Today I worked on a presentation title and blurb for a presentation at the Assessment, Teaching, & Learning Conference. My co-presenter and I have already generated 10 pages of text and we haven’t even started talking about what we are actually going to do.
Right now, it’s all about the title and blurbage due date for the marketing materials. Here’s our process. Follow along, and I’ll get to why it’s no small exaggeration when I say that The Smallest Federated Wiki-Happening is changing how I think about writing and collaboration.
We started by email. There were four emails total in the thread. It was driving me nuts figuring who said what, so I copy said email thread into a Google Doc.
Here’s a fuzzy clip:
Jenn, in her awesomeness, sent us questions about our draft of the blurb, so I copied them into the G. Doc.
In the example below, she’s purple, I’m red. The black is the original draft.
Then I share the document with Jenn. Which means I have to go back into the work email that I am trying to avoid.
Then I comment on what Tom wrote in his comment a few days. Basically stating, “Yes, I love this. Can I give give you a big hug because you two are so smart?”
I enter her email into the share function. I explain what I did while encouraging her to go full-on open learning, baby! That’s right, do whatever you like with my words. Take it. Make it better. And then for some reason, I think about a commercial I haven’t seen in 25 years.
Remember the commercial for Shake & Bake? “Shake & Bake, and I helped!”
There’s no way, by the way, that people liked that mix better than the original. It was most likely a marketing ploy to women her mother’s age who would have purchased the mix, but I digress.
Here’s the share. Have I exhausted you yet? Still with me?
Then I hang up the work-related research and log-in to the Mike Caulfield’s Smallest Federated Wiki Happening. I’m feeling pretty brave at this point because I watched Ward Cunningham’s face while Mike was getting all sweet-teacher-praise-like on me during our Google Hangout, and Ward didn’t flinch. He nodded and smiled. My inner-nerd glowed. (Shake & Bake, and I helped! I do a mean US southern accent, btw.)
So I click on the new Conversation Club feature. So cool! Now I see what Mike and others much more wiki-saavy than me were seeing all along. And now they created it for dim bulbs like me.
I can see there’s a [[Club in my Neighborhood]], and what do I do? I click on something with the word “Crack” in the title. (Lookout neighbors, somebody’s kinda sketchy).
Here’s the first version, and I don’t recognize the square nor do I know the neighbor’s name. But I don’t care.
I get all editor-like and notice a hilarious typo. It says “feed connected” but wait, is that something I’ve never heard of, asks inner critic? No, says logical reader, that’s a typo.
And here’s the thing.
I was following the Idea Mining advice, and went with it. In the Google Doc., this would have been a tedious side comment. I might have just fixed it and moved on.
In the SFWH, this typo becomes something interesting. Full of potential. Kinda cool. Really silly-liberated writing that is somehow feeling productive. Like the work I want to be doing but don’t always get to because, well, I work.
Then I remember the young adult fiction book Feed by M.T. Anderson. Some adults–especially ones who do not have children like me–find reading YA a waste of time. It’s not brainy. There are more important things to read. Leave the creative world of the young to the young, and grow up. So it goes. And I accept that perspective, but that’s not what I’m into. When I hear those rants, I start thinking about my grocery list, but I nod like I’m listening.
I like to know what the kiddies are reading, and if I was 13 year girl, I’d have such a crush on Titus. I’d imagine I was Violet. I have a such soft spot for YA love stories.
Then I remembered The Daughter of Smoke and Bone by Laini Taylor is another YA beauty. I can’t wait to read the rest of the series, and it was recommended to me by a male. He actually has a teenage daughter, and doesn’t plays it off like it’s an excuse to read YA–he digs those books too. What a cool, Dad!
I bet he’d write a YA book I’d read. He gets bogged down by the work thing, too. Just sayin.
Okay, back to SFWH. This is what I created. In six to seven clicks all in the same place, I took somebody’s else words and improved them, IMHO. Without permission. Without opening my email. Without a care that what I was doing was correct. The creator may not dig it, but somebody else might. Either way I completed my assignment today, and I wanted to share with my neighbors what happened.
The truth will be told in the forking. (If that doesn’t make sense you, I’ll explain it later).
I do a lot of collaboration by email and G. Doc., so I see the potential in this type of writing. I was super duper skeptical that I could make the SFWH work for me. Honestly, I wanted to explore it as potential for teachers and students because that’s what my new gig asks of me. I had no idea how much this type of writing would appeal to me.
Today in my inbox, I have three invitations that all involve drinking. Is it the time of year? Or does my inner-party girl attract certain type of friend?
The first is from the co-captain of my cycling team, Ben. A group of hardcore, and I mean hardcore cyclists, gather on New Years Day to ride a “hundo” also known as 100 miles.
No matter the weather forecast. It’s currently raining in inches in the Pacific NW. And most of them do it hungover. No exaggeration.
The average pace of 18.3 miles is a really nice way of saying “You’ve been warned.” Also, notice that they only stop for 25 minutes in a 5 hour ride. So. Thanks, dudes, but maybe in my next life.
The next photo is a tweet from Mike Caulfield’s FedWiki Daily for The Smallest Federated Wiki Happening. There’s a party in my neighborhood! For the record, I do show up to parties on time, never early, but I’m usually one of the last to leave.
Sometimes my inner-party girl forgets that she’s not 22 anymore.
“We’ll bring in the New Year with the fine people of Newfoundland (4 1/2 time zones away). The celebration begins at 6pm.”
Oh man, it’s gonna be fun.
Sorry for the blurry images. I’m still learning WordPress.
