A cоаch designing penаlty-kick prаctice uses Bernstein’s “repetitiоn withоut repetition” principle. What is the best training design?
Refer tо the ring structure fоr аn I/O device in XEN belоw. Pointers move clockwise (count upwаrds). In this exаmple, the Request producer is at index 1. Use no more than 3 concise bullets to explain each answer. In the I/O ring from the example, how many requests are yet to be responded to by Xen?
Summаry Pаrаgraph Nоw yоu will write a оne-paragraph summary of Laura Giovanelli’s “Strong Writing and Writers Don’t Need Revision.” You have already practiced writing an academic summary earlier in this course. Apply those same skills to the passage you just read. You may use the How to Write a Summary document linked in the Midterm module as a reference while completing this portion of the exam. Before You Begin Writing Before you begin writing, skim the passage you just read to identify the main point and the most important supporting ideas. Then use those ideas to write your summary paragraph. Remember that your goal is to communicate the author's main point and most important ideas clearly and concisely. You do not need to include every example or detail from the passage. Your Summary Should: Be one complete, well-developed paragraph. Begin by identifying the author, title, genre, and main idea/thesis of the text. Accurately summarize the main point and most important supporting ideas of the excerpt. Focus on important ideas rather than unnecessary details or examples. Use your own words rather than copying the author's language. Use author tags throughout the paragraph to make it clear that the ideas you are discussing belong to Giovanelli. Use appropriate signal verbs in your author tags. Maintain a neutral, objective tone. Do not include your own opinions, reactions, or analysis. Use transitions to connect ideas and create a clear, logical paragraph. Use correct grammar, punctuation, and sentence structure. You can access the How To Write a Summary handout linked here during your test. You may not access it any way other than by the link above. Remember This section is asking you to summarize, not rhetorically analyze, the passage. Your job here is to explain what Giovanelli says, not to analyze her purpose, audience, stance, genre, or medium. Your summary should stand on its own so that someone who has not read the original passage could read your paragraph and understand Giovanelli’s main point and the most important ideas she uses to develop it. Write your entire summary as one paragraph. “Strong Writing and Writers Don’t Need Revision” Laura Giovanelli — Excerpt “The standard perception that revision is something that happens at the end of the writing process is a good place to start revising ideas about revision.”—Cathleen Breidenbach The fantasy that good writers summon forth beautiful, lean, yet intricate sentences onto a page without sweating is an unhealthy fiction, and it is wrong. What writers need is revision. Novice writers, experienced writers, all writers. Anyone interested in writing clearer, stronger, more persuasive and passionate prose, even those of us who are procrastinators panicking because we need to get a project finished or a paper written and it’s 2:00 a.m. the night before our deadline—writers need revision because revision is not a discrete step. Revision is not the thing writers do when they’re done writing. Revision is the writing. It’s important to keep in mind I’m not talking about revision as proofreading or copy editing; no amount of grammatical, spelling, and style corrections transforms a piece of writing like focused attention to fundamental questions about purpose, evidence, and organization. That, to me, is revision: the heavy lifting of working through why I’m writing, who I’m writing for, and how I structure writing logically and effectively. Revision is Writing My writing students are usually relieved to hear that published authors often find writing just as fraught as they do. Like first-year college students, people paid to write—the journalists and the novelists and the technical writers—more often than not despair at the difference between what’s in their heads and hearts and what ends up on the page the first time around. The professionals are just a little better at waiting things out, pushing through what Anne Lamott calls “shitty first drafts” and all the ones that follow, the revision of a tenth and a thirteenth and a twenty-third draft. I show a YouTube video by Tim Weninger, a computer scientist and engineer at the University of Notre Dame. In the video, Weninger stitches together his revisions of a research paper. In my class, we play a game, guessing how many revisions Weninger did. The answer—463!—almost always surprises them. It still sometimes surprises me. And sure, some of those revisions are small, fiddly changes. But most of the time, even watching this quickly on classroom monitors, my students notice Weninger aims for the jugular in his writing. He’s after wholesale overhaul of his argument and of his larger work. However, talking about revision in terms of numbers of drafts implies that all writing, all writers, and all revision work one way: hit your target draft number, like your daily Fitbit goals, and you magically get good writing. But more revision isn’t necessarily better. Effective revising isn’t making changes for the sake of change, but instead making smarter changes. And professional writers—practiced writers—have this awareness even if they aren’t aware of it. In Stephen King’s memoir On Writing, he calls this instinct the ideal reader: an imagined person a writer knows and trusts but rewrites in response to, a kind of collaborative dance between writer and reader. To writers, the act of writing is an act of thinking. One writer in a landmark study of comparing the habits of experienced writers to those of novices called their first drafts “the kernel.” If you’re someone like me who is constantly struggling to demystify this complex cognitive thing we humans do, that metaphor of writing as a seed is revelatory. Revision is not a sign of weakness or inexperienced or poor writing. It is the writing. The more writers push through chaos to get to the good stuff, the more they revise. The more writers revise, whether that be the keystrokes they sweat in front of a blinking, demanding cursor or the unofficial revising they do in our heads when they’re showering or driving or running, the more the ideal reader becomes a part of their craft and muscle memory, of who they are as writers, so at some point they may not know where the writing stops and the revision begins. Revision: Alive and Kicking All this revision talk could lead to the counterargument that revision is a death spiral, a way of shoving off the potential critique of a finished draft forever. Tinkering is something we think of as quaint, but not very efficient. Writers can always make the excuse that something is a work-in-progress, that they just don’t have time for all this revision today. But this critique echoes the point that writing is social and responsive to its readers. Writing is almost always meant to be read and responded to, not hoarded away. A recent large-scale study by Paul Anderson, Chris Anson, and other writing researchers supports the idea that specific interventions in the writing process matter more in learning to write rather than how much students are writing. Among these useful interventions are participation in a lively revision culture and an interactive and social writing process such as talking over drafts—soliciting feedback from instructors and classmates. Extending the modern definition of writing more broadly to composing in any medium, revision is as bound to writing as breathing is to living. If anything, humans are doing more writing and revision today. Revision as writing is an idea that we should not abandon or trash. And it may not even be possible to.