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   So... The buzz lately is Open AI language generators and Chat GPT, in particular. It’s got teachers talking, scrambling, and rethinking our roles and pedagogies in the classroom and what it means to write. No doubt, as educators, we have many concerns about the negative implications of these tools. We hear tension in our communities pointing to the major disruptive impact of these language generators, or as Steven Marche writes in the Atlantic article, The College Essay is Dead (December 2022). The essay, in particular the undergraduate essay, has been the center of humanistic pedagogy for generations. It is the way we teach children how to research, think, and write. That entire tradition is about to be disrupted from the ground up.  We will experience disruption and this tool does present us with real concerns. It is undoubtedly a major paradigm shift that asks us to rethink much of what we know about the teaching of writing. We wonder how it will challenge issues of plagiarism and intellectual property. We recognize the potential threat to students’ abilities to write and think critically on their own. We worry about a world where creativity is merely an algorithm, and the humanity of our discipline is lost.  The fact of the matter is that... we are here... there IS no turning back. We can choose to enter this conversation from a place of fear where students lose the ability to write and think critically or we can search for opportunities, new definitions, and pedagogical approaches. Theorists and practitioners, such as Professor Mike Sharple urge educators to “rethink teaching and assessment” in light of the technology, which he said, “could become a gift for student cheats, or a powerful teaching assistant, or a tool for creativity” (Marche).   Looking Back  This is not the first time in my career that I was forced to reflect on my practices because of the introduction of new technologies and tools. When we moved from typewriters to writing with computers, we had to rethink how we compose and revise. This shift opened opportunities for writers to see revision as more than correction and connected it to thinking and “Seeing again” (Re-vision). It allowed us to revise sentences during the act of composition, reorganize, and substantiate in ways that were difficult with the typewriter as a tool. It helped us to understand the recursive nature of revision beyond a lock-step process. We wondered how tools like spelling, grammar checkers, and citation generators would affect students’ abilities to spell, research and know how to write grammatically correct sentences on their own.   We were concerned when the internet hit the scene that students would no longer spend time in the library and instead find sources in ways that were much more convenient. We worried that students would no longer gain the research practices necessary to foster strong critical thinking and succeed. We had to shift our teaching to focus less on the location of sources and towards the analysis and evaluation of sources since students faced many available options. We taught them new practices such as how to use online databases, key words, and develop a critical eye towards locating themselves within a range of ideas and perspectives.   I was part of the early wave of teachers embracing multimodal composition in our writing classes. In those days, our work was met with criticism, skepticism, and fear.  Multimodal assignments were seen only as “creative” supplements to the writing of essays rather than a valid form of communication to prepare our student writers for success in college and beyond. Multimodality pushed us to think about how we defined composition and what would happen if we moved students away from alphabetic writing as their primary method of communication. We introduced multimodal texts for analysis and eventually followed with the composition of multimodal texts as a viable and compelling way to understand and express meaning. Our focus moved off the production of texts towards teaching writing as a rhetorical act through which students analyze their purposes, audiences, subjects, and contexts to come up with the best modes of delivery for their messages. We came to value rhetorical agility and new understandings of genre conventions in light of new audiences, purposes, and digital affordances. We had to redefine our definitions of originality and creativity and open our minds to the idea of remixing and recognizing the ways texts, images, sound, and motion work together to communicate meaning. We questioned our ideas on intellectual property and fair use as composition became more collaborative and participatory. We moved towards an integrated curriculum through which we engaged writers in multimodal analysis and composition throughout their writing processes – from invention to production.     Photo by Marvin Meyer on Unsplash   Looking Forward None of us can really say where this is all going and once we get our minds around these tools, things will change again. Some, such as Ian Bogost, in his article, Chat GPT is Dumber than You Think, argue that the tool does not have the ability to, “truly understand the complexity of human language and conversation” suggesting that we will seek out a human component in these texts.  I am not sure how this will play out as we learn more about the limitations and affordances of these tools. However, I do know that I will resist practices that put us in a place of fear and have our primary goal to police student writing. First, that is not a winning game and second, it is not why we teach. Instead, we can bring these ideas into the conversation in ways that will help us learn and grow.   Here are some practical ideas we can consider as we move ahead:  Let students know that we are aware of these technologies and work together with them to understand their potential and limitations. Show the tools to students. Have them play with them, discuss them, challenge them.   Study these tools as cultural artifacts in the digital landscape, including the human factors and ethical frameworks.  Use them for brainstorming and invention. AI’s can be a place for students to try out their ideas, explore sources and generate directions for research and writing. The bots can encourage us to ask thoughtful questions and follow up questions.  Understand and analyze style, tone, and voice as we can guide the tool to emulate these characteristics.  Incorporate what we already know about process approaches and scaffolding and include the tool as part of a series of incremental steps towards more finished projects.    Turn our attention towards teaching revision through thoughtful hybrid texts that recognize both student ideas and the ideas of others.    Keep our attention on teaching writing as a rhetorical act and design assignments that ask students to gain rhetorical agility.  Celebrate multimodal composition and its many possibilities for meaningful work and expand our creative and critical writing practices.   We always say that we don’t “teach tools” because tools change. Instead, we can focus on the processes of composition and develop a sense of digital intuition through which students explore new tools and learn as they go. We serve our students well to allow them to experiment with digital tools and contribute their experiences to classroom conversations and collaborative work. Ultimately, we will be OK if we keep our eyes on the prize – helping students to read, write, and think critically and recognizing the impact of their unique ideas and contributions.     Marche, Stephen. “The College Essay Is Dead.” The Atlantic, Atlantic Media Company, 16 Dec. 2022, https://www.theatlantic.com/technology/archive/2022/12/chatgpt-ai-writing-college-student-essays/672371/. Bogost, Ian. “CHATGPT Is Dumber than You Think.” The Atlantic, Atlantic Media Company, 16 Dec. 2022, https://www.theatlantic.com/technology/archive/2022/12/chatgpt-openai-artificial-intelligence-writing-ethics/672386/. ... View more

