A Born-Digital Librarian’s Reflection on Digital Educational Tools

Editor’s note: We welcome a guest blog post from Senka Stankovic, Head of User Services at the Jean-Léon Allie Library, Saint-Paul University.

As an early-career librarian halfway through a year-long parental leave contract at Saint Paul University, I’ve noticed that digital tools are fundamental to how we ideate and deliver educational workshops. Born-digital, recently a student, and new to the workforce, I’ve come to believe that many digital tools that are meant to improve learning instead strip away the friction that the acquisition of knowledge requires.

In this post, I explore three common classroom technologies: the slide deck, the laptop, and the gadgets[1]. I present how these so-called “tools” often get in our way, and I offer opportunities for reintroducing friction to the classroom in the classroom in the form of minor inconveniences. This friction can lead to higher engagement from, and connection with, our learners.

I believe librarians are in a unique position to pioneer a more hopeful use of technology in the classroom and beyond.

The slide deck

The slide deck is ubiquitous in academia and in white-collar work. In the classroom, slide decks turn teaching into a presentation where we strive for perfection. This is in part because slide decks, meant for presentations, allow educators to over-prepare their courses. If you’re presenting something you know well, then your slide deck is there to make sure you don’t veer off course. But off course is where you get to show students your own fallibility, which helps build meaningful connections through vulnerability. It also gives your students a framework for managing the friction that things like research inevitably create. In other words, your slide deck prevents you from modeling educational resilience by giving you something to hide behind.

Adding friction to the slide deck includes taking the time to ask whether a slide deck is the right method of sharing the information at hand. I find that very often, it isn’t. At my university, I’m responsible for delivering one-on-one Academic Integrity Workshops to students who have committed plagiarism. I was unsatisfied with the presentation-style workshop I had inherited, as I felt myself lecturing at students who were either on the verge of tears or completely oblivious as to their wrongdoings. In neither scenario were they primed for learning. I adopted a new approach that includes a self-assessment on their behalf and a print workbook where they can take notes. I still use a monitor where needed, such as demonstrating tools they can use for research instead of ChatGPT. My new approach has so far been fruitful. I’ve not had any tears since adopting it.

When you remove the slide deck from the equation, you make room for more creative methods. I saw this in April, when I attended a session at the British Columbia Library Association Conference titled “Throwing Out the PowerPoint: An Experiential Learning Approach.” Adair Harper, Chloe Riley, and Julia Lane replaced their library orientation slide deck with a zine and an accompanying exercise to help students learn to navigate library resources. Their new approach seems more communal in nature, and I’m curious to see what can happen when we start questioning why things are done the way they are.

The laptop

The laptop and the expectation that students all have one are detrimental to everyone’s learning. Besides the obvious financial inequity factor, laptops are also hugely distracting. As a student, I was frequently sidelined by the person in front of me watching Euphoria or tweaking their resume. I’m sure that my compulsive opening and scrolling of Pinterest every time I open a browser also distracted many folks sitting behind me.

Recently, I read about Dylan Kane, a middle-school math teacher and early adopter of Chromebooks in classrooms who has decided to jump ship. In removing laptops from his classroom for a month, Kane learned that “screens […] made it possible for a student to look busy for an entire class period” without him realizing they were stuck on a problem. In other words, learning is hard, scrolling on Pinterest is easy. Think of your own life. How often do you come head-to-head with something you find difficult and pull out your phone to avoid it? If we can’t muster the self-control needed to not use screens as pacifiers, how can we expect students not to do so when faced with the friction of learning?

Expecting all students to be fluent in laptops is also a barrier to those with less technological experience. Catherine Carroll, a mature student at Saint Paul’s University, describes her return to academia as a huge learning curve by way of technology. “It gets in the way of learning the actual material,” she says.

Adding friction to the laptop might look like encouraging writing by hand and taking the time to show students how to search the stacks. While these skills may not be frequently applied, I believe it would be beneficial. Born-digital students would be given an alternative, more tactile, framework for engaging with information. This may increase their attention to how information is created, accessed, and shared in the digital realm by giving them a point of comparison. On the other hand, mature students would be given permission to engage with knowledge in a way that works better for them.

