In the end, a competition was born. One blog post per week, due on Tuesdays, and if someone failed to post, they would have to eat their least favorite dessert--cake or pie. David is on #teamcake, which means he eats pie if he doesn't post. Neal is on #teampie, which means he eats cake if he fails to post.
Before I explain how I ended up on one of the teams, let me explain: I am probably a somewhat atypical girl, in that I really DON'T LIKE ICE CREAM. If someone were to therefore surprise me with an ice cream cake, therefore, I would truly have a quandary. Because, you know, UCK. I can manage ice cream on the occasion, but it's never my first (or any choice). Pie is. And no, I don't want ice cream on my pie, either, thank you. In fact, the mere thought of an ice cream cake that has icing on it makes me *shudder.*
Naturally, when confronted with the possibility of having to eat ice cream cake, or worse, ice cream cake with a lot of icing, I was totally in. I joined Neal on #teampie. @kevinoshea then chimed in and joined us, as well--though I'm honestly not sure what team he's on yet. We probably need a team list. @kimberlyarnold also joined, and she's on #teamicing.
Lest you worry, now is the point where I need to say, "And then it got silly." @jlknott chimed in, suggesting that it was a "blogging cage match." It was she who coined the hashtag #nerdthunderdome. And then it REALLY got silly. Because, you know, I have Photoshop.
So here, so far, are the playas:
As Mad Max in #nerdthunderdome, we have @davideisert:
As Auntie Entity, we have me (of course):
And as "Random Fighting Dude," we have @kevinoshea:
@kimberlyarnold I'm still a'workin' on, but this gave me no end of joy.
For someone who normally agonizes over and dreads hitting the final button to Publish, I couldn't wait for this one.
Week one, DONE. Go, #teampie!
- They had nothing to say.
- Twitter doesn't give enough "space."
- Folks who were on there were "sharing too much" (the example they used was tweeting that you were going to the bathroom).
So what is it about social media in general that makes people shy to participate? Is it because they don't have the opportunity to polish things into a published state? I've often said that my blog posts tend to sit in "unpublished" forever because I can't seem to let them go, but I think that impulse might hit folks even harder when it's something as immediate as Twitter. Hit "send," and it goes. There's no queuing, no way to go back and edit, and even if you delete it, chances are someone already saw it on their phone. That can feel pressure-filled to some folks.
The second comment, that there's "not enough space," also makes me consider carefully. Yes, Twitter only offers 140 characters. Yes, it's short--but not too short to send a link to a longer blog post, or a web page where you can flesh out ideas and engage people. Use it as a teaser, for heaven's sake! Is it just a matter of getting folks set up to use this stuff, or is it the age-old technology issue of the difficulty in creating change in people's habits?
The final comment, about "too much information," might require more of a post than I have time for right now. I have lots of thoughts on this issue, as I just completed my 14,030th tweet. First, I recognize (as do most people who've met me) that I'm an extrovert. I don't mind people knowing that I went running, or that I saw Le Reve last night at the Wynn (GREAT show, by the way--I highly recommend it).
That having been said, should I really expect someone to wade through the chaff for anything relevant that I might have to offer? That, too, seems unfair. Do I tweet that I'm heading to the restroom? Um, no. Do I tweet some fairly inane things at times? Um, yes. I do. I have one Twitter account (Whether or not this is a good thing is a topic that has been discussed in a variety of places--for good discussions see @cplong and @Targuman for starters, and @Robin2go has some good things to say there about identity, as well).
That having been said, there are tools to control the chaos. You can use Twitter Lists and clients like Tweet Deck to control whose tweets you see when. You can use hashtagging. You can "sleep" my account for time periods when I'm on a roll about something you don't care about (http://twittersnooze.com), or you can simply stop reading. Skim over. Unfollow and then refollow (or not) at a better time. It's not personal. It's not like I'll be offended if it's too much for you. I definitely have more to say here--around things like whether it's fair to require folks to Tweet, especially if they're essentially shy or introverted, or whether it's fair to require someone (like employees) to read your stuff. But that'll have to wait. I've got Tweeting to do.
