Running a Little Behind (teaching week 6)

Well, it was a good teaching semester.
Silly Amy, dilligence is for real adults.
The actual teaching is going fine. I think the students are getting a lot out of it. I, however, feel like I am falling further behind my goals. Not that I can articulate those.
I guess by "goals" I mean "plan"--fifty minutes is just not enough. And shaving off a few minutes here and there, then catching up eventually adds up to a whole day of missed stuff that I wanted to get across. And I'm just now feeling it.
Looking over the next unit, I keep getting nervous, wondering how this is all going to come together. And I'm just not sure how to get it all to come together. I feel like I need to spend less time on "teaching fieldworking" or "going over rhetorical terms" and more time peer reviewing and actually writing. Um. Yeah. When?
The conferences are just not long enough to do a suitable review--with five students, each student doesn't get enough attention; with two or three, they have to be spread out over such a long period of time that the unit takes forever.
And I'm behind in my own work, exhausting myself over midterm essays. When is all this research supposed to happen? Or sleep? My own health?
So now I am sitting here at 8 pm, one eye on the Sox, one eye on the computer, feeling guilty for taking an hour break. The sum of the amount of time is exactly the same as when I was in Boston. The pacing is all off, and I can't keep up.
Tomorrow I'm meeting to figure out my Burke mid-term, schedule classes, and plan the next unit. And Thursday is my "rest" day.
I've been further behind before, and the key was to stop sleeping. But I've never been so far behind so early in the semester. And I've never tried to be this on top of my lesson plans. Which is better? Why should I have to sacrifice something?
Is it just me?

Permanance and Change

"Piety is the sense of what goes with what."
"Vulgarity is pious."
"[...]the poet, writing of night, puts together all those elements which are his night-thoughts, the things that go wtih night as he knows it [....]"

And what if we draw this out further? That all poets writing of night put together elemnts which are night-thoughts, night as we know it. Because in order for the poem to act upon its readers, there must be some consensus of meaning, some agreed upon set of terms for communication to happen. Night is X and X, we say together, goes with Y. And Z. And Other Letters.

All night poems then would have the same piety. Is this not the same as a genre convention? If, as Burke says, we can fully expect the "villain of a bad drama" to "speak in sibilants," and, as he said in Counter-Statement expectations are what occurs from recurring forms does not piety result in form, eventually?

But when can we say that a generally accepted notion of the pious linking "Villains wear trenchcoats or capes" becomes a formal quality of some larger form, such as "melodrama?" Can a single piety constitue a whole form (genre)? Or must several pieties "in constellation" (Miller) create the genre?

In other words, (in Amy's words), does the presence of the piety "Heros are weak males," which I have identified as one of the conventions of dystopian fiction make the genre what it is? If we remove that piety, is it a different genre? How many does it take to have the desired rhetorical effect?

When we kill the weak hero of the dystopia, are we killing our own weaknesses?

Show, don't run with scissors

(Blending Burke and Composition)

The argument of the title.
The issue from the Other's point of view.
A dominant impression
An argument about me, not you. Not you at all.

If I call it a representative anecdote. And if there is a representation, there is a re-presenter. If you keep inserting yourself.

There might be dialogue and not dissemination.

A scapegoat is needed, to pour our blood on and flog out our sins. What is wrong, and what stands for what?

She is a kind woman. She has two kids and a dog. The blue of her coat represents her mood. The dog is small, so she must like cute things.

She walks like a panther, and her goal is her prey. The inch of snow surrounds her heels without staying her stride. The weight of sleep on her face--how do we address her?

The Plan (teaching blog Week 5)

I think I'll go and show...the others...the plan (From "The Movie")

At the request of my students, I put "The Plan" on our course website. Of course, I do not mean "the plan" that Julia Stiles's character is refering to in Ten Things I Hate About You, because that would get me fired. But the plan I speak of feels just as spontaneously fabricated, messy, and improbable as a strategy as her idea of flashing the other team in order to score points in soccer.

It's not much of a plan, it may be embarassing, it may result in hectic havoc (go FullMetal Alechmist allegorical character names! Lieutenant Havoc!) but it'll get the job done.

The truth is, looking at their schedule, I felt overwhelmed enough to cut out a lot of reading. I fear they will not read it anyway, so assigning it will only frustrate us all. They seem so overwhelmed that I'm afraid they'll just give up on me. How to know how hard to push?

I'm not sure I can even keep up with their reading. I realized today that I'm about a day behind where I meant to be. So I emailed myself a "plan" of attack for tonight.

