Maybe They're Writing Poetry

As a life-long English teacher, one might think that I would have a cherished collection of stories to share about the English teachers in my past who inspired me, pushed me to do better, and guided me on this path. The truth, however, is that I have memories of past English teachers, first in middle school, then in high school, who actually chose to put barriers in my way. I keep these memories in my back pocket, not out of resentment or spite, but because they inspired me to be better.

I first fell in love with reading at the age of 8. My family was on a cross-country road trip, and because it was the 1980s, I rolled around in the back of my dad's pickup truck all the way from Phoenix to Washington, D.C. (There was a camper shell ensuring I didn't leap to my demise--we weren't animals.) I read E.B. White's classic children's novel, Charlotte's Web, for the first of a dozen times on that trip. It was the first time I felt the now-familiar butterflies of awe and magic that still wash over me to this day when I read something beautiful. From that point on, I became a voracious reader--my mom would literally hide my books to get me to do my chores--and I soon took up the mighty pen to capture the delight and the agony of youth in poetry.

By the time I entered middle school, I frequently sat in the back of my classes reading and writing. I'd quickly complete the day's assignments, then retreat once again into my own world. Thanks to excellent test scores, I took honors English in middle school, and I earned good marks. Despite this, my 8th-grade English teacher recommended I not carry on with advanced English classes in high school due to my inattentiveness. It's funny to me that what I was actually doing in her class was carrying on a love affair with the written word, but she made a different assumption about me.

I began Freshman English at Independence High School in 1992. I was bored out of my everloving mind. I hated. that. class. The teacher advised me that I should speak to the department head, Ms. Lipscomb, and ask to take a placement test for the honors and AP track. Though the prospect of having this conversation terrified me, I did it anyway, and she gave me a date to come by after school to take the test. The week of the test, the advisor for the (VHS!) video yearbook informed me that we had a deadline to meet and that I absolutely could NOT take an afternoon off--not even for a placement test. Trapped between two competing authorities, I went back to Ms. Lipscomb to ask if we could reschedule. She said no. It was now or never. 

I decided that meant never.

I mean, that was so worth it, right? Thirty years later, I just know everyone still cherishes their fuzzy VHS memories of the 1992-1993 school year.

Needless to say, I continued to languish in English classes for the rest of my time in high school. I also traded in my books and poetry for the lofty pursuits of making signs and balloon arches for StuCo and convincing people to give me a lift to Taco Bell for the 59, 79, 99-cent menu.

Four years of middling English classes later, during my senior year, I found myself as Ms. Lippy's--yes, the very same Ms. Lipscomb's--student. Oh, how she loathed that class… but she liked me. I sat in the first seat of the first row (as I did in all my classes with a last name like Akers), so we'd talk sometimes about current events. She was also the first of my English teachers to require that I read a novel. I chose Wuthering Heights. I was hesitant when I started reading it, discouraged by the language that felt stuffy to me, but soon the book swept me away in a flurry of those old familiar butterflies and magic. I devoured it, and came to class ready to talk her ear off about what I suspected the moors might symbolize and the role that nature played in the story.

I remember so clearly that she looked up from her desk, smiled, and said, you, my dear, should have been in Honors English.

Womp womp.

When I started my own teaching career as a high school English teacher, I returned to these two memories at least once a semester. I could see that both teachers, instead of nurturing a big nerd into an even bigger nerd, chose to make assumptions about me and what I was capable of. They were wrong about me. What a gift!

When I was the honors English teacher, every semester, someone would come to me with a paper slip in hand, nervously asking if they could "bump" into my class. And every time, I clicked my pen, smiled, and welcomed them to class as I signed the form.

Did all of them succeed? No. But I rest easy knowing I never closed the door on anyone's chance to see what they are capable of.

Here at GCC, I don't make choices about who can take what course, but I do continue to check my assumptions about my students. The student in the back who looks like they are fiddling with their phone--maybe that student doesn't care. But maybe they are writing poetry?

The Gradebook Is Fine. Everything Is Fine. (It's Not Fine.)

For years, I have had this nagging feeling that my gradebook, filled with hundreds of scores at the end of the semester, is serving neither me nor my students. What's the difference between a 92% and an 88%? Does that parade of assignments support student learning? Would they learn less if I asked them to click fewer buttons? Am I offering the best feedback when I am always underwater with my grading?

