Practice Makes Perfect

I am not yet done reflecting on #UoELTConf18. (Was that a groan I heard at the back?)

There was a great presentation by @Nicolvision & @philshe about their use of Minecraft in the MSc in Digital Education. They showed some beautiful examples of building from their students, of people taking a digital space and making it their own.

I was reminded of two things. First, I have recently gone through a phase of watching the Sim Supply on YouTube. I love watching how he builds these beautiful and complex creations through trial and error. Compare James’ behaviour in the 3×3 house-build and the ‘no mistakes’ house-build and you’ll see how he relies on experimentation and development. Basically, I’m a little in love with James as a learner, because he learns through play, and creates some fabulous things because of it.

In turn, this reminded me of a story I’ve seen passed around Twitter, Tumblr, Facebook, and other blue-themed social media of your choice. Here’s my rendition.

Once upon a time, in the land of apocrypha, there was a Professor of Pottery. Because TEF was coming in, and she worked at a Russell Group university that was expected to do poorly, she wondered what the best way was to teach her students. As everyone knows, these sort of things can only be discovered through controlled trials, and so at the start of the academic year, she split her class in two. She told Class A that their final grade would be based on a single pot, but it was the only pot they’d be allowed to produce. Their exam was one of quality. She told Class 1 (because she didn’t want to bias them into thinking they were the ‘b-group’) that their final grade would be based on quantity. The more pots they produced, the higher their grade. Quality was not important. At the end of the academic year, she looked over her class’s work, and found that Class A had spent hours, days, weeks, researching and studying and had produced some very nice pots. But the best pots were found in Class 1’s batch. Though they had started misshapen and lumpy, by the end of the year no amount of reading could make up for their experience throwing clay.

The Professor intended to write this up, but was informed that pedagogical papers were rarely REFable, and anyway some noisy bint at a conference pointed out she’d never gotten ethical clearance, so the paper was never published, and the story moved into legend and myth.

Despite my retelling, I actually really enjoy this story, and I think the message is a good one.

I work a lot with fellow academics and with students, and I would say the majority of them subscribe to Yoda’s philosophy of ‘do or do not, there is no try’. Give academics three sheets of A3 and a handful of coloured markers to work with and they will hastily scribble one page just before you send someone round to gather their work. I could not tell you why.

I think these digital spaces – particularly spaces like Minecraft – can be brilliant places to practice making a thousand pots. Because you can also destroy a thousand pots.

At the presentation there were two examples where a student had pushed Minecraft to its limits, and I recognise those experiences from being a gamer. Exploring what cannot be done, and understanding why those limits exist (and where, conversely, they don’t exist), is an oft-neglected part of learning in HE. Thinking just over the last month, I’ve steered at least two undergraduates away from research methodologies that have limits unknown to the students. That’s the right thing to do, because the research project is not the place to ‘break’ something, but I still think there’s great value to finding out how to ‘break’ things. And looking at what can still be done when something doesn’t work. 

Virtual worlds are a great way to play with the boundaries of rules. The very first Halo game had a glitch in the level Assault on the Control Room (here). By exploiting the geometry of the game, you can bypass a trigger to spawn enemies later in the level. The rest of the expansive level is then accessible, devoid of enemies to shoot. Whenever I build e-learning resources, and stack triggers on the user’s interactions, I think about the hours I spent exploring this empty level.

Good learning should create something new, but I think it also incorporates some level of destruction too. Even if only at a conceptual level, you need to break down what you used to know in order to construct your new knowledge. Trial and error doesn’t mean making a thousand pots, but trying to make a pot out of straw, and felt, and all sorts of other materials. I think learning will always be at its best at the boundaries, and virtual worlds are great places to push at those boundaries. 

Anything You’d Like to Share With The Class?

The first university of Edinburgh Learning and Teaching Conference was on the 20th June and I enjoyed myself immensely. There’s lots I want to reflect on from the conference, but it will likely come in dribs and drabs. One of the ways I am trying to practice some ‘academic kindness’ is to not beat myself up about not blogging more. It’s been surprisingly difficult for me to get back into the habit post-book.

But the first thing I want to talk about after #UoELTConf18 is the Twitter conference. I can’t tell if it’s been the switch of disciplines, or just the technology and the users maturing, but I am absolutely loving the conference hashtag over the last few years. For the last couple of conferences I’ve been to, I’ve had just as interesting (if not more interesting) discussions on Twitter as I have had in the sessions.

At AMEE, last year, I expanded my followers list exponentially, and love seeing how medical education at large talks. That community introduced me to things like Bawa Garba case, and a new take on many ethical considerations. At the last few QAA conferences I’ve been to, Twitter has been used to collect questions from the middle of a crowded auditorium, and from more junior colleagues. I’ve been able to question speakers over my allotted time, and in a way that feels (to me) to be respectful and non-pressuring to the speakers.

I also retweet whatever someone tweets about my work – and I’m always interested to see what people choose to share or take away from one of my talks. For example, this is Jen Ross’s take away from our paper at the conference

 

Now I think that’s a fair and concise (thank you, 240 character allowance) summary of what I took twenty minutes to say. But sometimes I’m surprised by what people choose to share of my work. Sometimes I think: “But that wasn’t important at all”, or “You missed the cool bit!”. The more I communicate science, the more I think I’m a very poor communicator. I hope this is the Dunning Kruger effect at work, but then that leads me to wonder that if you’re aware of the Dunning Kruger effect, and think you’re not very good at something, does that mean you’re actually not very good at it . . . ?

I digress.

One of the other fun new things about #UoELTConf18 was that my other talk was a Pecha Kucha. Twenty slides with twenty seconds per slide. I had to write a Pecha Kucha talk differently, and think very carefully about the content of my presentation, as opposed to the style of my presentation.

It’s not groundbreaking to recognise that different formats need different material content, but watching how Twitter can transform my own conference experience has made me think a lot more about the purpose of a conference presentation, and what good content can and cannot make up for.

What my take-home message for all this? Well I have a few. First, I have really started designing my slides with the idea that they should stand-alone, as much as possible. That’s not to say that each slide is made for sharing (see take-home point two), but a combination of simplicity, visual appeal, and a clear idea of what slide is meant to do has helped me a lot recently.

Two – I am clear when I don’t want slides to be shared. I have a little graphic I use to indicate when I would rather a slide not be shared on Twitter, i.e. because I feel the data is confidential, or inappropriate to have an isolated question around. I forgot this in a recent slide deck and reminded my audience verbally instead, and they were very happy to acquiesce. As an aside, I think this might also be something we lecturers might want to consider as lecture recording becomes more wide spread. There’s no harm in a visual reminder sometimes.

And third, I’m going to try and generally remember that improvement happens when you push yourself. Without being a little self-critical, I can’t get better. And if someone picks up on the ‘wrong’ slide once or twice along the way, well they might have just been looking for something else entirely.