Meeting the Moment: Refreshing Old Practices to Support Our Students

Innovation is often synonymous with the latest technology–new apps, new platforms, new hardware. And in the age of AI, innovation has frequently meant integrating these new large language models into educational curriculum. But built into the word’s Latin roots is not just “new” but also “renew” or “restore,” suggesting that to innovate can also mean to alter a practice from the past.  

A recent episode from the Columbia University Center for Teaching and Learning’s podcast Dead Ideas in Teaching and Learning, “What Learning Looks Like,” highlights this idea. Host Dr. Amanda Irvin and her guest Dr. Lucy Appert, the Senior Director of Teaching Excellence and Innovation at NYU, suggest that educators who have lately found themselves returning to older practices–like using pen/paper–should reframe this conversation as “employing a different technology to meet the AI moment we’re in.” One of the only constants in education is change, Dr. Irvin reminds us, so it should come as no surprise that in the face of a dramatic cultural shift driven in large part by AI, teachers are yet again refreshing their practices, asking themselves: What do my students need now? And how can I help them develop these skills?  

The answer is of course not to resist AI; rather, it rests in reassessing how we can best teach in an increasingly automated environment, keeping our students’ reading, writing, critical thinking, and well-being skills at the forefront of our innovation and their learning.     

The answer is of course not to resist AI; rather, it rests in reassessing how we can best teach in an increasingly automated environment, keeping our students’ reading, writing, critical thinking, and well-being skills at the forefront of our innovation and their learning.     

So, for today’s post, I reached out to members of my English Department and asked them to share some of the small ways they have continued to evolve their craft in the age of AI–ways that might seem “retro” and “old-fashioned” but have in fact been intentionally refreshed and restored to help build the critical thinking and writing skills our students need to navigate this shifting world. For the sake of transparency, I will add that our department is in the process of formally drafting our philosophy on AI so that it can sit alongside our current student AI policy, which is essentially: “Please don’t use AI unless explicitly allowed.” Writing is learning, and our hope is that by writing through some of these ideas, we can walk towards a clearer understanding of how we can meet this new moment with wisdom and care. 

On Handwriting Essays (Tracy)

AI is the "scary monster" that is causing all of us stress, taxing our environment, and acting as a tempting siren to our girls who are overscheduled and overstressed, desperate for more hours in the day. So, as my professional growth goal for this school year, I decided to become a true AI coach to my students–exploring the processes and abilities of AI and how it can benefit me in my work, and how my students can use it in ways that are ethical, beneficial, and responsible. This experience has been a roller coaster, but the results have been promising. Through a myriad of assignments and activities, the majority of my students have seen what AI can do well and not so well, and they have learned what it does that is problematic to their reputation and integrity. Midway through the year, in the midst of our continued AI discussions, I knew I needed to reflect on the progress of this experiment. I wanted to make sure that I understood exactly what the inclusion of this technology in our classroom was doing to my girls' ability to craft an essay completely on their own. So, I decided a handwritten, in-class, reader response essay over Frankenstein was the perfect diagnostic tool. 

The girls resisted, and the anxiety in the room was palpable. Many of my students had not actually written an essay in years. Hands were cramping, brows were sweating, and pencils and erasers got a true workout. At the end of the class period, essays were literally handed to me on notebook paper with multiple cross-outs and eraser smudges. And strangely, the mood was radically different than it was at the beginning of the class. The girls ENJOYED the old-school writing experience. Some of them even thanked me for the opportunity to write like they did when they were younger–with no screens, no access to the temptation of the internet, and no constant clicking noises in the room. As I deciphered their handwriting and graded these essays, something beautiful emerged: fresh, insightful prose that was full of voice. There was no forced vocabulary from the use of a thesaurus or Grammarly, and there was a flow to the ideas that was authentic; without being able to double-check every wording or thought with their computer, they had to take a risk and trust themselves to communicate their ideas on their own. The girls were proud of their work, and this experiment reminded them of just how capable they really are without the use of a mindless, soulless machine. AI is here to stay, yes, and as teachers, we must learn to adapt and implement it in useful ways into our instruction. But it is up to us how often we invite it to the party. 

Some of them even thanked me for the opportunity to write like they did when they were younger–with no screens, no access to the temptation of the internet, and no constant clicking noises in the room. As I deciphered their handwriting and graded these essays, something beautiful emerged: fresh, insightful prose that was full of voice.