That plan assumes, however, that my body holds up. Ah, the Platonic division of body and mind. And soul, somewhere in there. It's in the Phaedrus, which I'd be happy to never read again. His division allows me to believe that I can divide myself. That the academic Amy, the teacher Amy is separate enough from the Chronically Ill Amy that the two have no bearing on one another. That I can have a career in Academia because thinking does not require the body.

This, of course, is ridiculous, but every time I recognize the absurdity of the division, I freak out. Which is what happened last week. Realizing that my shaking hands would not let me comment on student papers sent me into a panic mode, which only escalated the negative feedback loop, and ended up actually making me sicker. Self-fulfilling prophecy and all that.

And the students suffered for it. My joking "article" about the silence on Tuesday was an attempt at humor. I'm glad Kari liked it, but I wrote it to try to get some perspective on what happened. Was it them, or was it me? Was it a strange phenomenon of the two of us (them and me) being just Off enough at the same time?

I guess silence is bound to happen. And by silence, I don't mean that positive, "We're thinking" silence. I mean that nasty, half asleep silence that indicates the students aren't getting a damn thing out of their time with me. I can't shake the feeling that I was just not prepared enough, or that had my hands not been shaking, I could have refocused the group.

But one cannot refocus a group when one cannot refocus one's self. Mom helped me refocus somewhat this weekend. Her own unsteadiness reminded me that my illness is part of me, and must be accounted for when I plan. Her insanely perfect work plans help her deal, although I think that she doesn't include the making of the plans as something she needs to plan for. Planning is stressful; it begins that cycle of adrenaline and cortisol that must be stopped before we get sicker.

This is all to say that I planned fairly accurately through Week 8 this morning. I emailed myself a To Do list that covers today and tomorrow. If I can execute this plan with few interruptions, I should not fear another attack of Student Silence.

Sorry Plato. The body and mind are tied too tightly. My mistake was believing in Western philosophy. It's time to go back to yoga and Qi Gong.

"I....dazzled him with my...Wits!"

woof!

Thursday's ass was kicked. And I even hooted like an owl .

Now, for something completely disjointed and somewhat creative. Been thinking about visual rhetoric and how closely it is tied to imagism in poetry, and how that says something about Burke's consubstantiality--what is it we feel we are consubstantial with? How does consubstantiality occur, unless we feel we share the same idea (image) of Tree or Chair or Exploding Grace?
And what if someone is disabled. Do we even want to be consubstantial with them? How does imagism work then? How is shared meaning met when you can't see the tables that Table-ness comes from?
So I wrote this mess, because that's how it would be, I think, if we were going to create a poem that did not try to create Identification through images. Even so, images creep in, but do not hold much power. I think. It's what I meant, anyway.

Poem for a blind man

Observation vs experimentation. One has human intervention.
Fill out the descriptive blanks (i.e. What do you mean by art as pure entertainment?)
More successful aftershave would be less overpowering. But everyone can do that; it's not a misuse of power.

I can't wait until I'm allowed to be certain again, when magic will be dazzling again.

huge hunks of buildings mark the dusty apocalyptic moment over the dead still do not breathe stop but i breathe for them wait

@ a stalemate. Affixing an Act to the page is practical for us out here, to make unwavering arguments we imagine a thousand words. But nous n'y restons pas.

His property is in his nervous arms--and they are compelled to pull a strange rope at the surly comand of a tyranical boy.

Well, right now I am into quantum physics. I'm sure a lot has already been said. The consequences of the marks on his arms are the scars on his irises.

Just because it comes after doesn't mean it's a correction. Just because a theory emerges from the darkness does not mean it is made of blackness. The lion and the lamb lay on slates of peace. We still have words, a step away from music, two steps from the embrionic child writing. God with us in visions of wool and mane.

Into the reckless fire
and into the failing water
less than pious
we will cast our nets at sea

it's not that
we are tired
but we want a brief respite
or a spoonful of sugar
in a cup of boiling tea.

He radiates--is it a killing glow?--and the whiteness of his eyes rolling back only makes him glow brighter. He seizes fire from the wind; he finds fire in the other's eyes.

Fully of Fancy Falling of Folly
It's costly to call me
Fleeting Freedom's talking
Scarred and starry skies are spinning


I admits it's a lovely drawing of a rhinocerous.