A bit more about Scottish High Camp. I’m heading there with my friend, who is currently single. New Year’s is the worst holiday for single folks. At least on Valentine’s Day you can buy chocolate and watch bad movies with your friends who hate that holiday (stop by, we’d love to have you). New Year’s, on the contrary, are filled with party people smooching and toasting. Bars are filled with folks on the prowl for a hook-up. And she hasn’t met her future mister yet, so I promised her I’d walk into the backcountry with her. We’ll snowshoe, knit, drink, eat, read, BS, take pictures, play games, and from the sound of this invite, make new friends. Can.Not.Wait.
The only thing we have to do is plan our trip around Mt. Rainier this summer. We’re going to hike The Wonderland Trail. It’s been a dream of mine since 90s–more on that in 2015.
I’m leaving in the early dark hours on the 30th, and I’m returning until January 2. I’m not sure of their internet service, but I’d like to disconnect from the computer for a few days. So sadly, I’ll miss the final days of The Happening, and I think that’s okay. I’m putting in a lot time now to make up for those lost three days, and it might make space for something totally cool to happen while I’m gone. I just hope they let me back in to check out what happened in my neighborhood while I was gone.
Speaking of, I had a few moments of bike dorkery with Ward Cunningham! Yes, friends, you know, the guy that created the first f–ing wiki! Holycats! And his wife has the Santa decoration as my mom on his counter. I logged on a few minutes to a Hangout with Maha Bali, and the connection was a bit garbly since she’s in Egypt. You know. Just your average night on the computer.
My connection was better with Mike on my home computer, and he’s such a patient teacher. He had tweeted that he didn’t know how to teach this, but I’d never know that had he not admitted it.
So here’s what I learned during that magical hour about the SFWH:
1. Ward knows how to mute his microphone when he’s snacking. Basic screen etiquette that a great many people do not have. It makes me think we need to redefine netiquette. Can’t tell you how many times I’ve been annoyed by people eating during synchronous meetings.
2. I’m pretty sure my teacher-friend was drinking a beer. Maybe that’s why Caufield can’t spell Indurnas (wink).
3. Watching Mike use the Federated Wiki helps me understand how to navigate the thing. Click on the flags not the title of the pages. The flags, or the square-turned-avatar, help you navigate the history. Sassypants here thought she knew what she was doing (A Memoir). Now I get it!
4. Ward said something that helped make this type of writing click for me. He described the internet as “all this stuff” that “comes toward you.” The fedwiki is to make the information”easier to read for you.” Here’s the sentence I’d underline and star in my notes: “Your job is to make your own version.” All of the versions remain, so at any time, at any point, you can click on the history and rediscover what you wanted.
5. The forking is basically making a copy for yourself. By forking, you’re standing at the copier machine making a copy for yourself. Now I understand Mike’s statement that the SFW is “Easy to use, hard to learn.” I wasn’t fully understanding that, and I’ve resisted reading too much of Mike’s blog or Ward’s talk on the fedwiki. Alan Levine’s notecard blog post helped me as well.
As I mentioned in a tweet, I think it’s healthy for me to be the freaked out newbie. It will help me be the patient empathetic ed. tech. evangelist that I’d like to be. Remove the ed. tech from any of my presentations or research, and I’m really just talking about good teaching.
Side note: I learned more from Chuck D. and Joe Strummer about history than I did from any of my high school history teachers. When I finally sat down with encyclopedias at the library (I’m old) to look up the references in the songs I linked above, I knew I had to go into education. I don’t blame those teachers, mind you. The problem was and continues to be The System.
6. I can’t recommend attending the Office hours enough. Hit Recent Changes when you enter your fedwiki. Check it out. Watch Mike’s twitter. It’s worth your time. They were incredibly generous with their time and energy. Here’s my summary by Tweet:
7. Emboldened by the office hours, I grabbed a Samuel Smith’s Winter Welcome, and opened up my fedwiki. I read, clicked around, and then I saw a short post that Maha had done. I clicked on the link and found her Critical Citizenship for Critical Times.
And I was so moved. Somehow in this crazy little experiment I’ve connected with somebody who is really On. To. Something. Important. Needed.
She asks her readers at the end of her article:
I invite other people to join the conversation on the role of higher education in the current political situation. How do you envision your role as academic? How do you envision higher education’s influence?
And all I could think was: Who the hell cares what I think? I want to learn more from HER.
So. I changed some of her wording. I edited. I asked a question. I copied a quote from her article. I created a hyperlink to information that I thought she could develop more. And it was a little scary for me. What would she think? How would see my edits? Was I wiki-writing or being a writing teacher?
Maha, After hearing your voice for just a few moments, I decided to play with your writing about Freire. I plan to blog about it later. What I did felt odd because I struggled with feeling like I was erasing your words, and I can’t begin to know what your plans are/were for that post. I just know I wanted more. I’m pretty new to your scholarship, so I’m unsure if you have already addressed those ideas elsewhere. So I hope you see what I did as encouragement–“a tell me more”–that was playful and not silencing your original attempt. I’m just so curious about where you live and work. Clicking delete and rearranging your words felt both powerful and uncomfortable. Honestly, I’m kind of a navel-gazing American compared to you and anything I’m doing is so small compared to you. That being said, I just want to say give me more teacher-friend-writer. Give me more.
This was the first thing I read this morning.
Maha Bali said 4 hours ago
Oh Alyson, what you did to my article is beautiful. Thank you. It will take me some time to answer your questions because even though the critical citizenship article is actually based on my PhD, I just realized i never got around to defining the terms you highlight!! (*blog title credit)
Deep breath. Sigh. Wow.