On Reading Physical Books (Kate)

One of my favorite odes to deep (human) work this year has been starting my freshman class with independent reading time, or DEAR (Drop Everything and Read). Despite being a literature and writing teacher, for so many years I considered quiet reading in class as a waste of time or a reversion to elementary school pedagogy because I have always felt pressure to pack a class with non-stop activity and, like so many educators, I am haunted by the word "rigor." When I taught in public school, my rigor ghost was working intentionally and at a fast pace to ensure my students passed state standardized tests. In private school, my rigor ghost has been challenging students with college-level writing and reading assignments. In and of themselves, neither of these goals is unworthy, but now generative AI and our students’ addiction to technology have asked us to redefine what activities are intellectually challenging (rigorous, if you will) for young people, and redefine our role as intellectual guides within the four walls of our classroom. 

Distraction is not a buzz word for teachers in the classroom because we feel the tangible effects of distraction when we have face-to-face conversations with our students and read their writing, or the writing they turn in filled with ideas generated by ChatGPT. The students will tell you they bore easily and struggle to pay attention, which includes watching longer shows and movies on Netflix, and many cite TikTok, doomscrolling, and YouTube shorts as the reason, without prompting from me. My students’ aversion to deep work and friction comes to my mind often as a teacher right now, as I notice they can tend to dislike, or even resent, when something is not perfectly clear or a question is not answered within the time it takes to watch a TikTok reel. This year I frequently hear a student shout out “Wait, I’m confused” right after reading a difficult prompt, or when asked to follow directions. To counter their resistance, right now I am identifying any activity that recalibrates our attention spans as a rigorous task.

In class, a student shared that she found a butterfly wing and keeps it in her DEAR book

There is nothing better to clear the mind than escaping your mind altogether and focusing on another character’s life and conflicts. In January I asked my freshmen to go to the library or book store and choose a physical book (no e-version was allowed) to read for fun, as well as bring it with them to class every day. We frequently begin class with ten to fifteen minutes of silent reading, and although I asked my students to reflect formally on the process of picking a “fun” book, no substantial grade is attached. But I find that regardless, almost all my students do read, and I love the quiet beauty of a room full of readers snuggled up with blankets and books. Many students come to class asking for reading time, and even report back when they spot other students reading after finishing a test. Their devotion to fun reading makes me wonder how much a cell-phone free campus would promote reading instead of scrolling during down times like lunch, free periods, and passing periods, and therefore build the attention span they will need to tackle an AI economy. 

On Brainstorming (Megan)

In my writing classroom, brainstorming prior to writing an essay has historically taken on a variety of forms: Socratic seminars, quote charts, mind maps, speed dating, whole class whiteboard drawing, and more. More recently—thanks to insight from my colleague Kate—my sophomores have tried a walk-and-talk brainstorming method, taking a purposeful stroll outside to discuss potential ideas before returning to the classroom to document them. I also know that sometimes the best brainstorming can just be writing itself: starting an essay with a tentative idea and then relying on the process to carry one towards a clearer argument. As a student, I was a hesitant writer, constantly uncertain about where or how to start, and these brainstorming sessions were a lifeline. Although I still suffer from seeds of doubt, years of figuring out what works best have transformed me into a more confident, more self-sufficient writer.   

Who would I be today, I sometimes wonder, if my teachers had allowed me to use a machine to walk me through my fear and doubt during those key developmental writing years? In the wake of AI, I have repeatedly heard phrases like AI as “thought partner” to help students get over their “fear of the blank page.” I know these assertions are well-intended, designed to help students generate more ideas than they could on their own. I also know that a well-designed activity could use AI during this process in really fruitful ways. However, I also know that the research is mixed as to whether using AI at this early phase actually helps develop student creativity. More importantly, though, the research is quite clear that these tools do not build students’ creative confidence. So, when deciding to use AI at this stage, we need to weigh the consequences with any potential benefits.

I work with young, timid writers all day long, and the last thing I want to do is give them another reason to question their abilities. Also, asking students to aimlessly turn to AI for brainstorming seems like the easy pedagogical way out for teachers. Why not instead continue to innovate or even restore alternative methods—like a walk-and-talk—that lets these young people practice those additional skills that make them the lovely humans they are?  

On Collaboration between Students (Allison H.) 

For the last five years my AP Lang students have engaged in a whole-class debate over the status of the English Language. Having discussed Toni Morrison's characterization of language as a bird that must be nurtured through honest communication and George Orwell's denunciation of slapped-together and misleading prose in "Politics and the English Language," my students then join the conversation by working in teams to argue that the English language is moving in either the right or the wrong direction. Forming their arguments over three classes, crafting their opening and closing statements, as well as questions for the opposing side, and then responding impromptu to the questions posed to them, the debate provides students the opportunity to practice all the skills—research, analysis, argumentation, even quick thinking—demanded by the AP exam, but in a fun, collaborative context that gets them excited to come to class, eager to advocate for their positions.

