Elizabeth Catanese is an Associate Professor of English and Humanities at Community College of Philadelphia. Trained in mindfulness-based stress reduction, Elizabeth has enjoyed incorporating mindfulness activities into her college classroom for over ten years. Elizabeth works to deepen her mindful awareness through writing children's books, cartooning and parenting her energetic twin toddlers, Dylan and Escher.   I hypothesize that the link between happiness and success is greater than many of us can imagine. On the one hand, this is obvious. Doing laundry doesn’t make me happy; when I put it off, it makes me less happy. I then have even less motivation for completing the task and less success. Relatedly, I could have 15 assignments that I do not enjoy grading take three times as long to grade as the 60 larger assignments that I’m excited about grading. For me, happiness creates energy. Importantly, I have found that my own happiness can give students energy as well: Quick feedback is energizing; a smile directed at a student can be invigorating for them;  saying “I love x topic” creates a boost that often makes students dig into the reading sooner. There are a million small ways that our happiness can rub off on students and help them succeed. I do not think that teachers need to jump up and down excitedly at the front of the classroom or ignore the vast array of other human emotions and mental health issues that are parts of our lives. I am a happy teacher who also struggles with anxiety and often feels a sense of sadness, especially in the times we are living in now. The kind of happiness I’m advocating for is a sense of joy and centeredness in teaching—the kind of happiness that, most simply put, allows me to look forward to my job more often than not and the kind of happiness that reminds students of my commitment to them. One way to achieve joy and centeredness is through activities that nurture the mind and body. For some of us, these may be self-care activities like swimming, massage, meditation or yoga—all wonderful but sometimes costly experiences for a profession that for many does not pay well. There are other activities like browsing library shelves, working on sleep hygiene, and chatting with friends about daily life challenges on a walk. Great also! When I engage in some of these mindful practices, my body is much more centered and ready to teach. All this is to say if your academic institution is having a free ten-minute chair massage, do not inadvertently forgo the opportunity as I did today! And yet, there is something simpler that can be done to increase professor happiness. It is to ask yourself, when lesson planning “do I like this activity?” or, to use the language of Marie Kondo, author of The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up, “does this lesson ‘spark joy’”? If your lesson plan does not spark joy for you at least half the time, you may consider selecting an alternate approach. One moment when I realized my lessons were not sparking joy related to subject and verb agreement. I love teaching sentence boundaries and created an acronym to help students remember the parts of sentences, linked the acronym to Philly pharmacies, and even created a scavenger hunt activity where students look for run-ons and fragments on bulletin boards throughout the campus.  I genuinely believe that being able to know where a sentence begins and ends is a huge step toward literacy and success—and a form of my own cultural capital that should be shared. However, subject verb agreement…not so much. Correcting students’ use of third person singular verbs (i.e., she knows rather than she know) frankly felt racist to me, especially because it lacked any regard for or mention of Black English. How did my unhappiness about this topic translate to the classroom? Instead of speaking about my true belief that what I was about to teach was racist, I would apologize for a lesson that was about to be “boring” but was part of the “student learning outcomes.” I would stumble through lectures and give out worksheets for practice—a far cry from the way I like to teach. Eventually, it dawned on me that because of my perception that teaching subject/verb agreement was racist, it was not sparking joy. And yet, I couldn’t really stop because this was a student learning outcome. I’m sure many of us can relate to simply being required to teach something that we may not want to teach. However, I felt that there had to be a way to spark more joy. I changed the subject verb agreement lessons so that they discussed power dynamics imbedded in language, and I made explicit that I felt uncomfortable teaching this grammar concept as it was originally being presented. I was interested in students’ perspectives. I found some other voices on YouTube on similar issues related to language and power, like an amazing TED talk by Jamila Lyiscott and a clip from a lecture by Ta Nehisi Coates. Then I learned that my colleague, Alexine Fleck, had been doing these kinds of lessons for years and years--far before I came to them--as had a whole host of faculty at Community College of Philadelphia, where I teach. Feeling more connected to my colleague made me happy; hearing student voices about these ideas made me happy; not feeling locked into a certain requirement made me happy. Students no longer glazed over when we went over this concept. They too were energized. If you find that a lesson is not sparking joy for you, do not throw it out completely. Instead, try to figure out why and what can be done about it. It is often only the slightest modification that can make a difference. Maybe it’s just a brief discussion question about the topic—a planned tangent or a walk outside with students for 10 minutes to think more about an idea. I used to think I was beholden above all to institutional requirements, and now, thankfully, I also feel beholden to my own judgement, my own joy, and above all to my students’ success. In terms of getting my laundry done though, I would welcome suggestions. ... View more

The following interview with professors Jami Blaauw-Hara of North Central Michigan College and Mark Blauuw-Hara of the University of Toronto-Mississauga was conducted via email in August of 2022. This is the third of four parts.   David Starkey: You’ve both published quite a bit in books and scholarly journals. Why do you think that’s an important activity for working teachers? It can obviously be incredibly demanding for two-year college faculty, where scholarship often is not only unrewarded, it’s sometimes looked down upon, as a distraction from classroom teaching.   Jami Blaauw-Hara: There is so little support for scholarly work at the community college level! My dean announces faculty publications in emails, but this was often met with some amount of side-eye from colleagues for trying so hard. Since the community college is not oriented around producing original scholarship, I often need to convince administration and colleagues that I have knowledge in a particular area because I have published on it. Using teaching lore to inform practice more than scholarship is strong at community colleges. I also understand the struggle. At my school, we teach 15 credits per semester, except for summer, and many add overload onto that. We are rewarded more for taking on overload than we are for the time spent writing articles. However, scholarship has been invaluable in my teaching. I bring in drafts, discuss my roadblocks, share editor feedback, and help my students understand that writing is a highly detailed, interactive, reflexive process that changes you in the end. I believe I’m a better writing teacher for spending the time on scholarship, even if it’s just to share how writing scares me too!   Mark Blaauw-Hara: There are three main reasons that I think publishing and presenting regularly is important for two-year college faculty. First of all, and probably most importantly, putting a publication or presentation together forces you to examine what you’re doing in the classroom and articulate why you do it. That leads to better practice. Secondly, I think it’s great to work with others in your department or across the country–we can learn from one another, and it builds a sense of community among two-year folks. It can be a lonely job otherwise. And thirdly, although I greatly appreciate it when four-year scholars write about the two-year context, we really need to be a part of that conversation as well. We shouldn’t just be written about–we need to have our own voices out there.   