  In several of the earlier editions of Elements of Argument, we made use of the Stephen Toulmin term warrant. It proved to be a difficult term, even for some of us who were trying to teach it. It was easy enough for students to link the term claim to the term thesis statement and to link support with the term evidence.  The concept is no easier now that we have adopted the term assumption to replace warrant, but at least the word is familiar. Whatever we call it, this link between claim and support is critical to understanding others’ arguments and our own. Every day, millions of headlines are published in response to the events happening around us. These headlines are littered with the writer's assumptions about the outcome of an event. Having students explore assumptions in the headlines can help them to understand how a writer’s beliefs shape their argument. However, students should be aware that as readers, they will also establish their own assumptions about the content of the article based on its headline. Here’s an activity that you can use to have students explore their biases when reading headlines. Collect about 4-5 headlines and share them on the board. Here are a few examples of interesting headlines this week: Retirees lost 23% of their 401(k) savings in 2022, Fidelity says (from CNBC) Ohio train derailment happened moments after crew warned of axle overheating, NTSB says (from USA Today) Chile readies major earthquakes insurance with World Bank (from Reuters) London activists paint Ukraine’s flag in front of Russian Embassy (from The Washington Post) Then as a class, have students list what they assume the articles would address. Next, divide the class into 4-5 groups and assign each group an article. After reading, each group should explore whether their assumptions about the article were correct or incorrect and how their assumptions shaped their reading experience. This activity will help students to understand how their biases contribute to how they approach and navigate articles, which is important for them to keep in consideration when conducting research. Using assumptions to guide their research can cause students to only use articles that support their argument, creating a skewed discussion of a topic. You can use this activity to stress the importance of understanding all sides of an argument to effectively support and validate a thesis. Additionally, this activity can be used to connect with and understand your students. Our classrooms are more diverse now than ever before. Each student has their own intersectionality, experiences, and beliefs that can influence their assumptions. Understanding how students navigate headlines and the media can help you provide research resources for students, create guidance on how to frame their claims and support to bolster their arguments, and discern what motivated students to choose a specific topic to write about. Navigating the assumptions made in the headlines and our assumptions is the first step in finding the heart of a topic. Although arguments in the media are portrayed with a harsh right or wrong binary, as professors we must continue to remind students that argumentation is not about proving yourself right or someone wrong. Argumentation is simply a tool used to impact the people and world around us with the best uses of argumentation being when it is used to advocate for democracy, human rights, and our planet. "Question mark made of puzzle pieces"  by Old Photo Profile is licensed under CC BY 2.0 ... View more

For the past few weeks, American mass media outlets have been transfixed by the recent detection of a series of balloons floating over North American airspace. Even the BBC (U.S. edition) replaced the ongoing earthquake disaster in Turkey and Syria as its top headline with updates on the balloons, their destruction, the continuing attempts to determine just what they were, and the subsequent defense of having shot them down in the first place. Since none of these objects were at any time identified to be existential threats, the expensive scrambling of American fighter jets to blast them out of the sky raises an interesting question: why all the fuss? After all, the sky is filled with all sorts of flying objects, and it is hardly news that some of them are spying on us. Heck, so are Google, Facebook, Siri, Alexa, and our smartphones. What made these balloons so special? On the surface, the whole matter might not appear to be particularly relevant to a popular cultural semiotics analysis. However, the way that it has played out on both social media and the news, not to mention the entertaining theatricality of all those videos of exploding balloons, does have a cultural resonance. An analysis of that resonance can lead us to some conclusions that are worth noting. As always, with a semiotic analysis, we can begin with the construction of a system of associated and differential phenomena in order to define an interpretable context. It starts with the intense distrust of President Joe Biden on the part of the American conservatives, especially in the wake of his handling of America’s pullout from Afghanistan early in his presidency. This alone has put a great deal of pressure on the President to act decisively in the face of any perceived threat to national security, especially as America gears up for the 2024 presidential election. Given this, why hasn’t there been even more intense pressure on the president to act with military decisiveness in the wake of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, which surely presents a threat to our, and the world’s, security? Here, we find a striking difference in the way conservatives regard Russia with respect to China, their support for a former KGB chief, and their opposition to American intervention in Ukraine’s fight for survival. Suffice to say that the “Chinese spy balloon” has instigated far more national security fervor among conservatives than anything that Putin has done (thus taking its place alongside what former president Trump insisted on calling the “China virus”), leading to their demand for governmental action. All in all, we can see that the PRC, which Richard Nixon began to play off against the USSR in the days of “ping-pong diplomacy" (turning it into the "good" communist country in conservative eyes), is being restored to "enemy" status in right-wing circles. In such an environment, President Biden, whose re-election campaign announcement is expected at any moment, cannot afford to appear to be “soft” on China. Therefore, balloons (three of them turning out to be completely harmless), get expensively shot down in an environment that is, metaphorically and literally, filled with a lot of hot air.   Photo by Tobias Tullius (2020), used under the Unsplash License. ... View more

  A few months ago, I wrote in this space about the rise of AI chatbots like ChatGPT. Since then—like you, I imagine—I have been inundated with articles and YouTube videos and tweets about the still fairly new Open AI chatbot. We are seeing an understandable amount of handwringing among the academic community as administrators and teachers everywhere worry about academic integrity, about “the end of writing,” and even about their jobs. As with every sudden technological innovation, this one is unsettling at best and perhaps terrifying at worst. I have read a lot of the jeremiads and the end-of-the-world-as-we-have-known-it scenarios, and while I am sympathetic, I am at least for the time being inclined less to a “the sky is falling” stance and more to a cautious, careful look at how we and our students can work productively, and ethically, with this new tool. If the slide rule and the calculator didn’t bring the world to a halt, if television did not destroy education, then it seems unlikely that ChatGPT will do so. A recent New York Times piece takes this position. Author Kevin Roose recognizes legitimate fears about plagiarism and other ethical issues but goes on argue that “schools should thoughtfully embrace ChatGPT as a teaching aid—one that could unlock student creativity, offer