Intimate Distance
Haifa University Library, 1980s. Wikipedia.
On Virtual Workshops
Distance learning has come a long way in my lifetime. As a young child, I watched my mum work her way through science and child development modules towards an Open University degree. This meant watching videos on a VHS machine hired from Radio Rentals, posting off handwritten coursework in paper envelopes and using—among other DIY science equipment—a night-time moth trap made out of a bin, some black paper and a torch.
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Partly inspired by my mum’s experience with the OU, I worked on the widening access team at Birkbeck, University of London, in the early 2000s. I made online study skills and university application resources for people who might be uncomfortable or intimidated by the idea of starting at university. Since then I’ve taught online writing courses for Oxford University’s Department for Continuing Education, The Poetry School and, as I’ll discuss further in a minute, for Middlesex University during the Covid-19 pandemic. This year, I’m looking forward to teaching a new, flexible online version of my Wise Women Poetry Workshop for Dialect Writers.
The past few years have seen a huge improvement in technologies that make interactive online learning possible: social media style chat forums and live, real-time video and audio. It’s also now easy to make, record and share high-quality learning resources. I love the way these technologies enable classroom spaces to function across timezones and cultures, with all the challenges and insights this can bring. There are, of course, potential downsides. It’s not possible to replicate the experience of being together in a shared physical space. All communication technologies, from the written word to the telephone, from radio and TV to the internet, emphasise both presence and absence, intimacy and distance.
All communication technologies, from the written word to the telephone, from radio and TV to the internet, emphasise both presence and absence, intimacy and distance.
From spring 2020 to autumn 2021 I delivered all of my undergraduate creative writing workshops via zoom sessions, recorded video lectures, and flexible online discussion forums. How did the absence of 'real' interaction and communication impact on the functioning of the workshop, and how did we learn to compensate for the absence of bodies in common space? One of my best memories of this time is the excitement and fortitude of my students: the teenager in LA who turned up each week, perky and fresh-faced, at 3am Pacific Standard time for his creative writing class; the energy and enthusiasm of students eager to connect, and to imagine alternative narratives and worlds. From my previous online teaching, I knew that creating a safe and supportive space was vital. In an online classroom there’s more possibility of miscommunication, so extra effort is needed to build group identity, camaraderie, cohesion and trust. Group and pair activities and collaborations are important here, as is a focus on play. I knew that I needed to be very clear about my expectations of the students, about boundaries, and about the schedule and structure of the courses. I also knew how important it was that I model nurturing and supportive behaviour. The interpersonal dynamics of a writing workshop can be tricky to navigate at the best of times; how can we give genuinely useful feedback that encourages growth and development, rather than withdrawal and defensiveness? So much depends on meeting the individual writer where they’re at, as well as on the kind of small communication cues that can easily be lost in the ‘translation’ of online. Online, on Zoom and in discussion forums, I find that I stick more rigidly to personal ‘rules’ around feedback, for example: starting with and emphasising the positive before mentioning anything that might be improved. I check for clarity and understanding more regularly.
How can we give genuinely useful feedback that encourages growth and development, rather than withdrawal and defensiveness?
During Covid-19, I found that online forums encouraged my undergraduate students to write and share work more regularly, and to focus more closely on the feedback they gave and received. There were, of course, disadvantages. Online learning requires a level of self-disclipline and attention. It was easy for teenagers to get distracted. And, despite my best efforts, nuance can be lost when you’re not together in physical space.
A huge advantage of the boom in online learning and participation has been the increased accessibility it gives: across distance and time zones, and for people who can’t attend classes or events in person for other reasons such as health conditions, disabilities, or time constraints. As a solo parent living in Gloucestershire, I’ve been able to access arts and literature events and conferences happening across the UK, and further afield, without leaving my living room. I know that online learning platforms and technologies have made poetry workshops accessible for many of my students who have, for example, mobility issues, or mental health problems, or caring responsibilities for older relatives or young children. This is a hugely positive thing—but with some caveats. The freedoms of online presence can also mean a lack of visibility, which can impact on our ability to empathise. I found, for example, that going through a pregnancy while working solely online meant that the mental and physical reality of the pregnancy wasn’t acknowleged or understood by some of my co-workers as well as it might otherwise have been. In online workshops, and in other online spaces, we need to find ways to make visible and share the realities of our lives beyond the screens of our devices: our physical lives matter.
For more support with your writing life, find out about my teaching, mentoring and editing or get in touch at info@katepotts.net.
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