The gadgets

Learning gadgets that advertise increased engagement reduce tactility and thereby advocate for the disembodiment of learning. Many of these tools are nothing more than a digitization of existing classroom activities. Miro is literally a virtual blackboard. With Quizlet, you can create digital flashcards, rendering the educational process of handwriting them obsolete. Kahoot replaces good, old-fashioned pen-to-paper trivia. They take away moments where students might otherwise be forced to write or move around in their learning environments.

Additionally, all these tools are privately owned by for-profit companies. This doesn’t sit well with me, as using them requires students to give out personal information in the form of email addresses or browsing data.

The friction of distributing papers to participate in an activity or having students physically get up to add ideas to a blackboard reintroduces a dynamism to learning that can pull us all out of the digital funk created by many learning technologies.

On the advantages of digital educational tools

The tools I mention have advantages. Laptops and slide decks both offer accessibility features, and removal of these technologies may lead to access friction – not the kind we’re going for – for learners with disabilities. The gadgets might encourage engagement, provide immediate feedback to learners, and provide educators with additional insights into their students’ knowledge.

The complete abandonment of digital technologies isn’t attractive to most of us, nor would it promote equitable access to information. Nonetheless, I believe that treating digital tools as a gold standard in education can be detrimental and limits our ability as educators to think creatively about the knowledge we share. By reflecting on ways to add helpful friction, while maintaining a balance for those that require assistive technology or prefer digital learning tools, we can create more positive learning environments.

A way forward

Adding friction to slide decks, laptops, and gadgets is a strong starting point to rebuild meaningful classrooms that center knowledge acquisition. It’s also a sign of hope that the world I want to live in is possible, one where learning is communal, present, and embodied. Librarians are in a unique position to advocate for the friction that learning requires, even when that means experiencing the friction of learning themselves.

In an interview, Kurt Vonnegut describes purchasing envelopes one at a time so that he has more opportunities to exist in the world. His wife believes it to be an inconvenience. He concludes, “And, of course, the computers will do us out of that. And, what the computer people don’t realize, or they don’t care, is we’re dancing animals.” For me, the image of librarianship that elicits joy is one with room to dance. Or fumble, or add friction, or whatever you so choose to call it.


[1] I use gadgets to loosely refer to novelty items aimed at digitally increasing student engagement. Some examples include Miro, a virtual blackboard; Quizlet, for digital flashcards; Kahoot, for quizzes and trivia; and Mentimeter, for polling. These attempts to reintroduce tactility in the classroom are simulacral.

Developing a Teaching Style… In Style!

A commonality among this year’s first-year academic librarian bloggers was the daunting task of standing in front of a class for the first time. We were curious to discuss the similarities and differences that exist between becoming a teacher for the first time in a post-secondary setting and how we developed our style over our first year as librarians.

Eleanor: Collaboration is key

I never knew what to say when asked to describe my teaching style in a job interview. When I taught one-shots during my MLIS, I simply hodge-podged together various activities I’d enjoyed as an undergraduate. Regardless of whether it was effective or ineffective, what I was doing didn’t have the level of intentionality required to be called a “style.” What is a teaching style? I wondered. How will I know if I have one? 

But over the last year, I’ve gained experience navigating the classroom and developed confidence in myself as an instructor. Collaboration and conversation with other faculty have been key to my development as a teacher, which is why I think this is a valuable conversation for the FYALs to have together. Through co-teaching experiences and working through teaching challenges together with my colleagues, I was exposed to a wide variety of ideas about teaching. I began to understand what makes my approach to teaching similar to or different from theirs and develop the language to articulate why a lesson felt right (or didn’t!).   

For example, I was introduced to TILT Higher Ed (Transparency in Learning and Teaching) through the new faculty colloquium at UNI, and I experienced it in action during my first semester as a co-teacher. TILT is a teaching framework that emphasizes radical transparency in teaching methods, classroom expectations, course design, and more. This helps level the playing field between all students, which is especially important in the library classroom. As many public and school libraries are forced to close or reduce hours due to drastic budget cuts, our students enter college less familiar than ever with libraries and research strategies.  

