Some Great Lines from ENGL 3030

This is not a scoff and mock session. I get enough of that at lunch. These are two passages from my Intermediate Fiction class last semester. Same girl. Man...she's got a future.

He returned the door to its resting position with the lock in place, leaving the girls alone again with the unrelenting desert heat and the obscene lullaby of the Indians in the distance.

and

The sweat on the mans face multiplied under the stare of the sun.

This kind of writing threatens to make all the other garbage worth reading, but not really. Still, it's pretty nice to know someone cares about their sentences.

The Genius in Diapers

Tonight, my wife and her family were watching Napoleon Dynamite, and I was sitting apart writing syllabi. I was well into my ART 1010 assignments when Z, the 2.5 year-old, burst into my office and crawled up on the chair next to me and began singing a song.

It went a little something like this:

Jesus was born like America.
Jesus was born on a trip, on a trip, on a trip.
He was on a trip, on a trip, on a trip.

What else could I say but, "You're right. They were on a trip, far from home"?

Now, that first line, "Jesus was born like America," is absolutely like something Paul Simon would have written 20 years ago.

Dah-dah

Teaching is really a grand pursuit, but grading...grading is a real turd. It's really where the self-discipline I learned in graduate school becomes truly useful. I've found that I'll drift up to the department secretary's office and ask her if she needs any help counting how much colored paper is left in the copier room. I'll actually organize my files or dust. I'll talk to anyone about anything to keep from having to grade this work.

Why?

Because I know what grade they deserve without looking at their work. I know what kind of effort they have put out to learn, and more often than not, they can work the angles with the numbers and slip through the system. And like Sam Waterston in an episode of Law and Order, I must watch them slip through the fingers of the system, thinking that this is something we all must endure in order for things to move forward at all.

As you can tell from this post, I still have much to accomplish.

Wyatt's Finger

Wyatt's Finger

This is a photo I took last spring of my buddy, Rick, and his little boy, Wyatt. Rick's now over somewhere in Kuwait, armoring up his Humvee.

Destination: Kirkuk

No Soup For You

Tonight my wife came into my office while I was writing and asked me if I wanted to break the wishbone with her. I said, "sure," then we went ahead and did it.

We pulled on it pretty hard, the both of us, and it snapped furiously, pieces flying into the air. When we looked down, each of us was holding a straight stick of bone, and the crotch of the wish bone was underneath a chair.

So we're both wishless tonight.

Alisa wanted a baby boy, and I wanted my Introduction to Creative Writing course to not be cancelled.

New Look

I've had a little time while I'm waiting for a neighbor to come over and help me assess how to hook up this gas dryer I bought nearly a month ago, so I fiddled a little with my blog stylesheet and put on an image I've been working with for months.

That makes everything sound really planned out, which it really hasn't been.

What did happen is this: I was having a long conversation in the parking lot of a record shop with some old guys who were bitching about how there's no good bakery in Cedar City. I turned and noticed this one light in the parking lot of the local beauty college, and I said to myself, "That's the banner image for toddpetersen.org. I've bought the url, now I need to do something real with it."

So I went back and shot the picture with my Canon G5 on a tripod, and the rest is history.

My huge audience can rest assured that I'll be back in action a little more lately, since I'm aching for any excuse in the world to not grade essays. Who knows how long I'll be up and rolling because the good news around here is "no comp for at least a year." I've been dreaming for this.

There is a god.

Pandering to the Student

Here's the big battle for writing teachers: what to write on student drafts.

Lately I've been concerned that the standard red pen approach is actually a kind of plagiaristic pandering, whereby we aid carnal desire to earn grades without the requisite work. In other words, they want something for nothing and we feel obliged to give it to them.

To borrow from the ubiquitous 12 step discourse, the red pen approach causes professors to function as plagiarism enablers.

The mechanics of this are simple. we identify an error, mark a correction on the essay, hand that essay back to the student, who goes back to those corrections, makes them, and resubmits the essay (as a revision or part of a portfolio). We look at this new and improved essay, and say, "Now there's some progress," and reward the student with more points.

The implicit message is that professors will subsidize student success with our own work. Consequently, I think students pick up, what is for them, an important strategy -- they can maximize their grade-to-effort ratio by not worrying about error because their professors (a) allow them to revise and (b) will show them what's wrong and, more importantly, how to fix it.

In all this what we're not teaching them how to do is fundamental. We're not teaching them how to fix their own errors.

Perhaps we think something along these lines: "How can they learn if I don't show them what's wrong?"

Gotham City, er, Chicago

I've been immensely busy with a variety of things recently. March came in like a lion and went out like a lion that someone is waving a stick at.

I did have one or two moments during my recent trip to Chicago (more on that in a day or two) to snap this photo of the El and some Blade Runner-esque building.

No retouching here, just real space opera.

Chicago Space Opera