Writing Across the Curriculum

At several points in my development as a college teacher, I have learned the hard way (and too late) that I bear the responsibility for my own expectations. This is not to say that students cannot be held accountable for their own work, but that we must be held accountable too. To that end, I believe my role as instructor must begin with humility and presence.

In the past, I have gotten caught in the forward force of the semester, and I have failed to reflect on how my students are doing (truly — in the ways that matter) and what I can and should change about what I am doing as their instructor. Indeed, just as students have one shot to get it right with each new class, an instructor has one shot to get it right with each new class of students.

I have found myself at the semester’s end realizing that my students were not taking good notes, that the classroom presentations were not as fulfilling as they could have been, and that the instances of plagiarism I saw may have occurred in part because I had not taken enough time to explain how to cite original sources.

Maintaining a sense of humility — that my instructions were not clear, that my assignments could have been improved (with better scaffolding!), and that I can adjust the values in my classroom through the priorities I set — is a key to improvement. And, so I can make these changes before it is too late, I hope to have a sense of presence — even as the semester pushes on.

What is the connection between students’ oral articulation of ideas and the improvement of their writing skills? Is it plausible to assume that there is any?

As an adjunct instructor, I have consistently assigned group presentations. Typically, I ask students to do two things: 1) provide a summary of the readings and 2) to critically engage the summary, pointing out an omission, an unconvincing aspect of the argument or a way the author ought to develop it further. I also ask my students to create a handout for their peers to follow as they present. So, some writing is required for the group presentations; often it becomes a reference point during the question and answer period after the presentation.

As a philosophy teacher, I have found that it is critical for students to have multiple opportunities to assume some kind of public authority over the material in order to engage it in a more intimate and rigorous way that facilitates their comprehension. Plus, having an audience for one’s ideas encourages students to use simple, unpretentious language to describe philosophical concepts. Presumably, this ought to impact their presentation of their ideas in papers. But I have no sense of how to correlate presentation assignments and its impact on writing.

As I develop the WI syllabus workshop, it dawned on me whether or group presentations and informal writing assignments designed to facilitate group discussion should perhaps be incorporated in WI syllabi as a good option for improving students writing. Thoughts?

As CUNY schools shut down across the city, many professors are left to re-organize “tentative” syllabi schedules. But instead of letting snow days wreak havoc on your reading schedule as well as the roads, use them to practice WAC principles, encouraging learning and understanding of the course material assigned for that day through low-stakes writing.

Here’s one of my favorite writing assignments to give on snow days that occur early in the semester:

Original Assignment:

• reading due (quiz): J. Allan Hobson, from Dreaming, Chapter 7

Snow Day Assignment:

• NO IN-CLASS MEETING: Professional e-mail assignment. By the end of our scheduled class period, send me a professional e-mail reflecting on one aspect of the reading for today, quoting with an in-text citation at least once (needs to be no more than 4-5 sentences).

Early in the semester, I explain to my students that professional emails include a thoughtful subject line, address to the recipient, organization, and sign offs. They are concise, to the point, and read over more than once. Professors often complain about student e-mails, so give students a chance to practice this crucial professional skill while also having them respond to course material in writing!

For those of you who don’t use online platforms in your classroom, a snow day might be a good day to require students to watch any video clips you planned to show in class, or even movie or film versions of a text you’re reading (depending on how long the class session runs—a good rule of thumb is to not give students more work than they could realistically complete during the class period). From the warmth and safety of their home, students can watch and respond to material that would otherwise take up valuable class time—or even read and respond to some material you had to cut in constructing your syllabus. Their written responses can be turned in and / or discussed during the next class, depending on how much time you want to take to read and respond to additional writing. Here’s an example from one of my literature classes that could be adapted for any relevant media:

Original Assignment:

• reading due (quiz): Shakespeare, Titus Andronicus (to end) (on the reading quiz you will be asked what word you looked up in the OED and what denotations and connotations you discovered)

Snow Day Assignment:

• CLASS HELD ONLINE: During class time, please watch the following clips from Julie Taymor’s Titus (Youtube links uploaded under “reading questions and responses”). Write a response to the film in which you discuss the OED word you looked up and one aspect of the film adaptation that is different from what you imagined (about two paragraphs).

