Category Archives: Discussions

The category for the topic of the week

Write a speech Ted!

I love Ted.

I love Ted so much I’ve taken to watching Ted whilst cooking dinner, sitting on trains and even whilst lying in bed.

Not this Ted:

Fr Ted

This Ted:

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Every year Leaving Cert students can write a speech for the creative writing element of their exam. The composing element of paper 1 is worth 25% of their final English grade so getting to grips with what constitutes a good speech is vitally important.

As I sat in the Bord Gais Theatre yesterday, blown away by the inspiring people and ideas who flooded the stage over the course of over 5 hours, I couldn’t help but feel that this was exactly how my students should be spending their Saturday. Luckily for them, the talks from TedX Dublin will be up online in a few weeks and in the meantime they can select from hundreds of thousands of talks on Ted.com. Yes, I know, I know! This may be hopelessly wishful thinking on my part. I’ve seen their eyes glaze over when I start expounding, for the hundreth time, on the wonders of Ted…

I’m also pretty certain there isn’t a single person on the planet who has ever written a mind-blowingly inspiring Ted talk in an hour and twenty minutes, which is the amount of time our students have to write their four to five page speech under exam conditions. But students and teachers can only work with the hand they’re dealt, so leaving exam conditions and timings aside for a moment, here’s what struck me yesterday about the essence of delivering a really engaging, inspiring talk.

1. Great talks are – at least occasionally – funny! Fiona Newell provoked a gale of laughter as she introduced the ugliest creature on the planet, the blobfish:

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And stand-up comedian extraordinaire Robin Ince had some choice words for us on the Piglet Squid!

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Many of the talks dealt with serious topics, but the speakers were all aware of the need to connect with the audience and recognised that shared laughter is truly the best way to achieve this connection. Kevin Thornton was particularly funny describing an early morning walk picking wild garlic which somehow became a naked photographic self portrait on a fallen tree trunk interrupted by voices in the distance which, as they moved closer, turned out to be his girlfriend’s parents! Eek! Yet rather than judge him for being a complete and utter eejit, we warmed to him, rooted for him, felt more inclined to listen to his message. Why? Because when a speaker is self-depreciating, is willing to laugh at themselves despite all of their achievements, we, the audience, respond.

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2. Great talks provide you with visuals! Cathal Garvey’s home made centrifuge attached to a domestic electric drill made us all believe that biotech is truly possible outside of the lab. Dave Smith’s 5 storey robot lodged so powerfully in our imaginations that when the audience wrote a collaborative story with Sean Love from Fighting Words later in the day, this very same 5 foot robot became the central character. The video footage of Lisa Dominican with her daughter brought tears to my eyes, the bond between them made visible once Lisa found a way to help her daughter communicate despite her autism. As a student in an exam scenario you can’t show these visuals on a big screen so you need to turn the visuals into words, as I have just done. No visuals = boredom for the audience, or at the very least a blank imagination which will quickly wander off on a tangent – I need to pee! I like her dress! I wonder who the next speaker is…

3.  Beginning, middle and end: Each of the speakers had a clear structure for their talk. All had a thesis, a central idea woven throughout, whether it was Easkey Britton’s faith that surfing can break down social, cultural and gender barriers; or Fergus McAuliffe’s hilarious defence of communicating complex science using the language of storytelling; or Constantin Gurdgiev’s slightly scary vision of the future of human capital; or Niamh O’Mahony’s passionate belief in the power of technology to improve our health.

Each talk (1) offered us a clear and engaging outline of the topic (2) identified the challenges presented and (3) offered some solutions, some clear vision of a future different to the now and some questions that need further exploration. Many had a call to action – now that you’re heard me speak, this is what you need to do next…

4. Write what you know: Each of the speakers had vast experience and expertise to share. This is one of the greatest (and most unfair) challenges our students face. The exam demands that they must talk with authority on a topic they may not know very much about. The advice “fake it til you make it” springs to mind, but it does still profoundly depress me how dependent your final grade in Leaving Cert English is on whether or not the essay titles suit you or not on the day. Then again, I’ve always said (tongue in cheek of course) that the ability to bullshit, confidently and convincingly, is an essential skill if you want to be good at English. Under exam conditions if you can rely on a vivid imagination to help you invent specific examples and believable statistics then you’ll be grand!

5. Concrete and personal examples: all of the speakers drew on a variety of sources to back up the points they made. Including quotes from their heroes; alluding to great writers like Darwin and Roddy Doyle and Dave Eggers; offering personal anecdotes; and throwing in statistics and charts for good measure, they convinced us because the points they made were grounded in concrete examples.

