Encouraging Risk-Taking by Assessing 'Quality of Failure'

Have you heard yet of Stanford professor Carol Dweck's theory of mindsets? Dweck has identified two basic attitudes people can hold with regard to their own intelligence. According to her website,

In a fixed mindset, people believe their basic qualities, like their intelligence or talent, are simply fixed traits. They spend their time documenting their intelligence or talent instead of developing them. They also believe that talent alone creates success—without effort. They’re wrong.

On the other hand, 

In a growth mindset, people believe that their most basic abilities can be developed through dedication and hard work—brains and talent are just the starting point. This view creates a love of learning and a resilience that is essential for great accomplishment. Virtually all great people have had these qualities.

Dweck's 2006 book Mindset has become one of the seminal texts for teacher professional development. She, Alfie Kohn, and Tony Wagner are a few leading voices in the growing chorus who suggest that our traditional methods of assessment may actually impede the learning we want to inspire. In a 21st Century economy that prizes innovation more than ever, our schools may actually be breeding fixed mindsets.  

The truth is, constructing our own understanding requires making mistakes. 

"Mistakes are not just opportunities for learning," writes philosopher Daniel Dennett; "they are, in an important sense, the only opportunity for learning or making something truly new." Dennett suggests that mistakes drive learning in almost same way mutation drives evolution--a progressive trend that requires plenty of failures. He offers sage advice for how to capitalize on mistakes:

The chief trick to making good mistakes is not to hide them — especially not from yourself. Instead of turning away in denial when you make a mistake, you should become a connoisseur of your own mistakes, turning them over in your mind as if they were works of art, which in a way they are. … The trick is to take advantage of the particular details of the mess you’ve made, so that your next attempt will be informed by it and not just another blind stab in the dark. . . 

So when you make a mistake, you should learn to take a deep breath, grit your teeth, and then examine your own recollections of the mistake as ruthlessly and as dispassionately as you can manage. It’s not easy. The natural human reaction to making a mistake is embarrassment and anger (we are never angrier than when we are angry at ourselves), and you have to work hard to overcome these emotional reactions. Try to acquire the weird practice of savoring your mistakes, delighting in uncovering the strange quirks that led you astray. Then, once you have sucked out all the goodness to be gained from having made them, you can cheerfully set them behind you, and go on to the next big opportunity. But that is not enough: you should actively seek out opportunities to make grand mistakes, just so you can then recover from them.

Here's the problem: traditional assessment penalizes mistakes. To earn an "A," you've got to be right 93% of the time; your failure rate can be no higher than 7%. Alternatively, Tony Wagner often cites an interview with Mark Chandler, senior vice president and general counsel at Cisco: 

I say to my employees, if you try five things and get all five of them right, you may be failing. If you try 10 things, and get eight of them right, you're a hero. You'll never be blamed for failing to reach a stretch goal, but you will be blamed for not trying.

It's clear our schools are not yet on board with this thinking. So what would it look like if we were?

As a Middlebury grad, it pains me to see good ideas coming out of Williams College. But that's where Edward Burger teaches Mathematics, in courses that include a "quality of failure" grade. 

Burger takes issue with the traditional content-delivery model that "[jumps] over the requisite missteps that originally led to the discovery at hand." If we're not careful, we obscure the record of failures that preceded major contributions to human knowledge, deify those who achieved them, and mystify the process of innovation. 

"In reality," Burger writes, much like Dennett, "every idea from every discipline is a human idea that comes from a natural, thoughtful, and (ideally) unending journey in which thinkers deeply understand the current state of knowledge, take a tiny step in a new direction, almost immediately hit a dead end, learn from that misstep, and, through iteration, inevitably move forward."

"But how do we foster such a critical habit of mind in our students?" he asks. "Answer: Just assess it." 

In Burger's courses, five percent of every student's grade assesses their quality of failure: the risks they attempted, and the falls they took, on their way toward constructing understanding. Burger introduces the risk-taking ideal from the beginning of the course, reinforces it throughout, and at the end, asks students to write a one-page essay reflecting on when they failed and how successfully they learned from it. The students assign themselves a grade from 1-10, and most often, Burger "award[s] them the surprisingly honest and restrained grades they gave themselves." 

I am completely taken with this idea, and look forward to trying it out in my own classes. 

What would it look like in an English class?

I think English students should be failing regularly in two course components: their writing, and their analysis.

The closest I get right now to assessing failure is by assessing how substantially a second draft has improved from the first. A first draft is never perfect, and perfection should never be the goal. By commenting on but not grading first drafts, I hope to encourage risk-taking in voice, argumentation, and analysis (and by refusing to comment on first drafts that don't meet basic expectations, I hope to discourage sloppiness; that's a battle, to be sure). By assessing on my rubric how substantially the new draft has developed, I hope to encourage students to carry their failures forward into lessons.