Finally, in my classes, my favorite way to use snow days is to teach students how to respond to each other in writing. If you use a class blog or other online platform in a web-enhanced classroom, facilitating class discussion online becomes an opportunity for students to respond to one another in writing—practice for future writing groups, editing, and other forms of professional feedback in academia. Here is an example from my literature course, but, again, it can be adapted for any reading material across disciplines:

• CLASS HELD ONLINE: read one story from Dubliners not assigned yesterday and write a “new post” (top right corner) about the kinds of violence represented in the story, as well as the stories assigned on Wednesday: how is paralysis represented in Dubliners and how do these representations depart from the more obvious violences we’ve encountered thus far? Make sure to quote specifically from story, as well as incorporate a close-reading using the OED in order to answer this question. Post and respond to at least two of your peers’ posts by 11:59PM.

When you first begin asking students to respond to each other in writing, it’s important to provide example responses to comments for students so they know that one or two lines isn’t sufficient. I try to pick example comments to show students that are written in simple language, as to not discourage writers who feel they don’t have strong skills. An example from one of my students:

• I have to agree with what you said about Eveline justifying her father’s actions. She’s well aware that her father has had violent tendencies in the past, and as she’s gotten older, it has not improved. Yet, she mentions that there are times where perhaps he isn’t so bad, and weighs this rather heavily when deciding whether to leave with Frank or not. Many of the characters in Dubliners are creatures of habit, and when their habits are disturbed, paralysis sets in. Eveline has been no exception.

This comment is a gorgeous example of “Agreeing and Disagreeing,” a skill Gerald Graff encourages students to master in They Say, I Say: The Moves that Matter in Academic Writing. In a short paragraph, the student agrees and disagrees with his peers’ post and draws larger conclusions about the text. Even if the grammar and mechanics were less polished, I would use this response as an “A+ example” of what I expect from students.

If you’re just beginning to try out online discussions, you might not have examples. Sometimes, I’ll respond to superb comments or posts to let students know I, too, am reading and engaging with their writing and that this snow day assignment isn’t just busy work. For example:

• Prof. A says:
• January 13, 2017 at 12:52 pm (Edit)
• I really love how you chose to also focus on “how they handle” their paralysis–I think Lauren Berlant’s concept of “lateral agency” comes into play, but at the same time characters like Mr. Duffy and Eveline have been taught the “best” or “right” way to handle themselves, and it doesn’t always work out for them. “Handle” is also a great OED word because it suggests control and the ability to grasp–feelings / abilities Joyce doesn’t necessarily give his narrators. Well done!

Here, I incorporate key terms, databases, and how to quote from source material (it’s powerful for students to have their thoughts respected in this way—they often deserve this level of engagement, too!). Remember, though, it’s always more powerful when students see excellent examples of other students’ writing.

Finally, and I believe most importantly, I never grade my students’ participation in these assignments on low-order writing concerns such as grammar and mechanics. These assignments are a space to give introverts a chance to join the conversation, as well as students who struggle with writing a safe place to practice their skills. Emphasize to your students that their participation for the day is being graded on how well they engage with their peers’ ideas—do they ask questions, quote from the original post, make connections to other course materials, disagree respectfully? All these skills are far more important to good writing than grammar and mechanics and take practice, as well.

Hopefully this post inspires you to get your students writing tomorrow or on future snow days!

Stay warm,

Alicia

Despite the availability of valuable alternatives, PowerPoint is still the most used technological platform in college classrooms. However, its actual pedagogical potential is rarely achieved and most of the time instructors employ it as a simple visual transposition for their lectures. In order to tackle this issue, Professor Ronald A. Berk wrote an article that summarizes most of the research conducted to identify the best strategies to express the educational potential of PowerPoint, which is, in my opinion, worth learning from.

Berk makes a distinction between “basic features and uses” and “rich media,” where the former indicates those features all the instructors are more familiar with, while the latter designates instructional tools like videos, music, movement.