The document itself turned out fine. Last week when I presented it to the committee, an interesting discussion occurred that has me back working on it, though. Because here's the difficulty--LMS systems at universities are inevitably tied in to other systems (registration, records, enrollments, finance, you know the drill.) so when you outline requirements, you have to be cognizant that there are several levels you need to deal with:
- What are the requirements of the system itself? These include the technical aspects of the system (security, server infrastructure), as well as the functionality needed (threaded discusssions, content management, drop boxes)
- What are the faculty member and student processes the system should support? These are the processes from the faculty member and student perspective; not from the institution's view of what those processes should be. How do the faculty and students want to do their work, both inside, outside, and around the system? How will they interact with it? What does current workflow look like, and how do faculty and students want it to be? That is, what could the system make easier in the process than what is done currently?
- What are the institutional needs of the system? The needs of the institution would include the kinds/types of records it needs out of the system, what format they should be in, and the LMS's ability to interface with other systems at the institution.
Then there's the issue of implementation. How will the institution implement the solution? Will that create further gaps, or streamline/improve processes for the users?
So now I'm back working on the document. This time, I'm going to attempt to identify what the real issues with the current system are, what are issues with our implementation of that system, what are specifically institutional process issues, and where there might be gaps that won't be solved by just getting a new system. The good part of all this is that I think it's an interesting question, and I'll get to talk to a whole lot of smart people in teasing it out.
I believe strongly in keeping student work "in the cloud." I believe that it teaches them to be more thoughtful, as what they say may be available to a broader audience, and I think that it encourages them to see how both their work and their thinking change over time.
The issue I'm having this semester is with the organization of my reading their posts, rather than with the posting itself. You see, I have the students doing all this on their own blog spaces; that way they can take the stuff with them, continuing to develop it over time. My hope is that when they graduate, they actually export the posts they've made and continue blogging into their professional adult lives. This is different than the way Chris Long does it in his class. For the Socratic Politics in Digital Dialogue blog, the students are all added as users to Chris's space, and the posts reside in one spot. I see this as offering him some advantages, including the facts that the posts reside in one space and the conversation can continue between students who take the class in different semesters.
Since I went a different way, I used tagging to aggregate the blog posts and fed those into Google Reader for what I thought would be easy, one-stop reading. As long as students tag their posts correctly, I see them in one space. But this is where it's breaking down for me currently. Google Reader only shows me a snippet of each post--to get the post in its entirety, with tagging, dates, times, and all content, I click on it and head to the students' individual blogs. There, I read the full post.
Currently, this process is taking me forever. I can't seem to find a way to do this quickly and efficiently, and if I happen to need to read two posts by the student for two different assignments, I often read the second assignment "while I'm there" instead of waiting. This means I'm shifting gears in thinking about assignments as well as reading items that haven't necessarily crossed my view in Google Reader yet. But I can't seem to help it. :)
When I get back to Google Reader, then, it becomes a matter of sorting (did I read that one? Is this the second post by this person, or the first?) and trust (did I "see" all their posts? is it "working"?). Compound that with the fact that I'm getting posts in my reader that aren't for my class, and it's been a lesson in utter inefficiency.
You see, I'm using a b1, b2 tagging system to designate which posts are which, and there are other instructors doing the same. Even though my blog search looked for those tags in addition to the actual course tag, I'm still pulling posts that are tagged with just bX instead of bX AND the course tag. I'm sure this is probably some kind of user error on my part, but I've been thinking about how I might do this a bit differently next time.
Here are the requirements I want:
- Students should post in their own space
- Student comments should belong to the student who made the comment, but should also show below the original post (I know this is do-able with some things ETS has done)
- I should see all the posts in one place, a la the Digital Dialogue
- The one place where I "see" them should show posts in their entirety and allow commenting
I say this to offer some context over the comments that follow. I am using blogs for a couple of different applications while teaching this class, but I'm not using them in a way I would consider "well." I'm not, for example, requiring that students read and comment on each others' posts, which I would normally do if the course ran over an entire semester. My goal there would be to follow Chris Long's model to get more interaction and discussion going.