DS: Mark, you’re the author of From Military to Academy (Utah State, 2021), which focuses on the writing and learning experiences of student military veterans. What are some of the main lessons you learned from writing the book?   MBH: I wrote that book because I like working with student veterans, and I myself wanted to understand them better. One of the main things I learned is that they come to college with some very important strengths that they developed in the military, and those strengths can help them in college. For example, they are great at achieving clearly defined missions, and they actually have quite a bit of experience with reading and writing, it’s just that in the military, writing tends to be much more direct than in academia. If we can help them transfer those skills to college, we can set them up to be more successful. And for the record, I think we should approach all of our students similarly–instead of thinking that someone who has been out of school for awhile in the workforce, say, has a lot to make up, we should ask what strengths and skills they’ve developed that will help them in the classroom.   DS: And Jami, you’ve led the Reading Apprenticeship program at North Central. We hear so much talk about how writing instructors need to become better teachers of reading. What elements of the program are particularly conducive to making that happen?   JBH: Reading Apprenticeship (RA) was a part of our work as an Achieving the Dream college, so there was institutional support for the training we needed. For me, it transformed reading much like my participation in the National Writing Project (NWP) transformed writing. We were asked to return to our own reading and understand our strategies as readers and see ourselves as mentors for apprentice readers. It reminded me that reading skill goes far beyond the ability to decode words and made me aware of all that I bring to reading that my students don’t yet understand. Just like the NWP helped me focus on my own writing to inform how I teach writing, RA helped me focus on my own reading to inform how I teach reading. One strategy that really stuck with me is returning to a place of confusion by working on very challenging texts. When I was asked to read cellular microbiology, my strategies for reading became very clear to me. I was aware of practices I did not even realize that I use like reading context clues, looking at sentence structures, annotation, slowing down, and asking questions. If I talk about how I read, I can help my students understand how to read with purpose and skill. Just like I share my writing projects in progress, I share reading that initially leaves me flummoxed and what strategies I used to understand it.    ... View more

A colleague recently shared this meme on her Facebook page, condensing a sentiment I’m hearing again and again in the hallways and Zoom meetings: what will it take for students to take responsibility for keeping up with their classes? We’ve all heard the comments and the questions: I couldn’t come last week. Did we do anything important? So what are we doing? (I’ve written about this one before!) I didn’t really understand the reading. (But I had asked them three times for questions.) Was the paper due today?   What was the topic again? When is it due? (After I’ve distributed and reviewed a handout with the due date.) Could you give me an example? (After I’ve just gone over 10 examples.) I couldn’t find it in the online course shell.  (And the online program shows the student has not logged in for two weeks.) Could you send me a list of everything I’ve missed for the last two weeks? Could you send me a list of my missing assignments? Could you tell me what my current average is and which assignments I have to finish in order to pass? (When all grades and the current average is posted online.) Did you see my email? (I answered the email within an hour after it was sent.) Could you just text me when something is due? (Reminders are set to go out in the online course shell, and we have a chat group, too.) What can I do to get extra credit? (The student asking has not done over a third of the written assignments.) And so it goes. When I started teaching, I could never have imagined the resources available to us as instructors to keep students informed: social media groups, weekly planners, assignments guides, online course shells with calendars and reminders, syllabi with links, mass emails/texts, etc. Yet some students—particularly students in my corequisite writing courses—still find themselves completely bewildered by the process of finding course materials.   My colleagues and I are equally bewildered. What else can we do? Many of our students are taking courses like University 101, designed to help them figure it out. And in our classes, redundancies are built in: information is repeated and posted in multiple places. We review, we remind, we send instructions, we conference, and we walk students through the process (sometimes more than once).  We remind ourselves that “doing college” is a lot like learning a new language; the rules that govern behavior are implicit, so we do what we can to make those rules explicit. We build partnerships to support students, we walk them to the writing center, and we repeat ourselves (without rolling our eyes).   And then at times, we get fed up and rant a little in our offices or in a Zoom meeting. But even after the rant, some of us wonder if there’s a strategy we have not tried yet.   How are you helping your students—especially first-generation, non-traditional, or multilingual students—build strategies for navigating college on their own? How are you responding to those difficult questions? I would love to hear from you. Want to offer feedback, comments, and suggestions on this post? Join the Macmillan Community to get involved (it’s free, quick, and easy)! ... View more

Antonio Hamilton (recommended by Kristi McDuffie) is pursuing his PhD in Writing Studies at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign. He teaches first-year composition courses and is a member of the Rhetoric Advisory Committee. His research interest focuses on how writing is remediated and potentially restricted in online writing environments, such as Automated Writing Evaluation software and Language Models. He is specifically interested in writer agency when writing with these programs, and what forms or styles of writing are prioritized. His research draws on intercultural rhetoric, algorithmic knowledge, and rhetorical genre studies perspectives to assess how writing is digitally transformed. How do you engage students in your course, whether f2f, online, or hybrid? I think engaging students in my course is probably one of the most difficult things, especially post COVID-19. But it is definitely one of the most important things to establish at the beginning of the semester. For me, engagement is not just teaching relevant material or having exciting in-class activities but also doing my best to ensure that every student feels comfortable in the class. I try to do this by using the first few weeks of class to establish trust with my students individually and as a group. For the most part, the first few weeks of my course allow a decent amount of in-class brainstorming time. I use this time to go around and talk to each of my students and help them work through or develop their ideas for whatever the first major assignment is. I believe this encourages them to feel that my classroom is a safe and collaborative environment where the instructor regularly engages with everyone. Basically, if they see I am engaging with them, then hopefully they engage in the course and realize that engagement is a two-way-street. What is the most important skill you aim to provide your students? The most important skill that I aim to provide my students is independence and ownership of the work they produce. I believe that oftentimes, students are accustomed to producing work that is either strictly a regurgitation of their instructor’s thoughts or having the feeling that they are producing work for the instructor and not work from themselves. I try to make sure that students know that I care about their ideas, and I will always do my best to help them to achieve their goals. Doing this helps them build that independence and ownership of their work because it is intrinsically their individualized ideas. I try to avoid questions such as “What do you think I should do” or “Do you like this idea?” I always center it back to the student by responding “Is this an idea that you produce?” If it is, then I encourage them to stick with it! What have you learned from other Bedford New Scholars? Having the