While I wrote last night, I listed to Radio Head’s OK Computer. And these lyrics from “Subterranean Homesick Alien” reminded me a bit of what’s happening in The Happening.
Up above/Aliens hover/Making home movies/For the folks back home
Of all these weird creatures/Who lock up their spirits/Drill holes in themselves/And live for their secrets
They’re all uptight
Uptight.. [x7]
I wish that they’d swoop down in a country lane/Late at night when I’m driving/Take me on board their beautiful ship/Show me the world as I’d love to see it
Emphasis all mine on the following lyrics:
I’d tell all my friends But they’d never believe They’d think that I’d finally lost it completely
People in my neighborhood are showing me the world as I’d like to see it. And everyone else thinks I’ve lost it completely.
Yesterday I spent a tremendous amount of time finishing some half-baked ideas that I started six months ago. I did a bunch of writing and research as related to the employer, and I also spent a lot of time reading. The kitchen is tidy but the fridge is empty and the laundry is piling up. Thankfully, the weather was pretty terrible, so I didn’t feel the pressure to get out on the bike. Compared to the tough bike folks in Bellingham, I’m kind of a wimp. Plus, I like writing and reading when the weather stinks. If I lived in some sunny place like Santa Barbara, I’d struggle more than I already do as a writer.
Today it’s looking clear and I have the joyous elation of not having to work on anything I don’t want to do. Hooray for the holiday break! Mind you, I love what I do and the people with whom I share my Mondays-Fridays. I’ve also raced almost every weekend since September, and that’s social as well. Although, I did spent a fair amount of time writing in the van when some of my besties weren’t there. Believe or not, I’m really a loner at heart.
Here’s the process that I’m digging with the Smallest Federated Wiki Happening. (I made a slip yesterday and called it the “FederRicki.” Sounds like IPA may have been involved, right? It was just fatigue, I promise.
1. I’m reading first thing in the morning. A whole chapter, article, or whatever. No chunks, scanning, or any of the BS I’ve been calling reading lately. I usually start my days with texts, emails, IMs, voicemails, and what have you–it’s all part of the gig. Since the college is closed this week, I’m going back to my “hippie professor schedule” (what my friend called my old career). I’m taking notes by hand. Going through some old files. Cleaning up the digital disaster also known as 2014 on my personal computer. It’s quite nice.
2. Then I’m checking “Twitterific” as my friend Annie calls it. I’m just looking at the good things. After the Oso mud slide, the shooting at Seattle U. (I was with somebody whose mother works there so I witnessed that terror of not knowing), the shooting at Marysville-Pilchuck (a high school–and its teachers and students–I know well), the police horrors, and the general terrible news of the world; I’m exhausted by it.
Maybe that makes me a coward. I found the Seattle Times Pictures of the Year a reminder of why I feel this way. If you don’t live in this area, this is visual history of some of these horrors along side with beauty of the Pacific Northwest. Those trumpeter swans litter the farms I drive by on my way to work (focus on the good, Indrunas).
3. Then I’m checking my personal email to find Mike Caulfield’s Fedwiki Daily. And then I’m not reading any other emails except from my mother.
4. Then I’m bloggy bloggedy blog blogging, ol’ chap. Like now. Despite the overshare-mode of my previous posts, I actually suffer from “a shyness that is criminally vulgar.” I didn’t truly understand that about myself until I read Susan Cain’s Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking.
When I’m asked, “When are you going to work on that revolutionary internets stuff today?”
But I need to find a new writing process. I’ve lost something in the way that I think and write. Four years of grad school while teaching 5-6 comp classes killed large parts of my soul. (Sounds overly dramatic, I know, it’s not like I was chipping away in a salt mine). I’ve got to find a new process in this experience, and so far I think it’s working. Having this holiday time to focus on what I’ve lost it is my main objective for The Happening.
Truth be told: All of my “great” dance moves, I stole from Morrissey of The Smiths. Observe that swing in the first 20 seconds. Perfection!
If I’ve listened to this song more than I’d like to admit lately.
5. Then I’m posting to the SFWH. And friends, I have no why I was asked to be a part of this, and I haven’t wanted to ask. It is an experiment after all for those guys, and every good researcher chooses participants carefully. It’s not like I feel like a lab rat; it seems like a sincere invitation. Collectively they have a huge community of people they could have asked–and how the hell I ended up in it has made me feel a range of emotions. Everything from freaked out to effusively grateful. What a gift.
I have a hunch that I’m a jill-come-lately to this field, so that may help. I also do not know squat–I mean nada–about programming, coding, and any of the “How Software Works.” I’m not sure the organizers know that, but if they are watching my clicks, I’m sure I look like the arse that I am. I’m more interested in the What and the Why of software–especially with regards to teachers and students. Honestly, you’d think I’d have more IT-like expertise with my job title. But I don’t. I’m pretty handicapped in my current gig. Thankfully, I’ve made friends who help me. I think I owe the buddah-like Paul Kreemer at the SBCTC 10 kegs of beer.
6. And I’m drafting in real-time as I go. Unlike some of my blog posts that I’ll kill with edits, I’m trying to write in the present with some edits. Some of what I wrote yesterday is total crap, but I have one article that I like quite a bit. I’ve got a couple of drafts, false starts, and notes. I’m not sure if that’s cool, but I like doing it–not sure if it’s wiki-writing. I’m thinking of those half-posts as reminders to myself that are at once an invitation to others and a reminder to myself to write. We even tried some fiction! Holycats, that was fun. I wish I had found that page earlier.
