A letter to my seventh grade science teacher Mrs. Hess, written as a reflection on the class Writing, Research, and Technology:
Dear Mrs. Hess,
You would be amazed at the work we’re doing in my class, Writing, Research, and Technology. A lot of the same methods you taught us still apply, but the technology that has emerged over the last decade has changed the way we students research, collaborate, and compose.
Remember when Mr. Heinkel brought in his guitar and played old folk songs? I tried to follow along as he called out the chords; I had only been playing a few months. Well, I’m a lot better now, and sharing songs is no longer limited to folk music circles. In class, we produced a wedding where each student wrote a different part. Some wrote vows, others wrote drunk confessions. I was the videographer and wrote a song about the bride and groom. Except I didn’t even bring my guitar to class; I recorded a video of me playing and posted it online to my blog. Then, I used Twitter to promote my post. In this way, the song is available not only to my classmates, but also to anyone with an internet connection who happens to stumble upon it. Because of this, it’s important to contextualize all the writing we do online. In much the same way you urged us to be thorough, my professor has urged us to be transparent. This means declaring intentions, disclosing biases, and explaining objectives.
I guess I should explain Twitter, though you probably have heard of it. The beauty of Twitter is in its simplicity. Users follow an assortment of other users whose posts appear in a continuous stream of real time data in reverse chronological order. Because everyone follows a different array of people, each user’s feed is unique. Posts, or tweets, are limited to 140 characters, so it’s important to be succinct, or to utilize links to longer form writing.
Our first major project made extensive use of Twitter. In fact, it was called a “Twitterive,” or a narrative composed of and using as inspiration a collection of tweets. For several weeks, we were instructed to carefully observe our surroundings and tweet our findings. This, of course, is a form of research. It’s like how you always kept binoculars in the drawer by the windows in case a rare bird appeared on the tree outside. Or how you took us to the beach to walk a transect of a barrier island, pointing out how the vegetation changes from bay to sea. By using Twitter as our note taking device, not only did we record our observations, but we made them visible to our followers. This is a critical difference. Sometimes, others see patterns in our notes that we do not see. For example, if I made a list of plants that grow on Long Beach Island, I might not be able to conclude anything from it. I might need additional insight. In our seventh grade community, other students tested the water and the soil, and when we shared our notes, we were able to see how one factor affected others.
When it came time to begin writing my Twitterive, I had trouble concluding anything from my notes. It wasn’t for lack of Tweets; I’ve been writing observations on little scraps of paper for years. The switch from pen and paper to Twitter came easily. Rather, I struggled to discover any patterns. I needed more information. Luckily, because Twitter is a transparent medium, I found some guidance from readers. Professor Mangini suggested that one pattern emerging from my notes is the process of searching, of looking for a direction to pursue, trying to find my place as a writer. It seemed so obvious once he said it.
All writing is social. As much as a writer might produce work in isolation, his or her use of language is shaped by interaction with others. So it only makes sense for good ideas to be drawn out of a sort of dialog. Twitter is just the latest in a long tradition of people sharing ideas.
My favorite part of your class, Mrs. Hess, was the coastal studies project. I remember so well setting up my table in the library to present my work to students and parents. I don’t know if you remember, but I researched the New Jersey Coastal Heritage Trail. Of course, in 2001 the internet was still in its infancy, so I made phone calls to various nature preserves and museums up and down the coast asking for them to send me brochures in the mail. Then, I produced an inclusive guidebook of attractions along the coast. Finally, (along with the requisite tri-panel presentation board) I made a video using actual footage I shot at some of the locations. (I remember what a pain it was trying to get electricity at my table to show the video on a 13-inch screen.)
Our final project in Writing, Research, and Technology had some similarities, but some key differences, too. First, we had to record an oral history using a video camera. I’m no stranger to a video camera, but this time the objective was to conduct a semi-formal interview to document someone’s personal story to create a narrative within the research. One argument for narrative writing is that our brains naturally use a narrative structure to make sense of the world. (Another way of saying this might be that listening to a story is much more interesting than simply a list of facts.)
Another key difference in this project was that it was collaborative. Instead of independent investigation, students formed groups which presented new challenges and opportunities. It’s definitely harder to find free time to work together when there are four people involved. We worked around this by creating a website where we could post information at our convenience. Another problem in collaborative work is how duties are divided. Some tasks just have to be done alone. Video editing is one such task, and it fell to me. I learned that as much as I like working alone, I find jobs that have been stripped of any semblance of social interaction to be complete drudgery. (It’s really not much better than putting soup cans on a shelf at Target, which is what I spent two unfortunate years of my life doing.) At least with writing, I can imagine a reader or recall conversation in the words I choose. It’s much less lonely, writing, than say, mopping floors. I think that’s why floor moppers talk to themselves. I know I would.
The best part of Professor Mangini’s class is his willingness to allow for alternate methods to emerge. He encourages students to try new things. For example, he is open to composition that goes beyond text to incorporate video, audio, and other modes of expression. This is something that reminds me of your class. This openness to unconventional methods leads to unique creations. Maybe it’s just because I have always been creative, but this kind of classroom is always my favorite to be in.