personalized tutoring, and better prepare students to work alongside A.I. systems as adults.” He makes this argument for three main reasons: 1) that ignoring or trying to keep such AI tools away from students simply will not work: they are here and here to stay; 2) that ChatGPT can be an “effective teaching tool,” giving the example of a teacher whose students use the chatbot to create outlines for essays they are working on—and then go on to write stronger and more engaging essays as a result, or using the tool as an out of class tutor or a debate sparring partner or “starting point for in-class exercises"; and 3) that ChatGPT helps teach students about the world they live in, one full to bursting with AI technologies they will need to “know their way around . . . their strengths and weaknesses, their hallmarks and blind spots—in order to work alongside them.” I found Roose’s argument thoughtful and even-handed and his examples compelling. Still for me, in these fairly early days, I find that ChatGPT and tools like it seem most perfectly suited for play, for the ludic possibilities of rhetoric—as the example of students using ChatGPT to compose satiric love notes and poems demonstrates. But play, remember, is not “mere” play but a crucial part of learning and cognitive development. “Playing around” with language and other symbols is fundamental to growth. So my inclination is to encourage students to play with this new tool, pushing it to its limits, using it to entertain and amuse, all the while using such activities to learn about its strengths and weaknesses, the “blind spots” Roose mentions, and always testing it against their own creativity, ingenuity, and knowledge. We teachers of writing will have a lot to learn from such play!   Image by Jonathan Kemper reproduced under the Unsplash license.   ... View more

  We can spend days analyzing President Joe Biden’s January 7, 2023, State of the Union address to the joint houses of Congress. Given the response the speech has received, students of speech and rhetoric will likely be studying it for years to come. Although this State of the Union address has been rated as the most confrontational address ever, this address also illustrates the importance of audience awareness and the pursuit of common ground.  The key example of audience awareness that no one can stop talking about is how President Biden got the two parties to come to a consensus, right there on the floor of the chamber, on Social Security and Medicare. He was cautious in how he broached the subject. He referred to how some of his Republican colleagues have proposed sunsetting Social Security. Knowing that Republicans would oppose this statement, President Biden came prepared to support his statement by promising to send Rick Scott a copy of his written proposal which outlined the facts.   It was a guessing game throughout the speech at what points Speaker of the House Kevin McCarthy would signal to his Republican colleagues that they should stand by standing himself. They were actually in the embarrassing position of NOT standing in support of such generally popular ideas as better pay for teachers and aid to Ukraine. When it came to Social Security and Medicare, the majority of Republicans were eager to distance themselves from Rick Scott in his desire to cut these popular entitlement programs. They leaped to their feet to applaud America’s seniors, and once they were there, Biden pointed out that it seemed everyone agreed that we cannot do away with Social Security and Medicare. Common ground is often the starting point for moving two opposing sides toward agreement. By getting Democrats and Republicans to agree to support what is best for the elderly he seemed to decrease by a tiny degree the schism in the room. Presidents have long brought into the chamber for the State of the Union special guests who like, in this case, Tyree Nichols’s mother and stepfather, have experienced terrible and widely publicized tragedy. Biden was respectful of the couple’s loss and actually used the difference between their experience and that of his family to illustrate the racism that still exists in America. Biden recalled that he never had to warn his sons that if they were pulled over by the police, they should turn on the inside car light, put both hands on the wheel, and make no sudden moves. The common ground, of course, is that no parent should have to. When addressing an audience with polarizing views, speakers need to be aware of how easily their message can be skewed, be strategic about how they get their message across, and bolster their supporting data against loopholes. As President Biden demonstrated in his State of the Union address, sometimes finding common ground is the simplest way to ensure that the purpose of the message is heard.    "Joe Biden"  by GPA Photo Archive is licensed under CC BY 2.0 ... View more

The last time I remember technology and composition in such apparent conflict was in the early 1990s, when my colleagues and I wondered if the grammar and spell check tools provided by Word and WordPerfect gave students with access to these programs an unfair advantage over their less tech-savvy peers. Of course, using software to correct subject-verb agreement errors seems positively quaint in comparison with what students can accomplish using Open AI’s ChatGPT, and the many AI-driven programs that are sure to follow in its wake. Not surprisingly, the response to artificial intelligence as a generator of text—among both teachers and media commentators—has been overwhelming. In December, novelist Stephen Marche declared “The College Essay Is Dead,” while high school teacher Daniel Herman concluded that ChapGPT signaled “The End of High-School English.” Some Twitter users were downright apocalyptic, and even Open AI’s own CEO, Sam Altman, acknowledged, “The bad case—and I think this is important to say—is, like, lights out for all of us.” Initially, I didn’t think these doomsayers were far from wrong. One evening, a colleague and I sat down with our computers and tried to stump ChatGPT. Could AI perform a rhetorical analysis on an article she assigns each semester? It could. The grade? “This is an early assignment in the semester, so I’d say at least a ‘B.’” But how would AI do when faced with personal writing? After all, a computer program doesn’t have any life experiences to draw on, so I asked ChatGPT to write a thousand-word essay on the biggest challenge it had ever faced and what it had learned from that challenge. A couple of minutes later, I learned that AI’s biggest challenge had been the death of its mother from cancer when AI was a young teenager. The lessons learned were hardly earth-shattering—the preciousness of life, the need to stand on one’s own two (virtual) feet—but they were the sort of responses one might expect from the prompt I had posed. Right away, my friend and I wondered: If a computer program can respond effectively to assignments like those we gave it, should those assignments be changed? Maybe our first attempts were flawed. However, as we worked variations on standard first-year essay prompts, ChatGPT kept responding in what we admitted was an “acceptable” fashion. Granted, AI was lousy when it came to documentation, and it tended to come up with the most obvious responses to our questions, but the reasoning was sound more often than not, and sentence-level errors were generally absent.  Clearly, we didn’t want to dive headlong into what a special session at CCCC calls “crisis-speak.” Philosophy professor Lawrence Shapiro argues that “the cheaters are only hurting themselves—unless we respond to them by removing writing assignments from the syllabus.” Focusing solely on plagiarism runs the risk of depriving students of the writing practice many of them so desperately need. Moreover, as Chris Gilliard and Peter Rorabaugh write in Slate: Although plagiarism is an easy target and certainly on the minds of teachers and professors when thinking about this technology, there are deeper questions we need to engage, questions that are erased when the focus is on branding students as cheaters and urging on an A.I. bakeoff between students and teachers. Questions like: What are the implications of using a technology trained on some of the worst texts on the internet? And: What does it mean when we cede creation and creativity to a machine? Nevertheless, pretending that AI doesn’t exist and carrying on as before is not a realistic option. Therefore, in the months to come, I’ll be looking at some of the many ways instructors are responding to one of the biggest pedagogical curveballs most writing teachers have ever faced. ... View more

