Dave's Whiteboard

I know “knowledge management” is a high-value buzzword; I just tend to feel a twinge of weariness when I see it.  I’m not sure you can manage knowledge; the best you can hope for, I think, is to try and set up weirs, reservoirs, sidings, and whatnot to channel some of the flow.  The idea is that you’ll eventually be able to retrieve it and put it to use.

What helps foster that retrieval?  Note-taking.  I’m not sure I agree with the authors of this study (PDF), who believe that “learning to take notes well… takes as much time as learning to write in a relatively experienced way.”  They see the purposes of taking notes as “to record information and/or to aid reflection.”

A note to take: “and/or” is nearly always the worst possible phrase.  It implies precision but just smudges things.  You’re dithering or obsessing or both.  (See how I managed to say that without “and/or?”)

“Aid reflection” isn’t the term I’d use.  I like Stephen Downes’s description of note-taking as your contribution a two-way communication with the source of learning.  Downes recently noted a post by D’Arcy Norman, who says:

Note taking is not primarily about manual duplication of a set of resources produced by a teacher. It’s an active process of sense-making and internalization. Of visualizing the processes of thinking.

Granted, that’s not the way people often think about note-taking.  For them the phrase is a quick trip back to a lecture hall, with a professor relentlessly flinging chunks of some “body of knowledge” at you.  Eventually you’d have to reassemble them to the satisfaction of the flinger.

I can be  a very traditional note-taker.  As an undergraduate, I adopted two strategies that I thought were worth about 0.75 on a four-point grade scale: sit in the first or second seat of a row, and take notes.  Both of these acted to keep me more awake and more engaged, even during the tedium of English Literature: The Augustans.

I have a longstanding habit of taking notes in ink:

Two of my 101 pages of notes from "Complex Learning in Ten Steps"

Ink’s no more essential to note-taking than a soup spoon is to lunch, even if the lunch is soup.

If I’m trying to capture a lot of information for later analysis and search, my first stop is… Microsoft Word’s outlining.  I’ve created a few outline templates (one with I-A-1-a numbering, one with that technoid 1.0, 1.1, 1.1.1 format, and other with indents and various bullets for different levels).  I type fast and can shift outline levels almost without thinking, which means I’ve got more bandwidth available to take in and reprocess whatever I’m outlining.

Especially when the knowledge stream’s wider than it is deep, I use Evernote.  I like the idea that my notes are in two places–online, where I can access them from any computer, and on my own laptop, where my useful paranoia means I back my stuff up.

Evernote extends the concept of “note,” because I can take photos of signs, whiteboard sketches, or flipchart pages.  Evernote lets me search for text in images, as in the example on the right (click for a larger view).

I’ve used personal wikis to collect information, and I use several blogs as well.  Each wiki or blog has a focus, a way of deciding what parts of the flow to direct into the format.  And by actively directing–through entering text, through tagging, through classifying and moving–I’m working with the information and increasing the likelihood that I’ll recall it in a context that makes sense to me.

Some more-or-less related items I found along the way:

• iPad, Therefore iKludge: David Dobbs writes about problems with noting, and sharing notes, on devices like the iPad.
• Teaching with Wikis: Sandra Porter enables electronic notes for students who forget the dead-tree kind.
• Cognitive Effort during Note Taking (PDF), a 2005 paper that appeared in Applied Cognitive Psychology.

Much of what I found deals with note-taking in an academic setting.  That last paper by Piolat, Olive, and Kellogg makes the point that

…from a cognitive perspective, note taking cannot be conceived of as only a simple abbreviated transcription of information that is heard or read…. on the contrary,it is an activity that strongly depends on the central executive functions of working memory to manage comprehension, selection, and production processes concurrently.

I thought it worth including that statement.  For one thing, note-taking looks obvious–you take notes.  But what you really do, as the researchers are saying, is manipulate incoming information while managing the technical aspects of recording the results of your manipulation.

If you were into straight transcription, like a court reporter, then it’s possible you learn very little, because your focus is purely on the capture.  But for notes to be useful, other than as a transcript, you’re doing things mentally while you’re doing things physically.

Twitter’s a great way to connect with people—or to fire off a wisecrack, which I’ve done a time or two.  Like last night in #lrnchat, when I said:

Every time someone launches another “elearning” with a Jeopardy game, a neuron loses its wings.

At 140 characters, Twitter encourages economy of expression, though you can’t easily come off as concise and nuanced in a single tweet.

