with the thematic goals of any given assignment, and, loosely, they probably will. Yet, I’ve also started building a “Writer’s Workshop” — a set of mini-lessons, or a mini-unit that will punctuate the other more conceptual lessons/units and act as a stand-alone Bb space of its own. I think this requires a heavy reliance on routine — for example, to minimize the “roughness around the edges” and maximize consistency, these non-conceptual lessons need to be employed at regular intervals. Say, every Friday, for instance, we do a lesson and a “workshop” so even though it’s less streamlined than would be ideal, they still get the skills and hopefully still feel supported by the design. I’d love to talk to folks more about this spectrum (what should I be aiming for?) of neatness and completeness when we meet next. How do you envision fitting lessons and skills in the course which seem to fall outside neat categorizations?

Anyway, this all brings up a ton re: workload, but I’ve already gone on far too long, so I’ll save that for next time.

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Brainstorming, Problem Solving, and Design Thinking bootcamp: the student experience from Stanford on Vimeo.

We’re about to graduate from the OCDI curriculum, which has focused mainly on the technology and tools of online classroom planning, and move into what we could think of as a “conceptual” design phase, where we will be brainstorming and discussing some of the bigger conceptual concepts of the courses we’re designing. Many of these larger concepts have been written about in this blog:

As we begin to try to tackle these complicated pedagogy problems, I thought it might be useful to take a step back from the course design work we’ve been immersed in and do a little research on general problem-solving strategies that we can apply to our project. I have been aware of Stanford’s and their “design thinking” method for about a year now, and I think their approach to out-of-the-box problem solving might be useful to us.

Design thinking is defined as a “structured approach to generating and developing ideas.” The problem-solving steps they recommend can be summarized as follows:

  1.  DISCOVERY. I have a challenge—how do I approach it?
  2. INTERPRETATION. I learned something—how do I interpret it?
  3. IDEATION. I see an opportunity—what do I create?
  4. EXPERIMENTATION. I have an idea—how do I build it?
  5. EVOLUTION. I tried something—how do I evolve it?

I discovered while researching this post that the has developed a free toolkit for educators that’s specifically intended to help teachers design innovative solutions to educational problems. Though technically it seems to be aimed at K-12 educators, I’ve read through the toolkit and think it might be useful for our group as we move into the brainstorming phase of our work. It offers a lot of very specific guidance, including how to break up the problem-solving process into appropriate phases; specific activities for brainstorming and research; and useful modes of organization for an otherwise amorphous task.

For example, one of the early phases of the process involves defining the challenge you want to solve. They give the following example:

‘How might we create a teachers’ lounge with large couches?’ implies the solution is a room with large couches. ‘Why do we want to do that?’ surfaces the actual need of a space for teachers to be able to wind down in between classes. The brainstorm question would then be: ‘How might we create a space for teachers to unwind between classes?’ This expands possible solutions beyond the idea of a room with couches.”

If we apply that strategy to some of the questions we’ve been discussing in our group—’How might we develop meaningful online discussions,’ for example—the exercise might help us articulate the goal behind our teaching practices in a way that allows us to see them with new eyes, opening up the door to innovative solutions. (At least, that’s the idea :).

There might be some good reasons not to approach our project this way, but I wanted to see what you all think of the suggestion to download the toolkit and discuss whether it might be helpful to our work as we begin to plan for our next group meeting next week. Please feel free to comment with your thoughts!


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An Online Alternative to the Dynamic Discussion in Literature Courses

The Odd Duck

The Odd Duck

I am the odd duck in our group: I am not designing an online composition course; I am designing an online introduction to literature course. I have taught advanced composition online, and I can see how it “works” in an asynchronous learning environment.

But teaching literature online…

The very act seems at odds with all that I know about how to teach literature. Literature should be debated  “live” so that comments can ricochet around the room, triggering insights that help students uncover the meaning of a text. I can act on a comment immediately; students can react to and respond to it immediately. It is the tradition I was trained in, and it’s one that I value.