opportunity to meet, discuss and work with other Bedford New Scholars was an enlightening experience. Because of Covid, I think that we often think about what is going on outside of individual departments. For me, hearing what other graduate students are doing in their composition/rhetoric/writing related courses was reaffirming and motivating. It was assuring to hear that other scholars have the same classroom concerns, teaching goals, theory applications, etc. It showed me that what I am doing in my classroom is not so different than what others are doing around the country at their own institutions. I also was able to learn about new in-class activities and assignments, one of which I implemented in one of my courses this semester! Essentially, interacting with the other scholars allowed me to grow as an instructor myself. How will the Bedford New Scholars program affect your professional development or your classroom practice? Professionally, this was my first time participating in something that gave me the opportunity to interact with other graduate students, as well as getting a peek at what goes on behind the scenes with a major publisher. It was all quite enlightening and informative. In regard to the other graduate students, it reaffirmed the collaborative nature of our field and showed me that the sharing of ideas can potentially lead to connections down the line. This may sound simple, but I think that in the past, I would just listen. If I did not perceive what was being said as immediately relevant, I would hold on to those ideas. But something does not immediately need to be relevant for it to be important. In regard to my classroom, listening to and having conversations with speaker Dr. Wonderful helped me consider how to maneuver through potential difficult classroom conversations. I have worked on having a more self-aware classroom environment that tries to prioritize each student’s opinions and thoughts equally. This has always been something I try to do, but through hearing the other scholars and Dr. Wonderful speak about this, I feel that my approach is becoming more refined. Antonio’s Assignment that Works During the Bedford New Scholars Summit, each member presented an assignment that had proven successful or innovative in their classroom. Below is a brief synopsis of Antonio’s assignment. For the full activity, see Remediation Remix. For the Remediation Remix assignment, students are asked to remediate their research paper into a new genre. The assignment applies Bolter & Grusin’s (2000) concept of remediation. The goal is for students to think about the varied ways information can be communicated and asks them to consider accessibility. Additionally, they must think about how certain information may be more effectively communicated in certain genres. The students are asked to write a proposal that I provide feedback on, and then they go on to create the remediation. Accompanying the remediation is a rationale statement where they detail their choices and reasons to explain why they successfully remediated their research paper. I enjoy this assignment a lot because it shows students that writing and communication is not just bound to the traditional academic essay. ... View more

  One ballot initiative that  Arkansas voters will decide on this year is whether to legalize recreational marijuana. Voting for or against this measure would seem to be a fairly clear-cut decision: either you are for or against letting those twenty-one and older purchase small amounts of marijuana for personal use. Thus far, marijuana use is only legal for medical purposes in Arkansas. The choice of claims is clear: You should vote for Issue #4, or you should vote against Issue #4. This is a perfect example, however, to let students see the subtleties of argumentation as they play out in the real world. Frankly, most students would not oppose legislation that would allow the purchase of recreational marijuana. Students who do oppose would argue the physical harm that comes from smoking marijuana or the dangers of driving under the influence. They would need to provide support for their assertions from states where marijuana has already been legalized. Let’s focus, though, on why even those who support the legalization of marijuana are split over this vote. Consider the first portion of the long legal title of the amendment: “An amendment to the Arkansas Constitution authorizing possession and use of cannabis (i.e., marijuana) by adults, but acknowledging that possession and sale of cannabis remain illegal under federal law; authorizing licensed adult use dispensaries to sell adult use cannabis produced by licensed medical and adult use cultivation facilities . . . .” (That is about 10% of the title.) So, under the new law, an adult in Arkansas could legally possess one ounce of marijuana for non-medical purposes, recognizing that the drug is still illegal under federal law. Users cannot grow marijuana for their own use. Medical marijuana users can use the recreational allowance and medical marijuana would no longer be taxed, but non-medical would. Students can be pushed to see the limitations of what seemed like a “no-brainer” in voting for recreational marijuana. Users can only have a small amount in their possession at any time. Recreational marijuana will be taxed. Users cannot grow their own marijuana. Marijuana retailers will be limited. Small growers will have a hard time competing with large dispensaries due to planting restrictions. The price of marijuana will go up. Some students may find the restrictions imposed on small marijuana businesses appealing because it will lessen the amount of low-quality marijuana in the market. This amendment also makes it more difficult for people under the legal age to get marijuana due to the tight dispensary restrictions. These restrictions have unfair implications for small businesses and marijuana users, which does not reflect the changes that Arkansas voters desired when they called for a recreational marijuana amendment. This all began as a grassroots effort by voters, but in the hands of the state legislature, the amendment has failed its voting population. Now Arkansas voters face a quandary: Vote for an amendment that would allow them to buy marijuana according to very strict guidelines rather than completely miss the opportunity to legalize recreational marijuana or hope to pass a more fair amendment in the future. This example shows why it is important for students to understand and consider the implications of their arguments. A good argument in theory can have adverse effects when applied to a real-life situation. "Vote"  by Alexander Beeby is licensed under CC BY 2.0   ... View more

I’ve been following the work of Kaitlyn Tiffany and Kate Lindsey, largely in The Atlantic, on what they call “the Millennial Internet era” and its gradual demise, at least as they see it. And thinking about millennials got me thinking even more about the names or labels for such “generations” in twentieth and twenty first-century America. As my grandmother would have said, it’s a puzzlement. Millennials supposedly include those born roughly between 1981 and 1995, and this group falls fifth among the American “generations” usually acknowledged:  The Greatest Generation (1901-27) The Silent Generation (1928-45) Baby Boomers (1946-64) Generation X (1965-80) Millennials (1981-95) Generation Z (1996-2010) Generation Alpha (2011-25) According to this lore, I am part of the Silent Generation, though when I was coming of age in the sixties, I thought I was part of the Beat Generation, or the Civil Rights Generation: I don’t remember ever hearing “silent” applied to my cohort in those days and wouldn’t have recognized the label if I had. (I’m wondering which of these cohorts you belong to and what your own perceptions were and are of the accuracy of that label.) At any rate, Tiffany and Lindsey see the millennial view of the world and especially their experience of the Internet either “slipping away” or becoming cringe-worthy, relegating them to technological has-beens who must adapt to new ways of doing things or become obsolescent, and very quickly. As proof, Tiffany writes that the early file format “GIF is on its deathbed,” largely because “GIFs have gotten way overused” and are no longer reflective of creativity or innovation. And because Gen Z associates them with millennials. More proof comes from the prominence of the “millennial pause” (waiting a split second after hitting “record” before starting to speak), no longer necessary in the age of Tik Tok, and from the decline of Instagram and Facebook. The