6. Novelty: One thing I’ve never consciously considered before when speaking in public is the value of novelty. When Shane O’Mara took to the stage with his zombie slides, carrying the joke to its logical conclusion and beyond, the audience were entranced. He was just so damn funny, so immeasurably silly and yet so thoroughly engaging, in his presence you could not help but find the structure of the human brain utterly fascinating. Linking complex brain disorders to a zombie-like state was a stroke (sorry!) of genius. I was just sad his talk ended – I wanted to know more about these freakish psychological conditions which so closely resemble the behaviour of zombies.

So what’s my take away from the day???

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I love Ted.

I love Ted so much I’ve taken to watching Ted whilst cooking dinner, sitting on trains and even whilst lying in bed.

Maybe you should too.

 

 

Story Spine #2

During the summer I made the difficult decision to take a hiatus from mentoring the Concern Debating Team. I was sick quite a bit last year and my lovely GP gently suggested that if I set myself Realistic Achievable Goals instead of attempting a bad impression of SuperWoman, I might find myself getting flattened by chest infections and laryngitis a little less often. However, none of that made me feel any less guilty or any less sad. I love the wild expansion of knowledge that occurs as we research; the heated discussions at lunchtime about how exactly to tackle the motion; the buzz of the debates themselves.

That’s not why I’m writing this though. I’m writing this blog post because one of my debaters wrote an incredible tongue-in-cheek story spine that helped me to make peace with my decision. It speaks volumes of her talent and maturity and compassion and was a timely reminder for me that kindness is a two-way street between teacher and student.

Once upon a time there was an English teacher who had the unfortunate luck of being cursed. This curse rendered her almost entirely incapable of uttering the word ‘no’ and also had the effect of disillusioning her to believe herself capable of handling infinite projects, unhindered by the constraints of time.

And every day, the requests would bombard her in quick succession – a quick radio piece, did she have time to give her opinion? A grade on an overdue essay, because, I swear Miss, I just left it at home last week; supervising a TY project, and oh! cheers Miss, I knew you wouldn’t let us down! And every day a yes fell from her lips without any intent, just a knee-jerk reaction.

Until one day, the curse was broken. Realisation hit her like a truck; she was not obliged to say yes. She recognised that unless she could pull a Hermoine Granger and get her hands on a Time Turner, it was simply not possible to do everything she was asked to do.

And because of that, she bid her beloved and favourite-ever-of-all-time students on the debating team adieu.

And because of that, there was heartbreak, quickly succeeded by a frenzy and flurry of confusion. Where to find a replacement? Was there one? Was this the end? Oh, Shakespeare himself could not dream up a tragedy of such devastating proportions!

Until finally, their fate was accepted. The Mount Saint Michael debate team was, alas, no more. The loss was felt keenly by all four people who knew it existed.

And ever since that day the English teacher is filled with regret and sorrow, wishing she had seen that this team should obviously precede family, work and all else in her endless list of priorities.

The bitter end.

 

Achievement Log

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One day back to work and already I could feel my brain firing off in a million directions, analysing all that I had done and all that I had yet to do and feeling that oh so familiar ‘uh-oh’, here comes the crazyness again. But as I paused to cook dinner (all the time cursing the amount of time it would take when there was so much else to be done) I had a sudden realistion.

Instead of “To Do lists“, which provide a modicum of control and a comforting sense of being somewhat organised but which always seem never-ending, this year I’m going to create an Achievement Log.

Every day.

Rather than fret about what needs doing, I’ll make a conscious effort to celebrate all that I achieve.

So here goes: on Friday, along with my colleagues in the English department, we analysed our Leaving Cert exam results; I also got to grips with my new timetable; wrapped my head around where we go next with our literacy strategy; surveyed the staff on the suitability of a key words notebook as part of said strategy; sat through a really productive staff meeting (I know, who knew such a thing exists?) and then came home and cooked dinner for our lovely friends Pat and Ruth who I had completely forgotten were coming to visit! It was yum and fun and next time I promise the house will be tidier 😉

At the weekend I finished and submitted an iBook chapter I’d been working on; visited Tayto Park (highly recommended); finally completed my poetry podcasts for Emily Dickinson (WB Yeats was put to bed a few weeks ago) and Mayo minors and seniors booked their place in the All-Ireland Football Final! Get in there lads!

Monday I orchestrated 89 new first year students playing improv games in the gym; took on the role of subject convenor for English, got my zombie story spine example and handouts sorted for teaching my first years and discovered that the speakers in my classroom weren’t working! grr! As a department we finalised our schemes of work for the first term with our first, second, Junior Cert and Transition Year students, ruminated on the need for a questionnaire for establishing base-line data on our first and second years reading habits, examined class lists to see which students go where and generally got our brains back in the zone for the year ahead. Today was similarly manic – welcome to teaching!