I will have to surrender that tradition, and this worries me. As you can see from previous posts here, my colleagues share a similar concern. The immediacy of dynamic dialogue will be nearly impossible to attain in an online course. Even if I held a virtual class meeting, the technology of it would drag down the spontaneity by flattening it to a screen that both communicates and distracts. I am not certain there is a true digital equivalent, so instead of searching in vain for a substitute, I have decided to look for an alternative.

Still, finding examples of such alternatives has proved more difficult than I anticipated. While there is ample research about teaching composition online, there is very little about teaching literature online, especially general education introduction courses.

In 2009, however, the Modern Language Association dipped its toe in the online teaching of literature and language when it published Teaching Language and Literature Online, a collection of essays edited by Ian Lancashire. While some of the essays feel a bit dated (WebCT is no more), several authors present inventive strategies to overcome the unavoidable drag caused by the asynchronous delivery of instruction.

One in particular spoke to my concern about the loss of dynamic conversation: Laura L. Bush’s “Solitary Confinement: Managing Relational Angst in an Online Classroom.” Early in Bush’s essay she emphasizes how Emojisher online literature course must “facilitate[s] real human interaction” (291). Even better–she describes some ideas for creating it.

Bush’s decision to synthesize the journal entries of her students and use that synthesis as the prompt for a discussion topic marries two problematic tools in Blackboard: the journal and the discussion board. Used independently of one another, these tools often suppress student engagement. They often elicit wooden responses from students who either post drive-by comments or write like robots programmed to perform. As a result, grading them often feels like a chore for the instructor.

Bush’s tactic injects an element of suspense in that students write journal entries wondering whether their ideas will get a “shout out” in the prompt; students get glimpses of what their peers are saying in journals not visible to them. The instructor gets to shape the discussion based on what students have observed and analyzed, which brings, albeit asynchronously, their ideas back to the center of the discussion.

At the end of her essay, Bush includes the “Guidelines and Evaluation Criteria” she uses to assess student work in online discussions. It’s worth a look.

Bush, Laura L. “Solitary Confinement: Managing Relational Angst in an Online Classroom.” Teaching Language and Literature Online, edited by Ian Lancashire. Modern Language Association, 2009, pp. 290-309.



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Maintaining Student Buy-In in Online Collaborative Writing Tasks

thumbs-upThe power of collaborative learning has long been established, in particular for language development tasks. I used to teach middle school ESL, and, one of the principles of my pedagogy was the use of data-built Kagan structures and other methods for encouraging collaboration. I’ve always found that grouping and pairing students heterogeneously by previous skill-levels creates the opportunity for students to reach their Zones of Proximal Development—the seminal basis for most justification of collaborative learning theorized and researched by Lev Vygotsky. Later research, though I can’t find the scholar to whom I should attribute this idea, found simply that language learning students learn better from each other than they do from a teacher. I think most of our audience will recognize that our functionally fluent college students might still be considered language learners when it comes to learning the registers of academia and the professional worlds for which First Year Composition is designed to prepare them.

In the past two semesters in which I taught FYC, I used mini-lessons and computer-supported collaborative writing tasks as scaffolds for students’ independent writing. I would teach a discrete writing skill in a mini-lesson, and then have students apply it to some practice activity—filling in a graphic organizer or highlighting a sample article, for example. Then, I would ask them to abstract what they’d practiced with partners and apply it to their own writing. However, by the end of last semester, I could tell that these tasks often felt fabricated, coerced, disconnected and ephemeral to my students. After a while, when I wasn’t getting strong student buy-in, and I was faced with pushing students to complete tasks the way I might encourage a four year old to eat vegetables, I began to dread them myself.

I’ve taken my fair share of education classes with online wikis, blogs and “discussion” boards, and I’m currently matriculating through my second 100% online class. From my perspective as a student, these computer-supported components of my grad school classes have often been the elements of class that feel the least authentic. Even with my awareness of the importance of collaboration and cooperation for learning, I know from experience that, as a student, it still feels frustrating to be railroaded into “interacting” with your peers in asynchronous online environments.

