education

The Value of Expertise

I might get myself in trouble with this one.

As a teacher (and especially when I worked in “regular” ed), I’ve heard the following line more than once from parents: “I know what’s best for my child.”

Really? If so, why do we have pediatricians? Dentists? Why send children to school at all, where they’ll be taught by someone who is not the parent of said-child?

We trust that doctors know more than we do about physical health. Most of us take our cars to mechanics because they know more about engines and carburetors and serpentine belts than we do. They have something we don’t—EXPERTISE on the subject.

Same goes for teaching. I studied enough about mathematics and the teaching thereof to earn two degrees. I’ve taught just about every level of math that exists in secondary education. Perhaps I know a thing or two.

That’s not to say parents (or anyone) should blindly trust the experts. But to make an informed argument, they need to gain some expertise of their own.

Ask questions. Do some research. Try a few different things—that would definitely make you an expert on what has and hasn’t worked in the past. Make sure you understand the reasoning behind the advice being given to you before you dismiss it.

Wait a minute. This sounds familiar.

It applies to writing, too.

Writers often say we know what’s best for our stories. In some ways, yes … but in some, maybe not. Does the writer have the expertise to make that judgment?

An editor or agent generally does have that expertise. They’ve studied, trained, and had experience in the world of writing. They might just know more than we do about what does or doesn’t work. (Yes, it’s a very subjective industry, but some things are clear-cut enough.)

Agents are too overwhelmed to give much feedback, and most of us don’t have access to an editor, nor the means to pay a freelancer. So we’re left to gain at least some expertise ourselves.

How can we do that? I have friends who’ve been through MFA programs, and it shows in both the polish and cohesive structure of their work. But that may not be the route for all of us. There are How-To books of various types. Expertise galore, ready for us to access it.

Reading can be a great way, too, but we can’t just read. We have to read on a “meta” level. When we enjoy something, we need to think about why—what did the author do right, and how? If something annoys or bores us, we need to figure out what’s behind that, too.

Will all of that ever equal the knowledge and experience an industry pro can bring to the table? Probably not. But that’s where strength in numbers comes in. Solid critique partners who’ve also done their part to gain expertise can have a huge effect on our outcome. (More on that coming on a special post August 15th.)

The bottom line is that we shouldn’t plug our ears and chant that we know what’s best for the story simply because we wrote it.

Well, really, we can do anything we want in our novels … if we don’t care about getting published.

Speak up:

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Primer #2 on Deaf Can/Can’t

I previously posted on the idea that deaf kids don’t have great literacy skills. (Summary: Sometimes they do, sometimes they don’t, same as hearing kids. They just add a few more variables to the mix.) Recently, some other ideas of what deaf people can and can’t do have come up in conversation.

Sidenote: Have I mentioned that if you’re calling them “hearing-impaired,” you’re wasting your breath? The only people I’ve met so far who prefer that over “deaf” have been folks who lost their hearing in old age.

First off, I’m a big believer in keeping the mindset that my students can do just about anything they want if they work hard enough. Once in a while, though, something comes up that makes me bite my lip, unsure what I should say.

I’ve had a couple of students who wanted to enter law enforcement—in the most recent case, preferably the FBI. Specifically, not a desk job—an out in the field, gun-toting Fed.

He hears relatively well with hearing aids, and speaks clear as day.

But …

I can’t help but think, what would it be like to be his partner in a dicey situation, where hearing the click of a gun’s safety going off can make the difference? Or in a chaotic, noisy environment where they’re not in each other’s line-of-sight, so communication isn’t clean and clear?

Or do I just watch too many TV shows like White Collar?

What do I tell a student in a situation like that? How do you combine being supportive and realistic?

This isn’t exclusive to deafness. Sometimes you come across a person who’s bound and determined to be a singer. They work hard for years, pay lots of money for lessons, but can still barely carry a tune. At what point do you lovingly say, “Look, hon, you have other talents. Put your energy into those and throw in the towel on this one. You can still sing along to the radio in the car.”

Or what about someone who longs to be a published novelist, but just doesn’t have the unteachable knack?

Of course, that gets into the argument of whether there are components of writing that can’t be taught … and that’s another post.

Speak up:

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How Hard Do You Push?

People who say teenagers are lazy, don’t care whether something’s good for them, don’t know the value of hard work, etc. don’t know what they’re talking about.

Okay, I know there are teens who fit that description.

So do some adults. (That’s beside the point.)

Here’s my evidence: Despite the fact that they want to have fun and don’t really like homework (except for Student X, who asks for extra work just because she gets bored at home), I’ve had a surprising number of students complain about teachers not challenging them enough.

Some teens out there who have nearly a full load of AP classes will wonder what planet I’m living on where such a complaint could be voiced. It’s a very small one, where “on grade-level” is pretty much the top of the food chain. But maybe we could push them higher.

After slogging it out for nine months, they want to feel like they’ve accomplished something—like they’ve completed their first marathon … not like they’ve been doing daily jogs around the local park. They may complain about how hard it is while they’re running, but deep-down, many of them seem to want that push.

I have a point, I promise.