In reviewing the academic research on the basic features, Berk outlines a series of directions to optimize the learning process and improve the way in which instructors build their slides, which can be recapped in few useful points: 1) minimize the background since it should not distract the students from the content. 2) The length of the text and bullet points should be reduced as much as possible, at the same time it is important to create a conceptual hierarchy using the given visual options (upper lower cases, bold, italics etc.) 3) headlines should be a full sentence as opposed to a single word or a phrase. 4) The best way to make the text readable is to pick up high-contrast color using a cool background and warm text.

According to Berk, those expedients alone can only slightly improve the retention of information by the students. Because without using any multimedia tool, instructors are left with what he defines as “dead words,” which do not evidently improve the effectiveness of the lecture. What instead can surely enhance one’s slides are the multimedia tools that too often are overlooked by instructors, which, for Berk, mostly consist of three elements: movement, music, and videos.

PowerPoint offers a lot of different options when it comes to movement but, as Berk underlines, transitions of slides and animation of letters, words, and graphics, can be counterproductive if not use systematically. The research mentioned in the article shows how animated graphic can increase students concentration, but if it is overdo or not consistent it usually distracts them.

Music can also be a very valuable device since, as many studies have shown, it creates emotional connections. Implementing music in or between slides can activate students attention and, consequently, allow the move of the content into long-term memory. Berk suggests also that the students should be somehow familiar with the music in order to facilitate the processes explained above.

On the last multimedia tool, video, there has been a more extensive research, and Berk notes how, overall, all the investigations agree in underline the positive effects on the learning process of video clips embedded in PowerPoint. The same research stresses the effectiveness of a verbal and visual presentation on low-knowledge and high-spatial learners.

To conclude, I think it can be worthwhile to follow Berk’s suggestions and spend more time on designing effective PowerPoint. But on the other hand, instructors should also be careful not to embellish their slides excessively, if they do not want their students to focus too much on the visual devices and not paying enough attention to the content.

References:

Berk, R. A. (2011). Research on PowerPoint®: From basic features to multimedia. International Journal of Technology in Teaching and Learning, 7(1), 24-35.

æt ði ɛnd ʌv iʧ səˈmɛstər, aɪ səˈlɪsɪt ˈfidˌbæk frʌm maɪ ˈstudənts əˈbaʊt ðɛr laɪks ænd dɪˈslaɪks əˈbaʊt ðə kɔrs. ɪn ðiz ˌkɑnvərˈseɪʃənz, wʌn ʌv ðə moʊst ˈfrikwənt kəmˈpleɪnts ɪz ðæt “ðɛr wʌz tu mʌʧ ˈraɪtɪŋ.” ɪt ɪz tru, ðɛr ɪz ə lɑt ʌv ˈraɪtɪŋ ɪn maɪ ˈkɔrsəz-aɪ juz ˈoʊnli ɪnˈfɔrməl ænd ˈfɔrməl ˈraɪtɪŋ əˈsaɪnmənts fɔr ˈstudənt ɪˌvæljuˈeɪʃən. bʌt, æz maɪ poʊst-səˈmɛstər ˌkɑnvərˈseɪʃənz wɪð ˈstudənts kənˈtɪnju, aɪ ˈriəˌlaɪz ðə pleɪs frʌm wɪʧ ðɛr kəmˈpleɪnt stɛmz: “aɪm nɑt ə gʊd ˈraɪtər.”