solution lies, the authors say, in learning to give up old ways of interacting and adapting—quickly! Of course we all have lived with shifting technologies all our lives, and many have become fairly agile at adapting to them—cross-generational adaptations, if you will. But I am still interested in and puzzled by the names of these generations and of how such titles tend not only to characterize people in a particular era, but stereotype them. In this regard, a writing assignment based on this concept of “generations” seems like a potentially useful one for students today. They might begin by interviewing grandparents (or great grandparents) and parents and asking them what they think about the “generation” their birthdates group them into. They can choose one of these “generations” and do research on it, finding out how it got its name, what its supposed characteristics are, major events that occurred during its span, and so on. Or they might do the same for their own “generation,” investigating its label and asking how well they feel that they fit, or don’t fit, into it. They can probe who is included in these “generations” and who is not: as I read about the “silent” generation, for example, it seems to me to include primarily white people, thus missing a huge and important segment of the population born during those years. Finally, students might compose a piece of oral history based on their conversations with family members or friends. They might write proposals for alternative labels for one or more generations, along with evidence and examples to support them. Or they might write arguments for or against the whole tradition of naming generations. And even if you do not want to engage students in such a formal assignment, the concept of “generations,” their titles, their inclusions and exclusions, and their alternatives can make for lively class discussion followed by a short writing on a focused question.  As to the “end of the millennial Internet era,” I’d love to hear what students in your classes right now think of that!   The image in this post, "Gen Z" by EpicTop10.com, is licensed under CC BY 2.0. ... View more

As we approach the midterm elections, we’re steeped in the inflammatory rhetoric of polarizing advertisements and debates that are often just an exchange of zingers, if they happen at all. A recent New York Times analysis reveals that fewer candidates are showing up for those public conversations: “Many candidates are sticking instead to safer spaces: partisan news outlets, fund-raisers with supporters, friendly local crowds. The result is a profound shift in the long traditions of American campaigns that is both a symptom of and a contributor to the ills afflicting the country’s politics.” With dwindling models of democratic rhetoric in the public sphere, our writing classrooms can be a space where we offer tools for students as they gain confidence in understanding what’s at stake in political conversations. Past Bedford Bits writers have offered inspiring classroom activities that are both evergreen and timely. For example, Tracy Gardner offers a Political Meme Scavenger Activity in order to “discuss argument and persuasion, the underlying political messages, symbolism, language strategies, and visual rhetoric.” With “Grumpy Cat” as a hook (though you could select your own meme), it’s an appealingly accessible assignment that moves students toward deeper conversations about effective communication. Donna Winchell has a similarly adaptable assignment for looking for logical fallacies in political discourse. You could certainly add additional logical fallacies to her suggested list (though a class can get pretty far looking for examples of “hasty generalization,” the “straw man” fallacy, and the “either/or” fallacy. In the sixth edition of our book, From Inquiry to Academic Writing, co-authored with Stuart Greene, we offer readings and assignments that might help students understand why some of the most polarizing political conversations right now are happening in school board elections. After all, those debates are often, quite literally, about what counts as essential knowledge. In our assignments, we invite students to consider their own experiences with high school textbooks in relation to David Tyack’s pithy essay, “Whither History Textbooks?” and Alia Wong’s more extensive, “History Class and the Fictions of Race in America.” By better understanding the business of textbook production, and critically analyzing the extent to which they were invited to learn historiography in their own high school classrooms, college students can start to see the power dynamics involved in all knowledge production. That framework can deepen students’ analysis of every piece of writing in your classroom, and beyond. As we all grapple with this particularly worrying moment for our democracy, it might be eye-opening to invite our students to consider Jonathan Haidt’s argument, from the May 2022 Atlantic Monthly, in which he explains our current polarization this way: Social scientists have identified at least three major forces that collectively bind together successful democracies: social capital (extensive social networks with high levels of trust), strong institutions, and shared stories. Heidt blames social media for weakening all three. As he says, in 2009, Shortly after its “Like” button began to produce data about what best “engaged” its users, Facebook developed algorithms to bring each user the content most likely to generate a “like” or some other interaction, eventually including the “share” as well. Later research showed that posts that trigger emotions—especially anger at out-groups—are the most likely to be shared. Your students will have plenty to say about these claims and their experiences of using social media, even if they have left “old peoples’ Facebook” far behind. Whether or not you decide to analyze political rhetoric in your classroom, your students are experiencing the volatility of this cultural moment every day. Our writing classrooms are just the place to help them gain confidence in understanding the crisis in our democracy, and how language has been part of the problem and must be part of the solution.   Photo by Priscilla Du Preez (2017) used under the Unsplash License. ... View more

  Last week I wrote about attending a webinar discussion on translanguaging organized by Shawna Shapiro, one I left with lots of new information, ideas—and questions. I’ve been encouraging what is now called “translingualism” or “translanguaging” as well as code-meshing in my textbooks since 1999, so the more recent work in this area is nothing short of thrilling to me. Last week’s webinar took me back not only to my work on recognizing and celebrating the vibrancy and validity of all languages and dialects but to work I’ve done on a forthcoming anthology of rhetoric and writing. For that volume, I was tasked with putting together a “coda” on rhetoric and writing in the 21st century. And I can’t think of a task that has given me more grief! After all, we are still fairly early in the 21st century, and the rate of change is, well, astronomical. In the thirteen years that I’ve spent working on this volume (with a small team of dedicated and glutton-for-punishment section editors), I have revised the coda three times, and I believe I could revise it almost every month from now until publication. But enough of ranting! What the webinar last week took me back to a paper I happened to run across by Xuan Wang: “’I Am Not a Qualified Dialect Rapper’: Constructing Hip-Hop Authenticity in China,” an excerpt from which I have included in the anthology coda. In it, Wang analyzes and discusses a piece of hip-hop (created and published on the internet) that is an amalgam of hip-hop, Putonghua Chinese, fangyan/dialect, and English. In other words, a fairly spectacular piece of translanguaging. I eventually tracked Wang down (at the time, she was associated with the Tilburg University in the Netherlands) and learned more about the ethnographic approach she uses in this paper and also about several other pertinent publications. Wang is careful to describe the rapper’s context—a very small village in a very remote area of China where a deeply marginalized dialect is used—and to point up the ways in which the piece resists marginalization along with sanctioned “moves” and genres. When, just a week ago, I received the latest issue of College Composition and Communication, I was once again reminded of Wang’s essay: the lead article in this issue—“Hip-Hop and the Decolonial Possibilities of Translingualism,” by the brilliant Esther