*dramatic sigh*

I long to step away from… whatever this is… and shift to something that feels simpler and more honoring of how humans learn. But the questions felt too big to sit with alone — so I didn't.

In response to this feeling of dis-ease with my current grading practices, I invited a few colleagues to join me in exploring the pros and cons of the most common approaches to alternative grading. In our first few meetings, it became clear that we are all a little frustrated with our current grading practices, which can feel, at times, like they are sucking the life out of us (and the joy out of teaching). As we talked about what brought us together, even more questions arose about how alternative grading could work in our classes (in addition to a healthy dose of skepticism).

Here are some of the questions that arose in our discussions:

• Would alt grading impact how we meet the requirement of a three-hour course having six hours of work outside of class?

• Would something like portfolio grading just push the work of grading to the end of the semester?

• How might alternative grading impact grade inflation?

• Can alternative grading increase transparency? Or would it make grades more foggy?

• We need to be certain that our students meet our course competencies and are prepared for the next course in the sequence (for example, ENG 101 moving to ENG 102). Which alternative grading practices best address this?

As I write this, I do not have the answers to these questions. We've each chosen one or two strategies to dig into, and in future meetings, we will share what we learn in service of addressing these questions.

I am going to dig into portfolio-based grading (paired with minimum standards for accepted work). To me, this feels like the most natural fit for a writing class. Instead of assigning a grade to each piece of work as it comes in, students collect their work over the course of the semester and are assessed on the whole body of it at the end, often alongside a reflection on their growth.

What draws me to this is that it mirrors how writers actually work. Mature writers don't finish a first draft and call it done. Writing is recursive — you circle back, you revise, you see things differently after some distance. A portfolio supports this cycle of writing.

I am also drawn to the reflection component of this approach. Students have to look back at what they produced and articulate what changed and why--they have to articulate how they’ve grown as writers.

Our PLC's other participants are exploring standards-based and mastery-based grading, specs and labor-based grading, contract-based grading, and equitable grading. I am eager to learn from their discoveries! If you want to know how this all unfolds, you are a) welcome to join our group! We meet every other Tuesday morning at 10:00 AM (reach out to me for more info), or b) watch for my follow-up posts on the CTLE blog!

UDL: An Undeniably Delightful Learning Space

In recent years, I've been learning more about Universal Design for Learning. At the heart of UDL lies student engagement, flexibility, and choice. As I learn more about all the ways I can use the principles of UDL to strengthen my courses, I admit I also find myself indulging in a little daydream about my perfect classroom. Currently, I teach in the LA building. It's a little dingy and the fluorescent overhead lights might steal a little bit of my soul every day that I stand beneath them, but the rooms have desks with wheels, so that's cool. However, I dream of a classroom that is bright, welcoming and flexible: UDL IRL.

iStock: Varijanta

Let me paint a picture for you of my dream classroom. And, this is my dream, so I reserve the right to go nuts.

First, the room would be large, and not overly crowded with furniture. It may sound elementary (pun intended for a college blog...), but when my students enter the space, there would be space for them to store their massive backpacks that hinder movement around the space and that we (I) frequently trip over. Next to that storage area, I'd have a coffee, tea, and snacks to welcome students. I would encourage them to take a break from their cell phones and get cozy in the learning space.

Around the room, I dream of windows, so many windows, cut high into each wall to let in lots of natural light. Somehow, working in perfect harmony with all the windows, multiple screens would hang around the room allowing everyone to see the day's slides without squinting. Each wall would also be lined with whiteboards for gallery walks and standing group work. I'd make the room feel a little cozy with an area rug and some lo-fi music in the background.

In the learning space, I envision tables that roll so that I can divide them for small-group work, line them up when it's time for notes, push them into long rows for class discussions, or move them entirely out of the way for Socratic seminars. Again, since this is my dream, I am going to go nuts: I'd mix in some other seating options like beanbag chairs and stools, maybe even a few standing desk options along one side of the room. I'd have ChromeBooks in the room that we'd pull out only when polishing our final drafts—no stationary computers hiding everyone's faces and making it hard to connect with one another. This magical room would also never run out of whiteboard markers and the instructor's computer would never freeze or crash.