What astounds me, even now, is how a simple switch of attitude, from To Do lists to Achievement Log, focusing on what I’m achieving every day instead of lamenting what remains unfinished, yields such profound benefits. I feel calmer, more capable, more ready, willing and able to cope with the demands of this crazy job.

And it also occurs to me how powerful this change of focus could be for my students; particularly exam students and all those who, like me, suffer from the royal pain in the ass that is ‘being a bit of a perfectionist‘.

So maybe this year I’ll encourage them at all times to list what they have achieved first before focusing on the rest of the uphill climb. Hey, maybe there’s an app in this Achievement Log idea? Hell knows there’s an app for everything else nowadays. It could come with built in cheers and applause every time you list something you’ve achieved, even if it’s as mundane as remembering that you’re having guests and tidying the house…

Right, that’s another thing to add to my To Do List!

Hopefully some day it’ll make it into the Achievement Log 😉

 

 

Noise

I rolled back onto the lawn and pressed my forehead to the ground again and made the noise that Father calls groaning. I make this noise when there is too much information coming into my head from the outside world. It is like when you’re upset and you hold the radio against your ear and you tune it halfway between two stations so that all you get is white noise and then you turn the volume right up so that this is all you can hear and then you know you are safe because you cannot hear anything else

                 – Mark Haddon, “The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time“.

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There was a lot of noise. Noise like a thousand ripples on a lake, vibrating too fast for the naked eye to see but there nonetheless. There was my twitter feed where all my #edchatie peeps fed me my daily bread of wisdom, and there was my facebook feed where I kept up to speed on the cuteness of my cousins kids and there was my gmail drive where resided the world wide wisdom of the cesi list and where alerts fell to a virtual earth when someone commented on my blog or sent a question or gave me praise – well glory be – and of course there were the email notifications of the messages I was already receiving on twitter and facebook but now I had them twice in case I missed them once and sometimes people would ask to be linked-in with me but I already felt so damn linked in I sort of felt in chains.

There were the messages on the phone itself, sometimes real and sometimes ‘i’ and some were viber and some what’s app and of course the phone itself could ring as well as bleep and ping and spit at me down one million channels of connectivity all of which were making me feel a little sick.

I used to lose myself quite often and it’s something I miss now that I am always here.

So when I stand in awe outdoors in a theatre built by Shakespeare’s men in 1599, like many who have gone before, no noise will draw my heart and eye away from the spectacle of a heart splintered into a thousand pieces crying out in agony “methought I heard a voice cry, ‘sleep no more, Macbeth does murder sleep”  and I will be transported away from myself and won’t that be a blessing and won’t I just be glad, because when all is said and done, I am just me, but art is for eternity.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Shakespeare’s “Macbeth” is performed in The Globe Theatre, London until the 13th October.

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time is performed in the Apollo Theatre in London indefinitely.

ADE: Surface and Depth

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The Apple Distinguished Educators Institute I attended in Cork last week was, unsurprisingly, a slick operation. We were repeatedly wowed by the calibre of presenters flown in to showcase their genius and to work with us as we immersed ourselves in the process of authoring content.

Sarah Herrlinger’s talk on accessible content design struck a chord and reminded me of the promise I made to myself (via my interactions with @irishdeafkids) to think about the needs of all learners when creating content for this website and elsewhere.

Bill Frakes’ stunningly beautiful photographs unearthed a previously hidden desire in me to really explore the art of creating photos and to the delight of my husband John, I’ve been playing around with our newly purchased Nikon camera a lot since I got home. Bill Frakes also took a photo of every ADE at the event and what girl’s gonna turn down the opportunity to have her image snapped by a Pulitzer Prize winning photographer?

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Nancy Duarte’s incredibly engaging talk on the importance of clear design for educational content resonated the most for me and reassured me that there is still a place in education for the well-designed lecture.

But when I scratch beneath the surface of the week there were other, more significant things I learnt.

First of all, the future of learning is not exclusively or even predominantly online. Content consumption has exploded in recent years but it undoubtedly has limitations, particularly for recovering-technophobes like me who, given a choice, choose human over machine every time. No matter how many incredible resources were sent my way on the iTunesU ADE course, they paled to insignificance beside the power of collaborating in person with kindred spirits. The lifelong friendships I take away from the week with me will be the creative juice I need to keep at it, even when the mountain feels too high to climb. Yes, I’ll explore the content as time allows but it was building content in the presence of crazily creative people that was simply wow and perhaps this is what gives Apple their edge in education, because content creation is such a key element of their ecosystem. All of this cemented for me what I already knew in my heart: that the human element of learning is vital. So blended learning as the future? Hell yeah! But massive MOOCs? I’ve not convinced.