While the debate initially centered on questions such as word rot and empty political rhetoric on the one hand and expanded accessibility and inclusiveness on the other, it was during the second year that Chat-GPT joined the discussion.  Having been released in November of 2022, generative AI was a new discovery for us all.  Not impressed with Chat-GPT’s nascent prose after some experimentation, my classes shared a great laugh at the absurd idea of someone trying to pass off an essay written by AI, scoffing at the premise that I wouldn't be able to distinguish between student work and that of a computer. But by the third and fourth years of the debate, we started taking AI progressively more seriously. Both teams—those extolling language's progression or bemoaning its demise— had come to recognize the significance of AI to the question at issue.

This year AI was at the heart of each class's debate. Granted, other issues were still relevant, such as social media algorithms minimizing our access to a diversity of opinions and social media apps allowing for greater exposure to human rights movements. But the winning teams in each class excelled at addressing AI. Take the first period team arguing that language was moving in the wrong direction, composed of Makayla, Eloise, Allison, Olive, and Kristina. They successfully argued that "today's world values efficiency over precision of language," and thus the devolution of English is "marked by a loss of individuality of thought and human connections." Citing Forbes author Cornelia Walther, who claims in regard to AI, "The brain is a muscle, we use it, or, we lose part of its functionality," the team argued that when we turn to AI for creative and analytical purposes, we compromise our "ability to think critically and form arguments independently.” And this devolution of language impacts more than just societal progress through clear communication. As they so potently suggested, "In a world where we need to question if the heartfelt letter or ‘sincere’ apology we received was actually written by a human, language is being pulled away from what makes it powerful…the human aspect.” 

Walther argues that with AI, we risk losing our originality and thinking in circles

While this wrong-direction team won their debate handily, it’s worth noting that over the years the verdicts have been almost exactly fifty-fifty in favor of the right versus wrong direction. So long as students work together to brainstorm the pros and cons, complete quality research, and craft powerful arguments—so long as they use their minds and human ingenuity instead of relying on AI, they can effectively support either position. And what’s more: Students know this!  Their debate prep discussions attest to the fact that, while they are eager to explore AI and recognize its worth in many realms, they know the value of maintaining their ability to reason for themselves. As the first-period, wrong-direction team concluded, “Language moves in the right direction when it carries meaning, inspires creativity, and encourages others to think critically and respond honestly.” And the zeal with which my AP Lang students continue to engage in this debate gives me hope that even as AI takes on a bigger role in society, serving in many legitimate and wonderful ways, our students will also be prepared to make an impact, one colored by their distinctly human, analytical and creative thinking.

On Messy Drafts (Meghan)

The fear of being a “face on the milk carton” has been replaced with a fear of being a “face on the internet” as we constantly berate our children with the dangers of posting things online. “The internet is forever, the internet is forever!” we chant around the proverbial bonfire. And while, yes, one should be mindful of the internet archive, I fear this paranoia is leaching into how students approach typing in the classroom setting as well. This year, I have observed in the classroom the perceived permanence of the typed word. Students labor strenuously over individual word choice and phrasing on their rough draft, so called because it should be ROUGH, not perfectly hewn. So caught up in the minutiae of crafting the perfect thesis sentence or picking the proper transition word, that they can’t see the forest for the trees. Or even the rough bark of a single tree for a perfectly hewn log. 

The resulting typed work not only misses out on some creative possibilities because so much focus was exhausted on tiny details in the first draft, it also takes FOREVER. I have witnessed students laboring furiously over a rough draft of a single paragraph, sometimes even a single sentence, for upwards of an hour. Seriously. 1sph. This is both seriously inefficient and also absolutely kills the forward energy needed to write. Writing a paragraph becomes an insurmountable drudgery. Not only that, but it can be difficult to remember the brilliant ideas you had when you first started writing if you then spent thirty minutes thinking about one single comma; thinking momentum is lost. The feeling that there is absolute permanence in the typed word locks the students into this anxiety ridden, painstakingly slow, writing jail, from which no promise of future edits seems to be able to release them. 

