5 Classroom Strategies That Actually Work (Even Without a Rubric)

Five Things I Do in My Classroom That Just Work

(Even if there’s no rubric for them)

There are things I do in my classroom that just work—but I’m not sure there’s a teacher rubric for them. Maybe they’re not “standard” in education. Still, I do them anyway.

1. I give out stickers.

I know, I know. I’ve read all the teacher blog posts and watched the TikToks that say: “Get rid of the cute stuff. Kids need consistency, not stickers.” And I get it. I don’t hand out a sticker every single class period. But I do love giving out stickers. Cute ones. Fun ones. The kind that make a kid smile. And guess what? It works—with seniors, with middle schoolers. Kids like stickers. I like stickers. It’s a small gesture that makes the classroom feel human.

2. I build consistency—but I’m not married to the format.

Yes, I believe students need to know what to expect when they walk into the classroom. Maybe it’s a predictable structure: a warm-up on grammar, a chapter discussion, small group work, and an exit ticket. That kind of rhythm can be calming. But I also think it’s okay to play around with the model sometimes.

For example, sometimes I lecture. I know that’s considered a dirty word in modern pedagogy, but sometimes students need direct input. A 10–15 minute mini-lecture—on something visual and engaging, like Raphael’s School of Athens—can be powerful. Talk about Plato and Aristotle in the center, point out Raphael’s self-portrait. Deliver it like a college professor would. Then have students write Cornell notes, draft questions, or summarize the lecture. Students need input and output. The balance matters.

3. I prioritize discussion—and I make it real.

I love classroom discussion, but I know it can fall flat if the setup isn’t right. Sometimes teachers over-protocol it. Other times, the discussion questions just aren’t juicy enough. You’ve got to trust your kids and ground the discussion in something compelling.

Here’s a simple method that works for me: I put a theme on the board and ask students to find three textual moments that relate to it. I give them three minutes. Then I pull names from tongue depressors (old-school but effective). Each student shares one quote, and then we discuss it: “What do you think?” “What does someone else think about that?” “Who has a counter-opinion?” It’s structured, but not rigid. And it opens up rich conversations.

Sometimes, we skip the text entirely and go for the big questions:

1. What is the meaning of life?
2. How do you know if someone is truly your friend?

Those social, philosophical moments build community. They’re worth the time.

4. I preview everything.

One hard-earned lesson: Always preview activities with students. I used to spring things on them and then get frustrated when it didn’t go well. Now I let them know:

“Tomorrow we’re having a discussion. It’ll be 20 minutes, after our book work. No homework, but check Google Classroom if you want to see the questions ahead of time.”

Previewing helps students mentally prepare. And if I know certain students might struggle, I make a point of checking in with them ahead of time.

5. I believe in co-teaching—and wish more schools did too.

I’ve worked in co-teaching models, and I’m convinced: this is the future of education. The biggest problem in schools today is what I call scope creep. You start out as a sixth grade ELA teacher. Suddenly you’re also the debate coach, an advisor, the parent liaison, the field trip organizer… It’s too much.

Instead of pouring money into layers of admin, why not invest in teachers? Every class could have two teachers. Cap class sizes at 21. Let APs and coaches teach. Let co-teachers build a shared scope and sequence, check in weekly, and split responsibilities. I’ve seen it work. It can be transformative.

But instead, too many schools gaslight teachers:

“I don’t know why this class isn’t working out for you…”

Maybe because you’re expecting one human to do the work of three?

Final Thoughts

I’m not saying there’s one perfect way to teach. But I know what works for me. Stickers, mini-lectures, juicy discussions, transparent expectations, and a genuine co-teaching model. These things aren’t always in the playbook—but they should be.

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🎭 Out of Order in the East Village: Carl Holder’s Beautifully Disheveled One-Man Show

Image Credit: Most Unwanted Productions © 2025

Last night, I found myself in a basement in the East Village—The Basement, to be exact—watching Carl Holder perform Out of Order, his one-man show that unfolds, quite literally, out of order. What follows is my reflection on a play that’s part sketch, part confession, and wholly committed to the idea that live performance still matters in a fractured world.

Tonight, I saw Carl Holder’s play Out of Order in the East Village, at a venue called The Basement—because, quite literally, it’s in a basement. At the start of the show, Carl claims that when he turned forty, he realized he could no longer write theater. I mean, this is coming from someone who is clearly an accomplished playwright, a teacher, and someone who has devoted his life to the theatrical arts. That moment in the show could have fallen flat—it risks sounding like artifice: the artificer talking about his artifice. It’s like if God came down and said, “I built this world, and I’m proud of it, but I think I’m done.” But it doesn’t really play out that way.

Carl is genuinely heartfelt. You get the sense that he’s someone who thinks and feels deeply. In one sketch, he talks about his upbringing—how he mimicked characters from TV and movies, acting before he even knew what acting was. That rang true. Maybe it’s a universal experience—this intuitive pre-interest in something, even before we have a name for it. The world calls it being alive. Or maybe it’s like falling in love with a profession before realizing it is a profession.

