A testy triumph

I just wrote an exam for the first time this semester and I'm so proud of it I'd like to carry it around and show it off a bit, but I wouldn't want it to fall into the hands of the students who will be taking it next week. I'm giving them a study guide, but in this case, giving them the actual exam would be counterproductive.

In general, I'm giving fewer exams and demanding more papers than I used to, primarily because most of my literature classes now fulfill the general education Writing Proficiency requirement so I need to devote significant time to improving students' writing skills. But sometimes an exam is called for, and that's when I get to have some fun.

Writing exams really can be fun. I enjoy putting together a set of questions that will require students to demonstrate the depth and breadth of their mastery of information, and sometimes I allow them to be a little playful or creative. It's very satisfying to write a challenging but balanced exam that brings together ideas and texts in interesting ways, but it's difficult to share that satisfaction with others. The students taking the exam are so focused on getting the answers down that they don't notice or comment on how well the exam is constructed, and my colleagues have exams of their own to worry about, so writing an excellent exam is a solitary pleasure.

This semester, though, I'm enjoying the opportunity to pay attention to my colleagues' exams. As a member of the committee evaluating portfolios assembled by faculty members seeking tenure, promotion, and third-year review, I get to look over the shoulders of colleagues in other disciplines and notice the pains they take in writing exams that matter. I appreciate the artistry that goes into writing many exams, and I enjoy having a part in affirming those efforts.

But I'm not up for review this year so I can't go around showing off my wonderful exams to anyone. You'll have to take my word for it: I just wrote a terrific exam. Let's hope my students agree.