The Conference NCTE

I went to the NCTE conference this past weekend and enjoyed every minute of it. The conference was held in Pittsburgh, PA. Although I was supposed to fly, I ended up driving by myself. The scenery was beautiful. Once I got to PA, I noticed the tall hills and the houses that were on the hills. I stayed at the Best Western where I not only got complimentary breakfast, but also three drinks per night. Once I got to the Convention Center, I realized how big the conference really was. I recieved a booklet that was filled with pages after pages of sessions. It took me at least thirty minutes to pick two sessions! The first session I picked was a session that was led by Nikki Giovanni. I was so excited that I arrived sixteen minutes early so I could get a good seat. I ended up getting a seat right in the front. A woman walked up to me and asked me if I could take a picture of her and Nikki Giovanni. I agreed and took the picture. She then asked me if I could e-mail the picture to her at a later date. She told me that she was the speaker for the session and she would be introducing Nikki Giovanni soon. I asked her if I could shake her hand, since she had the privilege of introducing Nikki Giovanni. She then asked me if I wanted to get introduced to Nikki Giovanni. At this point, I was speechless. I could only shake my head up and down and smile as big as my mouth would allow. I walked on the stage, palms sweaty, feet shaking. When she introduced me to Nikki, I was awestruck. Nikki told me I had a pretty smile and I started smiling until my face felt like it was about to crack open. Not only did I get to shake her hand, but I also got to take a picture with her. This experience was one of the top three best experiences in my life. I can't wait to go to the next NCTE Connference which will be held in Nashville, TN.

Genre Study

I decided to post a copy of my final genre study that I was working on in my English 408 class. The assignment was to pick a genre that you aren't comfortabe writing and attempt to write in that particular genre. While I think I did a good job, I would like some feedback.

You Can Do It! Responding to Student Writing
When I entered the Teaching of Writing Program at Eastern Michigan University, I must admit I was a nervous wreck. I worried about everything: the assignments, the professors, the students in my classes, the students in other classes, everything. However, once I took my first class, I was fine. I was not so lucky when it came to my first response to students’ essays. I remember the first set of essays I received as if I got them yesterday. I blankly stared at the essays, wondering what I was doing in this field, wishing the paper would disappear, hoping something or someone would interrupt me so I could push the paper to the side and come back to it at a later, much later date. This, however, was not the case. Instead of someone coming to my office with a concern, or my phone ringing, I was surrounded by total silence and solitude. I had no choice but to grab my pen and began to do the one task I had avoided; respond to student writing. At this point, I knew I had a problem. Hopefully it was one that could be resolved. I had to research strategies I could use in my class rooms that would help me effectively respond to my students writing. Were there any strategies that I could beg, borrow, and steal from others? Was it possible to respond in a way that helped you students become better writers? Were there other teachers out there, just like me with questions pertaining to teacher response? I was on a mission for answers.
I later found out I was not alone when it came to the “fear of responding.” In fact, I discovered scholars such as Lad Tobin, Chris Anson and Carol Jago dealt with situations similar to mine. In her article, “Responding to Student Writing: Keep pedaling!” Carol Jago emphasized how teachers’ responses can have a negative impact on students. She commented, “Forgetting to include encouragement in our responses can also turn what should be an intellectually stimulating activity into a hateful task” (56). To her, Encouragement is extremely important when it comes to student writing. Jago gave an example of one method she uses with her students when they publish class collections. Instead of doing peer response, she organized a group of her stronger writers and makes sure every paper is proofread by those students. After this step is complete, Jago took the papers and reads them, reminding herself to maintain a balanced criticism with encouragement (57). In her responses, she included encouraging phrases such as “good opening line…keep writing.”
This is exactly what I did when responding to one particular student who I’ll call Susan. She was a student in my ninth grade English class. She was a confident young writer who enjoyed writing poetry, short stories, and even lyrics. While her writing was not as strong as her confidence, I made sure I praised her for the strong points of her writing. For example, in one response, I wrote, ““You did a great job at describing your idea of going to the Oscars.” By complimenting Susan on her work not only allowed her to continue her positive attitude toward writing, but it also motivated her to continue writing.
Another strategy I used to respond was highlighting specific lines from her writing I thought were great. Let’s take another response I wrote to Susan where I said, “I really like how you used simile in your poem. For example, the line that states, ‘it feels like an Eternity’ really stood out!” By doing this, Susan felt that I not only understood her writing, but appreciated it as well.
I’m not saying you shouldn’t give feedback where you are confused or feel there are errors, but what I am saying is that there is a way other than the traditional red ink massacre method.
For instance, in another response to Susan I commented, “When I first read the title, I noticed the word ‘Haiku’ was spelled differently. Was this intentional? I also noticed that your poem didn’t completely follow the format of a Haiku poem. The standard form consists of a 17 syllable poem, where the fist line has 5 syllables, the second has 7 syllables, and the last line has 5 syllables. You could follow this pattern very easily with this poem, or you could keep it the way it is. Your poem works well either way.” To me, this strategy gives constructive criticism as well as support without destroying the student’s confidence. There are several other strategies that have helped and may be beneficial for other teachers to try when responding to student writing:

Ask Questions- If you are not clear on what the student is trying to say, instead of making assumptions, ask them specific questions about their writing.
Be available- Some students need be able to talk to you if they have concerns and vice versa.
Address them by name- this is a big one! When responding to their work, even if the response is extremely short, address them like you’re writing a letter.
Avoid the red pen- While some teachers still use red pens, I’ve noticed that my students are more comfortable with my responses that are not in red.
Don’t be afraid of praise- The more you let your students know when they are doing a good job, the better their attitude will be- the better their attitude, the better their writing!
__________________________
I’m not saying you shouldn’t give feedback where you are confused or feel there are errors, but what I am saying is that there is a way other than the traditional red ink massacre method.
____________________________

Debra Crone Blevins summarizes it best, stating “…the point is that almost all students can gain something if their teachers are cognizant of their writing struggles, and if they are willing to offer a safe and supportive environment” (98).
My goal is to create this environment where my students are not only comfortable but secure with their writing as well so that they may become not just great writers for me, but for themselves.
Works Cited
Crone-Blevins, Deborah E. 2002 “The Art of Response” English Journal. 93- 98.
Jago, Carol. 2001. “Responding to Student Writing: Keep Pedaling!” Voices from the Middle. 9:1

Tanisha Blackmon teaches at Ypsilanti High, YpsilantiMichigan.

Something new

Last night while looking through some books, I ran across a book I purchased for one of my creative writing classes in undergrad. As I flipped through it, I noticed some interesting activites. Therefore, I decided to try one. In the book, What If?, the authors want you to "Begin a story using one of the following as your main character:

• A young boy whose father is in jail.
• A waitress who likes her menus to rhyme.
• A 16-year-old in the hospital
• The driver of a hit-and-run accident

I decide to try the first one. I sat and thought for awhile about the character, the setting, as well as the potential items on the menu. I ended up with this:

"He's in jail" was the only thing she could tell me. She didn't know what crime he'd committ nor did she know how long he was there or would be there. All she knew was that this man, Robert Blackwell, was my father. I had grown up thinking about my father but when I asked questions, my mother changed the subject or said nothing at all. Maybe she was ashamed of herself. Maybe she was ashamed of me. The only reference to my father she made was when she got uoset with me (which was on a regular basis). "You look just like that no-good- ass father of yours," she would yell. Everytime she said this, it tore me into pieces. She never knew it though...b/c she repeated this phrase until today, my eighteenth birthday.

Genre Draft...Really Rough!!

Please give me feedback/suggestions for this. I need them!