But ultimately, the most important thing about my teaching style isn’t any specific framework, technique, or activity. It’s the fact that now, I’ve developed intentionality in my approach to teaching. That means I can actively evaluate, critique, and grow my own teaching. My teaching style will not be static over the course of my career. It must evolve in tandem with my students, my course material, my institution, and the wider cultural context in which I teach. 

Lisa: Take-away materials & take-away friends  

When first jumping into the role of an academic librarian, it was overwhelming just to think about even getting through that one, two, maybe three hours that I had in front of a class. Especially as someone who used to have a fear of public speaking and still has remnants of that anxiety in different caveats of daily life, teaching alone as a fresh graduate seemed like a tall ask. Now that almost three semesters’ worth of teaching have passed, I feel that I have really relaxed into the role thanks to different pockets of fun and confidence that I’ve identified to lean into when teaching.  

Something I try to think about when I am teaching are the tangible take-away points for students so that they can leave the session with a better sense of their research topic, the library, and other new intersecting thoughts. This might also be due to the fact that I support subject areas in STEM with students who are looking to finish school with professional careers rather than learn about the ins and outs of the research lifecycle. Relevant examples, recent cases, real-life scenarios, and pain points from previous students are ways I try to incorporate discipline-specific needs into traditional information literacy sessions. 

At the undergraduate level, especially in senior courses, when students are attending classes for the sole purpose of graduating, there are often instances when my energy is not being reciprocated. To alleviate this tension, something I started doing at the beginning of each session was to bring a bit of myself. Whether it be through a photo or an analogy comparing information literacy to Korean food, incorporating myself into the session helped me to become more familiar in a new environment while allowing students to open up to me and each other as well. Another strategy that I love are icebreakers. I love doing quick ones where students must hold up a number to identify themselves with a meme or submit answers to an interactive website (wooclap, kahoot, etc.).  

An aspect that I took for granted in university was the social aspect of learning, whether it was participation in class, group work, presentations, or conversations. To utilize this unique aspect to the maximum, I have fun adding in activities that incorporate a social aspect in all of my sessions, whether they are one-shots, recurring workshops, or consultations. In my mind, if students didn’t get anything from the actual session, they can at least emerge out of it with having interacted with one new classmate, shared their research topic with a friend, found a research partner, or reinforced their classroom community further. One of my favourite parts of my role in the library is witnessing the growth of students throughout the year, and teaching is so exciting because it really is the first step in developing that relationship.  

M: Gaining confidence in the classroom 

When I first started library school, I didn’t envision myself teaching much. However, as I made my way through classes, I started to realize that if I wanted to be an academic librarian who primarily works with students, there was basically no way to avoid teaching. Like Lisa, I haven’t always felt the most comfortable with public speaking, although I’ve worked hard to be better at it and feel more confident. I decided that I would have to find a way to figure out how to be, at minimum, an average teacher if I wanted to continue on the academic librarian path that I’d chosen. There are three things that have helped me work on being a more confident and effective teacher: 

First, in library school, I was able to take a course on Library Instruction. That’s the first place where I was asked to think about my teaching style and where I had to write a teaching statement. I haven’t looked at that statement since I started in my current position, but I plan to go back to it this summer and will be interested to see what’s changed and what’s stayed the same. Library Instruction helped me think about teaching as more than just lecturing students – students can also learn through back and forth dialogue, think-pair-shares, and other interactive methods. Since I only teach graduate students, I’m still working on how I can most effectively bring those forms of instruction into my teaching, but I know I’ll figure it out. Big thanks to my professor for this class, Dr. Rawson, for her own incredible teaching. 