So, this semester in my f2f composition class, I’m trying something different from what I’d done the past two semesters, while still pushing to make use of tools like Blackboard and Google Drive. Instead of “busy work” that is merely meant to teach some discrete writing skill disembodied from the context of its application in a final, graded product, I teach a mini-lesson on a discrete writing skill, but have students work directly towards a mid-to-long-term group project in class. The process steps and outputs of these in-class group projects are meant to mirror, on a nearly class-by-class basis, what students do outside of class on their individual projects. The group projects that they write in class are simply counted as participation points. These are low-stakes, collaborative, process writing activities. But, because students see the direct connection to what they do in class with what they do outside of class, I’ve gotten really strong student buy-in.

To be honest, I’ve left most classes this semestercollaboration feeling pretty good, and I’ve built strong
relationships with my students. It’s also October 17th, and I’ve only had one absence, thus far. Students trust that showing up and doing the work is going to be worth their time. Of course, I’ve explained to them my mantra about how students learn better from other students. But I’ve done that in past semesters, too. Without the direct connection of writing a group project during an f2f class that mirrors an individual project done independently, I’m worried that moving collaboration to the online sphere is going to result in a lot less student commitment to the deeply important process and collaborative aspects of the writing-learning process. As you can see from previous posts on Digital Didact, it seems pretty common to feel anxious about losing the rich teacher-student and student-student relationships that we work so hard to build in our face-to-face classes as we migrate to online and hybrid settings.

I’m not totally sure how I’m going to maintain the level of student commitment that I’m seeing this semester, but posts by Billy, Brian and Kerry, as well as some of the research that I’ve started, have me feeling hopeful that there’s a way to make it happen.

Recently, I’ve picked up Learning and Teaching Writing Online: Strategies for Success, edited by Mary Deane and Teresa Guasch. A couple articles in that book have given me some food for thought. One, in particular, by Carola Strobl, has brought up two concepts for improving student collaboration—observational learning and scripts. Observational learning is when students view models. Strobl and her partners had students watch a thirteen-minute video of a dummy group modeling how to write collaboratively using Google Docs and its comment and chat functions. They compared students’ efficacy in groups after watching this video—what the research terms “observational learning”—with the work of those same students after they’d received a “script”—which sounds, essentially, like a detailed set of directions. Although the overall results were encouraging, there were several factors that limited the authors’ ability to determine which intervention was the most effective. For one, they taught this same activity in three consecutive classes to the same sample groups of students, first with no scaffold, then with a video, and finally, with a script for group interactions. The authors rightly note that, although their findings suggest that both the video and the script were effective scaffolds, the sequencing of the lesson may suggest that there was a “learning by doing” effect—part of students’ improvement may be attributable to their previous experience with the tasks. They conclude, along with Teresa Mauri and Javier Onrubia’s article also published in Learning and Teaching Writing Online, that the best choice might be to offer both interventions and let student groups choose whether to use one, neither, or both.

I’m interested in work like this that explores interventions that teach students to interact effectively in an online setting. It seems like Pierre Dillenbourg has authored and co-authored a lot of work on scripts, and I think it’ll be useful to continue figuring out how best to guide students through online environments. However, I’m even more interested to check out work by scholars like Cunningham and Melkun, mentioned in Billy’s and Brian’s posts who can help me understand more about how to motivate DE students and make participation in process and collaborative tasks feel worthwhile to them.

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Student-to-Student Relationships in Asynchronous DE Classes

A few weeks ago, students in both my online and face-to-face sections of English 302 submitted early drafts of their first essays of the semester. After receiving my feedback, a few students emailed me to personally thank me for my comments, one even reciting details of what I had said about his draft. Although we had devoted course time to discussing the draft review process and the role feedback (both from myself and from their peers) could play in how they revised and how they conceived of the audience for their writing, these students treated my feedback as if it were some special dispensation. Most intriguingly, these emails came only from students in my DE sections.

I quickly realized that this reaction was one I regularly received from my online students and only my online students. But why?

First, the providing feedback on an essay draft is the first one-on-one interaction I have with DE students that is specifically focused on their writing. It is more personal than my responses to their discussion posts or my group announcements or video lectures. They are of course vulnerable at that stage, sharing their academic writing in order to hear suggestions for improvement, more vulnerable than they are in their introduction videos or their first brief homework assignments.