7. Then I’ve got to watch either TV or a movie. Last night we watched Heat, and it’s been a long time since I’ve seen that movie. I needed a break from the bad films, really. And wow, the questions! What the heck ever happened to Tone Loc? Why did Val Kilmer think it was a good idea to have a ponytail in the mid-90s? Who is more dazzling DeNiro or Pacino? Didn’t hair conditioner work for women then or was everyone just growing out the frizz from the endless perms of the 80s? Did shoulder pads really stick around that long?
You know. Important scholarly analysis.
8. Then I’m staying up late reading novels (another gift). My boss gave me Tolstoy and The Purple Chair as a holiday present. She said, “You’re the only person I know who would read this. Let me know what you think.” I accept your challenge, Librarian! She’s a dean, but really, I think it’s healthier for administrators to hold onto their roots. I’ll write about that book later, but here’s a quote that applies to the SFWH.
Nina Sankovitch explains the book-a-day-project she has made for herself. On page 31, she writes:
“I was ready for the discipline. The plan could work around school hours and the driving, cleaning, cooking, and grocery shopping, and still meets its goals of escape, learning, pleasure of sitting down in my purple chair with a book and calling it work. By giving it the name of work, I sanctified it.”
Sigh. Yes. What she said.
Only my chair is red
and the book is the writing
and the Fed Wiki is the work.
Four things I’m struggling with, as a Fed Wiki user:
1. I think it’s easier to manipulate the text if you use a mouse. I’m working on a MacBook Pro (a present to myself when I won an award from the college) and I’m using the tracking pad. It’s hard to grab and drag without making mistakes. Maybe it’s just me and my lame dexterity. I can connect a mouse but then I have to sit at a desk, and I like hanging out by the fire with my dog.
2. When you fork, where does it go? I have a hard time telling if I’m doing what I think I’m doing. I don’t want an alert like “Are you sure you want to fork this?” But I’m also not sure exactly what I’ve done other than say, “Alyson wuz here” in that graffiti-style I mentioned in another post. Maybe it’s a part of things I shouldn’t understand (say it like Pee Wee, c’mon, you know you wanna).
3. I hit enter to create a new paragraph or space and I had a page disappear on me last night. I had three pages on my screen, and I hit enter. The next thing I know I only had two. Poof! The squares also changed at the top of the second page. Was somebody there at the same time? So I clicked on the title of the post (or the flag as I’ve been calling it)–I think it was Blue Collar Defeat. The flag–or first post–came back, but it was unsettling at first and I lost my train of thought.
4. I don’t need the avatar, and I liked the squares. I tried to express that on Twitter, but the conversation got confusing. I tried to say that I accept the avatar if others wanted them. I’m be cool with it, and I think it all got started because somebody changed his. I do hover over the squares before I post, but that’s my own insecurities not a flaw in the FederRicki. People requested it, so FWIW, I liked the squares.
Side note: Threads on Twitter remind me a bit of dropping a stitch when you’re knitting. If you don’t knit, here’s a quick description. You’re following a pattern rocking along and you *think* you’re making progress and you stop to admire your work. After holding up your work (read your notifications), you realized you have dropped a stitch or missed one stitch or two in pattern. There’s a giant hole that’s going to mess up everything from then on. You can’t go back. You can’t correct a dropped unless you are super gifted fiber artist like my Twitterific Annie. If you’re like me, you have to start over and rip up what you’ve done. It’s sucks, and I usually scare the dog when I yell F bombs. That’s why Twitter doesn’t quite foster clear communication, but I still think it’s a cool forum for sharing idea.
5. I still don’t know what Twins are, but it’s not holding me back.
Today, I’m going to reread Mike’s Tiny Letter, all of the blog posts listed on it, then I’ll email him my bloggy links, and then I’m going to write an article that I need to think about first. Then I’ll stop using “then” so much.
My article is going to my attempt to ask for help from a community who may have a lot to say about this topic. It makes me giggly and I want the “How Soon is NOW” in me to Shut Up.
My SWFH article should help with my collaboration with Tom Gibbons. We are working on an on Instructional Design workshop for the Assessment, Teaching, and Learning Conference, and he’s onto something SO brilliant. He’s so unassuming, sweet, and humble that I don’t want to overwhelm with my excitement for his ideas. That roaring extrovert in me needs to chill out.
I need to walk the dog, buy some food, cook, ride my bike or hike, and tidy up the garden beds in the front yard. Daylight’s a wastin’…
Warning: If you are part of the SFWH, this post has nothing to do with that. Click away and go back The Happening. Nothing you will read here is half as interesting as what’s going there.
Before I get to the brainy work I can’t wait to do, I have to write about something I started to think about last night when I woke up to the sound of the train. Sometimes when the wind is just right, the whistle of the train seems very close. There’s something Pavlovian about that sound; I always think of the past. Then I got to thinking about how lately I’ve been told by several people that I’m too honest and it’s not a skill that is going to get me very far as an administrator.
When I listen to such advice, all I can think about is the recurring motif of “the game” used throughout The Wire. This time last year, we were binge watching The Wire (2nd place to Twin Peaks for favorite series), and I fell in love with the character of Omar. Michael K. Williams and Wendell Pierce are amazing actors to watch. If you are unfamiliar with this show, get off the internets and watch it. Here’s clip of Omar mentioning “The Game, yo.”