Second, I’ve had the opportunity both in library school and in my current job to observe instruction sessions led by other librarians. Those experiences have been invaluable in helping me figure out what works or doesn’t work in front of a class, what I currently do well, and what I can improve on. Sitting in on those sessions, especially when I then have time to talk to the librarians afterwards and ask them questions, has been a fantastic way to learn. I would encourage anyone to find opportunities to do this – if it’s not built in to the structure of your library school program or current position, ask the librarians at your school or your colleagues at your job if you can sit in on some of their sessions informally. 

Last but not least, practice, practice, practice. It sounds obvious, but it really makes a difference. I was so lucky that my supervisor at my Graduate Assistant job, Kate, was so willing for me to co-teach with her and also gave me opportunities to teach on my own. Getting that practice over and over while I was still a student went a long way to helping me feel more confident. I still feel the most nervous when I teach a session for the first time after a long break, but when this happens, I think back to the advice that Dr. Rawson gave our class – you can still be a great teacher even if you have a lot of nerves. I’ve also been glad to learn this year that once I’m back in the swing of teaching, I still have butterflies before an instructional, but my nerves aren’t nearly as bad. I’m trying to gear up now for what will probably be an instruction-heavy fall and will be interested to see how that impacts how I feel about teaching for the rest of the year. 

So, what’s my teaching style? I’m still working on it. I love to include interactive components in my teaching whenever I can, but I feel that there’s still a place for sharing information with students in a more traditional format. I’m trying to figure out what icebreakers work well for graduate students and if I can ask them to do activities or not. And I’m working on building up the confidence to try new things in the classroom and to be okay if they don’t work out. I’m not sure if those things constitute a teaching style or not, but I hope they do – or that they will. 

Conclusion

Together with all of our combined experiences, it is evident that there are so many different ways to approach teaching – and always new ways to learn and grow.

Developing an Evidence Synthesis Training Program

Last May, when I was preparing for my in-person interview for my current position, I was lucky to have the opportunity to talk with librarians at my graduate institution about questions I might be asked and topics that might come up during my interview. One of the main themes that came up in those preparation conversations was evidence synthesis, sometimes also known as knowledge synthesis.

If, like me a year ago, you’ve never heard that term before, it refers to systematically searching existing literature to find evidence and draw conclusions to answer a specific question. There are several types of evidence synthesis – some of the most common are systematic reviews, meta-analyses, and scoping reviews. This type of research started in the medical fields and has branched out from there into other areas, like education.

The librarians I talked to were right, and evidence synthesis was mentioned in my interview. I had done my homework and was able to speak to it enough, but one thing that had been clear from the research I did is that there would be a lot more for me to learn about this topic.

Teaching Evidence Synthesis (To My Fellow Librarians)

Fast forward to January 2026, and my library director sat down with me to talk about evidence synthesis work. One librarian on our team had been doing this work for several years and is very well-versed in it, but the rest of us were much newer to it and had varying degrees of knowledge. My library director explained that she wanted to us to be able to tell our departments that we could help with evidence synthesis projects starting in the Fall 2026 semester. That meant that we had about six or seven months to learn enough to feel comfortable guiding our students and faculty through the process. My director asked me to take on the project of developing a training program to teach all of us about evidence synthesis.

At that point, I had two main sources of knowledge about evidence synthesis: I had taken the University of Minnesota Libraries’ Evidence Synthesis Institute, which had been very helpful but was also, honestly, overwhelming; and I had joined a review project with some other librarians at Vanderbilt. While the knowledge from those things helped, I knew I was only scratching the surface of this topic – so essentially, I needed to come up with a way to teach my fellow librarians, along with myself, how to do evidence synthesis.

Six months later, I think our training program has been an overall success, although the main thing I’ve learned might be that there will always be more to learn about evidence synthesis. I don’t think our training program will ever be truly over – it may just be less intense in the coming months. But as we start to wrap up the first half of this year and look towards the fall semester, here are a few key takeaways that I think helped to make the training program work.

Get Feedback and Plan Ahead

Before I did anything else, I sent around an anonymous survey to the librarians at my library to gauge how much they already knew about evidence synthesis and how comfortable they thought they would be if a student walked into their office at that moment and asked for help with a systematic review. Unsurprisingly, our answers were varied, but a common theme that emerged was that while most of us had some knowledge of evidence synthesis, we were less confident about being able to put that knowledge into practice.

