Ooh, Look at the Pretty Numbers!

I’m a little OCD. Have I mentioned that before? Not to a degree that it interferes with my life, just noticeable in a few areas. Like when I leave my class with a substitute and everything’s out of place the next day—and that can be something as little as the books on a not-quite-full shelf being shoved to the right instead of the left. *shudder* Annoying.

As a math teacher, it’s only appropriate that one of my little quirks relates to numbers. Some are prettier than others. It’s not that I can’t function when “ugly” numbers come up. I just feel a little warm fuzzy when they’re pretty instead.

So, what are some of my “pretty” numbers? Palindromes are definitely way up there. Those are numbers that read the same forward and backward. When I look at a digital clock right when it’s 12:21 or 8:18? Love it. Catching when my odometer hits one? Love that, too.

Numbers that fall in order or in a pattern are nice, too. Speaking of my odometer, it recently passed 123,456 miles. (My car is well-loved.) That was awesome.

Then there’s my car stereo. The volume increments are pretty small, but anything much over 40 is usually permanent-damage-to-the-hearing range. Within the “safe” range, I get a little weird with settings that are and are not okay … and it has little to do with whether it’s loud or soft enough. In general, prime numbers = yuck. That means even numbers are mostly good, but something like 38 (a prime times two) isn’t as pretty as 35. Multiples of 5 are very pretty, as a rule. Multiples of 3 aren’t bad, either, which means 39 is slightly better than 38, but why not go the extra notch to 40, which is prettier than both combined?

I’m nuts. I know this.

Funny thing is, none of this matches what I mean by “pretty” and “ugly” numbers in my classroom. Rational numbers are pretty. Irrational numbers are ugly. Simple as that. If my students get a pretty answer, they know they should either write the exact decimal or the equivalent fraction. If they get an ugly answer, they should either round it appropriately, or leave it in square-root form (or as a multiple of pi, whatever applies).

I imagine that definition makes a lot more sense. But it doesn’t mean I’m not very much looking forward to twelve minutes after noon on December 12th of this year.

C’mon, guys, ‘fess up. What weird little quirks do you have that make you look just a little bit crazy?

Tracking vs. Self-Esteem—Where’s the Line?

I don’t know about all of you, but when I was in elementary school, they split us up and shuffled us around to different rooms during certain times of day. Math, for instance. Sometimes for reading.

It’s not hard to figure out who’s who. ‘Smart’ kids, average kids, and strugglers. And that can be a lousy feeling.

I can see a lot of good cases for heterogeneous grouping. With the right curriculum and solid teaching practices, the strugglers can make up ground, the ‘smart’ kids can be challenged, and everyone can learn.

On the other hand, there are situations where it just doesn’t make sense.

My current school has a full range of students … and I mean full. Everything from kids above grade level to kids with severe disabilities, and everything imaginable in-between. We don’t have them all in the same classes.

We do, however, have workshops.

It’s an ongoing frustration. The entire high school gathers for workshops every other week on a variety of topics. Here’s what happens:

Half the students can’t believe they have to listen to things they’ve known since they were eight years old.

The other half are lost.

End result: No one likes workshops.

We’ve talked about splitting them up into smaller groups (size-wise, that’d be better anyway) so their specific needs can be addressed more. Same topic but different levels. For some, the very basics. For others, more of a discussion, letting them talk about what they know and what issues are important to them.

Sounds good, but we haven’t done it. There are logistical reasons, but there’s also the fact that the kids will know they’ve been somehow labeled. “Ha, I’m with the smart kids. You’re with the dumb kids.” Boy, wouldn’t that be fun.

Maybe there’s a way we can avoid or lessen that effect. Or maybe there’s another alternative we haven’t thought of. Some way to make sure all the kids benefit, but not making any kids feel more defeated than they already do.

Any ideas?

Telling Teenagers that Revising Rocks

On Monday, I had the opportunity to talk to a writing class in my school about the feedback/revising process. I’d been talking to the English teacher at department meeting last week about some revisions I was about to get started on, and she said, “Oh, please, can you come to my Composition classes and talk about how that works for you?” (I’m talking to the second class this afternoon.)