So, how to return to the freedom of rough drafting? In my sophomore classes this year we have practiced something called “Dizzy Drafting” or “Messy Drafting” (these completely technical terms are interchangeable). Using this process, we spent one single class period cranking out a rough draft of a five paragraph essay–something that we historically have split into one paragraph per class period+homework. The rules of the day were simple:

1. Write on paper. 

2. Use whatever format works for you.

3. Just keep writing. Seriously. No agonizing. Just keep writing till you get to the end. 

On the board, I projected this image: 

Now of course, I was making a ground shattering announcement to a group of 15 year olds. The first five minutes were a high pitched panic. But, once the girls were settled, they fell into an almost meditative writing flowstate. We really leaned into the craft of writing. Out came colored notecards, sticky notes, markers, scissors, tape, highlighters. Since there was no set format they needed to follow, they were able to visually make their ideas come alive in a way that worked with them and then physically manipulate the puzzle pieces of their thoughts until they made a clear picture (well, clear to them at least–to an outsider, some of these essay drafts looked a little bit like:

At the end of the period, the students slumped back in their seats, shaking out their tired, cramping hands. Satisfied. Proud. With actual focus during and memories afterwards of what they had just written. In feedback at the end of this process, they shared how much more relaxed and focused they felt writing on paper, and that they felt they had permission to not be perfect on the first try. They also reflected that they felt more ownership of their ideas, that they wrote on topics they actually cared or felt strongly about- two things that turning to AI can sanitize out of the writing process. 

Ultimately, in moving away from that perceived permanence of typing, handwriting drafts allowed them to be just that, drafts. The students were not afraid to try out new and different things, or really get creative with their ideas–they didn’t have the time to be! They only had space to sit and dump out the tangly contents of their brain on to the page, resting assured in the knowledge that surely, this is not a final draft, that this is not some sort of sick teacher trick, that they will have time to take that tangled ball of a draft and smooth it into a nice circle essay someday. 

And isn’t the joy of writing found in that detangling itself? In sitting down with a thread of an idea grasped between your fingertips and weaving together commentary and examples and claims until you achieve some kind of cohesive thought. There was palpable creative joy in the room as the girls literally taped together their thoughts, a colorful collage of their ideas, rearranging and drawing arrows galore. Now, I can go online any old day and purchase a print of a painting, but then what would I do with all my art supplies? There is joy in creation! Using AI to write, for me, feels like hanging up a print next to a jar of pristine paintbrushes. Clean is not the goal, nor is perfection. My painting may not be perfect, but it is mine and I got to paint. 

At the end of class, were their essays polished, perfect, and presentation ready? Far from it. But they existed (and the writers maybe even had a little fun along the way). 

On Socratic Seminars (Megan)

News headlines that announce the end of liberal arts education, that question the fate of the humanities, or that insist English as a discipline is dead are ones that as an English teacher I have grown accustomed to reading. We used to pass these kinds of articles around in grad school, laughing about the hyperbolic language and performatively brushing off our concerns, all while internally questioning our life choices and this career path we were so deeply invested in. So call me happily surprised when, over the past year, I have repeatedly encountered articles reporting the dawn of a new era for the humanities: apparently, the need for human discernment and empathy is in high demand in a world where robots are beginning to take over. Who knew?

One of these articles in particular, Greg Weiner’s Washington Post op-ed, “The Best Education for Future Success Might Surprise You,” has helped me to reframe my thinking about the value of the Socratic seminar, a loose term for a classroom activity that has varying interpretations, depending on the teacher. In my classroom, it essentially looks like a student-driven discussion (often with prepared notes) that concludes with an opportunity to reflect on how their thinking has shifted or been reinforced. Some of my favorite classroom moments happen in these, especially when a student questions her initial thinking or adds nuance to her earlier point. In his post, Weiner doesn’t focus on Socratic seminars, but his larger argument does point to their necessity in a classroom. He suggests that we need to shift how we think about the purpose of (higher) education: “from literal education,” which is quick, outcome-driven, and quantifiable, to “liberal education,” a far slower process where the returns, although immeasurable, aren’t visible in the short term. A nurse learning anatomical terms equals literal education. That same nurse discerning when and how to best employ those terms, especially in a crisis situation, equals liberal education. AI can replace much of the literal, but the liberal? Not so much.

And that is where my renewed love of the Socratic seminar comes in. It directly exercises all the qualities of a liberal education, the very skill-based education that AI cannot (at least not yet). In these discussions, students practice listening, asking hard questions, discerning what they actually think, encountering disagreement, synthesizing disparate ideas, building empathy and understanding, defending their ideas, developing the courage to speak those ideas, and–ultimately–building community. They are each others’ thought partners, no machine required.