The course is instructional systems--basically, multimedia design for instruction. The goals are to teach the students to integrate multimedia and other technology into instructional design and teaching. Teaching this in the two-month time frame I've got was insane, so I started looking for ways to maximize the student experience while still being able to stay (somewhat) sane. Teaching them to code in XHTML seems a bit "old school" to me at this point (don't get me wrong, it's still a useful skill); given we had to cover OER, video, still image editing, webquests, and Web 2.0 technologies, something had to go. So I started looking for another platform.
Enter Blogs @ Penn State (aka, Moveable Type). The two purposes I'm using blogs for are to replace the individual papers (reflection and response papers) that were in the class, and to use the blogs as a kind of CMS for course content the students are developing. For the CMS usage, I'm basically using the platform so that the XHTML could go. For the reflection and response posts, the blog technology allows me to have the students post their work in the cloud, and also offers them the potential to begin building (or to continue to build) their portfolio.
I also need to thank Mike Rook for the beginnings of the blog assignments, too. He rocked at sharing his materials from teaching the same course. The reflective blog entries asked students to look at the project they'd just completed, think about using it in the classroom, and decide how it could be used to replace, amplify, or transform teaching. The response entries asked the students to think about the course readings in a larger context, how they might affect teaching and learning at either the K-12 or university level.
But these posts need to be evaluated. And I never like doing so without a rubric to go by, so I created one. When you look at it, keep in mind that I would add to this the requirement of commenting and reflecting on others' posts if I were doing this over a full semester, too. I thought I'd share it here and see if folks had thoughts to improve it for next time. So...thoughts?
Reflective/Responsive Blog Posting Rubric
| Element | Value |
|---|---|
| The blog posting met the requirements of the specific assignment; that is, if the blog posting was to be a reflection on the assignment, it met the requirements of a reflective blog posting. If it was a weekly blog post (due Sunday) it carefully and thoroughly considered the question for the week. | 5 points |
| The blog posting was reflective, discussing the ideas in the readings or what was learned in the assignments in a way that extends knowledge beyond what was given. | 15 points |
| The blog posting was well-written and largely free of spelling or grammatical errors | 5 points |
| TOTAL | 30 points |
This post is a bit more personal than I tend to do on my Teachnology blog, but I believe it's important to say thank you. And I want the widest possible audience to see the fabulousness of the folks around me. So here goes.
Many of you already know that I've been going through some difficult personal times lately. Namely, a divorce. Those of you who didn't know, trust me--it's not fun. Compounding this situation was the fact that I had a partially completed addition on my house that my ex and I were to have finished. We didn't. It wasn't. And in order for me to keep the house and home for the kids, finishing the addition was essential.
Enter the most fantastic group of people you will ever meet--folks who are humbling in their caring, their warmth, and their generosity. Enter the Tweet Peeps, the KnitPistols, and the friends and neighbors who rolled up their sleeves and dug in. This post is for them.
First, to Hannah, who generously did without her new husband Jay for some very long hours while he planned, plotted, constructed, supervised, and otherwise made the whole project possible. She was generous in giving up time she had every right to expect, prolific in her baking, her time, and her flexibility, and relentless in her encouragement.
Next, of course, to Jay himself, who came in to the house right after I separated, took one look at the unfinished space, and said, "We're going to do this, and you're going to be in here by Thanksgiving." He did this despite his new marriage, his 18 credits of college coursework, and his responsibilities to other projects. People like Jay should be lauded wherever they go, not only for their work ethic, but for their generosity and sense of justice.
