Apparently, in the education world, being published in a “peer review” journal is a big deal. So, I’m excited to have my third piece of work published in this regard — a case study about how Montgomery County Community College uses analytics to inform decisions that impact student learning outcomes and success, published in EDUCAUSE Review Online.
Check it out: Efficiencies, Learning Outcomes Bolstered by Analytics, Data-Informed Decision Making
While I co-authored other “peer review” pieces, this case study marks the first time I took the lead. It’s a somewhat intimidating process that involves first submitting an abstract for consideration, then, if accepted, providing an outline, followed by several drafts, and — since this is an online publication — a variety of multimedia content. At each stage, the content is critiqued by editors, and revisions have to be made. Also, at each stage, the editors could decide that the work no longer makes the cut.
So, while the case study may not reflect my typical writing flare, it’s a huge boon to my resume and writing portfolio, and I’m eternally grateful for the opportunity!
Sometimes it takes a little push to get inspired.
I was stuck in a creative rut — doing what I needed to do but nothing truly inspired — for months. Then, I found inspiration from an unlikely source — an abandoned coal breaker in Luzerne County.
A colleague invited me to join a small crew of storytellers in exploring the Huber Breaker in Ashley, Pa. Abandoned since 1976, the breaker is currently part of a bankruptcy suit that will, in all likelihood, see the property sold and the breaker demolished.
We’re telling the breaker’s story through a series of interviews, photographs, videos and first-hand documentation of our journey. Every trip to Ashley seems to expand the project’s scope — which is, at times, both overwhelming and exhilarating.
The outside-the-box-and-comfort-zone way of thinking has boosted my creativity in all things, especially blogging.
http://ashleysbreaker.org
is our project’s home base. I’ll post periodic updates to Communication Art. In the meantime, check out two of my recent posts, The Shadow of Blue Coal and In Search of Ashley’s Planes.
I was a journalist on Sept. 11, 2001, working for a local direct mail, weekly publication that included several pages of “good news” (read “fluff”) editorial copy. As editor, I had to put the paper to bed two days after 9/11.
I remember going to work the next day, sitting at my desk, and feeling numb…at a loss for what to write. Covering fluff in the Philadelphia suburbs, I had no business covering the horrific event. Yet, I couldn’t ignore it either.
I imagine it’s the same challenge faced by journalists outside of Colorado today and throughout this week. Of course, there are AP wire stories that will undoubtedly run in most papers. But local news must go on locally, regardless.
An obvious answer is to localize the story. And many journalists in my region are doing just that tonight — using social media to ask questions like, “will you still see the movie?”
I did my best to localize the story back in 2001 (oh how I wish social media existed then). Now defunct Philly radio station Y-100 was holding a 9/11 supply drive at a major shopping complex just outside of my coverage area. I interviewed one of the morning show hosts by phone and hung out at the supply drop, which yielded dozens of tractor trailers full of supplies for rescue crews in Jersey City and Manhattan.
In the scheme of things, the supply drive and story were small. But for those of us involved, it helped us get though the day/week feeling like we did *something* to help our fellow man. It helped us move on.
For my editorial column that week, I actually wrote about the challenge of going through the day as if things were normal. And the following week, I interviewed a rep from the local American Red Cross chapter about the ways in which people not impacted by the crisis can help.
Today, my thoughts are with the wounded individuals and victims’ families of the Colorado theater shootings – and with the journalists who must move on with their coverage in spite of tragedy.
The announcement of an upcoming poetry project prompted me to dig out some of my old work. And by old work I mean OLD — as in the disturbing ramblings of a teenager and very young adult from 1991-1997.
A few initial observations:
1) Okay, I now get why everyone was so worried about me. I mean, this stuff was DARK. Lots of blood and death, which — although mostly metaphorical — must have been pretty upsetting to others.
2) Someone should have TAKEN THE THESAURUS from the younger me. Good lord, I don’t even know what half those words mean. Thank god I went on to learn that stringing together 10 big adjectives doesn’t a good writer make!