I really appreciated that thread throughout the show. And yes, it’s called Out of Order because it’s literally presented out of order. A clear bowl sits in the center of the stage. Carl pulls cards from it, each with a word or phrase that reminds him of what to do next. There’s a sort of automatism to it—like a carnival of surprises. And there’s audience participation, too. In fact, it’s the only play I’ve attended where no one told us to turn off our phones. There’s even a moment when he asks us to take a photo—so of course I snapped one and posted it.

This isn’t the first time I’ve seen the show. I caught an earlier version at a bird sanctuary—yes, really—earlier this year. So I got to witness its evolution. The essence is still intact. It’s a one-man show, intimate, monologue-driven, though in this version, there’s a concession agent who plays a minor but delightful role—something new since the first time I saw it.

The production reminds me a bit of Wes Anderson, in its meta-awareness of its own performance. It plays with theatrical conventions while still tugging at something sincere. At its heart, I think the show is about failure—or the feeling of failure. It’s about wondering whether you’re enough. Carl seems to suggest that creatives—those who crave expressive outlets—often carry a persistent emptiness. Others might turn to drugs, alcohol, or sex; Carl turns to self-deprecating humor and radical vulnerability. Even the New York Times blurb picked up on that emotional core: it’s heartfelt, not hollow. It doesn’t feel fake.

There’s a moment where Carl reads from what appears to be his actual bank statement. And you find yourself wondering: Is this real? Is he really with Bank of America? That’s the magic of live theater—it can hold a mirror up to its audience. And that’s always been part of theater’s purpose, right? We’re watching, but we’re also being watched. And we start to ask: Is he talking about me? Am I the one in need of catharsis?

Carl even gives us a tongue-in-cheek run-through of classic dramatic structure—exposition, rising action, climax, falling action. He’s a consummate artist, and this one-hour-and-a-half performance he’s created in the Village is truly worth seeing. I believe it’s running for just eight more days, so time is of the essence. I’ll include the details below.

As someone who loves going to the theater—but isn’t a theater-maker myself—Out of Order reminded me why we go at all. I love the premise: a playwright unsure how to write a play. Carl talks openly about rejection—by grad programs, directors—and his own dogged desire to act. He presents many of the familiar tropes of being an actor today: the side hustles, the service jobs, the dreams of “making it.” But I don’t think Carl is chasing fame or fortune. I think he genuinely loves the theater. And it pains him when others don’t.

I’ll admit I have some bias—Carl and I used to work together when he was a theater teacher. So yes, this experience felt personal. There’s something really special about watching someone you know put themselves out there so fully. There’s a rawness to it, like a kid performing for their parents—but also a star putting on a show. The production loves its audience. Even when Carl awkwardly insists we post photos on social media—well, that’s the world we live in now.

Carl Holder's play Out of Order features numerous audience participation moments.

I loved this show. I really did. It raises vital questions about what it means to be productive in our increasingly fractured society. Maybe theater is more necessary now than ever—especially as arts programs are slashed, and creativity is under siege. In a world where people are dividing along ideological lines, Out of Order reminds us what it means to be human (with bills to pay).

So yes. Buy a ticket. Go see the show. Or claw your way in. It’s chaotic good. And it’s worth it.

Production Notes:

Written and Performed by Carl Holder

Developed with and Directed by Skylar Fox

Presented by Most Unwanted Productions

Out of Order

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Stones of Erasmus | English Language Arts and Humanities Resources for the Middle and High School Classroom | Grades 6–12

3 Random Books from My Shelf: YA, Butts, and Hurricane Katrina 📚✨

Hey y’all — happy Fourth of July! 🇺🇸

I was going through my books and grabbed three totally random picks from my personal library that I just had to share. Ready for a little literary detour?

📖 1. Fade by Robert Cormier

I read this one back in middle school. Cormier used to be the top dog in YA fiction. This book? Absolutely wild.

Imagine if you could turn invisible — now imagine every moral dilemma that comes with that. It gets real dark, real fast. I remember thinking, Oh my god, he really went there. It’s a book that dares to ask what you’d do if no one could see you — and whether you could live with the consequences. Not sure if it’s still in print, but it left a lasting impression on me.

📘 2. The Rear View: A Brief and Elegant History of Bottoms Through the Ages by Jean-Luc Hennig

Yes, it’s a whole book about butts — and I love it.

Surprisingly informative and smart, this nonfiction gem takes a historical jaunt through art, culture, and anatomy. It’s short, cheeky (pun intended), and honestly, great summer reading if you’re into quirky history or cultural studies.

🌊 3. The Great Deluge by Douglas Brinkley

I’m from New Orleans, so this one hits close to home.

Everyone remembers Hurricane Katrina, but not everyone knows the whole story — the systemic failures, the botched emergency responses, and the heartbreaking human toll. Brinkley, a Tulane historian, digs deep. What’s especially eerie is how the worst flooding didn’t happen during the storm — it was the next day, when man-made levees failed.

This is a book I’ve read multiple times. It’s worn, dog-eared, and one of the most important works about a tragedy that shaped my life and my city.

Anyway — those are my three picks! Hope you find something new to read.

And yes, I’m wearing my Dionysus T-shirt. 🍷😎

#BookshelfTour #YAfiction #NonfictionNerd #NewOrleansHistory #FourthOfJulyReads #StonesofErasmus

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