Motivated Learners

Last week, I delivered the workshop, “From Blank Canvas to Product Vision,” on using Roman Pichler’s Vision Board and Product Canvas to refine an idea into a product vision and translate that vision into concrete product increments. It was very good evening, with a highly energetic and engaged crowd of over seventy people.

For feedback, I used a technique called “Four Square Feedback,” which I took from Training from the Back of the Room. Four Square Feedback presents participants with a 2×2 matrix (hence the “Four Square” moniker) that asks what they feel about what they learned, the most important concepts they learned, what they plan to do with the new information, and any final comments or suggestions.

The feedback response was excellent. I received fifty forms, with some very good constructive criticism sprinkled in among the praise and well wishes. It was exciting to see how many people planned to put the techniques I taught into use. (One person responded to “What I plan to do with what I learned” with, “DO THIS!”)

My favorite one, though, was the person who wrote that the most important concept he learned was how the Daily Scrum helps to adapt the Sprint plan. What amazed me about this response was that I didn’t mention the Daily Scrum at all that night. The participant took in what I was teaching and made a new connection without being prompted.

That’s an exciting thing for a teacher to have happen. It made me feel good about my skills as a coach, a teacher, and a speaker. And it shows that for an engaged audience, we don’t have to lead learners by the nose. To paraphrase one of the principles behind the Agile Manifesto:

Build workshops around motivated learners. Give them the environment and support they need, and trust them to make their own connections.

Photo courtesy of Christy Erbeck.

LEGO play date

At last night’s Tampa Bay Scrum Master’s Guild, we did a simulation of a scaled Scrum project. We used LEGO bricks to build the components of a zombie defense system. It was fun, of course. How can LEGOS be anything but fun?

At one point, when several members of my team were off coordinating with other teams, my friend Jessica and I remained at our table. As we caught each other up on what we’ve been doing since we last saw each other, we idly assembled pieces of our teams design. It was very relaxing to be engaged in what amounts to children’s play while we talked of the challenges of adult life. Maybe, the next time we arrange to get together for coffee, we should bring a bucket of LEGO bricks to play with, too!

Two Weeks

I have been away from the blog for too long. It has been over two weeks since my last post, aside from the two announcing speaking engagements. I don’t count those.

It took me two months of blogging to get even a little bit comfortable with the practice. It took me a week to start doubting myself again. I started posts, then deleted them. They weren’t deep enough. They weren’t significant enough. Someone else has already said what I’m thinking, only better. Who cares what I think? All the same old negative self-talk.

The excuse for the past few days has been that I’m too busy. I’ve got two speaking engagements to prepare for, one of which is right around the corner. I’m busy at work. I’m revising my novel. I’m writing something new for my critique group. I don’t have time to blog.

Truth is, I can find the time. I’m not asking that much of myself here, only that I  experiment and get comfortable showing my work without revising it out of existence. It was working, too. Here, in my critique group, in my company, I was starting to show my work without fear. Since I stopped writing for the blog, the fear has started to return, and I’m starting to get anxious about what I write. I can’t let that happen again.

Banal. Lacking Insight.

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In the spring semester of 1988, I signed up for a creative writing class in poetry. I remember the year and the season because a friend had died in a car crash the previous December. I remember the class because of the professor’s comments on one the poems, about the death of my friend, that I turned in as part of my midterm assignment.

“Banal.”

“Lacking insight.”

Thirty years later, I wish I remembered his name as clearly as I remember his marginalia, so I could properly curse him.

I stopped going to class, forgot to drop it, and failed it. There were multiple reasons—depression, illness, money problems—but “banal” and “lacking insight” didn’t help.

Several years later, I started frequenting a coffee house that hosted regular poetry readings.  Listening to poems that ranged from godawful to brilliant inspired me to try again. Some poems came into my head fully formed, others required an enormous amount of work. One that I wrote for a friend’s wedding took almost twenty hours over the course of three weeks to write. I was never prolific. I averaged perhaps a poem every two weeks, until August of 1998, when I wrote this one:

Sunset

Day opens her veins into an
Unforgiving sky absorbs the last drops of
Light seeps scarlet stains into
Dirty smokestack gauze oozes across the
Horizon slowly betrays day’s trust to
Night seeps into my eyes

With the exception of greeting card epigrams, I haven’t written a poem since.

“Sunset” revealed more about my mental state than I was comfortable with confronting. I’d only intended to experiment with enjambment, but this is a poem informed by clinical depression and a rapidly necrotizing marriage. I didn’t want to risk more material like this bubbling up from my subconscious.

In time, I convinced myself that I actually couldn’t write poetry. I dismissed the fact that I’d written dozens of poems, had one published, and had given readings that were well received. I told myself that the successful poems were flukes.

My poetry was banal. Lacking insight.

I even told people that I didn’t like poetry, which was patent horsefeathers. I threw away the paper copies, and now I only have seven from that period. Eight, if you count a limerick about a man who had carnal relations with chickens.

And so I have not written poetry for almost twenty years. Earlier this month, though, I started thinking about trying again. Some thoughts and ideas are better expressed in verse, and besides, I feel incomplete as a writer without being able to write poetry. I asked Carolyn to get me a copy of a book I used to have:  A Poet’s Guide to Poetry, by Mary Kinzie. I’ve started to read it, but I’m already stumped on an assignment from the preface. Paralyzed, almost.

What if it’s terrible? What if it’s banal? Lacking insight?

It probably will be, as rusty as I am. But I have to limber up somehow. I’ll write as many crappy poems as I have to in order to find my voice again, and start writing good ones.