 First-day selfie   Note: These journal entries are adapted from my teaching journal. The original entries are handwritten on the blank pages of my lesson plan book.   Day 1: January 26, 2023 writing on the train after class.  Today was my first day of teaching in person since March 10, 2020, and I am thinking of IT glitches and how they were solved. At the time, those glitches seemed significant because our face-to-face class was paperless. Until the glitches were fixed, I wondered how to find alternative access to the twenty-first century tech I used throughout the long months of remote learning, and had intended to use in person, too.  Yes, I thought, it would be possible to teach without a monitor and a smartboard. We could all just use our personal electronic devices to log into the course management system and walk through the syllabus that way, just like we did on Zoom. As I said, the glitch was soon fixed, and we returned to our post-remote world. “This is not how I intended to begin,” I told the students. The room was small and the desks were crowded closely together. I covered the key points of the syllabus, and showed the welcome video and the video to introduce our reading from James Baldwin. On the way home, on the train, I am taking notes that skim the surface. Although we made nameplates with crayons, name tags, and paper, and although we introduced ourselves to each other, the class felt too much like teaching on Zoom. This feeling is hard to admit, but I need to consider not so much why it felt that way, but what I can do to take advantage of in-person affordances. In-person affordances included the arrangement of the physical objects in the room (desks crowded together, monitor, smartboard) and the room temperature (too warm). Those were the most obvious features. The emotions gathered together in that room were less obvious. How did the students feel about being in this room and what did they think about taking this writing class? We were using the tools of remote learning in an in-person classroom. We were face-to-face and literally elbow-to-elbow in a room filled with people who were strangers to each other, and who had, perhaps, become accustomed to engaging more with devices than with people. At least this is my perception after the first day. I feel exhilarated as well, nevermind the glitches. Or, perhaps the glitches are exactly the point. What would I have done if I could not access the monitor and the smartboard? What did I do before monitors, smartboards, and functional wifi?   Day 2: January 31, 2023 writing in class while students work on their journals.  On the way to school on the train, I had an idea for how to explain an early-term assignment. I found two sticky notes and a pen and scratched down my thoughts. The train was nearing a transfer point and I would have to move quickly. When I arrived on campus, I wrote the explanation on the board while simultaneously revising. I revised for a third time when I composed an announcement for the students on the course management system. I remembered that I used to revise lesson plans like this all the time–kinesthetically, on the go, from brain to handwriting, to catching trains and buses to campus, to writing on the board, to transferring ideas to make them visible online. I remembered that I learned best kinesthetically, and that staying still could be very difficult. I remembered the tactile impressions of fingers against pen, and pen against paper. So I decided to reverse the lesson plan. Rather than beginning with the newly revised assignment, we would begin and end with handwriting. I would use Ask Me Anything (a beginning-of-semester activity I learned about and implemented long before the pandemic) to unpack the syllabus and the course, and exit tickets to help plan the lesson for the next class. I blogged about these activities years ago. Ask Me Anything invited students to ask anonymous questions for me to answer in front of the class. Often students asked different versions of the same question, and I could respond in more depth as needed. Exit tickets, adapted from Stephen Brookfield, offered students an opportunity to write about what was most helpful in class, and what was most confusing. The exit tickets also were anonymous, and I promised that I would not read them until I was on the train. The questions for Ask Me Anything, I explained, help me understand more about where students need to grow as writers. If more than one student asks the same question, then I know I need to clarify my intentions and our coursework. In an environment where students are rightly concerned about speaking in front of class, both activities create opportunities for conversation and feedback about the course, and also to participate in shaping subsequent lessons. My responses can be long, and, in that case, a best practice is to check in with students to see if my answer fits what they are asking. On day two, I received an Ask-Me-Anything question that appeared to require a longer response, and also seemed more personal. The question on the slip of paper asked: What are your pet peeves?  This room, I thought. That it's so small and that we’re all crammed together. That we don’t have HVAC ventilation, and that the room is overheated with a window that barely opens. That adults were unprepared for remote learning during quarantine, and that students, then and now, have to deal with the consequences. As adults, we need to do better. Then, after a quick realization, I paused for a moment. “Oh wait,” I said. “Do you mean my pet peeves as an English teacher? It’s five-paragraph essays. It’s hard to fully grow your ideas in five paragraphs, and important ideas might get lost in the process. We'll practice writing to expand on ideas and to create a longer essay. But that’s my English teacher pet peeve, five paragraph essays.” Growing as a writer, for students and teachers alike, can be immensely challenging, and transitions are never easy. As a neurodivergent teacher away from in-person teaching for nearly three years, I considered the costs and benefits of returning. Anxiety became a language without words, and the feelings were difficult to communicate. At the same time, experiencing the difficulties of communicating also draws me back to the classroom. In unexpected moments, the classroom can become a place to bear witness to  people attempting to communicate in circumstances that would seem to mitigate against communication.  Writing remains one means of bearing witness to journeys toward teaching and learning, with  many detours encountered on those journeys. Back in the classroom, the journey continues, and the journey is just beginning. ... View more