Write The BS & Get On With It: A Memoir
1984: Thirty years ago this month, my 33 yr. old father drove away from my 31 yr, old mother and the 10 yr. old me to move to Atlanta, Georgia. Having been unemployed for over two years from Westinghouse Steel in east Pittsburgh, he accepted the invitation from some friends to stay with them so he could find a job. They showed him the Sunday edition of the Atlanta Journal and Constitution, which was four inches thick, bulging mostly with the classifieds. The non-union-friendly South was booming. By comparison, the Pittsburgh Post Gazette was barely an inch wide.
Had newspapers not been in print like they are today–if there were online job boards instead–I’m not sure my dad would have taken the chance.
Later when I was in an American history course at the Santa Rosa Junior College, I listened to my teacher lecture about The Rust Belt to Sun Belt Migration. It was an abstract history lesson, but that moment was the beginning of the impostor syndrome for me. This history was not an abstraction of facts to memorize, this was my life. Tears ran down my face as I took notes; my father’s bravery and desperation combined with the dedication to improve his family’s chances is a debt I’ll never be able to repay.
1994: Twenty years ago, I learned what a real community is for the first time in my life. Having worked for the national park system for two summers, I landed a job at The Big Mountain Ski Resort now called Whitefish Mountain. Back then, they had a tradition that once the snow was deep enough, they’d open one chairlift–free for all locals. If you were an employee, they closed the facilities (except for the Hellroaring Saloon, how rad). Everyone in town, and I mean everyone, came up to the mountain. Elderly people who didn’t ski tailgated and made food. Retired railroad workers and loggers would done their aged ski gear and got after it. Women and men with newborns took turns babysitting so that all of the parents could ski. The punky snowboarder kids tolerated their proud parents taking photos.
Hearing people “yooooooowwwllll” down a blue run on the first descent of the season was, to this day, one of the best experiences of my life. In that moment, the city-suburb college dropout girl found an inner mountain woman determined keep this spirit for the rest of her days. Only she lost her way for a bit.
2004: Ten years ago, I was having some success piecing together a living in Seattle working the I-5 circuit teaching composition courses. My credit was a mess, I was deeply in debt from earning my BA and MA, and my beloved VW GTI was breaking down constantly. My then boyfriend/future husband had been accepted to UW—without funding—and he was up to ears in work trying to impress all the right people (all the game, yo). Working as bike mechanic while being in graduate school was so hard; I’m endlessly impressed that he was able to do it as well as he did.
Living in Seattle was our great experiment. As West Coast cities go, Seattle felt livable then. It was close to the ocean, the mountains weren’t that far away. I threw myself into taking full advantage of the city offerings such as cool theatres, cheap restaurants, public libraries, art galleries, coffee shops, and university culture. Looking back, I was so optimistic. As we walked the streets in our Ballard neighborhood, a hip part of Seattle, we were astonished by the pace of real estate growth. If we were ever to be home-owners, we accepted that we’d have to leave Seattle. Watching faux-Bauhaus-cookie-cutter-condos replacing the turn of the century craftsman homes slowly demolished my optimism about Seattle.
When Ballard failed to protect the Denny’s on 15th and 45th, a lovely example of Googie style architecture, it signified the start of people using words like “foodie,” “gentrification,” “bubble,” and “recession.” I began to fret about the future.
2014: I have made it through the (ongoing) recession because quite frankly, I didn’t own anything to lose. In two months, I will have lived in Bellingham for six years. When I went back to graduate school in 2009, the plan was to be here for a year or two; and as we’ve told many friends, Bellingham is a beautiful place to be trapped. Scott has now been semi-employed for four years, and I took a chance on a new position not because I dreamed of being an administrator but because we really need the money (oh, there’s that honesty thing again).
Now that I’ve graduated The Man is coming for his pound of flesh and it leaves us with just enough to get by. People think we are kidding when we joke about selling a kidney on eBay or that the only way we’ll see our way out student loan debt is by going on Jeopardy.
Jeopardy Clue: A movement that could help students avoid soul-crushing debt that suddenly gives somebody hope for the future.
Trebec: Yes, Alyson!
Alyson: “What is open education, Alex?”
Trebec: “Well done. How right you are!”
Alyson: “I’ll take Women In Cycling for $2000.”
As I listened to the train roll its way towards Canada, I reflected on my new recurring motif: “It could be worse.” I say it all the time, and I really mean it. There are people living through horrors way worse than mine. I’ve been lucky. I’m in debt with the feds not with the private loan sharks who feed on the life blood of The People. And I’m a happy person.
My 20 year old self would want to be friends with me; dare I say, she’d see me as a mentor. I’d buy her a beer and tell her that she should buy a snowboard instead of skis in 1995. I’d tell her to quit feeling bad about being still being a waitress when it’s 1999. I’d tell her that she will be become a teacher someday, and that she should be a bit more patient. I’d tell her to work harder to keep some of the friends she won’t want to lose. I’d tell her that her body is much better than what she thinks she sees in the mirror, and that she should get a haircut.
I’d advise her to avoid the dazzlingly beautiful men and pay more attention to the charming sweet dorks. And then I’d ask her to remind me what she likes to read and we’d get on with it.
I want to share some things that I learned today with the Federated Wiki Happening. Because now I know not to blog in my wiki. But first, I really wish Jack White and John Doe would leave me alone. Two songs are looping in my head, and I can’t shake them. I even forced myself out in the wind and rain to go for a run. The suffering usually clears my head, but Jack and John still haven’t gone away.
Perhaps if I use some of their lyrics to describe what I learned today, these lovely ditties will let me be. Or I’ll make it worse.
Mind you, there are worse songs to have stuck on a loop in your head this time of year. Indulge me:
1. “We clean up and now it’s time to learn.”