Milu—focuses on hip-hop in Kenya. The article opens with Milu in a translingual conversation Jua Cali, a well-known Kenyan artist, pulling readers in and demonstrating translanguaging at work. Cali insists that Milu come, right this moment, to join him at a conference at the Kenyan Cultural Center on how hip-hop artists in Kenya are using translanguaging, and why they are doing so. The how turns out to be pretty obvious, but the why brought forth a complex response from Cali, who said translanguaging challenged the predominant status of English in Kenya, supported the preservation and nurturing of Kenya’s translingual culture, and did so successfully through hip-hop music (378). Milu examines each of these whys in detail and also makes powerful connections between them and her own embodied translingual identity. Finally, she points to the fact of the “diversity of Black language identities, subjectivities, and voices in the field” and asks “how might awareness of Africa’s translingual history change how we theorize Black rhetorics and Black language pedagogies” (405). This is anything but a simple question, answers to which impact not only Black students from countries like Africa or students of color from China, but Black and students of color born and raised in the United States. And I would argue that such awareness needs to be part of every single writing teacher’s knowledge base as well as the knowledge base of all students in our writing classes. I have learned a lot from studying translingualism and translingual approaches to writing instruction and learning. But it’s clear I have so much more to learn, from scholars like Wang and Milu—and from hip-hop artists around the world (thanks to H. Samy Alim for his work on the latter!) ... View more

In the third edition of Signs of Life in the USA, Sonia Maasik and I added a new chapter of readings titled “It Was a Dark and Stormy Night: The Codes of Popular Literature.”  We thought that this would offer a useful addition to the usual topics covered in popular cultural textbooks, enabling composition instructors and other adopters of the book to expand their students' awareness of the many windows on American life and consciousness that cultural semiotics can open. As I wrote then, in the introduction to the new chapter, “Whatever the genre, popular texts all have in common the way that they reflect back to their readers what they most desire. This is what makes them entertaining.”  The adopters of the third edition of Signs of Life appear not to have agreed, because that chapter was not used very much during the life of that edition, so Sonia and I did not revive it in subsequent editions. But, as I continue to contemplate what I am calling the “under the radar” dimensions of American popular culture, I think that here is still another place to look for those signs of life in the USA that are not getting sufficient attention. Of course, best-selling fiction that has been adopted for television and the movies—like how J.R.R. Tolkien and George R.R. Martin have been mined again and again for such purposes--gets plenty of attention. What I am thinking of here, however, is the vast amount of printed literature that somehow always seems to have the label “A New York Times best-seller” boldly displayed on its cover. These are the books that avid readers of popular fiction often are reluctant to admit to enjoying (especially if they are academics!). But as I find myself finally picking up the light reading that Sonia so much enjoyed—and that I could not bear to toss out—I am seeing a glimpse of the semiotic opportunities that pop fiction can offer. What follows is a brief summary of what I have noticed: Sonia loved detective mysteries, but not violent ones. Her favorite writer in this regard was the late Sue Grafton, but she also liked cat-centered detective novels written by such authors as Lilian Jackson Braun and Ali Brandon, as well as contemporary Swedish procedurals. So that's what I've been reading, along with a rereading of the quite remarkable novel by Peter Hoeg called Smilla's Sense of Snow. And, as disparate as all these books are, I have been struck by a common thread running through all of them: the inclusion of extremely wealthy characters. In Braun’s case this is the protagonist, who has unexpectedly (for him) inherited a billion-dollar fortune, but it could also be a side-kick or an antagonist of some kind. The main thing, it seems, is to have someone around who can enable the author to describe all the perquisites of extreme wealth—the designer mansions, the fancy cars, the personal attendants, the expensive restaurants, the constant travel, the fawning way with which they are treated… and so on and so forth. It is easy to take this superfluity of riches for granted in popular culture—whether medieval or modern in its setting—because it is everywhere. But this is precisely why we need to question it, asking, “what does this tell us?” In classical and medieval times, the answer to such a question was easy: rich and powerful characters dominated the literature of those eras because literature (as opposed to the artifacts of folk culture) was created for, and consumed by, the ruling classes. But for a country like the United States, which has always claimed as one of its most cherished values a dedication to “the people”—to the “common man”—a mass cultural fixation on wealth seems contradictory. And it is, but this very contradiction is fueled by the cherished American mythology that has long been called “The American Dream.” The promise of the American Dream is one of dramatic upward mobility from poverty to riches, not a static existence within the middle class. Thus, we find a paradoxical situation in which the world's first mass middle-class society is ambivalent about itself, ever striving upwards and fantasizing about reaching the socioeconomic top of the heap, whether through personal effort and hard work or, as we often see in popular fiction, an inheritance. This is not trivial, and it marks a significant shift from the days when American popular culture was largely focused on middle-class protagonists (like the families portrayed during the golden age of the television sit-com, or, for that matter, such middle-class detectives as Raymond Chandler's Philip Marlowe and TV's Columbo). Though there are a few signs that audiences are getting fed up with the increasing divide between America's haves and have-nots—as reflected in the popularity of TV series like “The White Lotus” or the dystopian nightmare of “Squid Game”—there is still a cultural fixation on the rich. This is evident with the topics that dominate the conversation on pop culture today: the warring kings and queens in “Game of Thrones” and “House of the Dragon,” the stately estates of “Downton Abbey” and “Bridgerton,” and the ongoing obsession with the British royal family. The message is clear enough: consumers of popular culture are turning to fantasies of great wealth, even as the once-cherished American middle-class splinters in the face of a new gilded age.   Photo by Ashin Suresh (2021) used under the Unsplash License. ... View more

What will you fight for? Stenciled graffiti, black letters on gray concrete sidewalk, near Madison Square Park, Manhattan, NYC, October 2018.  Photo by Susan Bernstein   Recently, I attended a Board of Trustees (BoT) for the public university system in my community. At the hearing, members of the university community, including students, have an opportunity to testify about system-wide concerns and concerns at individual campuses. After submitting testimony to the BoT Dropbox and intending to testify in person, I could not stay. As the evening wore on, I knew that my name was near the bottom of a very long list of speakers, and previous speakers had already, and very eloquently, articulated my concerns.    But there was another reason. In listening to the testimony of my colleagues, I felt overwhelmed with grief and sadness by the many longstanding systemic and structural problems of the university system. The university system now faces many difficulties exacerbated by years of neglect, and the simultaneous defunding and devaluing of public higher education.   I was close to tears and shaking inside, and I needed space to process what I was hearing. A walk in the cold evening air might help, but I knew I needed to go home.   