fɔr ˈmɛni ʌv maɪ ˈstudənts, ðə ˈprɑbləm ðeɪ hæv ɪz nɑt ði əˈmaʊnt ʌv ˈraɪtɪŋ aɪ æsk ʌv ðɛm, ɪts ˈrɪli ðæt ðeɪ drɛd ˈraɪtɪŋ əˈsaɪnmənts. ˈraɪtfəli ɔr nɑt, ðeɪ bɪˈliv ðeɪ ɑr pur ˈraɪtərz ænd ðʌs wʊd ˈræðər əˈvɔɪd ˈraɪtɪŋ ˈɛksərˌsaɪzəz kəmˈplitli. ðeɪ ˈwɜri ðæt ðeɪ “sʌk æt ˈspɛlɪŋ,” hæv ˈtrʌbəl aɪˈdɛntəˌfaɪɪŋ ə ˈsɛntənsɪz naʊn ænd vɜrb, hæv pur ˈgræmər skɪlz ɔr fɪr ðə ˈdɪfərəns ɪn ˈraɪtɪŋ əˈbɪləti bɪˈtwin ðɛm ænd ðə prəˈfɛsər wɪl ˈoʊpən ðɛm ʌp tu ɪmˈbɛrəsmənt. ɔl ðɪs ˈmɪsəz ðə pɔɪnt ʌv waɪ aɪ tæsk ðɛm tu raɪt ɪn ðə fɜrst pleɪs.

aɪ du nɑt praɪˈmɛrəli ˈɪmpləmənt ˈraɪtɪŋ əˈkrɔs maɪ kəˈrɪkjələ bɪˈkɔz aɪ wɑnt tu ˈkʌltəˌveɪt gʊd ˈraɪtɪŋ (ən əˈʧivmənt ðæt əˈkɜrz ˈsloʊli ænd θruˈaʊt ə ˈstudənts ˌækəˈdɛmɪk ˈtɛnjər). ˈækʧuəli, aɪ ˈɪmpləmənt ˈraɪtɪŋ bɪˈkɔz aɪ wɑnt tu ˈkʌltəˌveɪt gʊd ˈθɪŋkɪŋ. aɪ juz ˈraɪtɪŋ æz ə tul fɔr ˈlɜrnɪŋ. aɪ doʊnt wɑnt ˈstudənts tu frɛt əˈbaʊt ˈwɛðər ɔr nɑt ðɛr ˈraɪtɪŋ ɪz gʊd. aɪ wɑnt ðɛm tu kənˈsɜrn ðɛmˈsɛlvz praɪˈmɛrəli wɪð ˈwɛðər ɔr nɑt ðɛr ˈθɪŋkɪŋ ɪz gʊd. aɪ wɑnt maɪ ˈstudənts tu trit ˈraɪtɪŋ æz ə weɪ tu ɒbˈʤɛktɪfaɪ θɔts soʊ ðæt ðeɪ kæn məˈnɪpjəˌleɪt ðɛm. ˈraɪtɪŋ skɪlz ɑr ʤʌst weɪz tu ˈmænəˌfɛst ˈkrɪtɪkəl ˈθɪŋkɪŋ skɪlz. bʌt haʊ maɪt aɪ prəˈvoʊk ðɪs ˈkɑgnɪtɪv ʃɪft? haʊ kæn aɪ gɛt maɪ ˈstudənts tu ˈriəˌlaɪz ðæt aɪ kɛr mɔr əˈbaʊt ðɛr ˈθɪŋkɪŋ ðæn aɪ du əˈbaʊt ðɛr ˈraɪtɪŋ?

ɪn ðə pæst, aɪ hæv traɪd ˈvɛriəs ˈɛksərˌsaɪzəz. ðɪs səˈmɛstər, aɪ wɪl ˈmɑdəˌfaɪ ən oʊld əˈsaɪnmənt ɪn ˈɔrdər tu meɪk ɪt ˈsʌmθɪŋ nu. aɪ ˈrɛgjələrli əˈsaɪn ə ʃɔrt ˈstɔri, wɪʧ wi ˈleɪtər ˌdikənˈstrʌkt. ðɪs səˈmɛstər, wɪð ði ɪnˈtɛnʧən ʌv ˈprɛsɪŋ əˈpɑn ˈstudənts ðæt ˈminɪŋ kæn bi kəmˈjunəˌkeɪtɪd θru wɜrdz ɪn ði ˈæbsəns ʌv “gʊd ˈraɪtɪŋ,” aɪ wɪl prəˈvaɪd ðɛm ə trænˈzleɪtəd ˈvɜrʒən ʌv ðə ˈstɔri ˈjuzɪŋ ði ˌɪntərˈnæʃənəl fəˈnɛtɪk ˈælfəˌbɛt (aɪ-pi-eɪ). ˈmɑdəˌfaɪɪŋ ðɪs (ˈstændərd hjuˈmænɪtiz) əˈsaɪnmənt ɪn sʌʧ ə weɪ wɪl əˈlaʊ mi tu ˈæˌdrɛs tu ˈkɑmən ˈɑbstəkəlz wi feɪs wɛn ˈɪmpləˌmɛntɪŋ ˈraɪtɪŋ ˈɪntu ˈaʊər ˈkɔrsəz.