Today's Tiny Teaching Story is by John Hansen. John Hansen received a BA in English from the University of Iowa and an MA in English literature from Oklahoma State University. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in The Summerset Review, One Sentence Poems, The Dillydoun Review, Schuylkill Valley Journal, Eunoia Review, Litro Magazine, Wild Roof Journal, The Banyan Review, Drunk Monkeys, and elsewhere. He has presented on a variety of topics at The National Institute for Staff and Organizational Development (NISOD), The Conference on College Composition and Communication (CCCC—Regional), The American Comparative Literature Association, The Midwest Conference on British Studies, and others. He is an English Department faculty member at Mohave Community College in Arizona. Read more at johnphansen.com.   Unknown Impacts: Be Kind Early in the Fall 2020 semester, I sent e-mails to several students who stopped participating in our developmental English course. Ben responded two days later apologizing. Hours later, I answered the phone - it was Ben. Small talk quickly turned to him revealing a recent divorce, eviction, and layoff (due to COVID-19). I chatted with Ben weekly. He became one of the better writers in class. Days before the semester ended, Ben sent an e-mail about how he would have ended his life if he didn't have someone to talk with that day. I've reflected on this and Ben every semester.   Submit your own Tiny Teaching Story to tinyteachingstories@macmillan.com! See the Tiny Teaching Stories Launch for submission details and guidelines. ... View more

I always look forward to learning what major dictionaries have found to be the most “looked up” or asked about word of the year, or the word they think most captures their readers’ interests. Often I can guess or come close to what those words must be. But as I began to think about 2022, I was pretty much at sea: so many words seemed to have emerged as lightning rods that I just didn’t know what to choose. So it was with great interest that I started tracking reports coming out from dictionaries. The first one I saw came from Merriam Webster, and they chose a word that I had actually thought of: gaslighting. In their announcement, Merriam Webster noted that gaslighting, “a driver of disorientation and mistrust,” is “the act or practice of grossly misleading someone especially for one’s own advantage,” and went on to report that during 2022, lookups for gaslighting increased by 1,740 percent. Indeed, I’m pretty sure I looked up the word at least once though perhaps earlier than 2022. But given the events of 2022—and the beginning of 2023—I’d say this was a pretty appropriate choice for word of the year. Dictionary.com took me completely by surprise in choosing—wait for it!—WOMAN—as their word of the year. I was also surprised to learn that lookups for that word increased 1400 percent after Republican Marsha Blackburn asked Justice Ketanji Brown Jackson to define “woman” during her confirmation hearing. Jackson said, “No, I can’t.” At any rate, in announcing their word of the year, Dictionary.com noted that “Our selection of woman … reflects how the intersection of gender, identity and language dominates the current cultural conversation and shapes much of our work as a dictionary.” I would like to hear more about just how that shaping is at work! Wordle apparently led the Cambridge Dictionary to choose homer as word of the year after over 65,000 people rushed to the dictionary to look up this five-letter word that they were not familiar with. This informal American English word evoked what the dictionary called “the Wordle effect.”  Over at Collins, the WOTY is permacrisis, about as far a cry from homer as we could hope. In their announcement, Collins defines permacrisis as “an extended period of instability and insecurity.” This isn’t a familiar word to me, but it is one, according to Collins, that captures the sense of ongoing crisis felt in the UK and around the world. It’s interesting to note, too, that the word permacrisis is new this year to Collins Dictionary.  But the most surprising word of the year to me comes from Oxford, who has chosen goblin mode. For the first time in its history, Oxford opened the choice up—and over 300,000 people answered the call. And goblin mode won out! According to Oxford, their WOTY is “a word or expression reflecting the ethos, mood, or preoccupations of the past twelve months, one that has potential as a term of lasting cultural significance.” This slang term for a lazy, laid-back, self-indulgent way of being first appeared, according to Oxford, on Twitter in 2009, but “went viral on social media in February 2022," before rising in popularity over the following months as COVID lockdown restrictions continued to ease. "Seemingly, it captured the prevailing mood of individuals who rejected the idea of returning to ‘normal life,' or rebelled against the increasingly unattainable aesthetic standards and unsustainable lifestyles exhibited on social media.” Casper Grathwohl, president of Oxford Languages, notes that “People are embracing their inner goblin, and voters choosing ‘goblin mode’ as the Word of the Year tells us the concept is likely here to stay.”  This seems to me to be the widest spread of word of the year choices in some time, perhaps ever, and that in itself says something about the difficulty of “summing up” the year we have just been through. Perhaps that’s why the New York Times, in a “Student Opinion” piece by Natalie Proulx, offered an assignment based on word of the year. Students who are 13 and older in the US and 16 and older in the UK are invited to read Proulx’s article and then write an article announcing their own word of the year and responding to several questions Proulx poses about the words chosen by prominent dictionaries this year.  You might want to adapt this assignment for your classes: it would be a particularly effective way to start a class, because it would surely reveal how students are feeling about the world they live in today.   Image by Brett Jordan reproduced under the Unsplash license. ... View more

“Insofar as I can tell you what it is to suffer, perhaps I can help you to suffer less.”  -  James Baldwin on struggles of writing and writers. From“The Artist’s Struggle for Integrity.”   At the beginning of next year, I will return to teaching first-year writing in-person for the first time since March 2020. In reflecting on this transition, I gave myself a three-part assignment for revising the course, and starting with James Baldwin’s lecture “The Artist’s Struggle for Integrity.” This semester, as explained in a recent post, I am once again introducing James Baldwin’s lecture/essay “The Artist’s Struggle for Integrity” as the primary source for the first semester of First-Year English (College Writing 1). Ask why I need to revise the assignment By using backwards planning, I can identify the purpose of the course: to practice reading, analyzing, and writing about difficult sources, and for students to practice choosing sources (beyond Google) to support the most significant points in their own writing. To a certain extent, this English class might seem traditional, and in a sense it is because the course focuses on critical analysis of source materials. However, by sources, I include anything that can be described as multimedia including, as appropriate, students’ intersectional identities,   experiences, and language(s). Students also can refer to interpretations of media of their choosing, such as but not limited to, social media, the arts, and STEM courses. Interpretation is practiced throughout the semester, and culminates in the final assignment. My thought is to invite students to consider the contemporary relevance of Baldwin’s lecture in their own lives and in the lives of their communities.  Listen to, watch, and/or reread the source for the first assignment.  