Jeopardy games in on-the-job learning are a hot button for me.  Like someone on the bus whose MP3 music is just loud enough that you imagine a mosquito practicing the snare drums, that kind of interaction is mostly harmless but rarely enriching.

Monkey, see?

A Jeopardy game is often a quick fix, like a food-court burger, fries, and Coke when you’re slogging through the MegaMall.  At best, a mediocre choice.  Whatever kind of learning you’re trying to encourage, will dolling quiz questions up in the format of a 56-year-old game show  do the trick?

A more significant drawback is that Jeopardy‘s format unduly emphasizes recall and application.  You’re focusing learner attention on lower-value tasks.  And there’s the disadvantage that few jobs present people with “answers” to which they have to respond with questions.

Where to (re)draw the line

I’ve created interactions based on game formats, including Bingo.  Success came in part from listening to people like Thiagi (Sivasailam Thiagarajan).  One thing he suggests is that you play with, not within, the rules.

So if you must resort to a Jeopardy format, remember that no law requires people to answer with a question.  Nothing forces you to let the winner choose the next question.  It’s far more important to match what people do in the interaction with what they’ll do on the job.

Which explains Call Book Bingo.

Some years ago, a client replaced the paper “call book” used by its sales force with a custom computer application.  Most of the sales force hadn’t used computers before, so to them it felt like a huge change.  The instructor-led training stressed hands-on practice, which meant that by the second day the sales reps felt overwhelmed and unsure of themselves.

So we passed out the sophisticated learning aid you see here, then gave the directions:

• Write a number between 1 and 75 on each line that has a number sign.  Mix ‘em up.  Use each number only once.
• When the “caller” (the instructor) gives a number, check your card to see if you have it.
• If you do, write the answer to the question in that square.

That was pretty much it–except for the time we spent coming up with questions that involved looking up and interpreting things from all the important parts of the call book.  And phrasing them so there was only one right answer.  “What’s the weekly sales volume at International House of Widgets?”  “Does Myrna’s Accounting and Catering include Contract JT-42?”  “How many stores in ZIP code 66431 carry berm flanges?”

There’s a lot there that’s nothing like Bingo: no preprinted numbers, no B-I-N-G-O across the top.  Conversely, there’s a lot that’s very much like the real job: pertinent questions about accounts, and the need to research using the new, computerized tool.

No one complained about the variation from “real” Bingo.  In fact, most often the learners would ask to continue playing till everyone got at least one Bingo.   Often they’d start helping one another as “doing my job” won out over “winning this game in class.”

Play around a little

Mindlessly including a copy of a predictable “interaction” doesn’t make for better learning any more than riding the D train makes you a New Yorker.  As the noted instructional designer Mary Chapin Carpenter urges,

Show a little passion, baby, show a little style
Show the knack for knowing when
and the gift for knowing how…

If you’d like to acquire or strengthen that knack, try this advice from game designer Richard Powers.

Circle image adapted under a CC license from this original by Patrick Hoesly.

The other week, a #lrnchat discussion explored large training efforts.  Eventually the topic turned to fun.  In real life, when organization trainers start talking about fun and learning, I start looking for the exit.  I figure it’s not long before the Happy Gang shows up, determined to make you laugh no matter what, and I want to clear out before they do.

“Making Performance Reviews Fun.”  Sounds ghastly.

I think I have a good sense of humor.  It’s just that institutional attempts to impose humor are a lot like institutional attempts to compose music.  I end up feeling in tune with the universe’s most morose android.

Here’s what got me musing about this: at one point (around 9:35 in the transcript), the #lrnchat question was,  “What are some creative ways, in a mass approach, to make training stick?”

• Cammy Bean said: Use humor. Turn things upside down. Make it worth repeating.
• A bit later, Craig Wiggins said: @cammybean you know, i’m a big fan of humor and levity in elearning, but in some hands the idea of humor is…not humorous.

Craig’s right. Not everyone has a knack for humor.  That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try to be open to it.  You shouldn’t force it, thought, as if it were the interpersonal version of making people eat their brussels sprouts.

Which is what I meant when I said in two tweets:

• I am NOT a fan of “fun” sprinkled over learning like pixie dust (clown noses, loud noises, what veg are you)…
• … But humor or just enjoyable attraction can arise from relevant context that has value in eyes of participants.

