This is part 3 of a 3 part series. Read part 1, here and part 2, here.

The most important exercises students can do as they learn to write (a close second to, well, writing lots of stuff) all feature responding to feedback.

That said, here’s what most of my experiences with giving students feedback on writing looks like:

Scenario: A student turns in an essay. Normal for a high school student, it’s full of syntax errors, has stylistic problems, it is hard to follow, and has some specious arguments.

Student: Mr. Wolk, why’d I get a bad grade on this essay?

This is part 2 of a 3 part series. Read part 1, here.

Maybe you’re lucky, and you have a curriculum that includes teaching students how to organize thoughts, how to ensure that you’ve backed up your ideas – most likely, it’s all part of a unit on how to write an outline.

And maybe you also have a golden Lamborghini and a pair of boots that can fly. And a machine that can make any kind of food you want.

There are a million resources for technology in the classroom.

Many of them are redundant. Many are distractions.

Some of them could be useful, but they are not a priority for a teacher first adopting technology in the classroom.

Here are my top 5 forms of technology for you to begin working with and a few notes about why.

Then, five more I’m sure glad I found.

What’s the first thing you do when you come home at the end of the day?

Turn on the TV? Take a shower? Pet the cat? Untangle your children from a roll of duct tape?

Many people put music on. It sets the tone, creates a certain kind of space: relaxing or energized, comforting or upbeat.

Student A: “Ok, on to number 4.”

Student B: “I think the evidence shows that Hamlet is a hedgehog.”

Student A: “The evidence shows… that Hamlet is a … how do you spell hedgehog?”

When I was in kindergarten, my parents went to meet with Ms. Shanebourn and brought home what I would later call a report-card. In reality, it was like the check-list you fill in at a sushi-bar: plays well with others, cleans up after snack, spicy-tuna rising sun firecracker roll.

In middle school, the list was shorter, and letter grades appeared, but there were also areas for additional remarks. That’s where I learned that I am “funny” and “a pleasure in class.”

In high school, my grade was a letter with a few electronic tics next to pre-fabbed comments. There, no news was good news.

In college, just letters. Most were good. A few bummed me out. (Darn you, Stats!)

“Garbage.”

“Disaster.”

“Stinkolicious.”

“BRILLIANT!”

Teaching grading papers often seem to forget everything they know about teaching: students who (in class) engender sympathy, patience, and compassion earn nasty epithets – behind closed doors, of course.

Why is it so frustrating to grade students’ writing?

• A student sees a classmate who is lost or confused. Without being asked, he offers assistance.

• A student runs into a problem in a lab, and instead of immediately putting up her hand, she attempts to solve the problem on her own.

• A student has a setback on a quiz, but rather than give up, concluding that the class is dumb and the quizzes are impossible, she comes in for extra coaching.

Much has been written about traits like “Grit,” “Resilience,” and the ability to delay gratification – and the linking of these traits to long term success.

The hardest thing about lesson planning is the blank page.

And the hardest thing about starting class is that when students enter the room, unless you make it so, your classroom is a blank page. Sure, you have posters on the wall, and you’re midway through a unit.

But unless your posters and unit are as interesting as whatever the students were talking and thinking about it the hallway on the way to class (and let’s face it, to most students, it’s not) the students walk in the room with their own agenda. The agenda is: try not to do anything.

“All beginnings are difficult.”

I remember the horrendous, red track-suit I wore on the the first day of sixth grade – and discovering that it did very little for my social cache.

I remember the anxiety of the first day of fifth grade; I was terrified I’d be assigned to the homeroom of the witchy-looking lady I’d seen in the hallways and I prayed I’d get the the tall, gangly guy. I got my wish, but it turned out that the tall, gangly guy was sort of mean. The witchy-looking lady, I later learned, only looked witchy.

I remember the first day of fourth grade, where our teacher introduced us to an octopus, pickled in a jar of formaldehyde. It lived in his supply closet. If he caught anyone messing with his supplies, he said, he’d lock us in there with “Octy.”

All beginnings are difficult.