Teaching Week 4: Writing without Teacher

W. LAFAYETTE, IN (ALC)--
Tuesday morning began early as usual for Purdue ICaP TA Amylea Clemons. After downing an Overpriced venti iced almond latte from Starbucks, Clemons entered Heavilon Hall Room 106 to lead a peer review session of her ENGL 106 class.
But all was not as simple as it seemed.
Twenty minutes into the review, absolute silence attacked the classroom hiding itself in the guise of student boredom. Comments were not made, assumptions were not revealed, revisions were not suggested. Only grammatical errors were pointed out by the more savvy students, who immediately succombed to the ravaging silence upon finishing their underlining.
All this despite explicit, albeit roundabout, directions from Clemons.
"It was surprsing, I guess," Clemons responded when asked about the sudden attack of apathy. "Well, I suppose there were a lot of factors involved in the attack."
Upon questioning, Clemons admitted to feeling "not so hot" and "mentally foggy" Tuesday morning, which "probaby beckoned the silence into the classroom in the first place."
"Once I realized it, though, I really tried to stop it. It was too strong for me, and the whole class time seemed worthless. I just hope the silence didn't linger in the room for the next instructor. I'd hate to think that was my fault," Clemons said in a short press conference with herself Tuesday night.
"I went home and slept for something like 16 hours. Thursday's silence better watch out, because I'm going to kick its ass," she said, striking an anime style pose.
Kaze no Kizu!

Fun with Teaching Week 3

A blog on teaching, learning, and tech writing. And Kenneth Burke by proxy.

          Time is of the essence. "The essence" is a phrase that is much abhored by pragmatists like Kenneth Burke because we don't really know what "essence" is, and never will.
          I'm starting to think that I will never know how to teach the essence of technical writing.
          I'm great with tutoring, writing lab, style teaching when it comes to instructing students on how to write things like proposals and resumes and scholarship essays--you know, writings that are primarily defined by their social impact, writings that are means to an end outside of communication. (Yes, I know Carolyn Miller says that ALL genres are evidence of social action outside mere comunication. But the "point" of literature is rarely seen as "moving an audience toward incipient act," as Burke would name it. Literature is pretty.)
          How does one teach what one loathes to do? Tech writing makes me itch uncomfortably because it is too transparent in its aims. "This is a proposal. I am proposing. I am moving my audience."
Alas, I may well weep with sighs deep
....and also my writing is full unready
How shall I do now for to excuse me?("Everyman")
Of course, Everyman was writing a different kind of proposal, a confession. I confess I don't know what to say about style. I confess I've largely made this an issue of plain old transparent rhetoric.
          Even if a proposal does what it is supposed to (propose a project by garnering interest in a party who has the means to make the project happen), it may not be pretty. It may not be subtle or clever or a good read. It may not make me put "hmm" in the margins. Even if all the threads are there, all the good points, and some interesting thinking, it could be a bad read. My "rhetoric of identification" fails quickly when it comes to talking about the rhetoric of tech writing. Burke is hard to fit in here.
          The classes themselves are fine. The students are getting used to me, which is good. I have addicted several of them to coffee, which is good because at least they're awake.
          The time goes by quickly, it is always of essence. Yet I cannot push them as quickly as I would like. When I see learning happening, I am not going to be a disruption.
          Today I began "organization" by cutting out paragraphs and making them rearrange them. As per usual, the students were upset when they realized I wasn't going to tell them whether they got the order "right." "Right" was not the point. How are we going to use this later? I always try to emphasize that "use" does not mean that they will be graded on it. Unlike high school, not all projects are given little percentages of the final. Some projects are for learning's sake only. Most students realize that this is actually in their favor. Some, however, get angry and tell me my assignments are "useless" on the course evaluation sheet. A means to an end? Are we so teleological?
          I try to be transparent. I try to tell them why we are doing certain activities. Some days I ask them to tell me why I've made the assignment: "What am I thinking here? Why did I choose these questions for you?" By making my teaching practice part of the discussion, they realize the web of authority around them. I can't remove my authority, but I can make my choices explicit.
Such a damn Foucauldian sometimes. I wish I could be a grammar nazi. It'd be easier.
          As I walked around, I saw good conversation happening. Before I even asked them to consider it, they were asking "Why do you think that's a conclusion? It looks like a body paragraph to me because..." When I asked them to write their justification down, they had trouble, though...they couldn't see that I was asking them to write down exactly the things they were saying. Instead they tried to make definitions. "A conclusion is________." That's not quite what I was going for, but a good practice time, nonetheless.
          The SRAs were due today. I'm going to mark them this weekend. I think I'll take a page from Northeastern's grading recommendations for once, and write a few individual comments on the papers themselves, then type up a set of "whole class comments" about style, grammar, etc. What I see good, patterns of "error" I see. It's not error; it's just a different set of conventions for a different discourse group. The theory echoes in my head every time my language subsumes my beliefs. I still try to call them errors, even though my subconscious doesn't really believe in mistakes.
          Where does the time go? I was barely handing them the fragmented essays before it was time for them to go. Where are those long pauses that used to happen?
          Mom asked "Is it because Purdue is easier?" A good question. Is this approach "easier" than Ways of Reading? It does not demand the academic rigor, the theoretical musings. But I am Essentially teaching the same thing: the how of communication. I will still speak of grammar as "ethos." I will still ask them to find points of "identification" in the essays (now ethnographies) they read. How is s/he trying to move you? What is s/he moving you toward?
          I know I should be more explicit with my use of rhetoric. I should tell them that this course is all about identification, ethos, etc. Instead, I've defined the terms and am using them frequently. It's not really modeling though. I should do that better.
          And I know my faults during class time: I forget student names, I sometimes gravitate more toward the extroverts, I don't always call on the quiet ones who are too afriad to talk on their own. I know, I know, I know. But I also know my own learning process. Once I identify a lack in my abilities, it is only a matter of time before that skill suddenly comes to me, overnight, when I'm not looking. Like how lesson planning has suddenly become very obvious of late; I know somehow what activity fits best with what. Like how I learned to ride my bike only after shutting myself up in the basement with it, exiling my parents to the upstairs; one day down there, I could just suddenly ride.
Like how Burke made my whole jumbled honors project arrange itself as a question not of Marxist literature, but of "literature as equipment for living;" how my own assumptions and major premises became explicit in one reading of the Rhetoric.
          Patience in waiting for my brain/body/soul whatever (no more corporeal divisions, Plato) to decide that NOW is the time for Amylea to understand things is the difficult part. Patience, as we said in elementary school, is a virtue, not a chicken.
          So one day, I will do so much better in domain C, or whatever domain it was that was concerned with my ability to manage the classroom in an egalitarian manner befitting all my students' levels of ability. And I won't even know I'm doing anything different until someone shows me what I've done.
          It's a lot more fun that way.