But second, and more importantly, the nature of the online interface reinforces the sense that only my input on their work matters. As emerging learners, they often come from educational backgrounds that, to some degree, operate on a traditional banking model of knowledge—each lesson a deposit, each evaluation a withdrawal—that is echoed in many ways by the online delivery system. Any LMS, unless thoroughly customized, operates on a banking model by default: stream videos, download worksheets, upload completed drafts.

I suspect that, especially for those students who see composition as product-focused and don’t visualize writing as a communal activity, this student-to-LMS interface reminds them of their physical and temporal isolation from their classmates and reinforces their understanding of the class’s hierarchy. As Cheryl Hawkinson Melkun notes, an instructor in an online discussion can often stifle conversation because of the students assumption of the instructor’s authority. Students may not see their peers’ feedback and interactions as important to their own learning—say, approaching discussion boards as quick bullet-pointed tasks—and consequently overvalue my feedback, as if the instructor’s approval is the ultimate goal of the writing course. In their survey-based study “Toward a Complexity of Online Learning: Learners in Online First-Year Writing,” Merry Rendahl and Lee-Ann Kastman Breuch found that students in online writing classes “did not seem to value interaction with their peers as highly as they valued interactions with the instructors” (309). They did not, on the whole, consider collaboration with their peers a productive part of improving their writing.

Yet, we know that collaboration and community are vital components of the F2F writing classroom. Students gain both a sense of audience and an understanding of how to communicate meaning only in the negotiation with others. In response to the CCCC Committee’s “Report on the State of the Art of OWI,” which echoes the Rendahl & Breuch’s concerns that students do not feel as if they progress through peer interaction in an online environment, Ken Gillam and Shannon R. Wooden insist that the ideal classroom environment remains one “rich with interpersonal communication, rewarding collaboration, and the formation of productive learning communities.” The question then becomes how we can adapt collaborative lesson plans to an online environment that will allow students to participate in the negotiation of meaning.

Both Kerry and Brian have outlined some of the elements we must take into consideration. As Brian points out, Blackboard Collaborate Ultra may indeed provide a viable option for synchronous course meetings. From the little I have used it, Ultra offers a flexible virtual environment that could mimic the F2F classroom in many ways.

At the same time, in the past two semesters, I have had DE students attending class from Asia and Australia, as well as students nearby with inflexible schedules, making synchronous coursework nearly impossible. So, at this point, I am most interested in how we can build asynchronous collaboration into the design of our online courses. I hope that some of the thoughts that follow might complement alternatives regarding synchronous lesson planning.

  1. Ask Students to Build Social Profiles. Gillam & Wooden point out that the Wiki tool on Blackboard could allow students to build profiles like those they are already familiar with from social media. Asking students to construct a profile that is not limited to their participation in the course but also displays other facets of their lives might lead them to feel more invested in the writing community as a network. This project and the resulting wiki pages could also serve as a text for discussion and analysis, particularly via direct discussions of how narrative and literacy are involved in defining the public self.
  1. Model Real-World Telecommuting Projects. Any number of collaborative projects in the real world that require communication via email and a web interface could serve as a model for a long-term project. Handouts and templates could guide students through project management basics and the roles that team members need to play. This could work well as a self-timed project with certain boundaries, like a schedule of deliverables.
  1. Make Invisible Activities Visible. Assign students to groups at the outset of the course to investigate a variety of central topics. Ask them to collaborate frequently on small tasks designed to walk them through the process of composing a piece of writing. For instance, have a group brainstorming assignment that they can conduct collaboratively on their own time that asks them to explore full range of perspectives on the central topic. Then for the next step, each student could pursue one perspective in writing at greater length. The goal at that stage would not be to produce a single essay but to explore the range of possible essays that could be written about the central topic.
  1. Focus Peer Reviews on Summary, Not Critique. To avoid having the blind lead the blind, peer reviews could be reimagined as detailed reader summaries. Students would avoid the trap of being overly complimentary or overly critical and would simply present the author with a full sense of what had been successfully communicated.