Turns out some of the kids get very reticent, uptight, and defensive when it comes to criticism and making changes in their work. Some feel like it’s not theirs anymore if they make the changes suggested by their teacher. Some say straight-up, “But I want it to sound this way, not that way.”

It’s always fun to get out of my classroom and say, “Hey, look at me pretending I’m NOT a math teacher!” So I threw together an entertaining little PowerPoint and headed over. (It helped that with my teeny-tiny school, there were only five kids in the class—not so nervous-making.)

The kids were good and engaged, and honest about their feelings. Through the presentation and ensuing discussion, we came to two key points.

I told them about one of my critique partners (Mindy McGinnis, yo), and noted that just because she suggests something doesn’t mean I have to make that exact change. Or any change. And if I choose not to, it doesn’t mean she’s going to scream at me and stomp her feet and never ever EVER talk to me again.

Same goes for the teenagers and their English teacher. We discussed that some feedback is the Just Fix It kind—errors in spelling, grammar, punctuation, or facts. But the really valuable feedback is the Ponder and Figure It Out kind—when passages are boring, awkward, confusing, or annoying. Suggestions on how to fix those issues are just that—suggestions.

And that leads us to the second point:

This was just part of a little scenario I put together. Mindy notes something doesn’t work and offers suggestions X, Y, and Z for fixing it. I go ahead with X, work in Z-with-a-twist, and come up with Q all on my own. When I run it by Mindy, she knows I didn’t use Y, but that’s okay—she says, “Yeah, Q totally works.”

Surprisingly, the group kind of latched onto that concept (teasing me about bringing mathematical variables to English class). Some of the students had been stuck in a mindset that the teacher’s word was law, so her suggestions had to be followed to the letter. Thus their feeling that the writing wasn’t theirs anymore.

Through the discussion, we kept coming back to, “And there’s that situation where you need to find your Q—find a way to modify it to address the problem the teacher pointed out, but that still stays true to your voice and characters and story.”

These reactions and mindsets aren’t unique to teenagers, or to those who write only because they have to for school. Those of us who want to (or do) write professionally go through cycles of the same thing, I think.

I don’t care who you are—finding out something you thought was great doesn’t work can sting. I think a key part of my presentation was when I admitted to the students that I’ve gotten feedback where my initial feelings were all, “I suck! The story sucks. There’s no way I change that in a way that will work. I’m too stupid.”

Feeling that isn’t a problem—as long as we take the next step, which is rolling up our sleeves and getting to work.

Like I told them, you don’t wipe some mud off a car and call it polished. Polishing takes time and effort.

And like Mindy added, exercise doesn’t necessarily feel good (or look glamorous) while you’re doing it, but the results feel great.

Math Rant: Yes, Elementary Teachers, Math is in Your Job Description

Yikes, long time, no post. Not the first time it’s happened, but hopefully the last, because I’ve finally figured out a posting “schedule” that I think will work for me. What do you think?

You know I love my alliteration. Hopefully I can keep thinking of fitting topics each week.

So, that makes this a Mathematical Monday, and we have another math-rant. First, a disclaimer. Some elementary teachers are awesome. Some don’t match anything I’m about to say. I hope we get more of those.

Here are some actual quotes I’ve heard from elementary teachers.

“I hate math.”

“I wish I didn’t have to teach math.”

“I was lousy at math in school, but I figure elementary math is easy, so I can teach that.”

I have yet to hear an elementary teacher say they hate reading, wish they didn’t have to teach reading, or are lousy at reading. Many elementary teacher training programs are heavy on the literacy courses, and light (or non-existent) on the math pedagogy.

Don’t get me wrong. Reading and writing are hugely important. (Hello, I’m a writer!) But so is math. Even if a student will never have to divide fractions or graph a linear equation once they leave school, the associated thinking skills are valuable no matter what they do in life. They need a good math education to develop those skills of logic, problem solving, and number sense.

And guess what—when the teacher doesn’t like math, the kids know it. Doesn’t matter if the teacher doesn’t explicitly say so. It comes across.

