Since 2000, I've been the host of the Wimba Distinguished Lecture Series, shouting from the rooftops (well, desktops) about how to use modern educational technologies to teach effectively online. But now, after evangelizing for the last decade, I'm switching sides. I am teaching creative writing online as an adjunct professor for Holmes Community College, in Goodman, Mississippi. How the tables have turned.
I've probably led more webcasts than anyone on the planet. Seriously. I've hosted webcasts at least once a week for 10 years and I've also given thousands of other online presentations. From presentations about educational technologies and policies, to effective instructional techniques, I've done it. But now I'm tasked with teaching – online – creative writing, a topic that traditionally uses a workshop format, a format that is quite difficult to replicate in a virtual environment. Yet it's not the format that worries me.
You see, this is my first time teaching a college course. Though I've led writing workshops, collaborated with writers and journalists here in New York, contributed to numerous publications, and even penned my own book, I now fretfully ready myself to formally – and virtually – mold young (and a few moldier) minds at a college more than 1,000 miles away from my life here in New York. But I can’t wait. I can't wait to familiarize my students with exemplary works of poetry, fiction and nonfiction. I can't wait to answer my students' questions and hear their insights. I can't wait for my students to learn from me and for me to learn from them. I'm nervous. But I'm ready. I think. So in the immortal inquiry asked by David Byrne: Well, how did I get here?
Let’s start by looking at the Ed Tech industry first.
When wearing my Wimba hat, I often remind my audience that it’s only been about a decade since the modern format of online courses was put into place. The current configuration of combining course management systems, web conferencing, instant messaging, message boards, etc. to teach a class to students in a classroom and/or their pajamas barely existed in the 20th century, so when one stops to consider the idea that collegiate courses had been taught (more or less) in the exact same manner since ancient Egypt, Greece, and Mesopotamia, it’s quite startling to see how quickly this transformation has transpired.
Obviously this format of modern courses is still being tweaked, but it certainly appears that much of the technological and pedagogical foundation is firmly in place. As of today, the dawn of the ‘10s, tens of thousands of postsecondary faculty, either because of or in spite of their ability and/or willingness, have already taken the plunge and incorporated technologies into their courses – often with a great deal of success.
I’ve written numerous research documents boasting both the tangible and intangible benefits of technology-enabled courses. Countless examples of institutions around the globe that have seen benefits such as increased retention rates of students, increased enrollments, improved graduation rates, and dollars saved on time and travel, all thanks to technology in the classroom, fill the pages of these documents. In fact, I’ve seen so many positive examples of technology-enabled education over the years that I now have an extremely difficult time understanding why any institution wouldn’t beef up its current online offerings. The downside is just so negligible while the upside is so great.
But I digress. After all, I’ve now got my own class to worry about.
A couple of months ago I left my comfy big-city confines and headed south to tiny Goodman for an on-site orientation for new faculty. I didn’t really know what to expect. I knew I’d have a big leg-up in terms of my knowledge of online course technologies, but I also knew I’d have a big leg-down in terms of my knowledge of classroom instruction. Turns out I was dead-on.
My two Holmes Community College trainers that day explained the ins and outs of being an online instructor to me and the approximately 10 others in the room, all of whom had collegiate teaching experience. At least my tech savviness made up for the in-front-of-a-class-savviness I lacked. But even though I was already familiar with the Blackboards and SunGuards of the world, I didn’t realize how much about them I didn’t know. As my girlfriend always says, it’s hard to know what you don’t know.
My HCC trainers spent hours teaching me about Bb’s enrollment tools, grading and assessment functions, and how to withdraw students who need to drop out. Despite being around instructors for so much of my life, I guess I never truly grasped how much of teaching is actually administering. After a full day of technology training I left the campus very excited, but also very nervous. I kept picturing myself pushing the wrong button and accidentally unenrolling an eager student and then having to sheepishly write an email to the Holmes IT staffers informing them of my blunder.
But on the flipside, my nervousness also translated to eagerness. As I learned more about my prospective students – fervent 18-21-year-olds as well as working adults from around the country – I plotted the numerous ways in which I could engage them online. While driving from my orientation back to the Jackson airport I thought of at least 20 assignments that would combine best practices of teaching creative writing face-to-face with best practices of teaching online. In fact, by the time I reached the rental car return desk I could envision the thank-you letters I hoped to receive from my happy students who affably learned a few tips and tricks about writing with some flair.
Which brings me to today.
My lesson plans are done. My syllabus is up. My books are in the bookstore. But my mind still bursts with uncertainties (after all, I am a writer).
How well can they write? What do they already know? What don’t they know? From what kinds of experiences will they draw when they put pen to paper? Have they been to William Faulkner’s house up the road in Oxford? Will they mind if I occasionally swear? Will I understand them if they speak with thick drawls? Will their writing be better than mine?
The waiting is the hardest part. I wish I could invent time travel and get the first class over with.
The funny part is that I’m never this nervous when preparing and/or waiting to give presentations for Wimba, but I guess that’s because of my experience at the company. Hopefully I’ll read this op-ed a few years from now and laugh at how nervous I was. Man, I can’t wait to be a veteran writing teacher brimming with the confidence only gained from years of experience! Oh, how worn will the elbow pads of my tweed jackets be. Some day.
I discussed my trepidations with my family over the holidays, and my dad, drawing upon his 30 years of teaching experience, asked, “Do you have your opening speech ready?” I told him I did, but I lied, I guess because I don’t really need one. And this already demonstrates the difference between online and face-to-face.
When my class is ready to begin, someone from HCC’s technology department will simply hit a button in Blackboard, and then, in an instant, the class will be active. It won’t be the same as the first class of a face-to-face course. I won’t write my name in big letters on the chalkboard and won’t give a big dramatic speech about the wonders of writing creatively. Instead, my students will receive a message in their inboxes notifying them to watch the archive of a lecture I’ll record later this week. Sure, they’ll still see my talking head and hear the inflection of my nervous-yet-excited voice, but the impact might not be as a great as watching me forcefully pace back-and-forth in front of full lecture hall. Then again, perhaps the impact will be even greater because they’ll be equally nervous as they embark on a new class in a new medium.
Stay tuned for more as I tell my tales from the other side….
Matt Wasowski is senior director of customer programs at Wimba.