Before leaving, I jotted down concerns from my colleagues’ testimony for the BoT. Here is a short list, much of which would be familiar to anyone working in public postsecondary education: Contingent faculty outnumber tenure-track faculty. These contingent faculty, including graduate students, are poorly paid and have no job security. There is a shortage of full-time faculty, and a shortage of new full-time, tenure-track faculty due to retirements and hiring slowdowns. As a result, the university lacks: Sustainable support for mentoring, advising, and mental health counseling for students, especially students of color, and first-year undergraduates Sufficient numbers of tenure-track faculty to sustain department infrastructure Because funding is precarious and not guaranteed, Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion programs with documented successful results are at risk of shutting down   Perhaps most distressing of all, many speakers offered testimony regarding the pending demolition of the school of nursing at one of the older campuses. The school of nursing shares space with a residence hall, a food pantry, emergency housing, and a support center for older adults, among other services. The demolition of this space is to make room for a new “state-of-the-art” campus for health science education facilities.   Even as new buildings are constructed, older buildings are in serious disrepair resulting in egregious and long-term accessibility problems. My colleagues gave powerful testimony regarding how these problems impact our own campus. My colleagues’ experiences are corroborated in my own testimony. A slightly revised version of my testimony follows:   I testify today on behalf of our students to bear witness to the ventilation problems that students experienced long before the Covid-19 pandemic began. Since then, nothing has changed and, with the realities of Covid-19, these problems hold new urgency. The following four problems, among many others not listed, cause students the most suffering as they attempt to pursue their education: Classrooms as hot as 85 degrees with no windows and no working fans. Students walk out of class to avoid asthma attacks, vomiting, and fainting. Airtight classrooms with no ventilation and bright fluorescent lights. The lack of ventilation causes breathing problems and the fluorescent lights cause migraines. Fourth floor classrooms where strong winds blow straight and hard into open windows, disrupting lectures and discussions. The window air conditioners in these rooms are unusable, as they are so loud that students cannot hear themselves speak.  Elevators that are too small to allow social distancing and too small to fit wheelchairs, and therefore are in violation of the Americans with Disabilities Act. In other words, in addition to being frequently broken, the elevators cannot accommodate people with mobility challenges, breathing difficulties, and other disabilities, and disabled people cannot access their classrooms.   In other words, the damage is real, past and present. But a better world is possible. Fix the ventilation now, before the next emergency. Thank you for your time and attention. ... View more

  Elizabeth Catanese is an Associate Professor of English and Humanities at Community College of Philadelphia. Trained in mindfulness-based stress reduction, Elizabeth has enjoyed incorporating mindfulness activities into her college classroom for over ten years. Elizabeth works to deepen her mindful awareness through writing children's books, cartooning and parenting her energetic twin toddlers, Dylan and Escher.   How do your students gain energy? Do you have a class full of introverts who gain their energy by quiet, reflective activities? Or do you have a class comprised of extroverts who need interactions with others to thrive? I sometimes ask my students whether they identify as more extroverted or more introverted. Depending on the semester, the split can be anywhere from fifty-fifty to one-third introverts and two-thirds extroverts, mirroring some studies done in the general American population. And, of course, there is the important, binary-resisting, ambivert designation which always pops up in a segment of the classroom population. Regardless of numbers, though, an important takeaway is that I have never had a class where there were no self-identified introverts. It is a form of diversity in our classrooms, and I’ve found it important to make space for more introverted ways of being in our classes. As we ask students to speak up, what ways can also help them to learn more quietly?   Once a student in my Intercultural Communication class at Community College of Philadelphia suggested that Disney should never have gay characters. A commotion broke out and everyone wanted to share their thoughts. I rang my meditation bell—which I usually use to start mindfulness practices in class—and asked each student to first write about their thoughts on the issue, then comment on it aloud, one after the other, without responding to any of the comments they heard. Then I asked everyone to write again about their overall perspective after hearing the voices of their classmates, noting if anything about their perspectives had shifted. Asking students to respond in writing first is helpful for some introverted students. It allows thoughts to be gathered before they are expressed. Additionally, sharing without direct response/feedback is common in some religious traditions like Quakerism, where one can share in community without engaging in more conventional dialogue. It made sense to structure the conversation this way, but I wasn’t sure if the activity would be successful. The results of this particular activity were surprising; while in the cacophony of voices that had originally erupted several people had agreed that Disney should not represent gay characters, once we had completed this activity, everyone, including the student who had initially suggested the stance, had changed their mind. What was most interesting to me was not the content of the discussion—though it was an important conversation—but rather how rare it is, especially in the America we live in today, for opinions to change that quickly. I attribute this, in part, to the thoughtfulness of the quieter students (some I’m sure who identified as introverts) who may not have otherwise gotten to share their rationales had they not been asked to write first and had this been a more traditional back and forth discussion. This approach certainly doesn’t work for every discussion, but it is a powerful tool to have in one’s back pocket. The previous example was one where writing occurred concurrently with sharing. Such an activity can be productive, but I’ve also learned that it’s fine to have students write something and not share it, not turn it in, and not have an audience for it other than themselves! I often include “recap/reflection” questions so that students can pause and think about course content. Sometimes I ask for volunteers to share, and sometimes I simply let the activity allow students to connect with their own thoughts through writing—nothing more. A final way to make space for introverts in the classroom is something I call self-advocacy points. If students extend the conversation from class with me via e-mail, they get one point of extra credit. Telling me, for example, more of their thoughts about Taoism in a Humanities class, or additional questions they have about thesis statements in an English class, helps to boost their grade. Relatedly, in classes where participation is given a point value, emails can be substituted for verbal participation in class. Students who take advantage of these points are often students who have a lot of fear speaking in class or are hugely drained by the activity. They may be thinking of an idea to share and by the time they are ready, the time to share has passed. When I receive emails, I will sometimes then make space for students to share in the next class the perspective that they have already rehearsed in an email to me. In the past, this has encouraged some students to speak more during the class as well. Setting up a self-advocacy chat or a space to continue discussions after class in an online platform would work equally well.  It is perhaps no secret that I am an introverted professor. At first, I felt that I had to teach in the most extroverted way possible and train my students to be outspoken. It was only when I began to accept and value my own introverted identity that I started to make space for introverted modes of being in my classroom. It has added texture and variety to my activities. I’ve also found that embracing human variation in the activities we create for the classroom is another way to love our own human variation and a way to gain energy as educators. ... View more

