My Beautiful Internette
Saturday, June 3, 2017
Ella era
Ella era un recorto y pego de opiniones procapitalistas, vulgofeministas, frenteamplistas, odiapobres. Debatir con ella, como asomarse a un espejo deformante que te devolvía una imagen de vos inexistente pero que amenazaba con sustituirte de un golpe si no encontrabas el punto sobre la i a tiempo. No entendía nada. Inútil intentar rescatarla de su conformismo militante, pero siempre caías. ¿Era o se hacía? Ver más arriba, y así.
Sunday, July 26, 2015
Writing is not your Sunday clothes
The importance of writing in an English
language course should be obvious, but someone has asked, so here we
go.
In an ongoing course, writing is a way
for learners to try out new language and push boundaries in the
privacy of paper-mediated student-teacher interaction. The written
word allows for a depth of argumentation and intellectual speculation
that is, to say the least, rare in the realm of spoken
language. For some struggling adults, it provides a way to confirm
that they can actually articulate more ambitious meaning than they
can get across orally. (This automatically widens the scope of topics
fit for discussion, if you take the trouble of recycling students' writing efforts into oral activities.) More learned methodologists
might probably argue that writing skills eventually transfer to
spontaneous speaking: I don't know about that, but it certainly
sounds attractive, not to mention sensible. If none of the above is
convincing enough, just be reminded that there is no literacy in the
absence of writing, and no way to gain independence or to truly
appropriate the language in the absence of literacy. And then there's
the real world – for those who like it.
Up until the 1980s, it was the age of
telephone. Everything was negotiated through remote speaking. Holding
a handset between your chin and shoulder was the height of glamour,
Cristina Alberó style. Then something changed. I remember that back
in the mid-to-late 1990s, I used to find myself repeatedly having the
same conversation with taxi drivers: don't worry if your child spends
too much time on the Internet: 90% of it is made up of written text
anyway – they will be more literate than you are. Although we no
longer have an overwhelmingly text-based world wide web, it remains
true that individual expression through the written word has acquired a relevance to everyday life
it has never had before. Text messages. WhatsApp. Text chat. Twitter.
Composing messages on all these takes up considerable time in most people's everyday lives.
(Even Facebook, while too media-rich, includes a fair share of
written text, but Facebook is evil anyway.) And finally, the
preferred contact method for the educated individual: email. To my
dismay, my teenage students don't use it: I sincerely hope they will
have no option but to adopt it once they reach college. Of course
video chat and VoIP are also well-established, but I guess this is
mostly between intimates (newspaper comments and fan forums, both of
them platforms for communication among strangers, are likely to stay
text-based for some time to come).
This is where you object that Twitter
is not comparable to the kind of writing we do in class. Agreed. Nor
is it email. Maybe. But the kind of work we do around our classroom
products may transfer well to
the challenges of writing in the workplace. Whether
intellectually-inclined or not, it is a fact that our learners will
need a job to support themselves one day. And with the age of
telephone gone, most business negotiations are conducted via email.
(There is the occasional conference call, but this requires a
scheduling effort not always desirable.) I have spent entire
60-minute one-on-one sessions working on a single, sensitive email
with my in-company students both here and in Chile. This typically
means moving blocks of text around, making sentences simpler,
removing superfluous stuff, with not a single word added by myself.
You should see their faces when they see what editing can do to their
own words. As I like to put it to them, a written text is an
artifact optimised for the reader's use.
At least equally importantly, aspiring
to a University education without writing skills is unthinkable in
the English-speaking world. And why should we assume that because our
students are learning English in a language institute (as opposed to
some elitist bilingual school) they won't one day want to pursue
postgraduate studies abroad?
I see it every day with my IELTS
trainees: bright (often sweep-you-off-the-ground bright) scientists
who were never given a chance by their universities to learn how to organise a written text
reasonably well. Not that they can't do it with a little guidance.
But why add all that stress at such an unfortunate time? They have
enough going on in their lives, what with application forms and visa
arrangements. All right, it's not everyone that goes on to become
part of Academia. But there's no good reason for us to fail those who
will – especially if they care enough to work their way through the
entire not-so-recreational Cambridge English suite.
Time for a little soul-searching. Back
in the day when I was preparing CPE (over twenty years ago), I kept
bitchin' and moanin' about writing tasks. My main concern was that I
felt I was being made to pose as an expert on topics I had no real
knowledge of – I also developed a strong distaste for ecology, as I
felt it was constantly being rammed down our throats. If they arise,
these concerns can be addressed in class. And to tell the truth,
looking back I now realise that CPE writing practice came to be an
essential part of my academic setup.
What all this boils down to is that if
you are teaching English and you are not teaching writing, you're
cheating. Of course, 'teaching writing' means different things to
different people. I myself like to think I'm the reactive kind: that
is to say, the kind that waits and sees what they (yes, I still use they) come up with, then builds on that. In other words, to me
it's mostly about feedback.
And there's a couple of things to be
said about feedback. First and foremost, give credit for what's good
(and will be valued come the day of the exam if that's the case – a
simple 'this' appropriately used to refer to an entire previous
stretch of discourse is a good example of what might deserve a
wholehearted 'yes!') as often as you point out what's wrong: positive
feedback will give students something to build on. I use traffic
light codes: green, yellow and orange highlighter. Yes, I never
thought I'd go that childish at this ripe age, but there you go. If
on top of that (I'm talking exam preparation here) you give separate
feedback for each of the assessment criteria (Content, Organisation
and so on) they will see a pattern emerge over time. They may find they are
consistently strong on, say, Lexical resource (some people just have
a way of getting and using vocabulary the right way), which will give
them confidence, but realise they need to keep an eye on possible problems at the
sentence level because they are a bit sloppy with relative clauses or
tend to omit subjects after conjuctions (all of them mistakes –and this is crucial–
they can train themselves to spot and fix on their own). Just an example.
Then there's what us teachers are most
prone to forget: if it's not broken, don't try to fix it. When a
student produces a perfectly context-appropriate stretch of text (ok,
sentence), it is not a good idea to suggest a more complex
version (which may incidentally distort the meaning and make wrong
what was right to begin with) in the hope that examiners will prefer
it. You could even say this is an ethical matter, one of respect for
the student's efforts. And while I'm a committed non-behaviourist,
I'll be darned if I don't think students whose teachers
systematically find fault in good sentences end up losing confidence
to the point that they no longer know what's right and what's wrong.
(There is such a thing as having too many options for your own
good, or for your intellectual maturity – an undesirable
side-effect of our 'rewriting' exercises.) I find that what learners
often need is guidance on how to make their sentences simpler.
This is often achieved through omitting or splitting, and as I said before, there's a name for that. It's called editing. So,
more editing, which will make room for more ideas in
word-count-limited tasks, thus boosting students' performance in
terms of Content (not to mention clarity and the effect on the
reader), and less correcting.
One last thing: if you want to write
better, bloody read.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Por fin!
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Monday, October 26, 2009
Google no miente!!!
Hacé este experimento:
Tipeá en la barra de búsqueda de tu navegador la palabra "lacalle" seguida de un espacio y mirá las sugerencias de Google. éste es el resultado que dio mi Mozilla Firefox corriendo desde Uruguay hace unos pocos segundos - observá la única sugerencia para el nombre tipeado exacto (es la octava):
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Monday, October 19, 2009
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)