As I mentioned on Twitter and on Alan Levine’s Federated Wiki in Motion Like a Bent Fork, I think I’m getting it. He called my post a “think through.” In my reply, I was trying to share my thoughts that we may need new verbs to help newbies (c’est moi) understand the actions they are trying to perform in the federated wiki. That’s why “the factory” is so useful instead of whatever else we usually use html textbook or wsywyg or whatever. And honestly I haven’t messed with the icons at the bottom of the page yet other than to hover over the colored squares, to post, and to (hopefully) fork. Alan and I may be confused about different things. I’ve used them to read through the history of the post–and that’s cool. Seeing folks that I’ve followed for years struggle through this makes me feel better (I need to stop saying this, I’m starting to annoy myself).
One thing I have noticed is how Mike is cleaning up some of the external links and some of the formatting. I watched him do it yesterday and I think it’s a good approach. My massive bloggy post from Day 1 is good example. I was trying “bust something out” while I had a break at work, and I was a lame student. But I think I’m getting there. My wiki writing has been really limited, so I don’t really know what I’m doing. At least I’ve got the thinking part right or I’ve finally find an outlet for “when silly thoughts go through my head about the bugs and alphabet.”
2. “We don’t notice any time pass/we don’t notice anything.”
I took the assignment for today very seriously and I tried to care about what others had done. A friend had recommended that I read a New Yorker article, and the only reason I paused on it today is that Ivan Brunetti did the cover. I love his work, and I use this cover when I work with adults who are freaked out about technology. It’s a wonderful way to help people relax–everyone sees themselves in this classroom.
Once I had some thoughts, I wrote my first post, and I mirrored what Mike had demonstrated in his tutorial with Miss Spaztastic here.
And wow, it was so enjoyable. So unlike any other writing experience I’ve ever had. I made some coffee, lit a fire, and made the dog lay in his little nest at my feet. And I really tried to add ideas and I even took an invite from Kate Bowles to work with her words.
I spend an incredible amount of my time preaching the word of open education, and yet, I haven’t had the experience of creating collaboratively. Sure, I have a few projects going right now with very interesting people, but they have their part and I have mine. The fed wiki felt differently and about an hour into it, I lost all sense of caring that it was somebody else’s worse. I had page after page of ideas to see. Then I got the fear that I was being a charlatan or some sort of graffiti artist. And well, I made the most edits to Kate’s work. So if I made a mistake, I feel like I can say to Kate, “I can tell that we are gonna friends.”
Oh, if I could sing, I’d love to sound like Exene Cervenka. Their high-lonesome duet is so sweet. Indulge yourself:
Two points for consideration any of wiki happeners:
1. I dig not having an avatar, but I’ll accept that’s what other people want. Despite my ridiculous comments about the avatar in my butterfly environment (what I’ve nicknamed my site) yesterday with Mike, I like the colored squares. Perhaps it helps silence my inner critic. Maybe I’m too new to sharing online for it to bother me. Maybe I’m not seeing the point. I wrote my first blog post two years ago, and I just revisited my second post and I’m still on the cycling and learning thing. Somebody Should Write Her Book: A Memoir
2. I need advice on how to see what I’ve done. When I click on Recent Changes, it brings up everyone. That’s cool most of the time. Today I linked something in the wrong place, and I didn’t think about it until 15 minutes later. By then, I had no idea where I had been. Maybe that’s not a bad thing. Maybe that’s part of the process.
All in all, I really think this is an amazing way to write and think. It’s not something to bust out. It’s not something you want to do quickly. In the video on Idea Mining, Mike mentioned that this style of thinking is making him sharper. I see it. I can dig it.
Before I get into it, I want to first say if you haven’t discovered The Thermals, and if you like power trios, you need to know them. But first a quick story about going to see a power trio as an old person. (I just turned 40, and I like poke fun at my 20 year old self calling that age old. Golly, I was stupid then).
My husband and I went to see The Thermals in Bellingham, and as the venue filled with people I was old enough to give birth to. Scott, who is almost a gray fox, leaned over and said, “Look at all the kiddies. We’re kinda old.” We were those middle age people we used to make fun of, so we stood a few rows back by the bar. Then The Thermals started playing, and oh.my.gawd.y’all.They were amazing! Later that night they tweeted, “Fuck Yeah, Bellingham!” and I’ve loved them ever since. That’s one thing about all ages shows that I like, and that I don’t get to enjoy enough of; the kiddies pay attention to the music. They don’t whine and moan about their jobs or their spouses or what’s on Facebook or use the show to socialize (which is why I hate Neumo’s, btw, despite how cool KEXP makes the place sound). The hipsters of a very large city to the south, ruin music venues unless it’s somebody totally loud like Bob Mould–then mercifully you can’t hear their conversations.
The kiddies, however, who have good taste in music just listen and learn.
And what I don’t know. And what I should have listened and learned before I started writing.
1. I should have listened to Your First Five Minutes in Smallest Wiki before I did anything. Sassy pants here wanted to see what she could teach herself. Teachers are the worst students sometimes. Case in point: I changed the title to my first page, and now I can’t figure out how to link it back. My inner editor–inner critic–wanted to change the words. I was also testing myself to see what I could figure out on my own. Turns out, not a whole lot.
2. Maha Bali inspired me to just get in there and bumble around. Totally impressed with that woman. She’s seems to have three hours in her day for my one of mine. I should have listed to the Orange Halo video because it explains more of how the thing works. I didn’t think it applied to me because I wasn’t seeing the halo.