Throughout all the editions of Elements of Argument, the concept of the warrant has been the most difficult to teach. In fact, we recently started using the term assumption because it was a more familiar term. Instead of discussing what warrant underlies an argument, we speak in terms of what assumption you must accept in order to accept the evidence offered in support of a claim. The more examples we can draw from headlines, the easier it will be for students to find the assumptions that underlie the arguments they hear and read about in the media and to analyze the critical relationships among claim, support, and assumption. Identifying the underlying assumptions held by opposing sides in an argument can also help students see why it is so difficult to find a common ground. Look at how the terms can be applied to this argument: Claim: Abortion after sixteen weeks of pregnancy should not be allowed in our state for any reason. Support: Killing an unborn child after sixteen weeks is murder. Underlying assumption: A fetus of sixteen weeks is a person with the same protection under the law as any other person.   In order to accept the support as proof of the claim, you must first be able to accept the underlying assumption. On the other hand, anyone who cannot accept the underlying assumption will not be able to accept the claim. Consider these statements: Claim: It should be legal to terminate a pregnancy if the fetus is not viable. Support: A non-viable fetus can never develop into a child that can survive outside of the womb. Underlying assumption: It should be legal to terminate a pregnancy that cannot produce a child that can survive outside the womb. This type of analysis can be applied to an argument on any subject. Claim: Voting by mail should not be allowed in our state. Support: Voting by mail increases the possibility of voter fraud. Underlying assumption: Forms of voting that increase voter fraud should not be allowed. There is nothing wrong with the form of this last argument, but of course, the support offered must be verifiable for the argument to be valid. The writer or speaker would have to offer convincing evidence that mail-in voting increases the possibility of voter fraud. So far, there seems to be little evidence to support that assertion of widespread fraud. Over sixty court cases have failed to prove fraud in the last presidential election. In a recent interview with Jon Stewart, Arkansas Attorney General Leslie Rutledge, who is currently running for Lieutenant Governor, defended her state’s decision to ban gender-affirming care for transgender youth. Trans reporter and MSNBC Opinion Columnist Katelyn Burns writes, “In the interview, Stewart grounded his questions in fact, asking Rutledge what basis she had to overrule all of the major medical associations that have designed standards of care for trans minors over the last several decades. In the face of Stewart’s gentle pushback, Rutledge dissembled, remarking that she ‘wasn’t prepared to have a Supreme Court argument’ with Stewart at that particular time. The interview was notable because Stewart called out the attorney general’s arguments in real-time, such as when she tried to claim that 98% of all youth with gender dysphoria eventually grow out of it. ‘That is an incredibly made-up figure,’ Stewart replied, as Rutledge failed to name a single source for her claims.” When Rutledge does face the Supreme Court, she must be prepared to provide evidence to back up her claim and the assumptions on which she bases her argument. This is an important lesson about argumentation that we hope all of our students will learn. "Newspaper Collection, Three Headlines, July 2016"  by Daniel X. O'Neil is licensed under CC BY 2.0 ... View more

Today’s guest blogger is Kim Haimes-Korn, a Professor of English and Digital Writing at Kennesaw State University. Kim’s teaching philosophy encourages dynamic learning and critical digital literacies and focuses on students’ powers to create their own knowledge through language and various “acts of composition.” She likes to have fun every day, return to nature when things get too crazy, and think deeply about way too many things. She loves teaching. It has helped her understand the value of amazing relationships and boundless creativity. You can reach Kim at khaimesk@kennesaw.edu or visit her website: Acts of Composition Overview Americans in particular should study their popular arts the better to understand themselves. The media inform their environment, make suggestions about ways to view themselves, provide role models from infancy through old age, give information and news as it happens, provide education, influence their opinions, and open up opportunities for creative expression. Culture emanates from society, voices its hopes and aspirations, quells it fears and insecurities, and draws on the mythic consciousness of an entire civilization or race. It is an integral part of life and a permanent record of what we believe and are. While future historians will find the accumulated popular culture invaluable, the mirror is there for us to look into immediately. [from Handbook of Popular Culture, M. Thomas Inge, ed. (1989)] 1955 15-minute Meat Loaf recipe https://clickamericana.com/category/media/advertisementsThis post is the second of 3 posts from the Generation Project series. Teachers can use this assignment as part of the series or on its own as a stand-alone classroom activity. This component of the project extends on student’s work in exploring the historical context of their assigned generation and asks them to locate and analyze popular culture artifacts to reveal ideas, values, and behaviors of their designated generation. They influence us, persuade us, and affect our feelings, thoughts, and behaviors. Popular culture is generally defined as “everyday objects, actions, and events that influence people to behave in certain ways” (Sellnow 3). In the past, popular culture took the form of print and traditional media, propaganda, and other material objects. Today we can include a variety of digital media texts such as Twitter, memes, Tiktok, and other social media artifacts. Popular culture draws on mass appeal and consumption behavior that shape cultural identity and generational tendencies. It is not difficult to look around and see that these everyday objects and media artifacts are everywhere in our daily lives both in the present and the past. We experience them through advertisements, music, television, and the Internet. Exploring and analyzing these artifacts engages students in thoughtful research beyond historical facts and defining moments and provides new lenses for understanding generational research. It helps them triangulate their ideas as they look at layers of influence and engage in meaningful rhetorical analysis of a variety of multimodal artifacts. Steps to the Assignment Although students interact with these artifacts every day, they might not understand why they are significant. I start the conversation by offering definitions and examples through background readings such as Sociological Definition of Popular Culture and the PBS Idea Channel’s engaging videos on the subject: Does Popular Culture Need to Be Popular? Next, I ask students to analyze artifacts from different time periods which gets them out of their own cultural moment and offers a comparative framework. I happen to have a hearty collection of vintage magazines that I bring to class but have also used online resources that are easy to search and access (e.g., “search: advertisements from the 50’s” or dedicated sites such as Click Americana that features “vintage and retro memories.” Each student (or together in groups) chooses an artifact to analyze and discuss. They look at rhetorical arguments, identifying ideologies, and visual messaging. I ask them to extend their thinking to the cultural moment of the time period and compare it to their modern culture to show how ideologies shift and change depending on context. Students present to the class by sharing the artifact and supporting their ideas through particular details, visual references and textual examples. Other students can contribute their ideas during the presentations. This step can also work as a discussion post in an online setting. Once they have a general understanding of how to analyze the artifacts, I turn them back to a generational time period. Their ultimate goal is to understand the ways these artifacts shape their generational research of the five living generations (See Part 1 for focus years) at a particular point in time. Each student locates and analyzes the following cultural artifacts for their