When class ends, I imagine a Free Little Library awaiting students just outside the door, and maybe a Pharmacy of Poems, offering art for whatever ails the student heart or mind.

My dream room would communicate to students that, not only are they welcome there, but that the space was made for them and their scholarship. It would be designed for our community, and it would be ready for whatever adventures in writing and thinking we could conjure up.

We don't have to wait to hear from DRS

If you drop by my house on any given day, it is equally likely that you'll be pinned to a chair while someone lovingly infodumps on you about their latest special interest (like Severance, or lasagna gardening) as it is likely that you'll have to watch one or more of us search wildly for some lost possession (car keys, a left shoe, that one top that will complete an emergency pirate costume). We are all what the internet affectionately calls neurospicy.  My daughter was diagnosed with ADHD around 4th grade, but didn’t experience the cheat code of medication until high school. My son was diagnosed with autism also around 4th grade. I clued in and got my own ADHD diagnosis in my 40s, and my husband’s spiciness is... “peer reviewed.”

Why am I sharing this? Well, this means that each of us, at one time or another, stumbled our way through the world of education without support for our neurodivergence. I know that each of us wondered what is wrong with me? and why can I just _______?! Here at GCC, our DRS team does so much behind the scenes to support our students, but the story I want to shine a light on is that of our students who, for one reason or another, are living with an undiagnosed neurodiversity. 

According to the American College Health Association (2024), around 3% of college students report that they have an autism diagnosis, around 15% of students report an ADHD diagnosis, around fewer than 3% of students report a learning disability. When those students bring documentation of their hidden disability to DRS, they are able to receive support to make their learning experience equitable with students who do not live with a disability. Sounds simple, right? Get a diagnosis, get support!

However, here's an un-fun fact: a typical diagnosis will cost a family between $1,500 and $3,000 dollars? Many of our students simply cannot pull together that kind of money to identify (or rule out!) a hidden disability. Another barrier that impacts whether a student may seek an official diagnosis is, simply, a lack of awareness about ADHD and Autism and how they can present differently from one person to another. Autism and ADHD also have very commonly run in families (eh hem, see my intro paragraph). It is common for a parent to see a child struggling in a similar way to how they struggled in school and assume that struggle is normal and fine. (“Oh, you can’t focus on math and your backpack looks like the inside of a trash compactor? Totally normal!”)   

We all have neurodiverse students in our classrooms who have not qualified for support through DRS. Without access to accommodations that create an equitable educational experience, many will earn poor grades and some may withdraw from their classes. Some undiagnosed learners wrestle with immense anxiety and depression causing them to disappear from our rosters. So what can we as classroom instructors do to meet the needs of all students, regardless of whether or not they have a formal diagnosis? 

Here are a few tips to consider:

1. In the first week of school, ask students two questions: First, what barriers do they foresee that might impact their ability to be successful in your class? (This question helps us understand a lot of things about a student—do they work? Do they work two jobs? Kids? Ailing family member? Unreliable transportation? No computer at home?) Next, what have instructors done in the past to support them? Here’s where you may see hints of undiagnosed neurodivergence. Students often say a clear agenda and fixed due dates helps them, or a grace period with a due date, one on one help helps them, the ability to handwrite their work or, alternatively, type their notes. The need for headphones in class.
2. Can you find spaces in your pedagogy to allow a little flexibility? I have a consistent but very generous late-work policy. I accept all late work for one week after the due date for 10% off. After that, the assignment closes, and I no longer offer points, but I do offer feedback if the student comes to see me during support hours.
3. Get to know each student as an individual  as much as possible.Getting to know each student’s life circumstances, their strengths and their struggles allows me to offer each student the support they need.
4. Share tips and tricks for focus (like the Pomodoro method, Lo-fi YouTube channels, Binaural Beats, focus apps, time boxing) and continually remind students of our campus resources including tutoring and basic needs support.
5. Finally, a reliable class structure helps all students. In my ENG 101 classes, assignments are always due on Tuesdays and Thursdays and writing assignments are due on Sundays. Each week, they have assignments that fall under the categories of “read”, “learn,” then “apply.” I give a clear agenda at the beginning of each class and end every class with a closure activity and the opportunity to ask questions out loud or on their ticket out the door. This consistent structure reduces anxiety for neurodiverse learners and traditional learners alike.