As a result, I set up our training program to be partially learning and information intake, partially exchanges with other librarians (more on that a few sections down), and partially hands-on work. In the external trainings and conversations about evidence synthesis that I’ve attended since January, being unsure of how to put what you’ve learned into practice has also been a common theme for librarians. If I hadn’t gotten this feedback at the beginning and planned out all of our biweekly meetings to make sure we had practice time in July, I might not have thought to include time for actual hands-on, practice learning.

Document and Save Everything

Evidence synthesis and systematic reviews are complicated forms of research. I knew that it was very possible our group of librarians could have a conversation about something, and then a year later, I might remember that conversation and want to go back and look at exactly what we discussed. As a result, from the very beginning of the training program, I made sure to create agendas and schedules in advance, record our meetings and discussions (with my colleagues’ knowledge and consent), and take meticulous notes during each training program interaction. All of those things are saved in an organized folder that’s shared with our team, and after every meeting, I re-share the folder with team members to ensure they have access to everything they might need.

Ask for Support When Needed

From the beginning, I knew that I wouldn’t be able to teach my colleagues all of this information on my own. As a result, I leaned on the experience of people around me to help when I needed to. I asked the librarian on our team who has the most experience with systematic reviews to lead a few of our sessions. He talked us through how to use Covidence and how to design a search string, which are both invaluable parts of evidence synthesis. I also asked the librarians at Vanderbilt’s Biomedical Library, several of whom have been doing evidence synthesis for 5 or 10 years, to do a Q&A session with us about their experiences and advice. That Q&A was also one of the most helpful things we did, and I’m so grateful to the Biomedical Library team for meeting with us. Finally, I also looked for external opportunities that we could use to enhance our training. In mid-June, most of us participated in the online Library Evidence Synthesis Services Symposium (LESSS), and gained a lot of valuable knowledge from those sessions.

I also want to add that doing this type of training program wouldn’t have been possible without the direction that I’ve received from my library director and the support I have from my colleagues. If my fellow librarians weren’t willing to show up, be dedicated, and learn a lot, our training program wouldn’t have made it past the first few weeks.

In July, I’ll re-survey my colleagues and figure out how we’re all currently feeling about evidence synthesis, what we think we can put into place for the fall, and where we need to continue learning. This will definitely be an ongoing learning situation – a “yes, and” training program instead of a checked box saying that our learning has been completed. But even though I haven’t officially asked yet, I feel good about saying that we all know a lot more than we did when the training program started at the beginning of this year. I look forward to what the next steps will be in all of us continuing to learn and grow with evidence synthesis.

A (Long Overdue) LOEX 2026 Recap

A beautiful Norfolk harbor view.

I attended LOEX for the first time this year, and it was a wonderful experience! I returned to UNI with so many new connections across Libraryworld and exciting ideas for my classroom this fall. Today, I’d like to share my takeaways from a few critical conference sessions and take some time to discuss the future of LOEX. 

What is AI literacy, anyway?

The session that made the biggest impact on me was “Diving Beneath the Surface: Incorporating Critical AI Literacy in Library Instruction,” presented by Amanda Kaufman and Elizabeth Ellis. Kaufman and Ellis suggest a distinction between “AI literacy” and “critical AI literacy.” They define “AI literacy” as “largely focused on building AI skills,” such as understanding how AI works, engineering effective prompts, and evaluating AI outputs for accuracy. In an AI literacy framework, ethics discussions tend to focus on when it’s okay to use AI and how you should disclose your usage. On the other hand, “critical AI literacy” involves “examining the sociocultural, economic, and political dimensions of how information is mediated on artificial intelligence platforms.” Critical AI literacy learning outcomes include analyzing how generative AI contributes to the spread of misinformation, describing the environmental or labor costs behind AI systems, and evaluating AI outputs for whether (and why!) bias is present.