Sincerely,
Michael Youngkin
Dear Mrs. Hess,
You would be amazed at the work we’re doing in my class, Writing, Research, and Technology. A lot of the same methods you taught us still apply, but the technology that has emerged over the last decade has changed the way we students research, collaborate, and compose.
Remember when Mr. Heinkel brought in his guitar and played old folk songs? I tried to follow along as he called out the chords; I had only been playing a few months. Well, I’m a lot better now, and sharing songs is no longer limited to folk music circles. In class, we produced a wedding where each student wrote a different part. Some wrote vows, others wrote drunk confessions. I was the videographer and wrote a song about the bride and groom. Except I didn’t even bring my guitar to class; I recorded a video of me playing and posted it online to my blog. Then, I used Twitter to promote my post. In this way, the song is available not only to my classmates, but also to anyone with an internet connection who happens to stumble upon it. Because of this, it’s important to contextualize all the writing we do online. In much the same way you urged us to be thorough, my professor has urged us to be transparent. This means declaring intentions, disclosing biases, and explaining objectives.
I guess I should explain Twitter, though you probably have heard of it. The beauty of Twitter is in its simplicity. Users follow an assortment of other users whose posts appear in a continuous stream of real time data in reverse chronological order. Because everyone follows a different array of people, each user’s feed is unique. Posts, or tweets, are limited to 140 characters, so it’s important to be succinct, or to utilize links to longer form writing.
Our first major project made extensive use of Twitter. In fact, it was called a “Twitterive,” or a narrative composed of and using as inspiration a collection of tweets. For several weeks, we were instructed to carefully observe our surroundings and tweet our findings. This, of course, is a form of research. It’s like how you always kept binoculars in the drawer by the windows in case a rare bird appeared on the tree outside. Or how you took us to the beach to walk a transect of a barrier island, pointing out how the vegetation changes from bay to sea. By using Twitter as our note taking device, not only did we record our observations, but we made them visible to our followers. This is a critical difference. Sometimes, others see patterns in our notes that we do not see. For example, if I made a list of plants that grow on Long Beach Island, I might not be able to conclude anything from it. I might need additional insight. In our seventh grade community, other students tested the water and the soil, and when we shared our notes, we were able to see how one factor affected others.
When it came time to begin writing my Twitterive, I had trouble concluding anything from my notes. It wasn’t for lack of Tweets; I’ve been writing observations on little scraps of paper for years. The switch from pen and paper to Twitter came easily. Rather, I struggled to discover any patterns. I needed more information. Luckily, because Twitter is a transparent medium, I found some guidance from readers. Professor Mangini suggested that one pattern emerging from my notes is the process of searching, of looking for a direction to pursue, trying to find my place as a writer. It seemed so obvious once he said it.
All writing is social. As much as a writer might produce work in isolation, his or her use of language is shaped by interaction with others. So it only makes sense for good ideas to be drawn out of a sort of dialog. Twitter is just the latest in a long tradition of people sharing ideas.
My favorite part of your class, Mrs. Hess, was the coastal studies project. I remember so well setting up my table in the library to present my work to students and parents. I don’t know if you remember, but I researched the New Jersey Coastal Heritage Trail. Of course, in 2001 the internet was still in its infancy, so I made phone calls to various nature preserves and museums up and down the coast asking for them to send me brochures in the mail. Then, I produced an inclusive guidebook of attractions along the coast. Finally, (along with the requisite tri-panel presentation board) I made a video using actual footage I shot at some of the locations. (I remember what a pain it was trying to get electricity at my table to show the video on a 13-inch screen.)
Our final project in Writing, Research, and Technology had some similarities, but some key differences, too. First, we had to record an oral history using a video camera. I’m no stranger to a video camera, but this time the objective was to conduct a semi-formal interview to document someone’s personal story to create a narrative within the research. One argument for narrative writing is that our brains naturally use a narrative structure to make sense of the world. (Another way of saying this might be that listening to a story is much more interesting than simply a list of facts.)
Another key difference in this project was that it was collaborative. Instead of independent investigation, students formed groups which presented new challenges and opportunities. It’s definitely harder to find free time to work together when there are four people involved. We worked around this by creating a website where we could post information at our convenience. Another problem in collaborative work is how duties are divided. Some tasks just have to be done alone. Video editing is one such task, and it fell to me. I learned that as much as I like working alone, I find jobs that have been stripped of any semblance of social interaction to be complete drudgery. (It’s really not much better than putting soup cans on a shelf at Target, which is what I spent two unfortunate years of my life doing.) At least with writing, I can imagine a reader or recall conversation in the words I choose. It’s much less lonely, writing, than say, mopping floors. I think that’s why floor moppers talk to themselves. I know I would.
The best part of Professor Mangini’s class is his willingness to allow for alternate methods to emerge. He encourages students to try new things. For example, he is open to composition that goes beyond text to incorporate video, audio, and other modes of expression. This is something that reminds me of your class. This openness to unconventional methods leads to unique creations. Maybe it’s just because I have always been creative, but this kind of classroom is always my favorite to be in.
Sincerely,
Michael Youngkin