“Pummeled by a Deluge”

Rebecca Blood, a lifetime ago in Internet time, wrote of weblogs:

We are being pummeled by a deluge of data and unless we create time and spaces in which to reflect, we will be left with only our reactions.

And when I read Dean yesterday talking of owning one’s space to share one’s words, and then Tony’s post about the value of Twitter, I am reminded that I lean on Dean’s side of this conversation.  Twitter is to relationships as wheel decals are to roller skates. Nice to have and to use, but far from essential.

Twitter is the spice that flavors what you’re putting on the table.  It might be the after dinner snack.  It may well be the connective tissue that flavors the stew1.  But it’s not the meal.  It’s part of the deluge2, and we must push against it,  building spaces where we can be thoughtful.

 

  1. Because you just needed one more awkward meal metaphor in there, didn’t you? []
  2. At least sometimes. []
Google+EvernoteEmailWordPressRead It LaterInstapaperShare

#ISTE11: On Longitudinal Web Presences for Writing, Learning, Being

I had the opportunity to hear Paul Allison, one of my favorite teachers, talk at length about his work with Youth Voices yesterday. Usually, Paul’s asking about others’ work, or showcasing the work he’s doing – but not talking about the thinking behind the work. And I like it when he does so. I hope he’d do that more.

He said that the pedagogical and philosophical1 recipe for Youth Voices was something like:

  • James Beane and his work on breaking down the curriculum barriers and asking good questions
  • plus Paulo Friere’s thinking on asking learners to look for generative themes
  • with a dash of Peter Elbow who reminds us of the power of making things through free writing.

I need to return to all three of those folks and dig back in to some of their thinking.

But he said something, off the cuff, that I thought was really important. He mentioned that he’d been in the Youth Voices work for eight years2, and that students who started in tenth grade were able, in eleventh and twelfth, to return to the space and pick up where they left off. They didn’t have to learn a new space, and their work from previous years was right there.

That’s powerful and important and worth unpacking a little bit. Teachers who are using interesting technology with their students find themselves too often in the setup and infrastructure business – and that’s fine sometimes. But not every time or every lesson or every year.

One of the reasons I went to work for an IT department was because I wanted to help make spaces that had a life beyond one classroom. A student shouldn’t create one blog to suit the needs of every teacher that asks for work to occur in such spaces. Students create short term tools for what should be long term work, and they find themselves create blogs every time they start to do interesting work. The assumption becomes that the work they’re doing in these temporary spaces is throwaway work. When the unit, semester, or year ends, the space dies and the student is asked to create the next one.

That’s not how it should work.

What I love about Paul’s work, and the work of other folks who are thinking about the long game of educational spaces where work lives and breathes and mingles with other work, is that they’re building what I call3 longitudinal Web presences. Spaces where the portfolio happens as the collection grows. Places where the stuff a student made yesterday and the stuff a student makes today will be around for a student to add to tomorrow. Places that don’t die every few months or are subject to Teacher A or B’s personal web tool preference.

When Karl or Michelle or I talk about digital learning ecologies, or Paul talks about Youth Voices, I think that’s what we’re talking about. Teachers shouldn’t have to be in the creation and infrastructure business all the time. Nor should they be helping kids to cram important work into temporary places.

If you’re a tech director or a CIO, I hope you’re thinking about how to create these spaces. I also hope you’re thinking about how to help students return to them over time and to think through what they’ve made and how it resonates, or doesn’t, as they expand their knowledge and experience. In St. Vrain, we’ve built a few tools that help with this, but we’re nowhere close to figuring it out.

We do, know, though, and have been charged by our school board, that we are stewards of the work our students produce. That’s an important word – the IT department is responsible for looking after the students’ work. We’ve got to make sure it’s well taken care of and preserved and saved until they leave our care. And that they can take it with them when they go.

That’s what a portfolio should be. That’s worth making. Thoughtfully.4 I continue to be inspired and pushed by the work of folks like Paul who are building places of learning that last on the Web.

  1. My words, not his []
  2. Eight years. How many writing spaces do you have that last six months. Learning, folks, is a marathon. []
  3. Probably incorrectly, but playing with words is fun. []
  4. Sometimes, the curbs matter and the making of the containers are essential, in no small part because the traffic on the road and the stuff in the boxes is precious and worth looking after. The road needs to last for a long, long time. []
Google+EvernoteEmailWordPressRead It LaterInstapaperShare

The Podcast: Why I’m Not a Fan of Free (At School) (Infrastructure, I Mean)

UPDATE: In the comments below, Mike advocates for free versions of desktop software.  I am completely in favor of those options for students and schools.  I also like free and open source software for digital infrastructure.  (Both the software packages I mention in the podcast are free and open source tools.) The “free” I’m talking about here is quite different.  Forgive the poor title choice.