ˈstudənts wɪl ˈlaɪkli ˈstrʌgəl æt fɜrst tu dɪˈsaɪfər ðə tɛkst. bʌt-ʤʌst æz ju hæv bɪˈkʌm ˈkʌmfərtəbəl wɪð aɪ-pi-eɪ hir-ˈstudənts wɪl kʌm tu ˌʌndərˈstænd ðə ˈfɔrən ˈraɪtɪŋ ˈsɪstəm ðeɪ ɑr ɛnˈkaʊntərɪŋ ænd faɪnd ðɛmˈsɛlvz ˈrɛdɪŋ ðə tɛkst wɪð ɪnˈkrist fəˈsɪlɪti. ðɛr maɪndz wɪl ʃɪft əˈweɪ frʌm ðə ˈspɛlɪŋ kənˈvɛnʃənz ðeɪ ɑr juzd tu, ænd muv θru ðə tɛkst wɪð ði əˈbɪləti tu rɪˈtriv ɪts ˈminɪŋ. boʊθ ˈlɛsənz ɑr ˈloʊˌkeɪtəd hir.

fɜrst, ən ˈɔθərz θɔts kæn bi ɪmˈbɑdid θru tɛkst wɪˈθaʊt “gʊd ˈraɪtɪŋ.” soʊ, ðeɪ tu kæn ˈproʊdus ˈminɪŋfəl ænd proʊˈfaʊnd ˈrɪtən tɛksts wɪˈθaʊt “gʊd ˈraɪtɪŋ.” ˈsɛkənd, ði ˈɛksərˌsaɪz ʌv riˈtrivɪŋ ˈminɪŋ-æz əˈpoʊzd tu ɪˈvæljuˌeɪtɪŋ ˈraɪtɪŋ-ˈpɛrəˌlɛlz ðə ˈprɑˌsɛs ʌv ˈgreɪdɪŋ ˌʌndərˈgræʤəwət ˈraɪtɪŋ. soʊ, ˈhævɪŋ lɜrnd ðɪs, ðeɪ wɪl trit ðɛr oʊn ˈraɪtɪŋ əˈsaɪnmənts wɪð lɛs strɛs ˈnoʊɪŋ ˈraɪtɪŋ kənˈvɛnʃənz ɑr ʌv lɛs əˈtɛnʃən ðæn ˈminɪŋfəl ˈraɪtɪŋ.

aɪ wɪl kənˈtɪnju tu plæn ðɪs əˈsaɪnmənt ˈoʊvər ðə nɛkst fju wiks ænd ˈɪmpləmənt ɪt bɪˈfɔr ðə ˈmɪdˌtɜrm ˈsizən. ɪn maɪ nɛkst poʊst, aɪ wɪl rəˈflɛkt ɑn ænd ɪˈvæljuˌeɪt haʊ ɪt wɛnt.

–ˈælbərt

One of the key principles of Writing Across the Curriculum is the use of writing as a learning tool, or “writing to learn” as opposed to simply “learning to write.” It is our belief that the use of writing in the classroom can extend critical thinking and deepen learning (see Bean, part 1). Our goal is to assist in integrating more writing into the curriculum, even where it hasn’t traditionally been present or where it doesn’t seem to fit.

There is at times a natural resistance to adding further writing components to some classrooms; after all, not every course or department is a humanities course, and many don’t seem to be an obvious fit. As writing fellows, it is our goal to think creatively and to help faculty search for ways to incorporate more writing into their courses, but I’ll be the first to admit that the “how” isn’t always obvious.