I found myself reimagining what students might need to better understand the language of the lecture. Although I made a brief video early in the pandemic to introduce “Artist’s Struggle” and Baldwin’s work, the video now seemed dated. To revise, I added more details about the connections between Baldwin’s life and work. I also revised the course introduction video to give more emphasis on Baldwin, whose writing we will study throughout the semester. Making and revising the videos helped me understand more about visual and auditory learning, beyond the words on the page or screen, as well as class discussions, group work, and minilessons. The videos compelled me to introduce complicated concepts in a very short time frame, and will allow me to return to and build on those concepts throughout College Writing 1. As I searched for video and audio of Baldwin’s many public speeches, and television (note: content alert for strong language) and radio appearances, I discovered Lofi Hiphop James Baldwin Speeches, more than three hours of Baldwin’s finest works set to lofi music. Since “Artist’s Struggle” wasn’t included in this compilation, I made my own video of “Artist’s Struggle,” set to royalty free ambient music from Bensound.com. For me, the beats of the music helped emphasize the cadence and emotion in Baldwin’s voice, and seemed to slow down the lecture, drawing more attention to specific words and phrases that I might have missed before. Years ago, in grad school, my comparative literature professor emphasized the process of defamiliarizing– making the familiar strange or new. I listen to the words and ambient music as I prepare my class, and as I write blogs– and this practice allows me to defamiliarize the lecture which, in turn, offers a new approach to Baldwin’s work and a renewed approach to teaching. Imagine students encountering this source for the first time Because I have presented Baldwin’s lecture many times, I needed a new way to hear Baldwin’s words so that I could listen more closely. I decided that I would try translation, inviting students to translate and update a 1960s source into language for 2020s readers. My ideas on teaching translation as a first assignment in a first-year writing class are informed by the work of Ayash (2020), as well as Kiernan, Meier, and Wang (2016; 2017). To clarify, here’s what I don’t mean: One-to-one correspondence between the words of the source’s original language into a target language Taking sources from students’ home languages and translating the sources into a target language (usually English) Taking sources from a target language (usually English) and translating the sources into students’ home language By translation, I mean the process of analysis–breaking down a complicated piece by piece, so that the writer and the writer’s audience can create meaning from a complicated source and come to an understanding, in their own words, of the source’s significance. Although students might engage with these practices as part of their own processes of translation, these practices, on their own, will not constitute the whole of their first writing project. What I do mean, as stated above, is taking a source written in 1900s English and translating that source into students’ 2020s languages, including multimedia. In this sense, it is important to note that Baldwin spoke Black English and French, and was steeped in his experiences as a teenage evangelist, and by the novels of the American writer Henry James. All of these languages played a role in Baldwin’s writing.  The structure of Writing Project 1 would look something like this. Note that the processes of translation are not linear, but are numbered here for clarity: What section of “Artist’s Struggle” did you choose and why did you choose it?  What details should the audience look for in the original source? Why are these details significant? After this explanation, copy the original section into your paper. What details should the audience look for in your translation? Why are these details significant? After this explanation, copy your translation into your paper. What processes did you use in creating this translation? What language(s) did you use to give the section meaning? Did you consider your own life experiences as you created the translation? Did you do any multimedia work? If so, send a link with your work, or attach a photo of your work to your paper submission, or email the photo to me. Reflect on your work for Writing Project 1 in general. What did you learn from writing this translation? What skills might be applicable to other courses or life experiences? What was your learning significant?   With these practices, I hope to refocus the affordances of in-person teaching, while at the same time staying mindful of lessons learned online. I look forward to returning to Baldwin’s lecture in the upcoming semester– and to implementing many of the important teaching tools and pedagogy from remote learning to help ground students’ learning and to continue to shape possibilities for teaching in post-lockdown face-to-face classrooms.  ... View more

A recent wintery visit to my home state Colorado reminded me that, while the cacophony of fall foliage has its delights, the subtlety of winter’s colors can draw a person into deep contemplation. This blue spruce against a clear blue sky stopped me on a frosty walk with my father. The nuanced play of azure on blue-gray-green needles held my gaze, inviting me to consider the array of tones I would have missed with a bolder contrast of colors. Because most of my brain these days is consumed with student drafts (yours, too?), this encounter with nature reminded me of the many conversations I’m having in the margins of my students’ writing about the value of nuance in scholarly arguments. New college writers tend turn the dial to 11 (thanks, This is Spinal Tap!) when it comes to constructing arguments. Perhaps this is because of the bombastic models of “argument” we so often hear on political talk shows, where speakers launch arguments like bombs: absolute, totalizing, and designed to demolish the opposition. So, it can be a challenge for students to see nuance and humility in scholarly arguments as a strength rather than a weakness.  Andrea Lunsford reminds us that humility is essential to listening in academic conversations. I have written before, too, about humility as a strength in scholarly ethos. I understand, though, why nervous students might try to over-perform confidence, and bolster their ethos, with outsized claims. You’ve seen these totalizing claims in drafts, too, I’m sure: “College sports are destructive to students;” “Social media is driving adolescents into despair;” “Students want majors that lead directly to jobs.” Without nuance, qualification, or complexity, all these claims remain fundamentally open to critique. In From Inquiry to Academic Writing: A Text and Reader, my co-author Stuart Greene and I offer a chapter on building responsible scholarly arguments. Among the guidelines are: Acknowledging points of view that differ from the writer’s own, reflecting the complexity of an issue and, Demonstrating an awareness of the readers’ assumptions and anticipating possible counterarguments. (164) These practices signal to readers that the writer is taking on an issue with nuance and humility, rather than bludgeoning the reader with simplistic bombast. We also provide steps for students to develop a nuanced ethos in their appeals to readers, since cultivating this presence on the page is essential to making effective academic arguments: Steps to Appealing to Ethos: Establish that you have good judgment. Identify an issue your readers will agree is worth addressing, and demonstrate that you are fair minded and have the best interests of your readers in mind when you address it. Convey to readers that you are knowledgeable. Support your claims with credible evidence that shows you have read widely on, thought about, and understand the issue. Show that you understand the complexity of the issue. Demonstrate that you understand the variety of viewpoints your readers may bring—or may not be able to bring—to the issue. (289) All of these habits of mind and practices on the page take time to establish, of course. I’m still honing these skills, myself. What has worked best in your classes as you guide students toward the nuance and humility we value in scholarly conversations?   Photo by April Lidinsky (2022) ... 