focus years: Material/Commercial (advertising, products, etc.) Film Art Music Literature Language (slang, saying, phrase, etc.) Fashion Food Something of their own choosing Students create a page on their Google sites in which they include: a representative image for each artifact. image citations: Many of these images are in the public domain but students cite and link to the original source of the image. a short description/analysis/interpretation of the artifact in which they describe ideologies, values or beliefs they interpret from the artifact. In the final step of the assignment students write an overview in which they read across their collection of artifact sources and focus on ideologies, values and ideas that they discern from their collection. Through this, they will cross-link to the individual artifacts in their discussion. I require that they include at least 3 embedded links and multimodal components in this post. Note: Although I have students post to their Google sites as interactive documents, it is easily modified for other formats. Reflections on the Activity This popular culture activity promotes strong research practices including source location, analysis, and documentation. It expands notions of research as students learn to triangulate their perspectives and understand the importance of multimodal artifacts to reveal significant insights. By looking at artifacts such as film, advertisements, music, literature, and language, students begin to put together a more complete picture for their generational portraits. Students nurture a critical eye for understanding the artifacts they encounter every day and it helps them realize that popular culture artifacts are actually complicated reflections that reveal and shape life as we know it. Sellnow, Deanna D. The Rhetorical Power of Popular Culture: Considering Mediated Texts. 3rd ed., SAGE, 2018. Stay tuned – next post – Part 3: Generation Collaborations ... View more

In my FYC with corequisite course this semester, I am experimenting with alternative grading to encourage students to engage with course activities and threshold concepts instead of grades. This past week, we reached the mid-point of the term, and I asked students to reflect on what they are learning about themselves as writers, readers, and language users.    For over half the students in the course, the system seems to be working as I intended: these writers are completing assigned preparation work, meeting with writing fellows, asking questions, contributing to discussions and peer reviews, and experiencing some ah-ha moments. They’ve produced multiple drafts (a literacy narrative, a discourse community profile, summaries, reflections, and a multimodal remix), and their consistent participation has earned them solid process grades. They’ve expressed surprise at the amount of work required, the extent of my feedback, and their own success. In short, they have engaged, fully, in this first-semester college writing course.    But for the remainder of the class, success in the alternative system has been elusive: they have routinely skipped required preparation, failed to share or submit drafts in progress, written cursory responses in peer reviews or asynchronous discussions, neglected my feedback, and overlooked significant instructions (often noted in bold and reiterated via email and our chat group). Their current process grades—which will contribute 60% to their final score—reflect their lack of engagement.    In some cases, I know why they are struggling: sudden changes to work schedules, hospitalization, Covid, a death in the family. Others report being unable to manage their time, lacking (or not understanding) technology, not finding the resources I’ve posted, and just not seeing the point of it all.   A picture of an empty lecture hall. Photo by Changbok Ko on Unsplash Here’s the question: with half the course remaining, how can these students get back on course, get back up to speed? Are there on-ramps by which they can re-engage in the process?    Take the case of a student who missed a couple of classes and returned on a day I had set aside for uninterrupted writing (a 90-minute block of time for composing is a luxury for many of my students). About ten minutes into the session, this student approached and placed her laptop on the table in front of me. “I can’t seem to get started,” she said. I saw a blank Google Doc on the screen. I probed a bit. Had she watched all three assigned videos and completed the related preparatory steps?  No—she had begun with one video and a pre-writing exercise the week prior to her absence, but nothing else. During the week she missed, she had disengaged. It did not matter that all needed materials were posted and easily accessible: she disconnected completely from the course for a week. She had no idea how to proceed.   She needed an on-ramp to re-engage and meet the latest writing target—without losing more process points along the way. Together, we worked through one of the missing preparatory assignments (a planning chart), listed two additional steps to tackle at home, and then set a reasonable completion date (along with an opportunity to work with a Writing Fellow the next week). While she won’t recoup all the points she missed, she can get back into the rhythm of the course within a few days.     But now consider the student who completely disappeared for two and half weeks, during which he did not communicate with me or his classmates, nor did he log into the online repository of course materials and resources. He then emailed to let me know about his planned return.  He knew his situation was precarious, but he did not want to withdraw and lose the 5 weeks he had invested. He was seeking an on-ramp to re-engage and complete the course.      The same week this student contacted me, I received an email from another student, hospitalized and facing a life-changing diagnosis; she would have to miss nearly two weeks of class. The hospital internet was spotty, but she would do her best to catch up once she was discharged. Her life demanded that she disengage, at least for a few days, and she wanted to know where the on-ramp would be when she could return.      Much has been written, researched, and (quite frankly) assumed about abysmal completion rates in developmental and corequisite writing courses. There are certainly times when students need to withdraw or repeat our courses; these occasions, however, carry significant repercussions, from financial aid to degree progress, for the students involved. Early alert systems, intrusive advising, academic coaching, peer mentors—these are all systemic institutional efforts to keep students learning, engaged on a track to completion.     As an individual instructor, I can support these initiatives by designing individualized on-ramps when appropriate and feasible. At the same time, I must admit that these on-ramps require a lot of additional time and effort from me. If I had only one course, only a handful of students, it might be different. My workload, however, is much more extensive, as I suspect most of yours are. So I am wondering if there are ways to build such on-ramps into the syllabus or course design earlier, to create these flex points for re-engagement in advance. In truth, I am not sure what exactly this would look like.     If you teach FYC or corequisite courses, particularly with under-represented populations—or if you have adapted alternative grading (even ungrading)—how do you support students who want to re-engage after a brief break in participation? I would love to hear from you.   Want to offer feedback, comments, and suggestions on this post? Join the Macmillan Community to get involved (it’s free, quick, and easy)! ... View more

Today's Tiny Teaching Story is by Lauri Mattenson. Lauri is a Lecturer with UCLA Writing programs.   Holding Zoom Space She’s sitting in her empty bathtub, laptop propped up on a stack of towels, because there’s no room anywhere else in the apartment. He’s in his garage using his neighbor’s wifi. She’s on academic probation and never submitted a draft. They are using a laptop with seven missing keys and a cracked screen. He hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in two weeks. She’s taking care of three little sisters during class. He’s the only Covid-negative person in a household of six. They are working 25 hours a week while going to school full-time. We’re weary, but we’re all here.    Submit your own Tiny Teaching Story to tinyteachingstories@macmillan.com! See the Tiny Teaching Stories Launch for submission details and guidelines. ... View more