When the workshop was finished, I turned to a fellow English professor and said, “So that’s how it’s supposed to be done!”

Here’s what I learned:

Attitude matters. At the beginning of the workshop, the facilitator took the time to remind us that writing critique demands a safe environment: no one can be fearful that his ideas or her manner of expression will be put down or devalued. “Our job is to help one another say what we have to say as effectively as possible,” said our leader, looking us all in the eyes. Implicit was the message that everyone was already a writer, and a good one. The purpose of the workshop was to help everyone become the best writer possible. Despite all this, and despite my professional credentials as a writer, I still was nervous. Imagine how students in my classes must feel!

The setup is crucial. “In this workshop,” our facilitator said, “we will make ‘I’ statements only, no judgmental pronouncements. Say, ‘I was confused by the wording in paragraph two,’ not ‘paragraph two is confusing.’” The difference is one of tone: the first statement places the fault with the reader, not the writer. Further, before we writers read our pieces aloud, we were asked to describe the audience for whom we were writing, and to state any particular concerns we had about our essays. Then, the listeners were to try to be that audience, as well as to be themselves. When the reading was finished, the listeners were to converse about the paper while the writer, silent, took copious notes on everything that was said. No rebuttals, clarifications, explanations, or apologies on the part of the writer were allowed. She could, at the very end, ask the reviewers to clarify any comment that had confused or puzzled her. Most important, at the end of the workshop, when all papers had been discussed, we were to thank one another “for the incredibly hard work” we had done for each other. The facilitator’s careful directions articulated her expectations, and that shaped our behavior.

Acting is important. I knew the woman who facilitated this workshop. And I knew that for her, like for me, the process was old hat. Nonetheless, I watched her perform the setup and debriefing of this activity as though she had never done anything like it ever before in her professional career. She had us convinced that the work we were about to do was fresh, new, absolutely cutting-edge. She was so completely in the moment and so committed to this work herself that the rest of us could not help but be so as well.

Finally, I learned this: placing myself (and my little essay) in the hands of a master teacher reminded me that one of the difference between a ho-hum classroom performance and a really effective one is the degree to which we throw ourselves into the role.

Excerpted from Role Reversal: Learning from a Master Teacher, The Teaching Professor, 25.4 (2011): 3.

I know why students were so engaged: the catalyst for their interest was a “sin survey” I administered the previous week. In the survey, I listed 50 behaviors. These ranged from the medieval sins of gluttony and usury, to acts our culture has no trouble condemning—such as murder, rape and the assassination of presidents. I also listed actions that we might value differently, depending on who we are: binge drinking, cheating on tests, and neglecting studies.

I also included some cultural hot-button issues: premarital sex with numerous partners, homosexual acts, abortion. I tried to make the list both current (including items on biological warfare, for example) and nuanced (listing drunk driving separately from killing someone while driving drunk). The instructions to the students were simple: rate each item from 1 (not sinful at all) to 5 (most sinful).

In the past, I have done this activity on paper: this time, I used a Web-based survey program. The survey answers were anonymous. The results of the survey, taken by 47 students in two sections of my literature course, were then averaged, yielding a value from 1 to 5 for each item. The basis for the class discussion, then, was a handout that ranked the 50 behaviors from least to most awful, indicating the distribution of responses (how many 1s, 2s, etc.).

The ensuing discussion was highly charged. Rape and child beating were the two worst behaviors. But surprisingly, cheating on a marriage was also in the top 10. Students debated why. They also noted that while drunk driving was bad, it was worse if someone were killed. “It’s not as bad if you get away with it,” they concluded. They took note of split voting: Though homosexual acts wound up in the middle of our list, nearly an identical number of students rated it “the worst” as rated it “not sinful at all.” “We mirror our culture,” they decided.

What makes this survey work as an effective prompt to lively class discussions rests in the fact that it provides a link between students’ own values and the ideas presented in the course material.

I teach English, but it can work in other disciplines as well. Consider nursing, for example: What if an instructor asked students to indicate how often they practice healthful behaviors in their diet, sleep patterns and exercise? What would you expect to find? How might this be linked to a discussion of motivating patients to make healthful choices?

In economics, one might survey students’ money behaviors: how they use credit, how they budget their money, their awareness of the cost of everyday items (anything from cars and heating bills to taxes and the cost of a draft beer). Are the principles of economics translated into real decisions about money?

In education, one might want to learn how students study, what they value about education, what they believe about children. In child psychology, a teacher could ask students to rate a variety of parenting behaviors. In biology, a survey might ask students to respond to a series of real-life scenarios in which they decide whether biological knowledge might be “of no importance” or “crucial.” What role is science likely to play in decisions that communities must make in the years ahead?

Making links between our disciplines and the lives students lead, or expect to lead when they graduate, engages students’ thinking. The best learning happens when students integrate new information into their understanding of the world. We can encourage this by making the ideas and information in any course more personally relevant.

Barbara A. Mezeske is an associate professor at Hope College in Michigan.

Excerpted from The Teaching Professor, March 2006.

A teaching circle, the term we use at my institution, is simply a group of faculty interested in discussing teaching at regular intervals, ideally over food. As my colleague said, laughing, at our first meeting, “I need a support group, and everyone needs lunch!”

That first year, we chose to read Maryellen Weimer’s Learner-Centered Teaching, a chapter at a time. We met every three or four weeks in a private room attached to the student cafeteria, where we picked up our lunches by going through the line. Our provost, perhaps impressed by our initiative, agreed to foot the bill for our lunches, a modest expenditure from his point of view. As many as nine people participated, though the core group consisted of five faculty representing sociology, nursing, chemistry, English, and math.

As we discussed each month’s assigned reading, we shared stories and strategies. One person redesigned her entire approach to assessing student learning; our math leader incorporated lots of writing activities into her upper-level course. As we came to know each other better, someone suggested that we observe one another’s classes, which several of us did. In the spring, six of us arranged to attend the first Teaching Professor Conference in Philadelphia.

The group reformed at the beginning of the next school year and this time read two books, one each semester: Bain’s What the Best College Teachers Do and Cross and Steadman’s Implementing the Scholarship of Teaching. Our numbers increased to about a dozen faculty members. Currently, the group is in its third year, and as many as 15 people turn up for lunch and discussion. Our book selection this year is L. Dee Fink’s Creating Significant Learning Experiences.

What makes a teaching circle work, and could it work at other institutions? Modest administrative support is helpful. In addition to paying for cafeteria lunches, our provost purchased books for participants, beginning in the second year. It is also important to have someone interested in leading the group, setting dates, and sending e-mail reminders. Our leadership has changed each year. We have decided together, at the end of one year, which book to read for the next. No other structure is necessary. No one ever takes attendance. There is a very populist, grassroots feel to what we do.

The benefits of ongoing conversation about the art of teaching will be obvious to anyone reading this newsletter. However, here are a few you may not think of: we have come to know one another better; we have become teaching resources for each other; and we have embraced new ideas in our reading that we might have dismissed without the support of the group. Most important of all, those of us who are at midcareer are finding new energy for our profession. What began as a support group for one individual has supported us all.