To Robin, who came whenever there was work to be done and didn't get enough, so came back for more. Who trusted me enough to stand below a window while I handed her a wood floor, two-to-three pieces at a time, for hours, trusting that I wouldn't knock her out or give her a concussion in the bargain. Who encouraged, drove to Lowe's, drove back, drove to Lowe's, drove back, and who generally kept me laughing even when I was so tired I thought I might cry. Who made coffee near midnight, swept the floor while the sawdust was flying, and made far too many trips on her replacement knees up and down the stairs to take things to and from the addition. She was and is both generous and gracious, and wonderfully, wonderfully loyal.
To Nancy, who came and grouted on her hands and knees for hours, and who risked life and limb to paint over a whole lot of empty space beneath her. Who loaned her woodworker husband Brian for whatever I might need to complete the space, who let me cry while we were running but never let it slow the pace, who made food as well as performed labor and who was and is there for me whenever I need her. Nancy has been my best friend for nearly 10 years, and she has shown me what dignity, loyalty, tact, and love can really do. She takes people as they are, always assumes the best, and gets me out of my head when I need to be. She is what people mean when they talk about grace, and I aspire to live to her example.
To her husband Brian too, who came when I needed him, who stayed when he was beyond tired, who laid baseboard and painted and even bought paint when we ran short. Who made sure that Nancy was okay with him finishing projects for me when he needed to do things at home. Who spent time measuring, cutting, nailing, repairing, and doing what needed to be done wherever it was needed. Most of all, to Brian whose calm, unflappable nature made the work go so much more easily.
To my dad, who dropped everything and came to help, who worked 16-hour days at an age where that should no longer be expected, and who is so talented at everything that all he touched just seemed to work. Plumbing, tile, framing, electrical, phone, hot water heater, laundry tub, baseboard heaters, cabling--nothing is beyond this man, and I appreciate him more now than I ever could have growing up. I now know that not everyone's dad can do all this, and I love him and respect him for doing it all for me. Thanks, Dad.
To John, my stepbrother, who despite a lot of hip and knee pain, limped through the house and up and down stairs for two days to lay me one heck of a tile floor. Who worked harder than he should have been expected to for a stepsister he rarely sees, who asked for nothing but a couch to sleep on, and who offered learning and advice on home improvement while also taking instruction and advice where he probably already knew what to do. Thanks to John for his loyalty, family spirit, and willingness to help me through his own physical pain.
To Joe, my "apparently almost a cousin" and coworker, who dropped his Saturday activities and came to work on the addition in whatever capacity he was needed. To paint, put together a toilet, take my good-natured abuse, work some more, and basically stay beyond what anyone had the right to expect. To Joe, who takes the sarcasm, gives it back, but still is supportive and helpful to the very end. I'm lucky you're around, guy. Thanks.
To Larry, a former boss who has become a trusted friend. The Boy Scout who is ever prepared, ready to take it on, and will try anything if it might help you out. Who came to work on the wood floor but cheerfully learned how to lay tile instead, because that's where we needed him. Who took the time out of his day to lend me his truck, who said "whatever you need" and meant it, and who is one of the best listeners I've ever met. Thanks, Lar. You absolutely rock. Never forget it.
To Susan, who knows all of electrical, who brought her own (pink) tools to the party, and gave as good as she got. Who laid backer board for hours, wiped grout, taught me to wire up a light fixture safely, who said that women can do home improvement as well as men, and then proved it, and who came and stayed and stayed until we were done. Who has known me through thick and thin, good and bad, and who is supportive no matter what. Thanks, Susan. You don't know how much that means to me.
To Don and Jo Anne, two of some of the best neighbors I could ever have. To Don, who helped with the wood and his always excellent advice, and Jo Anne, who treats me like a daughter, including making food for the workers even though I hadn't asked her to. These two have been married for over 50 years, and they are the best, kindest, and most supportive couple you will ever meet. Married folk should take lessons from them. Seriously.
To Ruth and Keith, two of my other neighbors who rock. Ruth made chili for the entire workforce, and bought beer for the first time in her life for our flooring party. Keith came and stayed, and stayed, painting, spackling, and generally helping out wherever there was need. These two people live their faith--generous, helpful, good Samaritans to all who come in contact with them, without ever asking for anything in return. They are to be emulated.