Some of these ideas are just coming together for me after the readings I have encountered in the past two weeks. I plan to flesh these out as I read more.

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Making Up for Lost Face-Time

The first thing I noticed when I started teaching DE sections of 302 (concurrently with some traditional face-to-face sections) is what I think of as the “communication lag.”

Teaching writing and research F2F has its own set of drawbacks — pedagogy can be limited by the physical writing space of the classroom, the technology or lack thereof, attendance can dwindle at the most inopportune times, and it somehow feels simultaneously both too short (so much to cover) and too long (after a while, you run out of “teaching” topics and just have to get down to writing), but the big advantage of F2F writing instruction is the instant feedback.

In the classroom, you can give a lecture, answer a question, explain an example, and generally get a sense of the room immediately — who gets it, who is still unsure, who is avoiding eye-contact in hopes that you’ll just move on. I can liken it to performing on stage, live for an audience — they cheer or they boo, but you know right away that they heard you.  Teaching online, if I’m to stick to my lazy metaphor, is like recording your performance in a studio, sending it to the printer, shipping it to stores, and hoping everyone buys the album. You’ll hear from some of them, but not all of them and it takes much longer to hear back.

We experience this communication lag in a lot of ways teaching digitally — not knowing if students are “getting” it and having less/no opportunity to read their faces, losing days in email/discussion board back-and-forth with an issue that would have taken minutes in-person, or just losing students to attrition with what feels like little or no warning. I’ve learned to deal with some of this teaching 302 students ( typically older students, either upperclassmen or even non-traditional or returning students) who, for the most part, “get” the whole “college thing” and CAN navigate the slightly more difficult channels of communication, but sometimes choose not to. That is, I’ve tried to do what I can — “meeting” students early on in the semester via Skype or conferences, being active on our Bb page, reaching out to students via email or comments on work when I notice some slipping; but I also have come to accept that part of the reason some (many?) of these students are taking my class in a DE/DL format is because they don’t care as much about the kind of fluid communication and connection that one gets in a F2F classroom. They value flexibility over “access” (to me, to their peers) and some may even want the distance — I’ve certainly had some “desert island” students who just turn in the work and I never really hear from them all term.

Here is my concern: While it’s almost certain there will be a contingent of freshmen (or transfers) who WANT the freedom/distance of online education in 101, there will also be a large (larger?) group who take 101 as hybrid or DE out lack of other options. The social element of all classes, even, maybe especially, DE is an integral part of student (and teacher) success. There’s a nice rundown/lit review in Jennifer Cunningham’s “Mechanizing People and Pedagogy: Social Presence in the Online Classroom” which details the methods and benefits — enhanced engagement, lower attrition, achieved learning outcomes, etc. With 101 though, especially in the typical freshmen-heavy class, it feels different. There is the same need for a sort of academic-social connection — collaboration, sharing of methods and sources, etc, but it also feels like there is something else. Something less quantifiable.

When we teach 101 (and to a lesser extent, 302, mostly due to transfers/returning students who are perhaps new to Mason) we sort of teach 2 classes — a Writing/Research class and a “Welcome to College” class. Our classrooms are one of, if not the only in which the instructor knows their name, will notice if they are absent, will expect them to make mistakes, etc, etc. What happens when we lose this valuable purely social element from decreased (hybrid) or absent (DE/DL) seat time?

I’ve been inspired by Kerry’s post and our group talks so far and instead of looking at this as a pitfall, I’m trying to instead view this blank canvas of ours as an opportunity. So, how can we take advantage of the opportunity we have to re-imagine seat-time with our students?

After doing a bit of preliminary research, there are some options which point to some positive outcomes, but may be difficult/strenuous to pull-off with a large course load. Hopefully Dr. Kuo and the DL office can help us put these into action, but some possible options:

Synchronous Writing Groups Using Chat Functionality, VOIP and/or Web Conferencing (the new Bb Collaborate?) — “Nontraditional Students Online: Composition, Collaboration, and Community” by Cheryl Hawkinson Melkun (2012) showed that the dialogic nature of these programs allows for higher student engagement, better metacognition, and even had the added benefit of students focusing on more higher order concerns rather than text/sentence specific issues, because both critic and critiqued could seek elaboration/explanation.