Kaufman and Ellis articulated a distinction I’ve been attempting to express all year. We’re under increasing pressure to teach AI literacy in higher ed, but I believe that what students most need is critical AI literacy, a framework that engages with AI through questions about bias, autonomy, and human rights. It leaves space for thoughtful AI refusal, rather than taking AI use as a given. This session was jam-packed with practical information like learning outcomes and classroom activities, and I’m looking forward to integrating critical AI literacy into my classroom this fall.  

Reading is FUNdamental

Another one of my favorite sessions was “Reading Beneath the Surface: Reimagining Information Literacy Beyond Searching and Evaluating.” In this session, Julia Anderson and Megan Heuer described their research on undergraduate student reading strategies. They found that students often employ ineffective reading strategies when scanning search results for helpful links or skimming articles for key points. They identified a substantial gap between how effectively faculty expect students to be able to read academic literature and how effectively students actually read. They also provided quite a few suggestions for how to integrate reading instruction into both one-shots and credit teaching. For example, perhaps students could practice reading an abstract in small groups or use social annotation tools like Perusall to work through their assigned readings.

Reading instruction has become one of my biggest information literacy interests over the last year. After all, reading is the most fundamental research skill; if you can’t read at grade level, you can’t evaluate arguments, apply concepts, write effectively, or do so many of the other tasks we regularly ask of students. I’ve been thinking a lot this year about what I can do as a liaison librarian to support student success in this area, so I was excited to learn from Anderson and Heuer’s work.

AI in the Classroom

I would be remiss not to mention Nicole Baker and Brigette Meskell’s session, “Humans at the Helm: Teaching in an AI Era.” I did not attend this session, but I certainly heard more buzz about it than any other LOEX session, and I was able to chat briefly with Baker about her programming process afterward. In this session, Baker and Meskell shared a tool called Bloom’s StAIrcase, which they developed to help instructors find and/or generate AI-integrated classroom activities. Referring back to Kaufman and Ellis’s presentation, I would generally classify this as an “AI literacy” tool and not a “critical AI literacy” tool. While I appreciate how these activities emphasize hands-on learning and critiquing the outputs of AI tools, I still feel that the privacy policies of consumer-focused generative AI tools are fundamentally incompatible with librarianship’s core privacy ethics; for this reason (among many others), I still cannot encourage, much less require, the use of AI in my library classroom. However, those who are less skeptical than I am about integrating AI use into classroom assignments may find this tool very useful, and it’s certainly worth discussing in any LOEX 2026 recap.

LOEX in 2027 and Beyond

Many of you have likely heard the news that LOEX 2027 will be held exclusively online, and from 2028 onward, LOEX conferences will alternate between in-person and online formats. In an April email to members, LOEX shared that the reason for this change was to ensure the long-term financial stability of the conference. 

There was a lot of discussion about this change at LOEX 2026, and I heard many different opinions. Personally, I’m excited for this change. The cost for me to attend LOEX this year was approximately $2,000, but my annual professional development stipend is $1,000. (I should mention that, in addition to my stipend, Rod Library generously covered $600 of unexpected expenses that arose because my original flights were canceled, but there is no guarantee that this kind of money would be available for similar situations in the future.) Additionally, there is no quick and easy route from Cedar Falls, IA to Norfolk, VA (or to most major cities outside the Midwest). I won’t belabor the point with a play-by-play, but in summary, this three-day conference resulted in a six-day trip, and I was actively traveling for four out of the six days. It was exhausting as it sounds.

I’m still glad I went to LOEX this year, particularly since I’m at such a critical juncture in my career. In general, I’m a proponent of networking, teaching, and dialoguing in-person. It offers unique, spontaneous opportunities for connection that are hard to replicate online, and Zoom fatigue is real. At the same time, I don’t think I would attend LOEX again for the foreseeable future without this change. Online conferences are often more accessible to librarians with disabilities or childcare responsibilities and librarians who live far from major transportation hubs. They’re also more affordable, which is increasingly essential as we all experience funding cuts. In a context where so many of our in-person gathering places have been turned into Zoom breakout rooms, however, I understand why many people I met at the conference were disappointed by this change.