3. I should have checked Ward Cunningham’s page because I missed the opportunity to attend his office hours. But I was grumpy last night. I decided to watch a really stupid movie and drink beer with above mentioned gray fox. Yesterday was an awful day at work, and unfortunately for him he sees the aftermath of these awful days more than anyone. My brain was mush by the time Mike posted the Daily. I saved the homework for the morning, thus I missed a hangout with Ward.
4. Now I’m craving Bailey’s and hot chocolate.
I actually liked the more informal nature of that video to the other edited more professional instructions in the other videos–those are cool too. I noticed my name between these two titles as Mike was talking:
See, I can make a sentence:
Welcome Visitors,
Shut up inner critic [with your] impostor syndrome. Alyson Indrunas [the real impostor is here and she’s often made fun of for a] Fetish of Technology. [The] Tree of Life [is] Bent over [dying when her ideas get killed by bureaucracy].
Focus on the Good: A Memoir
As I was reading Shut Up Inner Critic, all I could think of was Jens Voigt. “Shut up legs.” But it seemed like a smart-ass thing to write and I don’t want to be that jerk. I love his accent, and he still mixes it up with the young punks.
5. When I saw the word “Journal” on my little corner of the neighborhood: I immediately went into pour-your-heart-out-writer-mode. I suppose I misunderstood what I should be producing. I don’t see how anyone could use what I wrote on that first page–and now that page is now gone (or I’m too slow witted to find it).
6. I also think I’m a bit lost in the neighborhood. By not forking correctly, I feel a bit voyeur-like. And I made the commenting mistake, I think, that Mike suggested that we rethink. I’ll work on that. But if this was an actual neighborhood, somebody would’ve called the cops by now since I’m kind of a lurker. Or that’s what I was thinking this afternoon. So I took a break. Had lunch. Did some other work.
Then this happened:
Seriously?! I suppose I’m a bit sensitive right now because I got the meanest rejection letter ever for an article that had been accepted as a proposal. I thought it was a go and I spent a very long time on it. When I sent the draft that I thought would be a collaborative effort with the editor, he wrote a very mean spirited rejection. He even sent a follow-up email apologizing for the tone of the email (boo, hiss, loser). So thank you, friends, you help me sew up a wound I’ve been nursing. And no, chump, I won’t send you any more of my work (boo, hiss, loser).
So now, I haven’t quite wrapped my brain around the forking and the wiki-like thinking.
Here I am starting a blog with references to cycling, yet I haven’t ridden a bike in two weeks. Somehow I’ve come down with this nasty chest cold that feels like I have two giant rubber bands around my lungs while somebody holds a blowtorch behind both of my eyes. My head has ached for eight days straight. I missed a local race yesterday; that’s how much I want to get better.
So instead of supporting my local cyclocross race series, I stayed home with the dog and forced myself take it easy. When the sun and blue sky showed up, I walked to the grocery store along the Railroad Trail in Bellingham. I hate that I have to leave the dog at home on this errand, but I’m scared somebody will steal him if I tie up unattended. He’s such a lover of humans that he’d go home with Charles Manson and his new bride.
So I set out solo on the Railroad Trail. When I left Bellingham to live out the great experiment in Seattle in 2003, the civic-minded folks in this city put their taxes towards building a trail system that had once been a rail line from downtown Bellingham to Lake Whatcom. When I moved back in 2009, I couldn’t believe how much progress had been made in such a short time. Because I spend a great deal of time commuting by car, I try to walk or ride as much as I can during my time off, and these trails connect me to cool places.
I haven’t done this walk—it’s maybe four miles—in quite awhile. It’s also my first time walking since our epic wind storm last week. As I walked down the connector trail that I have nicknamed “The Schutes” (because it is wicked steep and hard to run or ride up), I noticed a ton of the downed trees. My peaceful walk was interrupted by the sounds of dueling chainsaws. At one point, I noticed this big gorgeous Douglas Fir had fallen and it was now a pile of logs in the driveway after what must have been a giant clean up job. It was a spectacular mess of branches, wood shavings, and bark. Most certainly these home owners are thankful this tree fell away from their home, but the view from their deck is altered.
Their view is no longer the same after one storm.
Once I returned from my journey to the grocery store, I spent some time reading. I forced myself not to write and just think. I’ve spent some time thumbing through The Art of Wheelbuilding: A Bench Reference For Neophytes, Pros and Wheelaholicsby Gerd Schraner. For any self-taught wheel builder (which I am not), this book is a lovely summary of his life’s work.
In this introduction, he claims that “[m]any people call me a “wheel guru,” which honors and flatters me. But a guru is an all-knowing teacher, which I neither am nor wish to be” (viii).
He goes on the share his philosophy about why he wrote this book, and I’m going to return to those ideas on another post. For now, I want to share how much I love his conversational style of writing. Like any gifted teacher, he knows when to offer advice on what’s the right thing to do and when to give the students directions so they can learn for themselves. On the back of the book, he’s pictured in his shop smoking a pipe while wearing a bandana made into a scarf. How charmingly Euro!
I’ve been taking some notes to use his book so I can develop more of my bike-share metaphor for OER. It’s an idea that won’t let me go. Back in May, I wrote the following:
I see MOOC learning similar to a bike share program (only it’s free). You take one bike, ride it to another neighborhood, and leave it for another person. The infrastructure (the bike or the MOOC) supports the creativity (the learning or the riding) and it’s communal. It’s up to you to unlock the potential and pedal to new learning. I’m working on this metaphor, but that’s what ETMOOC taught me to do; share your learning.
Oh the cheesy places I can go with this idea! Bad ideas are like dropping your chain. Learning is like buying a bike: invest in a good frame and upgrade the parts later. Learning from other people is like riding in pack. Being an innovative teacher is like digging into your suitcase of courage. See? I can go on and on with this one.
Only now, I would substitute for MOOC for “connected learning” or “learning with OER.” MOOCs were all the rage when I was interviewing for my current position, and I promised great ideas for my institution. But shortly after I got the job, I told my boss that I wanted to focus on improving classes with 25 students. Setting up a class for 25,000 when we still don’t know what the hell we are doing in small classes seemed like a mistake. Mercifully, she agreed. (The “we” here is not my institution, but rather, everyone in OL learning).
Below is an excerpt from Gerd Schraner that I find hilarious, charming, and intriguing. As a writer, he’s clearly an older gentleman struggling to figure out a new generation of bike geeks in the 70s. He’s an older man trying to understand why the kiddies are digging a style of wheel building that he does not understand. In just a short few sentences, he blends practical advice for wheel builders who may be prone to diss on the young’uns.
Gerd, I know you are Swiss, but for some reason, I hear Werner Herzog’s accent when I read your words. I’m not sure if this book is written in your English or if this is some rough translation, nonetheless, I hear Werner. This is high praise from me, really, I promise.
In reference to the Hybrid-Spoking (Crow’s foot), a type of spoke design. I’ve added one hyperlink, but the rest is Gerd’s prose:
“Twisted spoking patterns are not only unaesthetic but are an additional mechanical disadvantage resulting from the extreme angle of the spoke directly to the nipple.
Every serious wheelbuilder who has ever practiced this kind of spoking pattern has sworn to refrain from repeating the error.
Yet, young bike freaks, apprentices and mechanics seem to like this kind of spoking pattern. My advice: Leave them at it and let them continue to show their enjoyment and enthusiasm this way. It’s better to see them rolling spokes than rolling joints” (p. 60).
Okay. I need to get on with it. I bid farewell to my very first blog last month. I wrote a ton prior to this first blog, but it’s all lost in LMSs of the past. So here’s what’s up. Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about bikes, transportation, civic spaces, open education, teaching, learning, spaces for learning to teach; my list of super cool projects continues to grow. Last week, I wrote them all out on my office wall. As I was standing there staring at this massive list, my office neighbor came into my office to visit.
As I described what I was doing, he asked me if it’s possible to complete everything in the next six months like I’ve promised. I just looked at him and blinked. And blinked. I kept staring at this wall blinking and thinking. He laughed really hard and I giggled like a toddler. Dunno, mate, but we’ll see.
Here’s another reason I need to start this blog. I’ve been asked to join this really cool project, and my other blog isn’t the right space. I’m thinking more long-term there with colleagues, and I need something for the my random day-to-day thoughts.
Yesterday I spent the entire day reading and writing and I also spent a ridiculous amount of time looking for old research that I couldn’t find. I’ve got this giant mess of thoughts, quotes, and digressions on different computers and files. My “Shared with me” function in G. Docs could induce a panic attack. Is this all possible in the next six months? Blink, think.
So why the title Spoke and Hub? Well, quite simply, I like the design of the bicycle. It’s simple, utilitarian, and timeless. The wheels, especially when hand-built by somebody who knows you, ride like nothing made on an assembly line. The wheel builder takes each spoke and trues them one-by-one. It’s an art full of grace, patience, and tradition. Truth be told: I lack the patience for this type of building and I could never afford this luxury. Luckily somebody who loves me is self-taught wheel builder. We like this quote about a fancy bike hub: “It rolls good with angry bee sound.”
When I put “Hub and Spoke” into the internets machine, I learned that there is bike repair shop in San Francisco (not surprising, mercifully with no photos of waxed mustaches). I also learned that there is a business term: Spoke and Hub Distribution. WiseGEEK.org explains that “The hub and spoke model is named for the bicycle wheel, which has a stable center connecting to multiple spokes.” Some writers use examples in terms of airline travel and the distribution of goods. Some business folks chat about the hub and spoke distribution in terms of profit, investing, and ZZZZZzzzzz.
To be fair, I did find business writer who explains that “To better understand the hub-and-spoke system, imagine an intricate bicycle wheel, with the hub as the strategic center of the network, and the spokes radiating out to connect it with remote points. The functionality of the hubs and spokes differ according to the industry.” Who the stable center is and what this blog connects to I’ve yet to discover. The hub and the spoke is a could be metaphor for the personal learning network and connected learning. Blink, think.
Substitute “industry” and “goods” for “education” in the above descriptions, and if you think of the “remote points” as research I’m hoping to do, then I think I’ve got something rolling. But really, I have no idea what I’m doing.
Spoke & Hub 
Alyson Indrunas said 5 hours ago
Maha,
After hearing your voice for just a few moments, I decided to play with your writing about Freire. I plan to blog about it later. What I did felt odd because I struggled with feeling like I was erasing your words, and I can’t begin to know what your plans are/were for that post. I just know I wanted more. I’m pretty new to your scholarship, so I’m unsure if you have already addressed those ideas elsewhere. So I hope you see what I did as encouragement–“a tell me more”–that was playful and not silencing your original attempt. I’m just so curious about where you live and work. Clicking delete and rearranging your words felt both powerful and uncomfortable. Honestly, I’m kind of a navel-gazing American compared to you and anything I’m doing is so small compared to you. That being said, I just want to say give me more teacher-friend-writer. Give me more.