I view myself as a coach rather than a 'sage on the stage.' My job is not to get every student to perform at a certain level, but to unlock potential in each student and help each student grow as a scholar. This approach helps me do my best not to lose a student because of an undiagnosed disability. 

Simply put, we don’t have to wait for the email from DRS to help a student who is struggling.

Finding My Place Between Bradbury and the Bots

In a blog post for Write 6x6 in February of 2024, I wrote, “As the future of AI in education breathes down my neck, I find myself wondering, do I want to be a Bradbury, digging in my heels in respect for my deeply-held principles about teaching, learning, and the craft of writing, knowing that my protest will do nothing to change what’s to come? Do I want to give in and say there's nothing I can do to stop what's coming, so let me grade this robot’s essay? Or might there be a space in between?”

Another Write 6x6 is upon us, and I see that my relationship to AI has clarified itself in the last two years. Yes, AI has changed education, and I have had no choice but to change with it. I worry less about AI heralding the end of original thought these days. (Note, I worry less, not none.) My colleagues and I teach students intellectual ethical strategies for using AI as a learning partner. My classes lean more heavily on questioning and dialoguing and journaling on paper where once I was handing out chromebooks and using online polling tools. At home, my husband and I chop veggies and stir pots as we prepare dinner all the while marveling at all the ways we used Claude.ai that day. Jeff uses Claude as a coding partner in his work, and I use Claude as a revision partner. (In fact, I used to joke that we were in a throuple with Claude until I realized this isn’t a joke for some people.)

I appreciate that I can take a real woofer of a writing piece, full of [place holders], unfinished paragraphs, and clunky sentences–something I would never allow a colleague to read–and get nonjudgemental advice from Claude. I don’t ask the tool to write for me, rather I ask questions like, “My sentences are clunky in paragraph 3. What advice do you have for me?” or “What are some ideas you can offer me for bringing this piece to a close,” or “Give me a list of places where my thinking is unclear as well as a list of punctuation and grammar errors.” I find it priceless to get advice at this messy stage of the writing process before I’ve belabored the piece and exhausted myself. Asking for advice rather than asking for revision also allows me to maintain my own voice, for better or worse.

Back in November, I began working with Claude as a writing and thinking partner to craft this year’s Write 6x6 challenge. I pay for Claude which allows me access to a few more features such as creating project spaces. (Paying for Claude also makes the “throuple” joke even more awful.) After I created the Write 6x6 Challenge project, I provided Claude with instructions explaining Write 6x6 and my goals for our work together. Next, I uploaded files listing the prompts from years past. I also created a very long document listing recent topics discussed on the podcast Teaching in Higher Ed and titles of workshops offered at this fall’s POD Conference. From this document, I asked Claude to do something he does very well, but that would take me much, much longer: synthesize. Claude identified trending topics of discourse in higher education today, and from that list, I crafted a collection of possible prompts. Claude helped me to refine the list, to create “dares” to accompany this year’s “truth” prompts, and helped me track down resources to accompany each week’s challenge. I continued to chat with Claude about the prompt list, the challenges, and the resources until just a few weeks ago. (A human colleague would have kindly asked me to shut up about it already long ago.)

I declare that I am pleased with this year’s prompts! I feel that the topics are timely and that the Truth or Dare challenge has a little something for everyone. I hope that you, too, will enjoy what Write 6x6 has in store for you this year!


If you hate the prompts, let’s just blame Claude.

Humming along through this season of life: A Playlist for 2025

Like most of us on campus, I play the part of several different people on any given day.

I start my day tending to kids and pets, kissing my spouse on his way out the door, ticking off items on a mental checklist of what the kids and I will need throughout the day before beginning a convoluted morning commute. I arrive on campus feeling energized (or stir-crazy after a long drive). I sit at my desk and fine-tune my lessons before heading to LA 105 for a long day teaching composition to often reluctant writers. On shorter teaching days, I either spend my time in the writing center in HT2 125, or I carve out some mental space to work on creative ventures for my CTLE role. I run out of HT2 in the afternoon, always late, always over-encumbered, and I begin my afternoon driving shift. I usually kick this road trip off with a beat-up peanut butter sandwich. When I finally make it home at the end of the day, I once again focus on the care and feeding of kids and pets. I cook a meal with my husband as we listen to records, and I enjoy conversation with my family around the dinner table. I find some time to grade student work before I collapse into sleep, drooling on my pillow while the TV flashes blue and green across my bedroom ceiling.