It’s socially acceptable to say you’re bad at math, but this is something that needs to change, especially with the way technology is developing so rapidly these days. It used to be only the elite knew how to read, and now no one wants to admit being bad readers. (And yes, we need to keep working on ways to help those who have difficulty reading.) It’s time for math skills to have the same status, and it starts with those who are role models for the teeny-tiny kids—both parents and teachers.

Okay, rant over. Now I can get back to looking for ways to bolster the math skills of the elementary teachers at my school so they can stop making excuses. 😉

Are you a math-phobe? What led to you feeling that way? If you’re a math-lover, how did that happen?

Getting the Right Consistency

You’re all thinking this is another post about how Food Network rules my life, right? Wrong. That’s not the kind of consistency I’m talking about.

Every time I have a long enough break from school, I drive to visit my family over 500 miles away. That’s a lot of driving, and it’s given me a chance to develop very specific road-trip pet peeves. Two of the biggies are related to consistency, but at opposite ends of the spectrum.

The first annoyance is the driver who can’t seem to maintain speed on the highway. Not everyone has cruise control, and not everyone who has it wants to use it. That’s fine. But when they vary as much as 15 or 20 mph due to nothing other than their own distraction, I get annoyed. Especially since they always seem to go fast when I could pass them, and drag their wagons when I’m stuck behind them indefinitely.

The other problematic drivers are consistent when they shouldn’t be. They go one speed—say, 65 mph in a 70 zone. The highway cuts through a small town, so the speed reduces significantly, maybe down to 45 mph. They keep going 65. Too slow when they should go fast, too fast when they should go slow.

Okay, time for a writing parallel—why not?

Driver #1 is like a writer not maintaining consistency within the plot or characters. Yes, characters grow and change, but not out of the blue, and not just because it’s convenient for you. Don’t make your readers slam on the brakes for no reason.

Driver #2 is like a writer plowing through the ms with the same level of tension throughout. There should be peaks and valleys. Sometimes the reader needs a relative breather. Don’t blast through the scenic village at the same speed you cruise through the desert.

Now I’m off to check my ms for both varieties of consistency.

Any tips, tricks, or thoughts related to consistency … in writing, life, or anywhere else?

My YA Manifesto

I’ve been thinking about writing a post like this for months, ever since my From the Write Angle blog-mate J. Lea Lopez wrote her Erotica Writer’s Manifesto. Finally, it’s time.

Every once in a while, I run across someone who thinks writing Young Adult novels is easier than writing for grown-ups. That YA work isn’t as complex, doesn’t go as deep or dark, or is otherwise somehow “lesser” than its adult counterparts.

I’ve even heard it once or twice from other YA writers. They write YA because it’s not as demanding—they don’t think they could cut it as a writer for adults. Or they write YA because it’s a stronger area in a struggling market.

I am an unabashed writer of young adult literature. I chose it before I knew anything about publishing markets, before I knew anything about novel-writing in general (other than my opinions as a reader). So, here’s my own personal manifesto as a YA writer, the standards I’ll hold myself to.

• I will write YA only as long as I love it—reading it, writing it, talking about it.
• I will respect my readers. Young does not mean stupid.
• I will avoid Stupid MC Syndrome at all costs.
• I won’t be afraid of vocabulary, but will also keep it authentic.
• I will write female characters with interesting quirks, strengths, and weaknesses.
• I will write male characters who are more than utter hotness. (This does not preclude potential hotness … but yeah.)
• Combining the above, when characters fall for each other, it will be for reasons other than instinctive attraction or destiny.
• I will generally keep adult characters out of the way, but will not operate under the presumption that all grown-ups are stupid. Teens know that only some of us are stupid.
• I won’t be afraid of complexity—complex situations for my characters, complex issues to tackle. Teens’ lives are complex. They deal with it.
• I will hope my readers learn something from my novels.
• I will not dictate what that “something” they learn should be. I hope it varies from person to person.
• I will keep in mind that even teens who think they have no personality and aren’t special show the truth in their actions. Even the quietest teen is interesting if you really watch.

There should probably be a few more items in this list, so perhaps I’ll add to it over time.

What do you think, YA writers? What do you strive for (or strive to avoid) when writing in our chosen category?