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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Doubled-Headed Janus from the Villa Medici in Rome Unisex Staple Tee

Janus of the Villa Medici Tee – Roman Mythology Style

Step into the rich world of Roman art and mythology with this unisex staple tee, featuring an intricately engraved bust of Janus—god of beginnings, doorways, and time—as seen in the gardens of the Villa of the Medicis. Rendered in fine-point, monochrome detail, the dual-facing profile captures Janus’s power to look both backward and forward. On the back, a discreet “stonesoferasmus.com” reminds you of your journey through the stones of history.

Perfect for classicists, humanities teachers, museum lovers, and anyone drawn to the magic of ancient Rome, this shirt pairs effortlessly with jeans, jackets, or layered under a blazer for an academic-chic look.

Unwrapping and Wearing My Roman God T-Shirt

I just got out of the shower, but I had to show y’all this new package I just got—it’s gonna be exciting!

So, I found this public domain image in a 19th-century book that featured illustrations of Roman villas. Since it’s out of copyright, I took the original image and used Adobe Illustrator to turn it into a vector graphic. I cleaned it up, and this inscription—originally carved in stone—was found in the gardens of Cardinal de Medici, near the villa of Pope Julius III.

I used a font (I think it’s Londrina Outline) to recreate the text. So, while the inscription isn’t from the original site, the rest of the design is based on historical artwork.

This is actually the first piece of merch from my Stones of Erasmus store (Link in Bio)! The design features a Roman god—if you know who it is, drop a comment. The shirt design is the same. Here’s the purchase info—well, this is the shirt I designed, and it’s available on my Stones of Erasmus website.

And check this out—this other shirt features Dionysus with a panther, which is one of his sacred animals. I found the image in the public domain and loved how expressive it felt. I hate those crinkly-feeling t-shirts—but this one? It’s so soft and smooth.

Oh, and I colored this one myself! The original illustration was in black and white, but I added the color. Fun fact: I also use these kinds of images in my educational resources, so it’s cool to see them on merch.

And yes—I can be a capitalist swine—check out stonesoferasmus.com 😄
I love how this stuff looks. It’s bold but not too loud.

Product Details

• 100% combed and ring-spun cotton (Heather colors contain polyester)
• Fabric weight: 4.2 oz/yd² (142 g/m²)
• Pre-shrunk fabric with side-seamed construction and shoulder-to-shoulder taping
• Sublimated print for long-lasting clarity and detail
• Unisex fit: flattering on all body types
• In White, Silver, Ice Blue, Citron, Ash

Carry a piece of Roman heritage wherever you go—because every new chapter begins at your doorstep.

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From Marble to Myth: A Turnkey Alpheus & Arethusa Lesson (with Adonis, Hyacinth, and More)

I have created educational resources to assist in teaching the myth of Alpheus and Arethusa. I included it in a complete, ready-to-go lesson plan on Io and Other Lovers and other tales of pursuit from Greek mythology! Let me guess—you're interested in and piqued by the story, so I will send you the materials if you buy me a cup of coffee.

Hey, y’all. I’m at the Metropolitan Museum of Art today, standing in front of a captivating marble sculpture that tells the dramatic myth of Alpheus and Arethusa. This piece, crafted by Battista di Domenico Lorenzi in the 17th century for a fountain at Alano Bandini’s villa near Florence, now serves as the centerpiece of a Spanish-style patio beside the Met’s main academic library. The scene depicts the river-god Alpheus lunging after Arethusa, who embodies the familiar trope of the relentless pursuer and the hunted maiden. According to legend, when Alpheus nearly captures her, Arethusa calls upon the goddess Diana (Artemis) for help. In response, Diana transforms her devotee into a living fountain, a moment immortalized in marble, where desperation, divine intervention, and metamorphosis converge.

• • • #alpheus #arethusa #mythology #artemis #greekandromanmythology #metmuseum

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The Tragic Genius of Daedalus: Greek Myth for Teens

I’ve always had a conflicted relationship with stories about fathers and sons, which is why the myth of Daedalus has always spoken to me. On the surface, Daedalus is a hero—sometimes even described as a demigod. But look deeper and you'll find a darker tale. Daedalus, the legendary Athenian inventor, is a prototype for the scientist-artist: brilliant, creative, but deeply flawed.

Growing up, my own father worked in an oil plant as a mechanic—far from a Daedalus figure. Yet, I always admired the idea of the accomplished, technically-skilled dad, full of techne. In the Greek myth, Daedalus becomes jealous of his gifted nephew, Talos, and pushes him from the heights of the Acropolis. Some versions say Talos dies; others that he’s transformed into a partridge. Either way, Daedalus is convicted and exiled.

In Crete, Daedalus is caught up in King Minos’s political games, building the labyrinth to contain the monstrous Minotaur. The web of myths—Minos, Pasiphaë, the bull, Theseus, and Ariadne—all spiral around Daedalus. But at the heart is a theme that feels painfully modern: the unintended consequences of genius and ambition.

Eventually, Daedalus and his son Icarus attempt their escape from Crete on wings fashioned from wax and feathers. Despite his father's warnings, Icarus flies too close to the sun; the wax melts and he falls into the sea. The story is a cautionary tale—about invention, about parenting, and about the tragic cost of overreaching. Talos and Icarus are both sacrifices, consumed by Daedalus's drive and flaws.

This myth still resonates today: human innovation can bring light—or unleash disaster. Whether it's fossil fuels, AI, or air conditioning, our inventions often have unintended consequences. We, like Daedalus, are both brilliant and blind to the costs.

After Athens and Crete, Daedalus ends up on the island of King Cocalus, still inventing, still being hunted by Minos. His cleverness solves the riddle of the spiral shell, but it also gives him away. Even at the end, he cannot stop inventing—no matter the danger.

So are we the inheritors of our fathers’ mistakes, or do we forge our own paths? Teaching the myth of Daedalus to teenagers is challenging but rewarding. The themes—creativity, jealousy, consequence—are universal and deeply relevant.

I’ve created a classroom-ready lesson plan on Daedalus for middle and high school ELA teachers. It’s perfect for units on Greek mythology, invention, or even modern novels like Percy Jackson. Bring this compelling story to your students—and add it to your teaching toolbox!

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Download the Daedalus & Icarus Lesson Plan

Explore the full resource—discussion prompts, activities, visuals, and more for the Daedalus myth: