5 lessons from learning to be a teacher
I fell into being a teacher mostly by accident during my MFA. I fully expected to hate teaching. My first semester, I did, and apologies to anyone in that Comp 101 class; it was a bad time all around. I got better my second semester, and by my final semester, I was designing my own classes, running writing workshops, mentoring, and starting to figure out how I function as a teacher. 5.5 years and close to 200 students after I first strolled sweaty-palmed into a classroom and stammered out an introduction, I like to think I've learned a few things.
1. There’s no replacement for just getting in front of a room (or zoom) full of people and trying to get them to learn something.
I think one of the best ways to figure out if you like teaching is by signing up to do a one-day workshop. If it’s your first time, consider limiting your attendees to keep it from feeling unmanageable or overwhelming. Plenty of conventions ask for volunteers to run short workshops for attendees. If you’re a writer, you might also be able to volunteer at a literary organization or do a workshop through a bookstore. You’ll be able to build on that experience, seeing what works or doesn’t, adapt it to different experiences or audiences.
I cannot emphasize how much better this is than going to grad school and finding out whether or not you like teaching by being forced to teach 18 students a semester for 2-3 years. Please learn from my mistake.
2. That said, writing and teaching are separate skills.
Being a good writer (whatever that means!) does not translate into knowing how to teach writing. Good writers can still be bad teachers. On the other hand, a writer whose work I don’t connect with can still teach me a lot about writing. The two are related, and I do think that teaching writing will make you a better writer, but they aren’t in a direct ratio.
3. Lesson plans sometimes need multiple drafts.
The first time I teach something, I’m essentially play-testing my own material. Some of it might not land, and some of it might be too ambitious or complicated, and some of it might only be interesting to me. When I can, I’ve run my workshop ideas past friends or talked them out with my wife to solidify them, or practiced a full run-through if I’ve got time and willing volunteers. But time is a luxury as a teacher, and I’ve definitely had days where I’m writing my notes and making my slides a half-hour before class, which means I have to pay attention to see what’s working for my students and what’s not. Sometimes, this means adjusting on the fly, and staying flexible while being attentive.
4. Teaching is a conversation, not a performance.
There’s the obvious exception with lectures, which are essentially polished presentations to a large audience. But lectures are not what writing classes (or most art or humanities classes) are, most of the time. You can’t learn skills and techniques by listening to another person describe them, however well they do it. You learn by doing, by becoming an active participant in your own education.
As a teacher, this is great, because it means it’s not all on you. If you are running a workshop and spend 95% of it talking, you’re working too hard, and to the detriment of everyone involved. With teaching writing, you need to give students time to talk, discuss, brainstorm, practice, stretch, and also teach each other. (The student hivemind is greater than a teacher’s single, lonely brain. This is just the truth.)
5. Authority is weird, but you gotta deal with the weirdness.
I’ve seen new teachers balk at suddenly being given a presumed power and authority once they’re at a lectern (or given host controls of a zoom room). It’s a trip to be handed the reins over a handful of people, and if you’ve never literally been in charge of other people before, it’s weird as hell! Your imposter syndrome goes into overdrive, especially if your knowledge and talent has been historically dismissed (the way that anyone who’s not a white upper/middle-class cisgender man, sorry not sorry, has been). Who am I to pretend that I have some kind of mastery over this subject? Can’t everyone see that I’m a fraud, the smallest of beans, and a literal clown? Are they paying attention? Are they even interested? Are they going to demand their money back? If you’re not careful, that can turn into pressure to be overtly authoritarian, to control every minute of everyone’s time, or into a disavowal of authority, where you want to be on the same level as everyone. Even the most horizontal, consensus-built meetings need organization and facilitation, or everyone feels like their time is wasted.
So my advice here is, if you’ve fallen into the who even am I trap, is to remember this: you are the person who created this space, to welcome everyone who wants to join you in the pursuit. So welcome them, share what you have with them, and stay open to changing your methods, practice, or your mind. You’re still learning too, after all.
Other news:
Defekt made it into the Top Ten finalists for the Locus Award!! Thank you to everyone who nominated it. The Locus Awards weekend will be virtual this year, from June 22-25, and has sliding scale memberships (which is AWESOME, and I would love for this to be a normalized thing at more cons).
I finally made it past the horrible 30k hump in this novel rewrite. Someday, I want to see a roundtable discussion on why the ⅓ point in every draft for every story is always the worst.
This newsletter was prompted by finishing up my first horror-writing class with Atlas Obscura. I’m making plans to teach this again, likely in August/September and then again in November. This round sold out in about two weeks, and I’d love to keep that trend going. So stay tuned!
As always, if you like my work, please consider tossing a few coins in my Ko-fi or supporting me on Patreon – where you can also get flash fiction, cat pictures, excerpts, and occasionally stories about my mom’s misadventures out in the country. (Mom dealt with BEAVERS this week.)