In today’s podcast, I talk a little bit about my reaction to a Twitter conversation from yesterday about free tools and why I’m not necessarily in favor of them, at least for what I believe are basic educational needs.  We’ve got to support our schools and our classrooms and our educators and our students, but not on the backs and whims of third-party kindness. As always, I’m interested in your thoughts as I continue to develop my own.

Links I Mentioned

Steve‘s “luxury” tweet.

A smattering of some of the Twitter conversation. (These don’t do it justice, but will give you a bit of the flavor of the conversation.)

Vicki Davis’s posts on her Lively project/protest.

Direct Link to Audio

Google+EvernoteEmailWordPressRead It LaterInstapaperShare

WiP#0 – Talking ’bout Thinking ’bout Linking

At the risk of getting a little too meta, I’m going to be talking through my history of thinking about linking, or conective writing, today during CyberCamp as a part of our series of “Works in Progress” conversations.  I’m inviting you, if you’re interested, mostly to help me model how a backchannel and uStream conversation can be of value to a face to face group, but selfishly, too, because I’m always interested in how others are thinking about these ideas.  So, if you’re willing and able, join us at around 11:30am MST for a short uStream presentation.  All the details are on our wiki.  

Thanks in advance!

Google+EvernoteEmailWordPressRead It LaterInstapaperShare

There Isn’t Just One

I didn’t want to let too much time go by before responding to Doug’s post, and the others that have followed it, but I haven’t have time for a thorough response.  There’s plenty of thoughtfulness in the posts and comments, but I did just want to state, again, that I’m pretty sure an awful lot of the “conversation” on the post(s) is based on a bad assumption, which is this:

There isn’t one “edublogosphere.”  Never has been and never will be.  So to ascribe universal characteristics to something which isn’t (universal) is problematic, to say the least.  Here’s how I said it in November:

Mostly, the assumption that’s troubling me so much is that there’s one group (community – whatever) out there that exists for educational conversation via electronic media, and that we should all try to engage and involve everyone in that one (fallacious) group so that we’re all friends and reading and commenting each other.  And that we’ll all agree on where that group should go, when they should meet, and what we’ll all do when we get there.  Or that we ever agreed in the first place.

Ain’t going to happen.  Not now, not ever.  Never did happen, in fact.  We all construct our blogrolls, our Twitter friends, or our other social networking relationships for our benefit and to meet our own unique needs.

Would I prefer to see more reflective or data-driven posts around teaching and learning practices?  Yep.  But me (or anyone else) not seeing them doesn’t mean that they’re not there.  I’d encourage you to read the rest of that November post for more explanation of my position.

Google+EvernoteEmailWordPressRead It LaterInstapaperShare

Thinking ’bout Linking

It was about a year ago that I wrote a piece for English Journal on teaching “blogging” vs. “writing with blogs” that was pretty much a re-hash of some blog posts that I thought were saying something. The trouble is, I wasn’t sure what they were saying. I’ve been fumbling at this one for a while.

I’ve always found something particularly special about writing online, or at least I’ve learned that there’re more options, more possibilities, and plenty of challenges that make writing online much more complicated than cutting and pasting a Word file into a text box and hitting “submit.”

But most folks that I see beginning to use digital writing spaces aren’t treating them any differently. And I can’t quite figure out why. I also can’t quite figure out how to articulate the differences, even though I think I get some, if not several, of them. And if I can’t articulate them, perhaps I can’t teach them. (Not sure about that, actually – but work with me.)

I think one good way to articulate some of the differences is to tell you a story. Here goes.

Tonight, I’m sitting in
a local cafe, enjoying a cup of wicked sweet coffee and some tunes. As I wrote that last sentence, and added the links in, I wondered how you would read it. Are you someone who clicks on any link you see in a blog post? Or are you more like me? I use a browser that shows me the URL of the link I’m pointing to, saving me the trouble of traveling here if, after reading the URL, I see that I don’t need to follow the link, perhaps because I already know the site, or I don’t want to go to the site, because I’m worried about pop-ups, or a virus, or something that I don’t actually want to see. I love that browser, except when it leaks memory.