In the genial chaos of a #lrnchat discussion, people don’t always pause to define their terms.  I have the luxury of taking that time here.  What does “humor” mean in a structured-learning context?  What does “fun” mean in a training program?  Depends on who’s talking.  And on who’s listening.

I believe what people are striving for is engagement: how do you create opportunities for learners to involve themselves with what they’re learning?  This is the sort of thing Carl Sagan meant while about new discoveries in cosmology: they “remind us that humans have evolved to wonder, that understanding is a joy.”

Admit it: some stuff just doesn’t seem all that joyful from the outside.  Adopting vendor-managed inventory systems, for instance.  Deciding whether a building needs an elevation certificate in order to qualify for flood insurance.  Shepardizing a legal case.  Learning basic statistics.

The answer is not (necessarily) to provide balloon animals and confetti, or to toss miniature chocolate bars at the participants while they chant answers to quiz questions.  Often that’s like putting frosting on those brussels sprouts.  Even if people try eating that, all they’re going to remember is a weird taste.

For an organization, the challenge is helping people learn and apply skills that will achieve the group’s goals.  Assuming the people in question do in fact need to acquire or strengthen those skills, of course, so you’re not boring them to death “teaching” things they already know.

That depends much more on relevant, realistic, worthwhile experiences.  Out of those, levity can emerge–if it makes sense.  Horse first, then cart, then passengers and cargo, and then (maybe) mood lighting.  (Later this week, I’ll give a couple of examples from one of those dry topics I mention above.)

So, instead of trying to sneak brussels sprouts pass some unsuspecting diner, work on finding fresh sprouts, demonstrating recipes and cooking techniques that capitalize on their flavor and texture.  Then work them into, say, creating a meal for a restaurant guest who insists on having five different colors of food as dinner.

The customer’s a bit of an outlier, but the core skills (menu planning, item selection, preparation, technique, timing) actually matter.

Humor as an addition to the main topic can also emerge naturally.  By naturally, I mean people use humor to make new connections with the main focus, or to reinforce the connections they’ve made.

• Marcia Conner (at the end of that #lrnchat session) : Last 2 days spent at 100% pixiedustfree event (#wire) & can attest to the fact it can be done beautifully
• And Mason Masteka added a final garnish: My name is Mason, I am a eLearning Dev in Maine and I am celery.

CC-licensed images:
Marvin the android from Wikimedia Commons.
Sprouts with bacon by sling@flickr / Steve Ling.

I’m never going to accomplish anything; that’s perfectly clear to me. I’m never going to be famous. My name will never be writ large on the roster of Those Who Do Things. I don’t do anything. Not one single thing. I used to bite my nails, but I don’t even do that any more.

– Dorothy Parker

I had a phone conversation today with someone I’ve met only through blog posts and tweets.  That happens often enough that it’s not actually surprising, but it’s always a pleasure to add the immediacy of voice to the connection.

I mentioned during the conversation that this blog is mainly for me–hence the tagline “interests, ideas, notions, tangents.”  I do think that if you put things into a public forum, or at least one that’s publicly available, you’d like to have some interaction; I certainly do.  But ultimately for me, the noticing and thinking-through is what matters most.

If you don’t blog yourself, you may not think much about the administrative side of the blogs you read–what the machinery looks like to the blogger.  No reason you should.  But when I find myself getting impressed with myself, WordPress can help tone that down.

For example, WordPress tells you what search terms people have used to find your blog.  Here in ascending order are the top ten all-time search terms that led people to Dave’s Whiteboard:

10th place (with 79 hits): monopoly money

Well, that’s the random stuff you get in tenth place.

9th place (85 hits): how to keep your volkswagen alive

I’m guessing my blog is a disappointment to these searchers.  The link comes from my post about John Muir’s classic repair manual, an exemplary job aid.

8th place (92 hits): aplysia

You owe more to Aplysia californica and to Eric Kandel than you might have thought.

7th place (93 hits): (I’d rather not say)

No, that’s not what the 7th most used term is.  In reality, it’s a person’s name–but an annoying person whose name happened to appear in the “so to speak” quote here.  Seems to be a relentless self-promoter, so I removed the quote from my database.  The only one who gets to be relentless here is me.

6th place (95 hits): whiteboard

Imagine that.

5th place (154 hits): 10000 hours to become an expert

Dave’s Whiteboard shows up on the first page of results here thanks to my review of Daniel Levitin’s book, This is Your Brain on Music.

4th place (182 hits): miranda july

The mention of her was one of my side trips.

3rd place (194 hits): dave ferguson

How about that?