I think our characters want to be pushed, too. And they want to push back. Throw a tough situation at them, and get them to slog through it. There’s a balance to maintain with believability, but don’t make it easy on the little dears. Let their reactions happen in vivid high-def with surround-sound. Challenge the characters. Challenge your readers.

Problems shouldn’t be solved too easily. The path of the plot shouldn’t be laid out neatly with big, bright roadsigns posted every mile. Emotions shouldn’t be consistently lukewarm, only half-felt. Sometimes, a character needs to have a solid freak-out.

And yes, most of this post is directed at myself.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to brainstorm some ways to torture challenge both my characters and my students.

Speak up:

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Identity Crisis

Like most writers (aspiring as well as published), I have a day job. I don’t know how many other writers love their day jobs, but I do. I get to hang out with very cool kids, talk about random things, and get them to think differently about mathematics. And I have a built-in test audience for my writing. What’s not to love? (Uh, paperwork? School politics? Never mind.)

At the same time, this occasionally leads me into a minor identity crisis. No one really expects a math teacher to be a writer … or at least not to be any good at it. That’s fine, I like turning norms on their heads. But while they do overlap, there are parts of me that are distinctly either math-teacher or YA-writer.

Then the kicker—time allocation. Is the way I taught combinations and permutations last year good enough, or should I spend a weekend revamping the lesson? Revamping means giving up writing/editing time. Where are those 28-hour days we’ve all been wishing for? No, I won’t kid myself. If days got longer, I’d still find ways to overfill them.

I think I’ve pinned down part of the reason I feel guilty when I settle for “good enough” on lessons. The math-teacher front is where I know I have talent. I’m not perfect, I could definitely improve, but I have solid evidence that I’m pretty darn good at it. With writing, I have some supporters, cheerleading in my corner, and I do trust their opinion. So far, though, I have to take it on faith that they’re right.

Of course, the silver lining is in sight. My math-teacher side has mandated down-time known as summer vacation. As I did last year, this will be a time when I let Writer-R.C. dominate. Maybe crank out a short story or two, edit the new ms, dive back into the querying trenches … and hopefully come that much closer to convincing myself the time is worth it.

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Speaking Up

When you’re part of the majority, you don’t generally think about your culture until you find yourself in a situation where you’re surrounded by someone else’s.  I imagine most of the people reading this listen to music and watch TV with the sound turned up—that is, we’re hearing.

Did you ever think of using that word to describe yourself?  Maybe not, unless you happen to be a hearing person with connections to the Deaf world.

Yes, I capitalized it.  That wasn’t a mistake.

There are a lot of differences between Deaf culture and the hearing majority, probably enough for another blog post or two sometime.  A central feature is sign language.  That doesn’t mean there aren’t people within the community who can and do speak.  This can be a sticky issue, though—again, plenty I could ramble on about.

My point right now is that there are individuals who feel caught in the middle, who enjoy being part of the Deaf community, but also feel a connection to the hearing world.  They listen to music and express themselves most comfortably in spoken English.  This doesn’t always go over well with others.

Tomorrow, there’s a public “speaking” competition at school.  Entrants have the choice of signing or speaking.  This year, only a few students have entered … but they’ve all chosen to speak, and we’ll have an interpreter present.  I’m interested to see the kinds of reactions they get.  Will everyone focus on the content of the messages and whether they were effective in getting their points across?  Will some complain that they should have signed, even though doing so would limit the eloquence of these particular students?

I’m proud of them for having the guts to get up in front of their peers and make a formal presentation—whether in speech or sign, it’s not easy.  If anyone gives them a hard time, it might be my turn to speak up.

 

Speak up:

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Primer #1 on Deaf Can/Can’t

Every so often, I’ll get a particular comment about Fingerprints on critique sites—something about Tasmin (the Deaf character) displaying unrealistic English skills.

These commentators mean well and undoubtedly speak from their personal experience, so I don’t mind.  I see it as opportunity to spread a little knowledge.

When I was in grad school, we frequently discussed the hated statistic: Most deaf people read at a fourth grade level.  Please note that the statistic on that website is actually that the median reading level among 17- and 18-year-olds in the sample was 4.0, so there’s one inaccuracy that creeps into the discussion.  Generalizing that, half of the individuals in the sample read at or below that level … and half read at that level or above.

Another thing to note: The literacy statistics among the general U.S. population aren’t too great, either.  Check here for some stats that those in medical fields should keep in mind.  There are a lot of reasons for this, including school performance, education level of parents, and language access.

That last point—language access—is likely the biggest hurdle for deaf kids.  The most accessible language is most likely not one that’s used in the home when the deaf kid comes along.  An exception is when there is a Deaf parent (or two), which does happen, but overall isn’t that likely.  Some hearing parents dive right into signing classes and/or take other steps, working their tails off to help their kids succeed.

Regardless, a huge number of variables are involved … enough to make generalizations pretty useless.

What I do know is that I’ve worked with deaf students on both ends of the spectrum.  I’ve known deaf kids who read above grade level.  I know several others in high school who read and write at or very close to their grade level.  It happens, and if I see it at our tiny little school, it happens everywhere to one degree or another.

So do I stand by Tasmin’s skills?  Absolutely, and not just because the character is meant to be unusually intelligent.  I chose to focus on the “can” … and the only thing Tasmin can’t do is hear.

Speak up:

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