One of the difficulties of working in a tech startup is that the engineering team comes under immense pressure from every other team. Product, Marketing, Content, Finance, BI – all these teams need support from Engineering in order to get features built, get content published, get SEO fixed, get data in front of the right eyes.
My department – the Education Team, consists of language experts, not engineers, and so if we want something technical done, we need to submit that as a proposal during our quarterly planning cycle and compete with all the other teams to get it prioritised. If we come up with an idea or a problem mid-quarter, it’s very hard to get anything done about it, as the engineers are super busy trying to meet their existing sprint goals.
One thing that really helps in getting an idea or fix prioritised is to make it visible to the engineering team. Words are often inadequate for this task – unless the concept is super simple, it’s very hard to put yourself in the shoes of a customer purely by having something explained to you verbally. What we’ve found is that creating MVPs of our own, using the tools we already have and then demoing those to the engineering team visually, really helps to generate empathy, understanding and excitement around building solutions.
As an example, we’ve recently created a prototype for an advanced grammar practice unit. We can build part of this already in our CMS, using the exercise types we already have. But we lacked an exercise type which specifically handled verb conjugation in French and Spanish. We have one that almost worked, but was a little buggy. As soon as we demo-ed this to the company, we had engineers coming to us saying ‘I can fix that exercise type for you so it works in this context’. Suddenly, a problem which had previously been just a bunch of words in a list of problems became something real – an opportunity/challenge. Engineers don’t get excited by long lists of problems (who does?) but they do get excited by problems they can fix or solutions they can build.
It can be very tempting if you work in a tech company to get annoyed or frustrated with engineers because ‘they aren’t helping’. But before we do, it’s helpful to ask ‘are we making our work visible’? Visibility can turn problems into opportunities – something that everyone can get behind.
I’ve often heard it said that a person needs to be a good reader before they can be a good writer – an idea that I’ve given a lot of thought to over the years.
I used to be firmly convinced that it was vital to have read an awful lot of good books (and not a lot of awful books) in order to write well – an idea that I can trace back to Stephen Fry, who asserts the same in one of his early memoirs. It suited my burgeoning intellectual snobbery to believe this. After all, people kept telling me I was a good writer, and I’d read an enormous number of books, including the whole of Anna Karenina – there had to be a connection, right?
But then I started meeting people who wrote beautifully but had read hardly any books. One of the best writers I know is profoundly dyslexic and finds reading painfully difficult. The only work of literature he has read is the first chapter of A Confederacy of Dunces, which is a fine work indeed, but surely not fine enough to turn one into a master of the pen overnight.
My brother, also, has never been a reader. He resisted reading books all the way through school. At one point my mum resorted to buying him the Reader’s Digest as a way of giving him some light reading material (naturally it just put him off even more). Yet when I read his letters and emails I find him astonishingly erudite. His paragraph structuring is superb, his grammar flawless, his vocabulary wide-ranging. He gets firsts in his postgraduate essays, but the only books he’s ever read are textbooks, and those only under duress. It was my brother’s experience that really forced me to reconsider my assumptions about how one gets to be a good writer.
These are just two examples, but I know of plenty more. What these people have in common is intelligence, self-awareness and a love of conversation. My belief is that one learns how to write well through a combination of different mechanisms, not all of which are essential. These include:
By writing. (I’ve been writing recreationally since I was eight, professionally since I was twenty. My early work was pretty poor, and I still have duff days, but I keep on going.)
By being self-critical. I proofread everything I write obsessively, even text messages.
By paying attention to criticism. I work in publishing, so everything I write gets savaged by multiple editors. (This has been very useful, but I remain my own worst critic.)
By listening and speaking. We acquire far more language through these mechanisms than we do from reading.
By reading. Obviously many, probably most, of us can and do learn how to improve our writing through reading the works of others. This certainly applies to me.
So, yes, for some of us voracious reading has helped us to become good writers, but we shouldn’t assume that there is only one way to achieve this outcome, nor should we be pushing kids to read books when they don’t enjoy doing so. As long as we’re engaging them in language through other means (primarily through conversation but any good quality media will also be beneficial), they have every chance of becoming a good writer one day.
Almost sixteen years ago I moved to Shanghai to teach English as a foreign language. TEFL has underpinned everything I’ve done in my work since then and I still think of myself first and foremost as a language teacher.
Quite early on in my first year of teaching I had a conversation with a local teacher, Lilia, which taught me an important lesson. Lilia spoke English flawlessly, with a pure Valley Girl accent, despite being Chinese and never having left China. Everyone who met her assumed she was American Born Chinese (ABC) but, in fact, her English had been gleaned from devoted study and diligent watching and mimicry of American movies.
Lilia told me it was her firm belief that non-native speakers made the best language teachers. I bristled at this at first. After all, I’d been speaking English since I was a child. I understood it inside out. Surely I was the best model for my students? But by then I had also started to study Mandarin and I found that understanding the complexities of both my students’ native language and the complexities of really trying to communicate in an unfamiliar language made me an infinitely better teacher.
So, yes, I found myself agreeing for the most part. The best language teachers are those who not only understand the language they are trying to teach, but who understand what it involves to go through acquiring that language in the first place. I had forgotten the joys and the pains of learning English. In any case, I had had years and years to acquire it, whereas my students had to cram their learning into short bursts of an hour or so a week – not the same process at all.
Lilia was a better teacher than me because she had a much more acute understanding of the struggles her students were going through, and because she provided indelible proof to them that fluency in English was an achievable goal for a Chinese person.
(A version of this article was first published in February 2011.)
I was on the Northern Line recently, wedged up next to a Brazilian student and a Spanish student. I know their nationalities because I was intently earwigging their conversation and listening to them talk about their respective countries in English.
As a former EFL teacher and a creator of online language courses, I love to listen to people from non-English speaking countries talk to each other. I’m quite far away from the customers who buy the products I work on, and occasional encounters of this kind show me the results of my work. More and more people are communicating with each other in English (far more non-native speakers than native speakers), and it’s nice to feel like a part of that.
The boy and girl I was listening in to were having an animated discussion about soup. The girl came from the far north of Brazil and was trying to describe a local delicacy – a soup made from manioc. She was trying to describe some of the ingredients for this soup, and the plants they come from. At one point she was trying to think of the English word for ‘leaf’. I know this because she could say ‘tree’ and ‘branch’ and was sketching the things you get on the end of branches in the air, and saying the Portuguese word for them. At this point, the bad teacher in me was desperate to lean over and say ‘leaves’ to the two, but having learnt to elicit, not lecture, I held off. After some more thinking, the boy remembered the word ‘leaf’. I did a little somersault of joy inside: English teachers just love it when students come up with the language without prompting.
Soon after, the girl made to get off the train, but before she did they made a very careful plan to meet up later, repeating the place and the time in English over and over again. They were clearly very keen to see each other again as soon as possible, and I detected perhaps the beginning of something more than a friendship between fellow students.
This got me thinking about the real products of what I do. I tend to think of the results of my work as being more and better speakers of English, but what goes along with this? Business deals and partnerships are forged. Directions to interesting places are given on street corners and in town squares. Hungry people order food. Interested people can read stories and access all kinds of information online. Students at all levels can take courses and grow their knowledge. Friendships are made. Love affairs blossom. Babies are born.
It was nice to be jolted along in that tube carriage, thinking of all the things I’ll never know that my daily toils have contributed to; the real products of my work.
(This article was originally published March 29, 2011.)