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. Around this time in the semester, I find myself telling students that we’re almost at the finish line. The race metaphor is used by many professors in these final weeks, I think. It’s my way of cheering for my students in addition to cheering for myself, as I’m super tired too. But wanting something to be over doesn’t help anyone embrace the end of the semester. Over the years, I’ve devised some metaphorical energy drinks for students as they approach the end of our time together. One way to promote student engagement at exam time is to create a lot of classroom games. These games are high engagement on the part of students and low prep time for me. This week in my Humanities 101 class, students devised educational games based on what they learned about medieval England and The Canterbury Tales. Students brainstormed themes in The Canterbury Tales, and then I put a variety of objects on a table in the front of the room. Students used the objects to create games based on a theme or themes on the board. Some objects were the usual suspects: index cards, canvas boards (for board game designers), and game pieces (from other games). Others were a bit bizarre (play doh, stickers, some forks, and a toothbrush for comedic effect). Students opted to either read the rules of the game to the class or to have their classmates play the game for a few minutes while the class observed. The point value of this activity existed, but it was low. If students didn’t participate, it did not impact their grade much at all. I also enjoy having students generate jeopardy questions, which they write on index cards and post up with tape on the board. Sometimes I repurpose a game created for preschoolers called Snail’s Pace Race, where players move snail-shaped game pieces across a racetrack gameboard. I ask students to move their assigned snail forward one place when they get a question correct, but they also get to roll a color dice to see which random snail they will have to move forward. This game is funny because one can get nothing correct and somehow still win the game. One of the very important aspects of games played toward the end of the semester is that they must happen completely in the classroom. Imagine being at the end of a race. You are focused and ready to finish, and you approach a detour sign. It turns out that instead of running 26.2 miles, you’re actually going to have to run 30. Your morale might tank. Minimizing new take-home assignments at the end of the semester, while gamifying final in-class study days, helps maintain student energy by keeping up morale. A second way of helping students maintain their energy at the end of the semester is by reassuring them that you have their best interests at heart and desire their success. I let students know well in advance that I’m not trying to trick them. One way to avoid tricking students is not to create traps on exams; I work hard not to make any multiple-choice questions geared toward fooling students into getting the wrong answer. I also let students create some exam questions. It’s also helpful, of course, if the mode of final assessment is similar to the mode or modes of assessment all along. Many of us know this, but when it comes time for exams, I sometimes find myself wanting to do something different! Now is not the time to think wouldn’t it be fun if I asked my students to do an interpretive dance based on Gilgamesh?! I actually do have these ideas from time to time, but what matters is I do not act on them, at least not at the end of the semester. I have also learned to nurture students during exam week by including reflective questions before exams occur and especially as exam questions. I want to know from students how the end of the semester feels for them. What do they wish they had studied? What did they expect to learn in the class, and were those expectations met? What, if anything, did they learn about themselves as human beings through studying ancient cultures or through completing course assignments? When I first started teaching, I saw these forms of reflection as relevant but separate from assessment, and now I see them as more important than any fact-based question; reflection is the ultimate kind of formative assessment—while answering reflective questions, one forms the self. The points I assign reflect how much I value these questions. What we need to remember to keep evolving as human beings is not the social structure of ancient Egypt, but rather the structure of our minds and the meaning only we can make of our experiences. By encouraging students to engage playfully, trust my transparency, and reflect meaningfully as part of their final assessment, I give my students metaphorical Gatorade as they approach the finish line. ... 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 fourth of four parts. David Starkey: My wife, Sandy, and I were colleagues for many years at Santa Barbara City College. That wasn’t always great when we brought home the tensions and traumas of the job, but overall I felt having the chance to discuss everything from big-picture pedagogy to the minutiae of a writing prompt really helped me become a better English teacher. What’s been your experience of being a married couple in the same profession? Mark Blaauw-Hara: We loved being colleagues, and one of the things I miss most at my new job is not having her around. It helps that Jami is a top-notch teacher, so if I was struggling with how to address something in my classes, I could just walk down the hall to her office and ask her how she’d do it, and that would help me a lot. Jami’s right that it’s sometimes hard to remind people that we’re not the same person, though, and that colleagues should treat us as individuals rather than asking us what the other person might think or say. Jami Blaauw-Hara: We met at Michigan State University’s Writing Center when I was a brand new graduate student and Mark was at the very end of his undergraduate career. Thus, our relationship started out with a recognition of our interest in writing pedagogy. I even brought an article about hypertext to our first date, which I’m a little embarrassed about now! I would say that it’s mostly been a natural pleasure to work together, and I miss him in my department now. One challenge was convincing the campus community that we were separate individuals with different opinions and strengths. I was often asked if Mark was available to do something or if I knew when or where he was teaching. My response was always “You’ll have to ask him!” DS: I’d like to end our conversation by discussing an issue that I don’t think receives the attention it should at the college level, and that’s teacher burnout. We hear a lot these days about “quiet quitting,” but I think for many of us dedicated to teaching composition students, that’s not really an option. For me, once that first set of essays comes in the job basically becomes seven days a week until after I’ve turned in my final grades. Our long vacations are a blessing, to be sure, but those weeks in the trenches reading and responding to student prose can be really draining, no matter how much we want to help our students become better writers. Any thoughts about how our colleagues deep into their careers, as well as those just beginning, can avoid becoming casualties of too much work? JBH: I struggle with this at this stage in my career, especially when my current institution is going through some administrative changes that are challenging. When I focus on my students and the importance of human relationships, I am buoyed. Human relationships are important to me, and even though they can tire me, as an introvert, they are what ultimately bring me the most satisfaction in my job. I focus on getting to know my classes, to try to reach out and really connect to the humans who spend a semester with me. Specifically, I use grading conferences for essays where I read and grade papers in conversation with students. It has been a game-changer for me. It decreases the dreaded stack of papers to grade, and it helps me stay connected to my students as people. MBH: I can totally relate, David, and I bet a lot of other writing faculty can as well. One thing I’d recommend is cultivating some things outside of the job. For me, one of those major things I did was really dive into the larger scholarly community. Heading off to conferences or working with colleagues at other institutions on ALP not only gave me great ideas, but it buoyed me up. It’s just good to know that other people are in similar situations, in those same trenches. Another thing I did–and I know you share this, David–is lean into other passions that have nothing to do with the classroom, which for me is music. I’ve played live music in various bands for my whole career, and whether it was being in an official band, just jamming, or even going to see live shows, that helped me interact with lots of other people who were outside of education and just kept me fresh. I’m the kind of person who needs lots of different things to be going on–I don’t do too well if I focus too hard on any one thing. (I’m jealous of people who can really dig into one area and be happy for their entire lives!) DS: Well, it’s been an enlightening conversation. Thanks to both of you! MBH: It’s been really fun for us as well, David. Thank you so much for asking us to be a part of this conversation! And good luck with the book! ... View more