When I entered the program, I must admit that I was a nervous wreck. I worried about everything: the assignments, the professors, the students in my classes, the students in other classes, everything. However, once I took my first class, I was fine. I was not so lucky when it came to my first response to a student’s essay. I blankly stared at the essay, wondering what I was doing in this field, wishing the paper would disappear, hoping something or someone would interrupt me so I could push the paper to the side and come back to it at a later, much later date. This, however, was not the case. Instead of someone coming to my office with a concern, or my phone ringing, I was surrounded by total silence and solitude. I had no choice but to grab my pen and began to do the one task I had avoided; respond to student writing.
I later found out that I was not alone when it came to the “fear of responding.” In fact, I discovered scholar such as Lad Tobin, Chris Anson and Carol Jago had deal with situations similar to mine. In her article, “Responding to Student Writing: Keep pedaling!” Carol Jago emphasized how teachers’ responses can have a negative impact on students. She commented, “Forgetting to include encouragement in our responses can also turn what should be an intellectually stimulating activity into a hateful task” (56). To her, Encouragement is extremely important when it comes to student writing. Jago gave an example of one method she uses with her students when they publish class collections. Instead of doing peer response, she organized a group of her stronger writers and makes sure that every paper is proofread by those students. After this step is complete, Jago took the papers and reads them, reminding herself to maintain balanced criticism with encouragement (57). In her responses, she included encouraging phrases such as “good opening line…keep writing.”
This is exactly what I did when responding to ninth grader who I’ll call Susan. She was a confident young writer who enjoyed writing poetry, short stories, and even lyrics. While her writing was as strong as her confidence, I made sure that I praised her for the strong points of her writing. For example, in one response, I wrote, ““You did a great job at describing your idea of going to the Oscars.” By complimenting Susan on her work not only allowed her to continue her positive attitude toward writing, but it also motivated her to continue writing.
Another strategy I used to respond was including specific lines I thought were great. Let’s take one of the responses I wrote to Susan where I said, “I really like how you used simile in your poem. For example, the line that states, ‘it feels like an Eternity’ really stood out!” (more)


I’m not saying that you shouldn’t give feedback where you are confused or feel there are errors, but what I am saying is that there is a way other than the traditional red ink massacre method. For instance, in another response to Susan I commented, “When I first read the title, I noticed the word ‘Haiku’ was spelled differently. Was this intentional? I also noticed that your poem didn’t completely follow the format of a Haiku poem. The standard form consists of a 17 syllable poem, where the fist line has 5 syllables, the second has 7 syllables, and the last line has 5 syllables. You could follow this pattern very easily with this poem, or you could keep it the way it is. Your poem works good either way.” To me, this strategy gives constructive criticism as well as support without destroying the student’s confidence. (more)

More Memories

The Danger of Dots
It was the summer before I started my senior year at Siena Heights University. While I told myself I was going to actually relax this summer, I decided to get a job because I realized I would need some extra money, me being the “shop-o-holic” that I am. I applied for jobs in the mall, the grocery store, and even fast food restaurants, which I promised myself I would never do. The first place that called me back was Dots, a clothing store in a shopping center near my

home. I went for an interview the next day and got the job immediately.
The first two months were simple. I hung clothes, made cash sales, and organized jewelry and accessories. From time to time, it was challenging, especially when we had big sales. The store was packed like sardine cans with nothing but women and children, trying to find the cutest, cheapest outfit. Although it was hectic, I enjoyed talking to the women and assisting them in their decision-making process. Since I considered myself to be a “fashion diva” this job helped me improve upon my expertise.
It wasn’t until the third month when I realized I should’ve followed my first thought, which was not to work. On Monday, we found out we were getting a new supervisor. Our district manager informed us that our previous supervisor quit and the new supervisor would start the following morning. I wasn’t bothered too much by the information for three reasons: 1.) I had only three days left. 2.) Even if the supervisor wasn’t as nice as the previous one, I would only have to deal with her for three days. 3.) Did I mention that I had only three days left? What could possibly go wrong within seventy-two hours?
Rebecca, who preferred to be called Becky, entered the store and I am almost certain there were clouds that appeared as well on this hot summer day. Her facial expressions were unpleasant, her attitude was extremely negative, and her dominant ways reminded me of the days of slavery. By the end of the first night, I felt as if I had worked in a factory for twenty hours non-stop. When I got home, I collapsed on the bed. I thought of quitting, but knew I had only two more days of torture so I fell asleep wondering what the “new” supervisor would have on her agenda.
The next morning I arrived at work to find out that the new supervisor wouldn’t be in until the afternoon. I wanted to jump up and shout. By the time she would get there, I would be gone and then I would have only one day left. I signed onto the register, opened the door, and allowed the early bird shoppers to come in behind me. A few minutes later, a man strolled into the store.
“How are you ladies doing?” he politely asked as he walked through the front door. We all smiled and in chorus replied, “Fine.” I noticed he was carrying an empty Farmer Jack bag, but thought nothing of it. It wasn’t until I recognized that he was also carrying a gun when it hit me. He wasn’t there to purchase clothes for his wife, daughter, or even his little sister. He was there to rob the store.
“Open the register right now,” he yelled as he pointed the gun directly at me. For a moment, I thought I was dreaming. I pinched myself so I could wake up, but the pain informed me this was real. I was actually at gunpoint! He repeated the phrase at least three times before I became aware he was talking to me. All I could think about was the fact that there was a gun staring me in the eyes and at any second it could end my life. I opened the register and gave him the money. He then ordered me to open the safe. “I can’t open the safe, I informed him. I don’t have the key.”
“Somebody in here has a key, and they better open the damn safe right now. Who has it?” he asked pointing the gun closer to me. I quickly pointed to Mary, the assistant manager. “She does.” At this point he made the shoppers go into the back room and he instructed Mary to open the safe. As she kneeled down to open the safe, which only had four hundred -thirty two dollars, he made me face the wall. I thought about my family. I thought about my boyfriend. For some strange reason, I thought about Scooby Doo cartoons. After Mary put the money on the counter, he snatched it, put it in his Farmer Jack bag, and slowly walked out the door. Mary called both the police and Becky.
“I quit” were the first two words that escaped from my mouth. I repeated this statement as I walked to the back room to call my mother. At first, she thought I was joking. It wasn’t until I started crying that she began to panic. I assured her that everyone in the store was safe and I told her to come pick me up.
The cops took their time coming to the store. They viewed the tape, which turned out to be worthless. The robber knew exactly where to stand so they would not capture a clear picture of his face. To make matters worse, our supervisor did not show up until an hour later. She and her friend straddled into the crime scene with their Marshal Fields’ bags and frozen cappuccinos as if they were models on a runway. I could feel my blood pressure rising and my headache increasing.