Counter-Statement statements (part 1)

In no particular order (that would be a valuation I am not ready for)
1. In "The Status of Art" Burke returns to his friends from the first chapter, specifically all those L'art pour l'art dudes. He traces some ideas about utilitarianism in art, and those who would defend the lack of utility by claiming art is a-moral, that is, outside the sphere of moral (and therefore consequential). Art for them is beauty. Beauty, apparently has no use. But isn't this why I started reading Burke in the first place? Because I was trying to figure out why I loved reading dystopias, only to find myself coming to purpose statements? And Burke said it was okay to read literature as purposeful, not just beautiful. That artful words do in fact have social consequences.
2. Eliot, qtd in Burke: "We fight rather to keep something alive than in the expectation that anything will triumph." Isn't this what dystopias do? They fight to preserve the current state, not for us to go overthrow the government of today. Keep alive the "freedoms" as they are, and we do not have anything that must be triumphed over?
3. The symbolists are always appearing in my classes, and I still don't know them like I should; unlike the way 11 dimensions are coiled up in quantum mechanics, I cannot explain them in my own language. The emphasis is on the image and the succession of images, but we are still in language, not visual rhetoric, so the images themselves must be described in a logical, noneliptical manner. The symbolists seem to have something to do with consubstantiality, with identification, as I asserted in my paper on Elizabeth Bishop, but I am still uncertain how Burke would read such progressions across images as rhetoric. ????????
4. The Mass Audience: "Mass market paperback" is a term that has tugged at my consciousness because the connotations attached to it bespeak of bourgeois identity issues. Burke outlines how mass literacy has led to pockets of "real" readers (those interested in "art for art's sake") but that texts have a mass audience. We should not separate them based on the old L'art pour l'art, an idea created for the utilitarianism of the previous century. There may seem to be an elite readership, but we must acknoledge that even non-savvy readers are acquiring the text, and may not even desire to engage in the reading that they are sometimes forced to do.
5. Literature as enthymetical argument? Burke compares a book's argument and need fulfillment properties to that of a politician's proposal for change. A book does not have to reveal the root of the problem; the premise can be left unstated, almost intuitive. A politician must, however, make explicit his desires and appeals for the best results. A book can fulfill our need for nature without pointing to our current dissatisfaction. A politician cannot propose a beutifying plan without pointing to the squallor of the city. Does that make literature more subversively suasatory because it is missing one premise that we all are already in identification with? (Random question without answers?)