I’ve created this playlist to capture my workday during this trying yet magical season of my life:

1. "Morning Has Broken" by Cat Stevens: This song represents the peaceful moments when it’s just me and my coffee.

Tied for first: "Wake Up" by Arcade Fire.

2. “Gotta Get Up” by Harry Nilsson: “Oh crap, put on your shoes we need to GO.”

3. “Everybody Wants to Rule The World”: My morning commute.

4. "Walking on Sunshine" by Katrina & The Waves: This song captures the first few minutes of class where I bring more happy energy than my bleary-eyed students are prepared for.

5. "Learn to Fly" by Foo Fighters: This song represents the inspirational side of teaching.

6. “Frankly Mr. Shankly” by The Smiths: This song represents the “Really? REALLY?” side of teaching.

7. "School's Out" by Alice Cooper: This song captures the feeling of fleeing campus as I transition from professor to mom again

8. "Fast Car" by Tracy Chapman: So much driving!

9.  "Home" by Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros: This is how I feel when the warm evening light slants through the window while I cook dinner and listen to records.

10. Golden Years–David Bowie: This is a hard season of life, but these are truly golden years.

11. "Creature Comfort" by Arcade Fire: This song captures dinner table conversations about life and the world. 

12. “Save it For Later” by the English Beat: This represents those times when, late at night, I try to offer feedback on student work (then fail to conjure the brain cells to do so).

13. "Motion Sickness" by Phoebe Bridgers: Ah, the physical and mental exhaustion I feel as I finally collapse into bed, ready for rest!

14. “Daylight” by Matt and Kim–Too soon, I do it all over again!

What's Outside My Office Door? Write 6x6 Week 1

Every spring, the Write 6x6 challenge affords me the chance to explore our beautiful campus as I deliver treats to the doors and cubbies of our courageous bloggers.

In 2022, when I begged to take over Write 6x6 after a year of dormancy, I didn't know my way around campus. I ventured out with my basket of treats, nervously checking a paper map and forgetting which direction was north. Today, however, I treasure the campus footpaths and office doors that I know by heart. I love the stroll that takes me to what feels like the farthest reaches of campus when I visit the Fitness and Wellness building to drop by Louise's door. I love chatting with the student workers in the admin building when I visit Lore and Tiffany. This year, I got to explore the Physical Sciences building for the first time when I brought George a treat! (Welcome to the team, George Gregg!) My last stop of the day, without fail, is always to pop by Mary Anne's office in Life Sciences. These little adventures are always a highlight of my spring semester.

Today, however, instead of writing about the familiar doors that greet me as I deliver snacks, I'd like to talk about the unique, magical, and just plain useful corners of our campus I have discovered by stepping outside my office door and onto our beautiful campus grounds. 

Here is a list of ten of my favorite campus features in no particular order:

1. A cat lives outside the O5 office building. I (secretly) named him Benny in 2020. He's still hanging around, but like any cat worth his salt, he probably has at least 13 names. (If you see him, tell him I say pspspsps.)

                                                             

2. There's a tiny troll hiding in the bushes by the Center for Learning. 

3. There's a brick oven and grill near the Student Union. Y'all, why are we not making use of this? I suspect this fixture has seen many a happy Gaucho get-together.

4. There are happy little painted rocks hidden throughout the campus that never fail to make me smile.

5. There's a free little library near the Faculty O7 building.

6. There's a gender-inclusive restroom in the Life Science building (and 17 more spread throughout campus).

7. The Library and LS building are Safe Places on our campus. A "Safe Place" is "a designated area where students, faculty, or staff can go if they feel threatened, unsafe, or in need of immediate help. These zones are marked with clear signage and provide a secure environment for individuals facing any form of distress." I will be adding this information to my course orientation in the fall.

8. The Geology department has created a beautiful display of minerals and rocks near a pathway between the Physical Sciences and Life Sciences buildings. I walk by this lovely collection so frequently that I have claimed a personal favorite: chert. I'd like to petition for the word "chert" to be the next witty and biting insult.