I could continue, but I think (hope) I’m making my point. I could have written that paragraph without the links – but I would’ve need an awful lot more details to tell you as much as I did with the links. And you each will have worked your way through that paragraph differently. Some of you read and clicked and fiddled. Others of you read differently. (Oh – and here’s a minor nit – but how many of you, in that last sentence, read, ahem, “read” in the past tense? Present tense? Language is hard. But anyway.)

I don’t know what my students do/did when they see blocks of text with links. And I’m 98 percent sure that there wasn’t another teacher in my school who was thinking about how to explain that to students, much less about how they read that text themselves.

Digital texts have the potential to make a big, juicy mess of a linear experience. Or to turn a so-so piece of writing into a masterful collection of references, linktributions, and pointers to other good stuff. My hunch, a rough one, but one I’ve held for a while, is that reading and writing that way makes you (ultimately) a better reader and writer. I just don’t really think I know how to teach that way yet, or at least, I don’t know how to teach other people to think about teaching that way.

Will Richardson asked me recently (well, it was two weeks ago – but that counts as recent if you forgive me the week I spent sick. And I do.) about connective writing, and what a course on it might look like. I blame him for the frustrated typing that I’m up to right now. And the posts that I suspect are forthcoming. (And I’m thankful, too. I needed a push.)

What would such a course look like? What would it cover? How would it differ from a “regular” (I know – bogus term.) 9th or 10th grade high school writing course? How would it be the same? (Why wait until high school? I’ve been thinking through blogs as science or inquiry notebooks at the elementary school level.) What happens when we add video(s)? Pictures? Embedded widgets? I’ve got to believe that some analysis of what links do and how they do it would be a necessary piece of any such course. So, too, would be copious quoting and linking to others, building a network of classroom texts that would be added to the greater networks of the world.

I’d kill to teach that class.

Perhaps I’ve stumbled across another thesis idea. Again. Nuts.

_______
Postscript – I had thought that perhaps I’d dig into the research on hypertextual writing a bit before I started down this post. I know these ideas aren’t new. But I couldn’t help myself. I made it four pages into this fascinating article before I started writing. Worth a read, I think.

Google+EvernoteEmailWordPressRead It LaterInstapaperShare

Dear Readers, Please Forgive

   Please forgive Typepad.  They’ve apparently mixed up their feeds, and have been pushing celebrity gossip through mine and many other Typepad users.  Yet another reason why I contemplate leaving.

   I’m sure they didn’t mean harm, and that they’ll apologize for, or at least acknowledge, their mistake soon.

  Right, Typepad?

Update: This was posted in the help ticket area of Typepad.  I found it when I went there to complain about not seeing a notification anywhere else.  I guess I don’t know why they didn’t post this somewhere a little more public. 

IMPORTANT NOTICE:
On March 6, 2008 we experienced a brief problem with our feed service
on TypePad. Some TypePad users were affected, where another blog’s
entries appeared to be coming from their feed. We’ve corrected the
problem and feeds are now rendering correctly, but your readers may
still see these incorrect entries in RSS reading applications (like
Google Reader). We’re very sorry for the confusion this issue may have
caused you and your readers — and we’re working hard to make sure it
doesn’t happen again.

Google+EvernoteEmailWordPressRead It LaterInstapaperShare

The Podcast: NCTE 2006 Presentation

    After a long delay (one month, to be precise), I present to you, via podcast, the audio from Greg, Bill and my presentation at NCTE’s 2006 Annual Convention.  The hour and fifteen minute workshop is about how we are using blogs with our students in different ways and for different purposes.  My contribution to the presentation is the "why" of Web 2.0 . 
   We were fortunate to have a big and friendly audience for our presentation, and you’ll notice a deterioration in the audio quality when I enter the audience to solicit some ideas and participation for my yarn activity.  Enjoy the chaos — just pull out a bit of yarn and you’re right there with us.
    Here’s the presentation wiki that we used as a handout — all the links referenced in the podcast can be found there.  Feel free to add to the wiki if you’d like.
    I’d draw your attention to two moments from my portion of the presentation.  First, when I got to the room where we were presenting, I was listening to the previous presenter talking with someone.  I recognized the voice, and the content sounded familiar — eventually, I realized I was sharing a room with Clarence Fisher.  That was pretty cool, and you’ll notice that I refer to that moment in the podcast. 
    Second, I think I make a rather bold statement when I tell the audience that it’s selfish of them to keep the good work going on in their classrooms to themselves.  It’s selfish to not blog, or otherwise publish.  Just plain selfish.  How dare you keep the good stuff to yourself?
    Too harsh? 