The particular domain I’ve decided to turn my attention to came up in one of our weekly meetings, where it was suggested that I might be assigned to work with a language instructor who teaches introductory language courses within the City Tech system. This didn’t end up happening, but the problem interested me from the outset, as I often find myself in a similar position as a French instructor. Anecdotal resistance on the part of similar faculty members brought with it what I feel to be a very interesting line of inquiry, which can be summed up with a single question: How are we to integrate writing into a course in which the students are just learning the language?

These language instructors have a point. At first blush, it appears that the current trend in language acquisition courses is in some ways at odds with our goals. In the end, that might prove to be the case, but it certainly won’t prevent me from trying my best to determine some practical methods that can be complimentary to both approaches.

How are these intro language courses at odds with the writing-to-learn approach? The most evident reason is that in many cases, the students in these courses simply do not have a strong enough grasp of their new language to write anything more than the most rudimentary sentences at first, later very short paragraphs. Their vocabulary is naturally quite limited at first, their comprehension of the foreign syntax is still deeply overshadowed by that of English, and often their access to the variety of verbal tenses needed for self-expression is being introduced to them one piece at a time, a process than can go on for months. As instructors, how are we to expect students to use writing to learn when they are not yet equipped with the tools?

A second difficulty that will arise in many language departments is pedagogical in its origin. Many language programs currently bring to bear a pronounced emphasis on oral over written. For example, while French instruction is historically built on grammatical models such as conjugation drills and workbook exercises, there is a strong current these days that shies away from the grammatical and linguistic model, looking to reach the student in a more conversational environment. Some departments will go as far as to minimize purely grammatical instruction. Coupled with this, there is also a strong push for faculty to use and permit as little English as possible during classroom time, which further minimizes the time students spend writing. While this is in keeping with Bean’s stance against over-grammaticizing the writing program, we must of course be conscious of the difference between helping students learn to write in a language the linguistic foundations of which were laid in early childhood, and the different necessities of second-language acquisition as an adult.

How then are we to implement additional writing into an instruction model that at least on a superficial level tends to avoid it? While I have a few ideas that I’ve been considering, I’ll readily admit that this is a complex question. Further reading and research will be required before I’m comfortable putting my own ideas forward, as I would prefer to bring some supporting research into the argument. As such, I’m not quite ready to offer any suggestions at this time.

If this line of inquiry is of interest to you, please check back later this semester and again in the spring, as I will do my best to offer some practical compromises in my follow-up posts. And of course, if you have considered this before, have any ideas or suggestions, or have come across any literature on the topic, please post below or contact me directly via the Writing Across the Curriculum team.

Chris Clarke
WAC Fellow, City Tech

I was asked to give a workshop last year to a group of grade school teachers on the issue of knowledge transfer. The reason for the workshop was teachers’ perceptions that students moved from grade to grade and subject to subject apparently treating each grade or subject in isolation and not applying the skills and knowledge from one grade or subject to the next.

This issue necessitates redundancy in teaching, and worse, lost chances to build and expand on students’ skills and knowledge across their academic development.

In thinking about this issue as college educators, consider the following two questions:

1) When you meet your students at the beginning of a semester, what expectations do you have about the knowledge the students should bring to your classroom?

2) What expectations do students have about the knowledge they should bring to the classroom?

The answer to the first question might be extensive.

For example, I want my students to know how to make an argument, what constitutes evidence for an argument, why things like labeling and generalizations can be problematic, how to study and take notes, and the list goes on!

The answer to the second question might be “None!”

So you see one of the first things we can do is set clear expectations about knowledge transfer for our students.

The reason a student’s list might be shorter than her teacher’s is that students might expect each new classroom to be a brand new challenge. There is a new instructor to figure out, a new set of concepts to learn, a new style of testing, a new form of classroom discussion. To a student, understandably, each new class and each new instructor might feel entirely new! So, why would they apply knowledge from prior classroom experiences to this one?

That your expectations and your students’ expectations might differ is not inherently a bad thing, but it does call for you as the instructor to make your expectations clear!

Once expectations are better matched, the next step as instructors is to find ways to promote knowledge transfer across classes and disciplines.