Food for Thought

I met this guy at a bar. He wanted to dance. So we did. He offered to buy me a drink. I let him. We dance and drank and drank and dance until...until the records stopped spinnin and our lips started sinnin and when I realized where we'd been then I decided just to end it cause after all we weren't even friends then but I knew where this could end when I said "yes" to that gin and after one or two minutes maybe even ten I would hate what might have happend, cryin, tryin to gain back my religion from that guy...at da' bar...who bought da' drink...dat i drank.

MEMORIES

It was the summer of 1989. I was seven years old and I still remember this as if it happened two minutes ago. My two cousins asked me if I wanted to build a club house. I was excited and, of course agreed. The only problem was we didn't have a hammer or nails. We found pieces of wood in my grandmother's backyard for the foundation, but we had nothing to hold it together. My cousin Clayton ordered me to go into my grandmother's kitchen and take (steal) the hammer and nails, which were located in the bottom cabinet drawer. "Are you crazy?" I asked. If grandma caught me stealing, I would get in trouble and have to stay in. He then assured me that she wouldn't catch me because I could run the fastest. For some ridiculous reason, I fell for it, and off I went to get the hammer and nails. I quietly and quickly grabbed the supplies and returned to the backyard. I was so excited because I was going to be the captain of the club house, since I was the brave soldier who got the supplies. We put the wood in place and formed a square around the largest tree in the backyard. Once they were in place, my cousin picked up the hammer and some nails. He then told me to hold the two pieces of would together while he joined them. I informed him that this plan would not work because we needed the wood to be on a flat surface. He agreed and we then took two pieces of wood and placed them on top of the other. Our plan was to join each corner piece together and then stand the whole "box" frame up. My cousin grabbed the hammer and this time instead of holding the wood, I was responsible for holding the nail in place while he hammered. It never occurred to me that he was only one year older than me and had NEVER used a hammer until today. I held the nail and I remember telling him to be careful. He raised the hammer high and came down on not the nail, put my thumb! I honestly think I passed out for a minute or two. I jumped up, yelling and screaming, running around the entire backyard. My grandmother rushed out to see what was going on. Without thinking, I told her the whole story. Not only did we get our butts beat for stealing, but we also had to stay in the house for the whole day. So there I was, butt sore, thumb swollen, and dream shattered. I never tried to build a club house again. I laugh about this memory today, but I still get mad at my cousin from time to time. After all, it was all his fault.