Google+EvernoteEmailWordPressRead It LaterInstapaperShare

No Stories Left Behind

    Will wrote a post recently that is
helping me to connect with a problem that might be beginning to stir in my
blog, as well as others.  He writes/asks:


I read lots of stories about kids who are getting it, even in Doug’s post,
where they are reading and writing and commenting and learning. You read Bud or
Clarence or
Vicki or any
number of others and there are stories that border on transformation. (In fact,
Vicki’s latest post is titled "My students inspire me as they
"get" Web 2.0.") But I don’t read much about the kids that
aren’t engaged. And I’m wondering to what extent that happens as well. And
further, I’m wondering to what extent they compare to the adult educators we’re
trying to teach about these tools who choose not to engage. The simple view is
that this is generational, that kids are more available to the tools because
they live in a connected world or because, well, they’re kids and more open to
new stuff than adults…but is it?


  I don’t think that it’s as simple as a generational thing.  I don’t
think Will thinks that, either, but I do understand where he’s coming
from.  Generation M is plugged in, right?  The rest of us are trying
to catch up. 
    Except that’s not true.  Will has something like two
decades of educational experience.  David Warlick has as much if not
more.  Barbara Ganley didn’t start teaching last week.  Other
teachers in the blogosphere are not new to teaching, but might be the early
adopters of new technologies in their schools, districts and/or
communities.  I’ve only been teaching for four years, so maybe much of Web
2.0 comes easily to me. 
    But that’s not why I’m writing tonight, even though the
question of why blogging is or isn’t for everyone is an important one, worthy
of lots of conversation by folks smarter than I.
    I’m writing because I see a potential problem developing in
and among the edublogosphere that is becoming more and more my professional
space. 
    A few months ago, my wife and I published, in English
Journal
, a column entitled, "Why I Despise Nancie Atwell" by Sarah
J.H. Brooks. (Note: The link requires a paid subscription to the journal for viewing.  Sorry.)  The well-written piece is about the author’s frustration
with best practice texts, specifically In the Middle, one of those books that
my generation of reading and writing teachers is and should be devouring in
preservice coursework.  She’s frustrated because she only sees the success
stories, and not the stuff that didn’t go so well.  Let me be clear: the Brooks’ piece is in no way a condemnation of Atwell’s work.  We need best practices texts, and Atwell’s text continues to inform my practice as a language arts teacher.
    But best practices don’t work for every teacher, in every classroom, on every day.
    Best practice texts are, largely, excellent attempts to
share and promote those lessons, activities, and philosophies that are, at
least in theory, "proven" to be successful in a variety of
educational contexts.  Best practice texts, written by exceptional
educators, have informed my practice, and will continue to do so.
    Many of the blogs that are in the sidebar to the right of
this post on my site are, in my humble opinion, some of the best practice texts
of using technology in education.  I value the good ideas and lessons that
my colleagues in the edublogosphere are sharing on a daily basis.   
    The only problem with best practice texts, too often at
least, is that they turn classrooms into Mickey Mouse spaces where all goes
well and there’s never any trouble.  Every student in these books finds
success in the classroom.  At least, that’s how the texts present
classrooms.
    Again, this is not universal; many good texts share failures
as well as successes, but not nearly enough. 
    I do not want this blog to become a text that misinforms as
it informs. Nor do I want to read blogs
that paint stories of success while ignoring the stories of students lost or
unsuccessful along the way.
    We aren’t
going to learn anything by merely telling half of the story. And omission, intentional or otherwise, may
blur the narrative.
    Now, I’m not saying that this is happening, but, as I
prepare to embark on a larger blogging project than I’ve ever undertaken, I
want to make a public reminder to myself to tell as much of the story as I can,
without shading or blurring information in any way. 
    And
I think it’s reasonable to ask that those of you who are also blogging to do
the same.
     I know many bloggers are doing just that.   I encourage them to keep it up.  Let’s make sure that Will, and all of the rest of us, aren’t missing the stories of those students not engaged by these technologies.

Google+EvernoteEmailWordPressRead It LaterInstapaperShare