What about you? Please share your thoughts in the comments!

  • Did you go to LOEX (or any other amazing conferences) in May? What was your favorite session?
  • What do you think about LOEX’s upcoming format change? 

How Can We Teach Material We Know *Too* Well?

Image credit: xkcd.

This semester, I’ve been participating in a multidisciplinary discussion group with other University of Northern Iowa faculty who teach general education courses. We’re reading How Learning Works by Ambrose et al. (1st edition) and discussing the unique strategies, challenges, and opportunities of teaching gen ed courses. 

We recently studied chapter four of How Learning Works, which is about how students develop mastery of new knowledge and skills. I was struck by a case study the authors discussed at the beginning of the chapter. Students performed well on their individual projects in a management course, so the professor assumed that in group projects, they could exchange ideas and do even better. However, the quality of student work declined steeply after they were put in groups. 

Ambrose et al. suggest a reason for this. The management professor’s assumption that student work will improve in groups “is predicated on the expectation that students will know how to work effectively in groups. In fact, successful teamwork requires not only content skills and knowledge, but also an additional and qualitatively different set of process skills, such as the ability to delegate tasks, coordinate efforts, resolve conflicts, and synthesize the contributions of group members.” Because we (instructors, librarians, workplace professionals) have long since mastered skills like delegating tasks and coordinating multiple people, these skills become invisible to us. We call upon them without thinking, and we forget how hard it might have been to learn them. We forget we even had to learn them. 

Ambrose et al. use the following model, developed by Sprague and Stuart (2000), to illustrate how expertise develops over time:

This basic graphic representation is used in both Ambrose et al. and Sprague and Stuart. The specific image I’m showing is from a presentation done by a group at Carnegie Mellon University, since the image in How Learning Works was very blurry.

Students begin in a state of unconscious incompetence; they don’t know what they don’t know. As they begin to learn, they understand the gaps in their knowledge; this is conscious incompetence. At this stage, they can more effectively direct their own learning. Eventually, they develop conscious competence. They’ve acquired knowledge in their field, but they still need to pause and think before exercising their new knowledge and skills. Finally, they reach the expert stage of unconscious competence, able to instinctively make connections, draw conclusions, and exercise skills. This model can apply to both disciplinary knowledge (How do I catalog a book?) and process skills (How do I work in a group?). 

This explains some of the missed connections in the classroom, including the library classroom. Students don’t know what they don’t know, and we’ve forgotten what they don’t know. I began to consider where these gaps might show up in my own work. 

Consider the following task: Identify a scholarly information source to support your argument in this paper. This is a task I might give students in a credit-bearing course, demonstrate in a one-shot, or assist them with in a reference consultation. What are some assumptions we (librarians, faculty, instructors) make about students when we assign this task? Here are two I thought of; you might identify more.

We assume students can read scholarly literature. Reading an article in the American Historical Review is very different from reading a high school history textbook. Before we give students their first peer-reviewed article, we often provide scaffolded practice in the relevant disciplinary concepts, but do we provide scaffolded practice in skills like pre-reading, annotating, or summarizing difficult texts? Usually not. In my experience, instructors generally assume that someone else has already taught their students these skills. If one-third of United States twelfth-graders fall below a “basic” proficiency in reading, why do we expect them to be able to fluently read peer-reviewed scholarship by October of their freshman year? Even worse, without dedicated instruction, students may not recognize college-level reading as a distinct set of skills—they don’t know what they don’t know. When they struggle to understand peer-reviewed articles using their toolkit of high school reading skills, they get unnecessarily discouraged. This experience can reinforce a student’s preexisting self-image of “just being bad at reading.” 

This issue is part of why students can feel so easily frustrated by scholarly literature. Reading is the most fundamental research skill—a skill that’s so second-nature to librarians and non-library faculty, we’ve forgotten how difficult it can be to acquire. If we don’t go out of our way to help students develop this skill, they’re more likely to quote mine or plagiarize to pass their classes.  