To Kathy and Rich, two other fabulous neighbors. Who never laugh when I stop by and say, "I need you to show me how to run my..." Who also say, "Whatever you need" and mean it, and who are willing to keep an eye on cats, kids, yard, and house whenever my life takes me away from here. Without them, I wouldn't know how to run my leaf blower, lawn mower, fill my tiki torches, edge my yard, or caulk my shower. For homeowner lessons, they are the best!
To Nicole and Kevin, who are my vacation buddies, close friends, and ever-present support network. To Kevin, who expended his tutoring skills on my behalf, and to Nicole, who showed up after a VERY long day of volunteering to volunteer at my house, too. You've checked in on me, offered comfort, offered support, resources, and help whenever I've needed it. I am truly grateful.
Finally, to the rest of you--on Facebook, Twitter, and real life--who have been supportive in so many ways. From those of you who commented on the Flickr pictures and encouraged us to go on, to those of you who sent messages or tweets of support, you have no idea what that has done. Social networking is often seen as a self-centered activity that screams, "All about me! Look what I did!" But I will tell you--and I know from experience--that it is far more about helping the community than touting your own stuff.
When I needed a smile, @VitaLuna, @obahama, and @reginaldgolding made me laugh. When I needed a prayer, Pastor Chuck Smith or Jen and Scott Johnson were there to pray. When I needed a "go get 'em," @meeshiefeet, @iAudrey, @hallekins, @micala, @PourpreNoir, @paxsarah, @agyorke, @jeffswain, @3dogMcNeill, @PinkPeonies, and a host of others were around. When I needed a weather report, for cripes' sake, I could always ask @JamieOber. And he delivered them custom. When I needed technical help or other encouragement, I had @bpanulla and @jasonheffner, @jmundie and @cmykdorothy, April and Abby, @davideisert and @kevinoshea. When I needed anything in real life, @onthelevel, @bevinhernandez, friends Jim and Anita, Robin D., my mom, my sister Val, and a host of others were willing to drop things in their own lives to assist. I know I am missing folk here--but the point is that you were ALL there. Always. And that means a lot. More than anything, I think.
Thus begins a new chapter. But the one that's just been completed means oh-so-much to me. I will never be able to repay these people. Never. But if you see them, and say thank you, or appreciate their being in the world in any way, then it will be a better place for all of us, I think.
Peace.
Stevie
Where I live, there are a lot of places to run, including a lot of Penn State land used for Agricultural Progress days in the summer. I love running there, not only because there is no traffic on the roads at Ag Progress during much of the year, but also because the up and down is challenging but fairly even.
Even better, lately they've been working on route 45, so all the traffic in one section of the road is gone--that's it--gone. A two lane, normally 45 - 55 mile-per-hour road (actually, most people go even faster than that), with fields on either side and the ridge off to the left. Great views, as long as you're not looking to get hit by a car, or by some idiot who decides to pass in a no-passing zone, causing you to leap into the ditches beside the fields. The construction period is pretty much running Nirvana to me, since I can avoid the slant at the side of the road and still have a good surface to run on.
So the last two days I've run down route 45 to the construction zone and back--that gives me a good 1-1.5 miles of the no-traffic-we're-constructing-here, another .5 miles of farm road through Ag Progress, and only a mile or so of actual-traffic-watch-out-road on the way back to my house.
But here's the thing. On both days--BOTH, mind you--at least one driver passed me going really fast toward the construction. At first, I thought perhaps those drivers didn't see the clearly marked "Road Closed" signs they'd passed, but now I think it's something deeper.
You see, it goes kind of like this:
Runner is running in left-hand lane of road. Car zooms by, Driver looking at Runner like she's an idiot to be running in the middle of the left-hand lane. Driver turns back to driving, only to see that road really is closed. Driver slams on brakes, managing to stop short of the actual barrier.