Some ideas:

1) Portfolios
Within disciplines, students might develop portfolios that will be carried over from one course level to the next. A second-year calculus (or second-year writing, etc.) teacher could see some of a students’ work from the first-year calculus (or first-year writing, etc.) class. Students and teachers could include goals and feedback to facilitate development rather than re-starting from one course level to the next.

2) Teach-Backs
A component of an advanced course in any discipline could be to teach-back foundational concepts to students in first-year courses in that discipline. This could be done verbally through mini-lessons, or in writing, through summary sheets.

3) Previewing
In your classroom, make a point to elicit prior knowledge, and “preview” subjects as you move through course content.

4) Inter-disciplinary collaboration
Talk to other instructors – in other disciplines!
Perhaps a writing course could team up with a math course to partner students for a project that integrates narrative and mathematical formulation. The possibilities are endless!

Special thanks to the 2015-2016 WAC Fellows at Brooklyn College with whom these ideas were developed!

“I love deadlines. I love the whooshing noise they make as they go by.”
—Douglas Adams, The Salmon of Doubt

     This blog post was supposed to go up on Monday. It didn’t. Time, holidays, ennui, other commitments, other deadlines, not knowing what to write, not wanting to write, wanting to write other things, not wanting to think: certainly these are some of the reasons it did not go up. Or rather, these are the reasons why I put off writing the post—but they are not necessarily the reasons why no post went up on Monday. The reason I was able to put off writing until I had something I really wanted to write about (this meta-analysis of deadlines that you are reading, hello and welcome to the post itself!) rests far more on my understanding of the academic community of which I am a part. No post went up on Monday because I knew that the WAC project would not crumble if a post went up a bit late; I knew that the WAC coordinators would generously allow that the ideas are more important than the timestamp, and I knew that the readers would, hopefully, understand. Or not notice. I know very few academics who have not sent in a conference abstract just under the wire, or spent part of a conference in their hotel room furiously editing the paper they are giving the next day, or used their commute to go over the assigned reading on the way to class. I would be skeptical of anyone who claimed they have never sent an email that started with “Sorry this is so late!”

     Deadlines, then, like dinner reservations, have varying levels of flexibility. But somewhere in the liminal space between the deadlines we have and the deadlines we set, a part of the academic community seems to have been lost in the shuffle. Late papers, or never-turned-in papers, or last minute emails with missing attachments; for professors, incompletes and unofficial withdrawals are the end of semester disappointments that seem to come out of nowhere. But what if we approach student deadlines like we do our own—with the expectation of empathy on the other end? At what point do we invite a student to join us in the academy as equals?

     My late work policy when I teach is as follows: all major assignments must be turned in to pass the class, but late work will not receive credit. This is a firm policy, to which I’ve made very few exceptions. However, included on my syllabus and reiterated in every assignment page and student conference is my policy on extensions—I will always grant an extension, with no reason (and certainly no ‘official note’) necessary, as long as the student asks for it before the assignment is due. I’m transparent with students about the hard deadlines at stake: when grades are due, when I expect to finish grading, when my other classes are turning things in. Most extensions are a process where I push the student to take slightly more time than they ask for, but where they understand the consequences of the new timeline they have undertaken, as opposed to the ‘ideal’ timeline I have built into the assignment due date. How can I ask students to behave with the scholarly rigor that I expect—and require—of them if I do not also extend the humanity and understanding that the scholarly community extends to me? How can I expect students to understand that I am human (and not a grading or knowledge machine) if I do not understand the same of them? How can I prepare them for a world in which staying up all night to hit a deadline will probably be less important than turning in work that satisfies them, and that means something?

     I hate to use the “now, more than ever” phrase—but now, more than ever, we must foster a sense of kinship and commonality in the university. We must use our curriculum to teach more than theorems or grammar. Empathy and humanity are not radical ideas, but they can be (and have been) used in radical ways, to re-shape the world and the people inhabiting it. As we prepare our syllabi for next semester, or remind students of their final assignments, consider how small acts can change the shape of the academy, expanding its borders and ensuring that it remains a space where everyone is someone.