Secondly, no matter how much money you have, pupil-teacher ratio matters. There were many occasions during the week where my learning could have been accelerated if only I had access to the experts in my moments of need. We DID have access to the experts but there were 160 of us all clamouring for their attention! Luckily my PLN were incredibly patient. The time I spent with them, along with the 10 minutes I spent with the Duarte team and the half hour Ryan L’Esperance kindly gave me, reminded me that the teacher may move from sage on the stage to guide on the side, but nothing is superior to individualised instruction. No country has been able to afford it since the ancient Greeks, but it works, no question.

The Lennon Bus tour blew my mind with the extreme challenge based learning they implement on a daily basis but it also brought me full circle once again to the issue of pupil-teacher ratio. I hope to lure them to my school sometime soon but the process of selecting only 10-12 pupils from a school of 500, all of whom would undoubtedly benefit from participation, will be seriously tough. I know it’s better to give some of them the experience rather than none but it does make me sad that they can’t all experience it. I guess it was just another timely reminder that CBL is best implemented with perhaps one expert to every 5 learners. The Lennon Bus crew understand that completely which is why they limit the number of participants to preserve the integrity and value of the learning experience. But in an Ireland where classes are bursting at the seams from cutbacks and austerity, effective CBL is only going to happen if, as a teacher, I can somehow draw on the expertise my learners already have and if some of my students are happy to take on the role of teacher rather than learner within the group projects we do.

Thirdly, the week confirmed a complex reality that bitter experience has already taught me: learning will not automatically happen simply because you put people into groups. I clicked instantly with @Andyisatwork @Krowdrah @cajcarter @Lannoy29 and @Mrpielee and serious kudos goes to @rebeccastockley for helping us to find each other. Basically she got us to write down some key words on our iPads which represented our passions and we then wandered a room full of 160 odd people holding up our signs and searching for kindred spirits. I know I found mine but speaking informally to other ADE’s not everyone was as fortunate or successful. The quality of my learning and the speed with which I got to grips with my project was a direct result of working in PLN 6: Cinetivity, to the extent that one day I looked around, demanded out loud where all the other groups had gone, at which point we all looked up and realised that everyone else had gone to lunch. I had lost myself so completely in our group dynamic of just getting shit done that eating seemed like an unwelcome distraction from the important business at hand. We dragged ourselves away from our projects once our stomachs started complaining loudly but I could work happily with those guys for weeks on end. The ideas fizzing and bubbling in the air were too delicious to resist.

My favourite session from the whole week involved no tech at all. We laid down our weapons of choice – iPads and iPhones and iMacs – and played improv games in a group of about 40 people down in the golf lodge. I can’t remember when I last laughed so much but I do know that first day back to school my students will get the direct benefit of that session spent with Rebecca Stockley. And being able to access her content via the ADE iTunes course will really help in a few weeks time when the feeling remains but the details are fuzzy in my brain. That is the true beauty of the technology, the way it allows us to re-connect with knowledge whose seed has been planted in our minds but which needs care and attention if it is ever to grow.

I learnt a lot last week at the ADE institute but if the beautiful glass momento pictured above somehow gets smashed I’ll be sad, sure, but not devastated. Because the week wasn’t about a fancy trophy and a slick photo. It was about bringing together a bunch of educators with vision and passion and skill and for that I will always be grateful.

So I suppose what I’m really trying to say is that depth is always more complex, and for me, more interesting than surface.

Take for example this photo. The extreme lighting employed flattens my features, smoothes out my crows feet, evens out my skin tone. I look good but I don’t quite look like myself.
2013 ADE Europe InstituteO'Connor, Evelyn
Now compare it to this photo, taken by my beloved John in a moment when I’m completely at ease and thus genuinely smiling.
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Yes you can see my chubby cheeks and the lines around my eyes. There are shiny bits which make my skin look a little oily and my hair is shoved behind my ears. But it’s me. It’s undoubtedly me. And maybe that depth is ultimately more appealing than flattened out surface.

The surface appeal of tech in education is undeniable. The idea that it could instantly transform education, could make it more engaging, more accessible, more of-the-era is tempting in the extreme.

But the deeper truth I also realised this week is that learning from people, with machines, is the most powerful learning there is. Tech in education is the way forward. I truly, madly, deeply believe this. The human element remains central; the tech becomes invisible; and the marriage of the two is just pure magic.