3) Some of this stuff — if polished — could be really good.
Let me expand on #3. I have spent the last decade+ telling people I’m not a creative writer. I can write facts or opinions, but not poetry or fiction. That the younger me had this spark of creative flair is a kind-of reality check. I mean, that doesn’t go away, right? I’m still creative in other ways, so maybe I should revisit my former passion.
Perhaps I could start small — rework some of my old stuff — make it better, and see what happens…
Today, I had the opportunity to write about the centennial anniversary of the founding of the Betzwood Motion Picture Studio. It’s wild to think that one of the most influential studios of its day produced hundreds of films in our own backyards and that people are still discovering studio artifacts on their properties.
Betzwood was founded by Siegmund Lubin in 1912 and remained in operation through 1923 in what is now West Norriton Township, Montgomery County, Pa. Lubin is credited with making the first attempt to mass market movies. In 21st century terms, that’s like being the first business to employ Facebook as a marketing tool or engage customers with Twitter. Cutting edge stuff!
Of the hundreds made, only 30 films and film fragments survived the ravages of time. Copies of 25 of those films/fragments are archived locally and will soon be available to the general public online thanks to a digitization project underway.
Click here to learn more from Lubin biographer Joseph Eckhardt.
Last night, I had the outstanding privilege of hearing a keynote address by Pulitzer Prize recipient Junot Diaz, author of The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao. During his keynote, which kicked off Montgomery County Community College’s annual Writers Conference, Diaz discussed his artistic process and the role of the arts in our society. Here are some quotes and paraphrases from the keynote:
Young people choose majors out of fear. The arts are different. “All that is good in humanity is found in the arts.”
“Every time we touch the arts, the little bit of humanity we have grows brighter.”
You can’t serve two masters — art or capitalism. Are you doing something to make the world better?
Who you are always comes out in your art – including human limitations.
“People think that they have to write to be a writer. To be a writer, you have to read first.”
”The medium for a writer is other people’s nervous systems.” Most writing fails because the writer exerts too much control.
“The difference between reality & dreams is that the real world resists us.” The world must resist your characters.
“When you are reading you are off line. Literature functions at the speed of the human soul.”
Junot Diaz engages in a Q & A session with students before the keynote.
I am excited to have co-authored a case study titled “Using Technology to Impact Student Retention” for the winter 2010 edition of the national, peer-reviewed publication EDUCAUSE Quarterly. This is my second piece published by EDUCASUE. In 2009, I contributed to an article titled “Charting the Course and Tapping the Community: The EDUCAUSE Top Teaching and Learning Challenges 2009,” which was published in EDUCAUSE Review.
A decade ago when I was working at the now defunct Trend Midweek, I wrote a weekly editorial column on a topic of my choosing—one of the few things I miss about that painful gig. I recall, in the first issue of 2002, writing about my “anti-new year’s resolution,” during which I resolved not to make a new year’s resolution. (Yes, I realize in doing this that I contradicted the entire point of the piece.)
But here I am, a decade later thinking about new year’s resolutions and how I haven’t really made any yet, three days after ringing in the new year. Resolution-making is a tricky business. Last year, I made several and spent the latter half of 2010 beating myself up for not following through. This is especially self-destructive, as one of the resolutions was to not beat myself up. And so, the cycle continues.
On Dec. 31, Mike Robbins wrote a piece for The Huffington Post about “Completing the Year Consciously.” In the article, he suggests reflecting on the highs and lows of the past year and doing and saying “whatever we need to in order to create a true sense of closure to an experience.” He writes:
Because we often have resistance to authentically celebrating and appreciating ourselves, reflecting honestly on our accomplishments or our failures, acknowledging our real results or lack thereof, grieving loss with depth, and more, we usually just roll through the end of things and either avoid completion altogether or move on to the next thing as fast as we can. When we do this, however, we miss out on a sacred and important process.