2nd place (204 hits): gideon v. wainwright

You wouldn’t think 372 U.S. 335 would bring that many people to the Whiteboard, would you?  The match comes from a “generic musing” post about case law.

And in 1st place (with 1,814 hits): lego people

I’d never figured this one out until today.  The phrase “lego people” does appear here, but at the end of a post, in a credit for the photographer whose image I used.  How the heck could that pull in nearly two thousand visitors?

Then, today, I searched Google:

I clicked the fourth image (the one on the right); it links to one of my posts about John Medina’s book Brain Rules.  I adapted this photo by Joe Shlabotnik (Peter Dutton), thanks to the CC license he released it with.

Anytime I start feeling smug about myself and what happens on my blog, I use stats like these as a reality check.  Sometimes it’s not about me; sometimes it’s all about the Legos.

Collaborative Enterprise‘s blog carnival this month looks at formalizing the informal–are there ways to deliberately harness social media to foster learning without losing the (presumed) value of personal connection?

Sure.

Now, I tend to slightly resist two of the implications I see here.  First, while it’s true that “training, education, and schooling are not learning,” I don’t think it follows that learning can’t occur where these are present.  And second, learning did not start happening only after the invention of internet-based social media.

I know that Harold Jarche doesn’t think that, and I’m pretty sure Frédéric Domon doesn’t, either.  I just wanted to make my thinking explicit.

I’ve been watching the Winter Olympics and thinking about how it combines individual and organizational goals.  And just as I write this, I see multiple organizations that aren’t all in a single hierarchy:

• Small, individual sport groups (German women’s bobsled)
• Related-sport groups (sliding sports)
• National teams (Germany)
• Judges, referees, and other arbiters
• Timekeepers, scorekeepers
• Coaches
• Trainers
• Volunteers
• Fans
• Reporters, writers, bloggers, and other who opine
• Local, national, international Olympic officials
• Technicians
• Security
• Sponsors
• Donors

You couldn’t ever satisfy all these groups, let alone their subgroups and individual members–but they find enough common ground to bring about an Olympics.

I see a dynamic for the competitors: each has his or her personal goal, but each had to fit into a larger structure, especially but not exclusively for team sports.  If you want to compete in Nordic combined, you agree that your performance on the jump will determine your starting place in the cross-country element.

Since we’re talking athletic competition, psychomotor skill comes into play, and “training” (in the sense of focused attention, demonstration, feedback) plays a major role.  You do learn as you train–by which I mean, not only do you build the muscle memory and automatic physical behavior, but you also refine and deepen awareness and the potential to respond to outside stimuli.

Another thought came to mind when I was getting annoyed by local-news people focusing relentlessly on medal count: so-and-so “had to settle for silver” (because she was favored to win gold, but didn’t); someone else “won a stupendous bronze” (because he performed much better than expected).

Those phrases got me thinking about how, if you work within a large organization, you need to find ways to align your personal goals with the organization’s in a way that’s authentic for you and helpful to the organization.  In part, it’s the old concept of the king’s shilling: if you’re accepting the paycheck, you’re granting the organization’s right to set and pursue its goals and to ask you to help achieve them.

When you can’t ethically do that, it’s time to get out.

Another point of view emerged when I was reading an obituary for jockey and mystery author Dick Francis, who died this week.  He wome some 350 races in a nine-year career, and rode as jockey for the Queen Mother’s horse in the 1956 Grand National–where his horse, in the lead and 50 yards from the finish, suddenly collapsed.  In his autobiography, Francis wrote:

I heard one man say to another a little while ago [4 or 5 years after the race], “Who did you say that was?  Dick Francis?  Oh, yes–he’s the man who didn’t win the National.”

I’m sure Francis would have love to win it, just as every Olympian would love to win the gold.  But individuals and even organizations often need to reframe their goals, to redefine what success means.

In the workplace, I think that means organizations have to work harder at finding ways to match their goals with those of individuals within the organization.  I once worked across the hall from an ambitious young guy.  He had some “rules for success” on his wall, including “love the business.”

Me, I didn’t love the business–and I can think of at least one boss who’d agree.  But often I did love helping the customer perform better, and that didn’t mean beating him to death with PowerPoint.  It sometimes meant working with him to apply performance-improvement strategies while calling them “transfer of training,” because at the time helping that transfer occur was a lot more important than fretting about jargon.

CC-licensed photo: Olympic colors by kk+ / Kris Krüg.