On a daily basis, as well, students should be risking half-baked, emerging analyses. Some won't be tenable. But discussion should be a collaborative exercise in pursuing analyses to the point where they sink or swim, and developing the swimmers into arguments. Students should pursue the same process individually as they plan their essays; I teach a "Scientific Method" of pre-writing, and perhaps there's a way of assessing the hypotheses that a student discarded on the way to her thesis. 

The two keys to Burger's approach seem to be reinforcing risk-taking over the course of the term, and the assigning a reflective self-assessment at the end. Ending my courses in the past, I've asked students to reflect on their intellectual risk-taking; but as I haven't always reinforced that aim, students often have struggled to recall what risks they took.

I'm excited to move forward in Burger's footsteps, and hopefully cultivate more growth mindsets in my classes. You can expect to see a "quality of failure" grade outlined on my next syllabus.

Use Microsoft Word to See Exactly What's Changed Between Drafts

INTERVIEWER: How much rewriting do you do?
HEMINGWAY: It depends. I rewrote the ending of Farewell to Arms, the last page of it, thirty-nine times before I was satisfied.
INTERVIEWER: Was there some technical problem there? What was it that had stumped you?
HEMINGWAY: Getting the words right. 

(Ernest Hemingway, "The Art of Fiction," The Paris Review Interview, 1956)

I'm a firm believer that revision makes the writer. So as a writing teacher, I always require substantial revision (you can read here about how it manifests in my grading policy). But of course, reading several successive drafts of the same student essays can be downright impractical. 

Enter the "Compare Documents" feature in Microsoft Word. Stop trying to discern differences between drafts by holding them side-by-side. Let Word do it for you!

Using this feature allows me immediately to see what has changed from one draft to the next, and to flip  between the two versions. I can even see the digital comments I left on the original draft, and quickly assess whether revisions have addressed them. (Gone are the days of rereading an entire ten-page essay to determine the student only changed one sentence on page three...)

Check out the tutorial:

PDF Version of the Tutorial

Failing Grades: Don't ever let them off the hook

Two years ago I stopped failing students' work. Ever.

This is not school policy, though several of my colleagues' courses work similarly.

All our students do get graded, and this policy surely skews the curve.

I think it's one of the best things I've ever done for my students.


Allow me to explain my basic philosophy here:

• Failure means that the student has not demonstrated desired skills and/or understandings. 

• It's my job to help students develop desired skills and understandings. And it's the students' job to develop and demonstrate them, with my guidance. 

• If a student fails, neither of us has finished the job.

I believe failing a student and moving forward lets us both off the hook. That's not how the world works, and I don't believe it's how school should work. If we really value these skills and understandings like we say we do, we should hold ourselves and every one of our students accountable for developing them.

• A corollary: I don't believe it is my job to rank students based on their ability to get it right the first time.

I suppose that's the most controversial stance in all this. You might wonder: But what about the transcript? How will colleges know which students to admit? And isn't it worth something to get it right the first time?

I think our college counselors would agree that we have to represent our students as much more than just their grades, and that any worthwhile college needs a qualitative system for assessing applications. And that ability to get it right the first time? Chances are that student will spend the rest of her life being rewarded for it; I don't see why I have to codify the reward in her education.

Enough with the philosophy. How does it work when a student actually has failed an assessment?

Well, I haven't nailed this down to a science (note this post's label: "experimenting"), but depending on the assessment type, I usually take one of two approaches:

• Essays can always be redrafted. And redrafted. And redrafted. If a draft is not yet passing, I normally won't even give it a grade. I'll require a meeting, we'll go through the rubric together, and we'll make a plan for revising. When the student finally turns in a piece that meets expectations, she earns the grade that draft merits. Note: I never grade first drafts, and at present I allow all students--even those who've passed--the opportunity to redraft until they've achieved success as they define it (or until I assign the next essay). 

• Quizzes and tests on which there are definite right and wrong answers require a different approach. It starts the same, though: with a one-on-one meeting. We'll take this time to discuss what happened, to review the wrong answers, and to reinforce lessons that appear not to have hit home. Naturally this sometimes takes additional meetings. Then my approach is usually to write up an alternate assessment. 

All the while, I go on teaching new material to the rest of the class, and the student remains responsible for the new material while still working on the previous unit. That's demanding on the student and on me. But it's better than letting either of us off the hook.

A few acknowledgements:

• I work in a privileged setting: all our students are screened through a competitive application process, and two-thirds of my students have previously demonstrated enough success to qualify for Advanced Placement. And the privileges surely go deeper.

• I've never had a student fail a quiz or test retake, and I'm not sure how I'd respond if that happened.

• This is not a panacea. There is plenty of room for my grading policy to improve. 

Like most teachers, I hate grades. But we can still use them creatively, and we must.

Defining Custom Styles in Microsoft Word 2011 -- Makes Proofreading a Breeze!

Here's a trick for defining custom styles to highlight errors in student work. Giving each custom style a shortcut key makes proofreading a breeze!



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