We assume students can apply others’ findings to their own work. Ambrose et al. discuss multiple reasons why students fail to transfer knowledge from one context to another. Overspecificity or context dependence is one that particularly resonated with me; I think it explains why students struggle to identify useful scholarly sources for their papers. Overspecificity is when students “associate that knowledge too closely with the context in which they originally learned it and thus [do] not think to apply it—or know how to apply it—outside that context.” They may feel fine answering quiz questions based on the textbook, but identifying and analyzing those same concepts in the abstracts of peer-reviewed literature is another skill entirely. 

I’ve particularly noticed this issue in reference consultations. For example, say a student is researching depression in college students. If we find a peer-reviewed article about rates of depression in community college students, the students I work with are likely to say the article is irrelevant to their research question. Not that the article is suboptimal, but that it is completely irrelevant and totally unusable. Why? Because they are not only researching community college students; they are researching all college students. As librarians, we understand how to read a piece of research and mentally map similar situations where the findings could apply; in fact, we do this unconsciously as we read. However, students have not yet learned this skill—and it is a skill they have to learn. Given the highly specific nature of peer-reviewed research, this can lead to them feeling particularly discouraged. They think that there’s “nothing about their topic,” but there’s actually a lot of research already out there! 

It seems like we’re stuck in a catch-22: Once we’ve mastered library and research skills, it’s harder to use our expertise to guide others. How can we overcome our unconscious competence to help students learn from square one? 

In chapters 4 and 7 of How Learning Works, Ambrose et al. offer a few strategies. Here are three that stood out to me:

Talk to current students, teaching assistants, or recent grads. Since they’re often at an earlier stage of learning mastery (conscious competence, rather than unconscious competence), they may be more aware of each discrete skill that goes into completing a complex task. They’re also more aware of the skill gaps that most frequently impact them and their peers. Their perspective can help us break down our activities into more approachable chunks. 

We should be more explicit than we may think is necessary. When I’m demonstrating how to use the library catalog, I try to describe my every move in enough detail that if someone couldn’t see my screen, they could still replicate what I’m doing. I also verbalize my thought process as I walk through the catalog. For example, instead of “Let’s click on this article and read it,” I say something like, “At first glance, I think this article could help answer my question because . . . when I click on the link, I’m first going to check for . . . then, I’m going to open the article by . . . now that I have a PDF open, I’m going to start reading by . . . I still think this looks useful, so I’m going to save it for later using . . .” This demonstrates a discovery thought process,  which students may be very unfamiliar with. It helps them connect the dots between the new tool they’re learning, the process of college-level research, and the projects they need to complete. 

During hands-on activities, embed opportunities for students to reflect on their own work. What did they do and why? This helps students develop awareness of their own learning strengths, weaknesses, and strategies. When they explain their processes, we can also identify knowledge and skill gaps we might not have anticipated. For example, in a recent first-year writing course, a student shared that they searched “Why do people procrastinate?” in the library catalog and were disappointed by the results. I realized that I’d forgotten to explain that the library catalog is not designed for natural language searching; that knowledge is so second-nature to me, I’d just demonstrated keyword searching without explaining why. I took the opportunity to explain the difference between keyword and natural language searching and demonstrate how to break down a question into keywords, which significantly improved the students’ results.

I anticipate returning to this topic throughout my career, but here’s a complicating thought to close today’s post: How much is it our job as librarians to address these reading, writing, and research skill gaps? Most of us focus our instruction energy on one-shots and reference consultations, not credit-bearing courses. It’s hard for us to address these gaps since skill development requires consistent, scaffolded, guided practice over time. Sometimes, the most effective—and the most difficult—solution is to share our insights with non-library faculty when appropriate. 

That being said, I still find Ambrose et al.’s insights useful for identifying pain points in library instruction. Why are students coming (or not coming) to our reference consultations? Why might they struggle with a particular one-shot activity or assignment? I would love to hear from you: How do you identify and address these gaps in student skill development?

Many thanks to Jonathan Chenoweth, Jeremy Schraffenberger, and all the other members of UNIFIed Academy for our wonderful discussions (and delicious snacks)!