Ouch! The “avoid completion altogether” remark hits close to home, and, unfortunately is the way I deal with more than just unfulfilled new year’s resolutions. According to Robbins, “when we don’t take the time to truly complete something, we end up carrying baggage, regrets, fear and unresolved issues into our next experience,” all of which undermine our success and fulfillment.
No kidding!
In order to help bring closure to 2010, Robbins proposes asking oneself a series of questions and putting the answers in writing. They include:
He even suggests sharing the answers with important people in your life. Then, and only then, will be in a place where you can effectively craft goals and intentions for 2011.
As I reflect on 2010 with less focus on the negative, I realize that I did take some steps—baby steps—toward some of the lofty resolutions I set for myself. At least now, I am positioned in a more accurate—though still scattered—direction in some areas.
Perhaps the answer, then, is to not make grand and likely un-realizable new year’s resolutions for 2011, but rather to build on the goals (scaled back) set in 2010. Notice I said “goals” as opposed to “resolutions.” Goals can change as we grow. Resolutions feel as though they are set in stone.
Author and marketing guru Seth Godin (The Dip, Tribes, Linchpin) gives advice on “Getting Unstuck” in his blog, aptly titled Seth Godin’s Blog.
Godin concludes his post by writing, “If the only alternative is slow and painful failure, the way to get unstuck is to blow up a constraint, deal with the pain and then run forward. Fast.”
While the “cut and run” method of coping isn’t always the most viable method, I have begun, recently, to understand its value as a life tool.
Mary Jaksch published a recent article on copyblogger.com (a blog about—you guessed it—copywriting) that outlined 73 ways to become a better writer. It’s probably one of my favorite blog posts of all time—and not because I necessarily agree with everything included.
I found it reassuring that I engage regularly in around 40 percent of the activities or practices on the list. There’s another 30 percent that I want to follow/practice and at least 10-15 percent that I SHOULD follow but probably won’t (that’s a discussion for another day). I realize these percentages don’t equal 100—there’s a reason I’m a writer and not in a profession that involves absolutes. Some of the remaining tips are irrelevant; others may work for some writers, but not for me.
My favorite pieces of advice from the list include:
# 3. Accept all forms of criticism and learn to grow from it.
#8. Live with passion.
# 9. Be open, curious, present, and engaged.
#13. Write in different genres: blog posts, poems, short stories, essays.
#34. Be inspired by other art forms – music, dance, sculpture, painting.
#35. Read your old stuff and acknowledge how far you’ve come – and how far you have to go.
#72. Take risks – don’t be afraid to shock. You are not who you think you are.
Most of the statements above offer abstract advice as opposed to instruction on mechanics. The technical aspects are writing are equally important, but without passion, art, risk and general openness to new experiences, all of the mechanics in the world can’t bring a piece of work to life.
When I read the article for the second time, I was taken in by one of the tips that I had previously dismissed: #39. Tell everyone: “I’m a writer.”
I knew I wanted to be a writer since around eighth grade. I dabbled in poetry and prose, and often wrote essays as opposed to entries in a journal. I loved metaphors, and everything I wrote symbolically meant something else. I brooded, agonized, and dressed only in black. I was the epitome of teenage angst and a tortured artist rolled into one.
Reality hit around age 17, at which point I woke up and realized that one can not live on poetry and sulking alone. I took an interest in journalism and fell in love with the art of writing the op-ed. One day a non-writer friend of mine—after reading what I know was a sappy, garbled essay that I wrote on a bus—gave me the same piece of advice as #39 on Jaksch’s list: “Tell everyone: ‘I’m a writer.’”
She probably has no idea that she changed my life. I remember saying to her, “but I’m NOT a writer.” And she said, something to the effect of, “why not? You are if you say you are.” And I remember sitting in my room working on some piece of writing in the following days, saying to myself, “I am a writer. I am a writer. I am a writer.”
Today, when people ask me what I “do,” I tell them I’m a writer—although, for me, it’s more of WHO I am rather than what I DO. Maybe #39 on the list is the most important after all.