Content alert for sexist language, white supremacy, racist violence, and suicide.  If you are having thoughts of suicide, you are not alone. A mental health professional can help. Call or text the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 988, or visit https://www.speakingofsuicide.com/resources/    This week I am reading Heather Clark’s Red Comet, a recent biography of Sylvia Plath, poet and author of the novel The Bell Jar. I was fascinated to learn that Plath once taught as an adjunct at her alma mater, Smith College, in 1957-58. Plath had a temporary, renewable one-year appointment, and in the fall semester she taught three sections of first-year English. Plath quit this position after her first year because it was, she discovered, untenable with her life’s work as a writer. In a letter to her brother Warren in the fall of 1957, Plath reveals: . . . the sacrifice of energy and life blood I’m making for this job is all out of proportion to the good I am doing in it. . . I am sacrificing my energy, writing, & versatile intellectual life for grubbing over 66 Hawthorne papers a week and trying to be articulate in front of a rough class of spoiled bitches. (Clark 509) The excerpt of this letter, with its dated, sexist language, may be shocking to some, and Plath  probably did not intend for the public to read it. All the same, the sentiments Plath expresses are unsurprising. Teaching first-year English was new to Plath, and she had recently returned to the United States from England, where she had finished a second bachelor’s degree at Cambridge University. Plath had survived rigorous academics, severe mental illness, a suicide attempt, shock treatment, and incarceration in a mental hospital in Massachusetts. As a twenty-five year old neurodivergent woman, Plath was used to fighting her way back to the fragile equilibrium of the intellectual life that she craved. Adjuncting, as suggested in her letter to Warren, used up too much of her time and energy  to maintain a clear focus on her own writing (Clark 509). In the late 1950s, the first semester of first-year English at Smith was focused on literature written in English, especially Romantic and Modernist writers whose predominance was beginning to fade for the younger generation. Five years later, James Baldwin (eight years older than Plath) wrote “As Much Truth as One Can Bear.” This 1962 essay considers the emergence of younger post-World War II writers, and especially those writers who approach their work from a very different sensibility: We are the generation that must throw everything into the endeavor to remake America into what we say we want it to be. Without this endeavor, we will perish. However immoral or subversive this may sound to some, it is the writer who must always remember that morality, if it is to remain or become morality, must be perpetually examined, cracked, changed, made new. (Baldwin 50) For Baldwin, writers have a special responsibility to examine, dismantle, and “remake” America, not in the service of perpetuating a fantasy, but for forging new ground for the greater good, beyond individual writing lives. Indeed, in this essay, the reader can find one of Baldwin’s most well-known adages, a quote that reinforces his point about the urgent necessity of social transformation: “Not everything that is faced can be changed; but nothing can be changed until it is faced.” The fact that Baldwin and Plath wrote as near contemporaries in the late 1950s and early 1960s is interesting to me. Even as Clark contextualizes Plath’s life and work with details from post-World War II history, any consciousness of the Civil Rights Movement appears to be absent. In this way, Plath’s concerns might be seen through the lens of what Koa Beck identifies as White Feminism (also see Mathew and Hariharan).Baldwin, who was Black and grew up in Harlem, left the United States for exile in France in the late 1940s. His hope was to discover his vocation as a writer away from white supremacy in America. But in 1957, as the Civil Rights Movement continued to unfold, Baldwin returned to the United States to bear witness, to engage with writing and activism (See I Am Not Your Negro by Raoul Peck and James Baldwin: A Biography by David Leeming). I link Baldwin and Plath through the year 1957: Plath’s year as a struggling adjunct, and Baldwin’s return to the United States. In fall of 1957, nine Little Rock, Arkansas teenagers (known as the Little Rock Nine) became the first Black students to attend Little Rock’s Central High School. The Arkansas governor called in the National Guard to prevent the students from entering the school. White supremacist riots ensued to keep the Little Rock Nine out of Central High School, and eventually President Eisenhower sent the Army’s 101st Airborne Division to quell the rioting and to escort the Little Rock Nine students to school (also see Warriors Don’t Cry by Melba Patillo Beals).  Photo credit: The U.S. Army At a sixty-five year distance, it seems peculiar that the author of Plath’s biography, although making use of Plath’s copiously written journals and letters, makes no mention of these national events in Red Comet. I am puzzled by this absence, until I consider white supremacy, white privilege, and the overwhelmingly white poets of Plath’s acquaintance. What turns might American Literature have taken if that generation of poets followed Baldwin’s call to reckon with the truth? What might Sylvia Plath have contributed to this reckoning, as a struggling adjunct “sacrificing her energy”?  Work/life balance, Plath suggested in 1957, was an impossible fantasy. In 2022, life as an adjunct often feels critically unbalanced and extremely isolating. Yet, in a subsequent lecture, Baldwin advocates  that his audience must “engage in the struggle, which is universal and daily, of all human beings on the face of this globe to get to become human beings” (63). That is, even as people appear to inhabit different worlds or spheres of influence, these worlds touch each other, intersect and collide. Struggle is a means of survival, and Baldwin reiterates that his  audience must take action if change is to occur. For Baldwin, struggle for the greater good offers “artistic integrity” and is often “our only hope” (67). For adjuncts, contingent work remains destabilizing and often, as Sylvia Plath discovered, debilitating. Even so, as the struggle of the Little Rock Nine affirms, history unfurls in and out of classrooms. Participating in, and acknowledging and bearing witness to struggle might serve as a means of connection for students and teachers. In the face of formidable challenges, even acknowledgment might seem painful and exhausting, but no less necessary, in troubling times.   Works Cited Baldwin, James. “As Much Truth As One Can Bear.” The Cross of Redemption: Uncollected Writings, edited by Randall Kenan, Pantheon Books, 2010, pp. 50-57. Baldwin, James. “The Artist’s Struggle for Integrity.” The Cross of Redemption: Uncollected Writings, edited by Randall Kenan, Pantheon Books, 2010, pp. 63-70. Clark, Heather. Red Comet: The Short Life and Blazing Art of Sylvia Plath. Penguin Random House, 2021. ... 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