Driver pauses. Driver continues to pause. Driver pauses some more. Then, slooowwwwly, Driver backs into a driveway, slooowwwwly turns around, and slooowwwwly passes Runner going the other way. Driver now avoids looking at Runner at all costs, in order to preserve his/her dignity.
Interestingly, I really see this as an analogy regarding how lots of people (even me, sometimes) look at life. There are rules, but surely they don't apply to me. I'm different. I'm special. I'll just ask them to make an exception. Only, see? You can't. 'Cause Dude, the road is closed. There is no exception, no excuse, and no way to avoid using the detour. It's a little reminder that none of us is too special to be the exception all the time, that the rules are often there for a reason, and that, essentially, we're all equal in some things. The road will no more open for Steve Jobs or Barack Obama than it will for me. And that's nice.
I've spent most of my running time now trying to think up a sign I can hold up to drivers who learn they are not the exception. Something like, "Welcome to your Humanity!" or "Come back soon, and learn who you really are!" Or something. Could be fun.
After reading Cole's most recent post, I went back and read the one prior to it for context. Taken together, I think they both make some really important points. The first post discussed his attendance at the Chronicle of Higher Education's Tech Forum, and the second was a further reflection on that experience. I remember being rather angry at (and dismissive of, I'll admit) a lot of the comments that followed the Chronicle article that was written about Cole's presentation, which was entitled "Web 2.0 Classrooms Versus Learning."
"Versus?" I thought. You've got to be freaking kidding me.
I frankly didn't like how superior reading the comments to that article made me feel. What I was doing was no different than the audience member who said to Cole, "If that is scholarship, we are all doomed." Life is never that simple, and I don't like it when folks make anything an "us" vs. "them" kind of debate. To me, that's the worst kind of sloppy thinking. So what was it that made some people so seeminly dismissive of what Cole was trying to say?
After thinking about it for a bit, I realized that I was again comparing it to the Clay Shirky blog post I've been cogitating over for the past few weeks. In there, he says,
"That is what real revolutions are like. The old stuff gets broken faster than the new stuff is put in its place. . . .
When someone demands to know how we are going to replace newspapers, they are really demanding to be told that we are not living through a revolution."
I honestly think that a lot of folks in the academy are just plain scared of what's coming. It IS a revolution, and when people say that Web 2.0 is not scholarship, or that it's fluffy, or even that it's irresponsible, I see that as a form of fear. The old stuff is starting to look broken, and we haven't yet figured out what systems and institutions will replace it. Or even if they will be replaced.
Professor X may not have really thought of Web 2.0 as scholarship, because it just may require him to examine just what he's been doing all this time. If we use as analogy the revolution Shirky discusses, that of the invention of the printing press, Professor X is a scribe. I'll bet you that there were plenty of scribes sitting around talking about how printed books weren't "really" books, but it didn't save them. That kind of conversation isn't helpful, and it certainly didn''t give the scribes a place in the new world order. I think we should aim to do better.
Cole says, "I am committing myself to the notion of the conversation and the notion of breaking through the bullshit walls so many of us (and I am in that crowd) lean on -- walls that make us safe and don't push us to work towards shared meaning and understanding"--and I know he means it. I also think that Penn State is having these conversations in ways that are useful, even if change doesn't happen at a pace that might satisfy the radicals amongst us (and I'd like to be included in the group, please). But it also reminds me that I need to keep my energy focused too--on having real conversations instead of de-politicizing everything I say so as not to offend.
What I'd like to do is to strike a balance in order to get past the fear on both sides: the fear of revolution and the fear of offending, the fear of losing status and the fear of losing place. What's coming is going to be a great leveler of hierarchies, and in some ways, I think we're all going to need to hold hands and run into the flatness together.