The challenge to the above is 1) getting students to collaborate on any kind of schedule. We would have to build in a fairly loose schedule to allow students to work this into their calendars. Perhaps, (and this is maybe a big compromise) instead of arranging groups by content/major, we allow them to sign up by times on a google doc. Then we know who is available when. Secondly, technology — having all students’ tech capabilities (their brains and computers) working at the same level throughout the term can be a challenge. Third, would be oversight/accountability. An “off-sight” meeting like Google Hangout, or Skype would either require instructors to view/participate live (which would be incredibly time-consuming if not impossible, depending on schedule and total students) or just trust that students are all participating. While I’m competant at a lot of Bb tech, I’m admittedly clueless about Bb Collaborate Ultra (mega? super?). The old Collaborate always crashed on me so I gave up, but maybe we could get a thorough tutorial.
I suppose a solution to off-site “hangouts” could be a sort of “debriefing” document, where each group member peer-reviews the meeting itself for our eyes. Melkun (2012) also recommends chat programs that allow users to save/print a transcript, which would not only be helpful for instructors but also for students to return to for their feedback.

More Frequent (but smaller) Meetings — This is something I think we discussed in our last meeting, but it’s possible to help students feel more connected to the communal classroom and perhaps one another if we were to have frequent small/low-stakes class modules — 20 min freewrite here, 5 min video there, 10 min quiz the next day, etc. I worry about doing this with any kind of irregularity (part of me feels strongly about 101 students needing firm structure and it makes me feel like an old man) but perhaps the time/dates that work would “drop” stay consistent, but time needed to dedicate to the work could (mildly) fluctuate? I’d love to hear more from folks on this.

Using “Seat” Days (F2F) in a Hybrid class as 1-2 small group meetings, which rotate weekly —At GW, we had Hybrid classes (we had a 3 day schedule — MWF or TRF where Friday was 50 mins compared to 90 for the other days), but they weren’t explicitly a F2F/DE hybrid. Some met each week at a historical site, a museum, a food bank, wherever, but many instructors used  their Hybrid day (often Fridays) to hold long/50min conferences with 4-5 person groups who had prepared writing/comments/discussions beforehand. We could potentially have a MWF or MW hybrid course where after the first few weeks of orientating, Monday is “Online” and Wednesday is 35 mins with Group 1 and 35 with Group 2. Next week is 35 with Groups 3 and 4, etc. Meetings need not even be in the classroom, if space is an issue, but maybe in the JC or Starbucks, or wherever would be appropriate. These could potentially be even more intimate learning/workshop sessions than we’d get with 20+ person F2F sessions, though less frequent.

Other things that (no surprises here) have been shown to help in DE/DL success (Mostly from Cunningham, 2015):

Direct communication with students and teacher, social presence of instructor, collaboration with students.

I feel like I’ve gone on too long already and have lots more to say about some of this research and all, but I’ll save it for next time.

Anyway, ideas for getting the benefits of F2F social-interaction (less attrition, more engagement, more student satisfaction, etc) through Digital/Distance means?


References I’m checking out:

Cunningham, J. M. (2015). Mechanizing People and Pedagogy: Establishing Social Presence in the Online Classroom. Online Learning, 19(3), 34-47.

Hsu, S., & Sammons, M. (1998). The Invisible Barriers in Teaching at a Distance.

Melkun, C. H. (2012). Nontraditional Students Online: Composition, Collaboration, and Community. Journal Of Continuing Higher Education, 60(1), 33-39.

Montagne, L. (2012, January 1). Student Learning Outcomes and Pedagogy in Online and Face-to-Face College English Composition: A Mixed Methods Study. ProQuest LLC.

Ross, J. (2000). My ENG 102 Class Has Gone to HEC: Creating the Hybrid Electronic Course.

(Here’s a link to the full-text of the Ross Conference Paper — it’s 16 years old, so the tech issues are pretty different, but worth a look for trial/error purposes. It’s available on ERIC.



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