9. Roses, roses, roses! We are also a bee campus! I love to stroll the pollinator pathway and think about the good that our campus is doing for the bee community.

10. Outside the Life Sciences building is a lovely turquoise bell that rings gently when the wind blows.

Bonus: Although Saguaro Ranch Park isn't part of our campus, I love that it is close enough that I can wander over there to take in a little beauty. I also love that, from time to time, the peacocks and peahens wander over here to bring a little absurdity to an otherwise routine day.

As a Covid-hire, it took me a while to get to know our physical campus grounds, but five years later, GCC feels like home. Thank you for the adventures, fellow Gauchos!

ChatGPT, write a novel about a dystopian society that has been consumed by technology. Include book burning, and the death of creative thought.

When my daughter was a freshman in high school, she was assigned to read Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451. I admitted to her with great shame that I’d somehow navigated two degrees and a life-long love of reading without ever reading this classic. I decided to right this wrong immediately, and so we read the novel in tandem. 

I expected to like it. (It’s “a classic!”) It turns out I loved it. ADHD in tow, I promptly went down a Ray Bradbury rabbit hole, learning all I could about the life he lived and his beliefs about technology and the future. In my “research” (See also: Googling), I learned that he refused to release any of his work in digital form until 2011, a year before his death at age 92. He held a belief so strongly that he said no to publishing his writing in a way that would put his ideas into the minds of millions of people (and generate a significant bit of income to boot). 

How punk rock is that?

Did his protest against the future of technology do anything to stop it? Not in the least. I still respect the stand he took. I’ve been thinking about Bradbury’s boycott of digital publishing a lot lately as I grapple with my own feelings about technology and the future of creative and critical thinking. 

I recently attended a Zoom training hosted by a popular company that offers AI writing assistance. The woman leading the session enthusiastically shared how the AI components offered in their premium education accounts shepherd students past “the fear of the blank page.” Students can use generative AI to give them a list of possible ideas to write about or generate an outline for them to follow. It can check their tone or make a paragraph “stronger.” It can also, given a little nudge, write the whole damn thing for them. 

As a teacher of rhetoric and composition, I believe the point of what I teach is the process, not the finished product. I value my role as a coach, guiding students through the hard work of the writing process, starting with that frightening blank page all the way through to publication. Grappling with hard questions, carving new neural pathways of creative thinking, and showing yourself that you can do a really hard thing and survive it, or better yet, come out a little stronger in the end, are essential life lessons. I feel honored to guide my students through those experiences. 

But now our students can look at that long walk from the start to the finish of a writing assignment and opt to take the AI sky tram instead. They can arrive at their writing destination without breaking a sweat. 

As the future of AI in education breathes down my neck, I find myself wondering, do I want to be a Bradbury, digging in my heels in respect for my deeply-held principles about teaching, learning, and the craft of writing, knowing that my protest will do nothing to change what’s to come? Do I want to give in and say there's nothing I can do to stop what's coming, so let me grade this robot’s essay? Or might there be a space in between? 

~~

So, when I say I read Fahrenheit 451, I mean to say that I listened to it on my phone using the Audible app while commuting several hours each day to and from work, my kids’ two schools, and various music lessons and therapies. (Bradbury rolled his eyes in his grave, I am sure.) And, as I write this, I write it not with a pencil and a pad of paper with a dictionary at arm’s reach but on my laptop computer where I look up synonyms for words, move entire paragraphs around the electronic page, and allow the little red line to catch the spelling and punctuation errors I leave in the wake of my tapping fingers. 

Punk rock, I am not. 

Luckily, I peddle my philosophy of teaching here at GCC, where I am surrounded by educators who are devoted to the craft of teaching and student success. I teach on a campus that values the act of thinking and writing so deeply that every year, faculty and staff volunteer to do the hard work of wrestling ideas out of their heads and into the blogosphere for all to see. I know that my fellow Gauchos are scouting the horizon for that middle path forward into our future with AI in education, and if we don’t spot it, I am sure that we can tramp out a new path together.

5 Tips for Creating a Productive Environment for Studying by Lisa Moore

102 Mini-Syllabus

MiniSyllabus ENG 102 Spring 2024 by Lisa Moore

MiniSyllabus ENG 102 Spring 2024 by Lisa Moore