I've been meaning to post this for nearly a week, but I've been struggling with how to express all the thoughts in my head around these ideas. Not just the ideas themselves, but also the fact that what I'm going to say here is probably going to irritate some people. I don't like to make folks mad, but there are things that need to be discussed in higher education--and they need to be discussed by organizations, not just by students in classrooms. So I guess I should also do the little caveat that "the thoughts here are my own, and not necessarily reflective of my institution or any of its sub-units." ☺
Recently, David Parry (@academicdave) posted a link to a blog post by Clay Shirky with the following Tweet:
"Today's academic read: @cshirky on the future of newspapers and journalism-If you change a few words he is also talking about the university"
I like the way Shirky thinks, and I always find Dave's comments intriguing, so I read the blog post almost immediately--and nothing has really been the same since. (See "Newspapers and Thinking the Unthinkable") The following section is a brief summary of his thoughts. Trust me, I will get to the education bit.
You see, Shirky's premise is that newspaper and media professionals saw the Web coming, but made the erroneous assumption that just giving themselves a "digital facelift" would be enough to carry them through. That the newspapers tried many different models to try to make money through the Internet, even as their subscriber base was shrinking, but that the "unthinkable scenario" was one with which they weren't prepared to deal.
The unthinkable scenario, according to Shirky, was that the different models the newspapers tried (subscriptions, micropayments, walled gardens) didn't work, and that sustaining traditional models of copyright not only wasn't going to work, but, per a quote from Gordy Thompson, "suing people who love something so much they want to share it would piss them off."
At its essence, Shirky's argument is that the advent of the free-flowing nature of the Internet, and the ways people like to share, is making the print newspaper business obsolete. But the business itself refused to see it. Per Shirky:
"When reality is labeled unthinkable, it creates a kind of sickness in an industry. Leadership becomes faith-based, while employees who have the temerity to suggest that what seems to be happening is in fact happening are herded into Innovation Departments, where they can be ignored en masse. . . . One of the effects [of this] on the newspapers is that many of their most passionate defenders are unable, even now, to plan for a world in which the industry they knew is visibly going away. . . .
With the old economics destroyed, organizational forms perfected for industrial production have to be replaced with structures optimized for digital data. It makes increasingly less sense even to talk about a publishing industry, because the core problem publishing solves -- the incredible difficulty, complexity, and expense of making something available to the public -- has stopped being a problem."
He also compares the time we're in now to the time period just after the invention of the printing press. Elizabeth Eisenstein's book, The Printing Press as an Agent of Change, notes that we are pretty clear on what life was like prior to the printing press (circa 1400), and also pretty clear about what it was like around 1600. But what did it look like during the revolution? During the great change? It turns out that that time, like this one, was chaotic. "Old institutions seemed exhausted while new ones seemed untrustworthy."
"That is what real revolutions are like. The old stuff gets broken faster than the new stuff is put in its place. The importance of any given experiment isn't apparent at the moment it appears; big changes stall, small changes spread. Even the revolutionaries can't predict what will happen. Agreements on all sides that core institutions must be protected are rendered meaningless by the very people doing the agreeing."
I'm making this longer than it should be, especially since I am really hoping all of you will read the post yourselves. The thoughts that have been churning in my mind since reading it are all over the place, and have to do with not only where I currently work, but also around the whole idea of higher education.
How can our institution respond to the revolution? Heck, forget the institution--how can my division respond? In a world where information is plentiful, where much of it is free, and where informal learning can occur just in time and wherever you want, is the academy still relevant? Credentialing is one thing, but how would that work in an era of free an open information?
And about that online learning thing--is that, too, a "digital facelift" for higher education that will ultimately be a model that doesn't work?
Another thought I had was around the idea of experimentation. If indeed "The old stuff gets broken faster than the new stuff is put in its place," then are we trying enough new and creative ideas in higher education that we might have a chance of getting some of the "new stuff" we need? Or are we creating "innovation departments" that are shunted to the side and easy to ignore? To that end, how in the heck do we do wild experiments when we sit inside large, complex bureaucracies? Particularly ones where funding can be an issue?
This is not to say that things aren't happening at my institution. One division is especially good at thinking creatively and providing platforms for students and faculty to engage in ways that are vastly different than we used to. There are also experiments happening with open educational resources from the offering side of things. But is what we're currently doing enough?
The basic issue for me is that we can be slow to change, and we can't afford to be. When experimentation on a large scale is difficult, and "looking like" others is what institutions value (this may be especially true in the case of tenure-seekers), then we are missing what Shirky might call "octavo volume" opportunities. The man who invented the octavo volume didn't know at the time that it would make literacy cheaper and more portable--but it turned out to be a "key innovation."
Don't get me wrong--I love my job, and I love where I work. I get juice from the idea of getting up every day and trying to move forward an agenda I believe in--learning, no matter who you are or where you live. But that having been said, I think we need to start asking the hard questions of ourselves--including whether or not we should exist at all. If the idea that we might "go away" is not on the table, then what else are we missing? Do I think that my division, my larger unit, or even the university itself is going away any time soon? No. Do I think we're in real danger of obsolescence if we don't start really talking about the elephant that sits quietly in the corner? Absolutely.
So here's my attempt to start the conversation. Have at it. ☺
I was, however, very pleasantly surprised. Very. The session dealt with storytelling in organizations. Not just the dominant stories told by the organizations themselves, but also the shadow stories that cut in some way against the stories the organization tells about itself.
The dominant story of your organization can be found all around you--in the layout of your office building, the placement of people inside their offices (or cubes), in how you are greeted by the reception desk, to the posters, art, and other images on its walls. Look around you: what is your organization’s dominant story?
But is it the only story?
The need for both dominant and shadow (liminal) narratives is a large part of Tyler’s work. The dominant story need not always be bad (and in fact at PSU is quite good), but we lose something by not attending to the shadow stories around us. In fact, the greater the dissonance between the shadow stories and the dominant ones, the more important it is for us to pay attention.
How do organizations do this? Well, though that’s the topic for next week’s session, I actually have a few thoughts about how it’s done now. Let me tell you a story...
Once upon a time, ‘back in the day’ if you will, I worked at an organization where the production of courses for distant students was paramount. Pressures during particular times of the year were very high, and while the organization was really good at saying, “we support you--we’ll back you,” when push came to shove it was often “we’ll just have to manage this one time, for the good of the order...” There was a lot of turnover, because folks felt so totally overworked, felt that they couldn’t take time to professionally develop, and a host of other reasons.
Enter one of my co-workers. A creative, out-of-the box (box? we don’t need no stinkin’ box!) thinker, she hatched a creative idea that took root and blossomed beyond our wildest imaginings. We launched a little “news” magazine called The Garlic. Modeled after The Onion, it was an underground publication, basically making fun of everything and everyone around us in the most ridiculous way. We put the AVP in a Lenin hat, created a fictional Frankenstein of a ‘perfect’ employee, and also wrote one story where the director needed to attend ‘vegetable sensitivity training’ because he kept offering people produce from his garden. In short, it was ridiculous. Full of hyperbole and exaggeration.However, the items we made fun of were things that frustrated us at work (well, maybe except for the produce. That was just funny). Course tanking in enrollments? Simple! Write a story where we enroll everyone attending a football game, and the problem is fixed! Subject-matter experts not delivering content on time? Put in an ad to “grow your own faculty!” Overcrowding an issue? Photoshop your own “bunk desks” to create more space!
Grow your own faculty!
The issues were hilarious, and of course, word got out. However, instead of shutting us down, we were encouraged this medium as an outlet. It was fun, it was safe (being behind password-protection), and better yet, it gave the administrative types the ability to see what irked us without it becoming personally threatening. I’d like to say that some of the items written about were taken care of due to the stories we crafted, but I don’t know if that was ever the case. It did, however, give us a creative outlet for our shadow stories that we didn’t have before. And it prevented those from blowing up in anyone’s face.
It also created one of the most collegial and cohesive work environments I’d ever been in. Everyone had a story, and ideas poured in. Which brings me to the main point I’m hoping we cover next week--how do we create social spaces constructed for listening to these shadow stories in a way that helps and enables the organization to succeed? And how do we build the trust needed so the storytellers come forth?
