Category: study tips

06/8/26

GenAI and a Writing Assignment

Imagine my surprise when ChatGPT offered up my own writing as the source for a prompt I had given it. The bot blithely explained it didn’t know who I was, but that my work fit perfectly. Flattery I wondered?

I had been wondering what a GenAI output might look like. When it first came out publicly I tried it out and found it lacking.  Use by my students were obvious and often seriously flawed. Since then I have changed teaching practices to limit most AI use, but just the same tech changes made it worth trying it again.  So I took a  subject I know well and I asked the free ChatGPT to write a short essay.

“Please draft a first person autethnography of growing up working on a commercial fishboat in prince rupert bc, no more than 350 words.”  [as prompted, errors and all]. 

This could be the kind of question I assign in the Anthropology and Memoir class I teach.  It would likely be more generic, replace “growing up working on a commercial fishboat …” with a prompt about growing up and work experience.

This is what ChatGPT gave me:

Growing up on a commercial fishboat in Prince Rupert, British Columbia shaped my understanding of work, family, and community in ways that continue to influence me today. Some of my earliest memories are of waking before sunrise, hearing the hum of the engine, and watching the coastline emerge through the morning fog. Unlike many children, my classroom often extended beyond school and onto the deck of a fishing vessel.

Life on the boat demanded responsibility from an early age. As I grew older, I helped with tasks such as sorting fish, cleaning equipment, and preparing gear. The work was physically demanding and often performed in cold, wet conditions. Through these experiences, I learned the importance of discipline, teamwork, and perseverance. Everyone on board had a role, and the success of the fishing trip depended on each person doing their part.

Prince Rupert’s fishing industry was more than an occupation; it was a way of life. The rhythms of the seasons, weather patterns, and fish runs structured our family’s schedule. Conversations at home revolved around tides, market prices, and fishing conditions. This connection to the ocean fostered a deep respect for nature and an awareness of how livelihoods depend on environmental health.

At the same time, growing up in this environment revealed the uncertainties that fishing families face. Income could fluctuate dramatically depending on the catch, weather, and regulations. Witnessing these challenges taught me resilience and adaptability. I learned that hard work does not always guarantee success, but persistence remains essential.

Reflecting on my experiences through an autoethnographic lens, I recognize how the fishboat served as both a workplace and a site of cultural learning. It taught me practical skills, strengthened family bonds, and connected me to the broader fishing community of Prince Rupert. Growing up on a commercial fishboat was not simply where I spent my childhood; it was the foundation of my identity and my understanding of what it means to contribute to a community built around the sea.

In general the output is ok, rather bland and antiseptic, but could easily pass muster for a short assignment like this. I personally spent a lifetime on the water. There’s a lot in the above that sounds like a tourist visit to a boat trip, like the ‘hum’ of the engine.  Fishboat engines don’t hum, they shout.They are loud and often overwhelming presence that simply forms the background noise of work. But, in the blandness the bot was able to invoke a semblance of the experience.

I was curious about how it knew what to write so asked it what sources it used.

“I didn’t use any external sources for that draft. It was generated from your prompt and from general knowledge about commercial fishing communities in northern British Columbia, particularly themes that are common in autoethnographic writing: family labour, seasonal work, environmental dependence, community identity, and resilience.

Because an autoethnography is based on personal experience, the strongest source should be your own memories and reflections. If this is for an academic assignment, you would typically write from your lived experience and then, if required by your instructor, connect your experiences to scholarly sources.”

I was offered help in finding peer-reviewed sources, so I took it upon the offer.  I asked for three sources. This was what was provided:

For an autoethnography about growing up on a commercial fishboat in Prince Rupert, these three peer-reviewed sources are especially relevant:

  1. Menzies, C. R. (2019). Sea Legs: Learning to Labor on the Water. Anthropology of Work Review, 40(2), 77–89.
    This is probably the strongest source for your assignment because it is itself an autoethnographic account of growing up and learning to work on a commercial fishboat in British Columbia. It examines family labour, identity formation, masculinity, and learning through participation in the fishing industry. (ResearchGate)
  2. del Valle, E., Neal, B., Martínez-Candelas, I., Dann, P., Webb, D., & McClenachan, L. (2024). Fishing in Turbulent Waters: Resilience, Risk, and Trust in British Columbia’s Declining Commercial Salmon Fishery. FACETS, 9(1), 1–17.
    This article explores the challenges faced by commercial fishers in British Columbia, including economic uncertainty, adaptation, and resilience. It would support reflections about the instability of fishing livelihoods and the pressures on fishing families. (ScienceDirect)
  3. Menzies, C. R. (1990). Between the Stateroom and the Foc’s’cle: Everyday Forms of Class Struggle Aboard a Commercial Fishboat. NEXUS: The Canadian Student Journal of Anthropology, 8(1).
    Written by a commercial fisher and anthropologist, this article examines social relationships, work culture, authority, and crew dynamics aboard British Columbia fishing vessels. It provides useful context for discussing life aboard a fishboat as a social and cultural environment. (journals.mcmaster.ca)

These three sources would work well together because they connect personal experience, fishing culture, and the broader social and economic realities of commercial fishing in British Columbia.

I can attest to two of the articles being real. I checked the second one and found it is real, but it wouldn’t be anywhere near my personal go to on the ‘challenges faced by commercial fishers.’ But, when I saw the sources I asked it if it knew who I was.

“No, I don’t know who you are unless you tell me.

I can see only the information you provide in this chat and a few limited contextual details made available by the system (for example, an approximate location based on IP address). I don’t know your name, identity, workplace, family, or personal history unless you share those details during the conversation.

When you asked for an autoethnography about growing up on a commercial fishboat in Prince Rupert, I treated it as a writing prompt. I didn’t infer that you actually grew up there or that the experiences described were yours.

If you’re asking because of the fishing-related sources I suggested, those were selected because they are relevant to the topic you requested, not because I know anything about your identity.

I am not sure whether or not to believe the bot. I suspect, at least ‘technically, it doesn’t ‘know’ me.

I then asked it to share one more narrative that included a storm.

“Growing up on a commercial fishboat in Prince Rupert, British Columbia taught me lessons that extended far beyond fishing. The boat was both my workplace and my classroom, where I learned responsibility, resilience, and respect for the ocean from an early age.

One experience that remains vivid occurred during a fall fishing trip when I was a teenager. A storm moved in faster than expected, transforming a calm day into one of the most frightening moments of my childhood. The wind intensified, waves crashed over the bow, and the vessel rolled heavily as we worked to secure gear on deck. I remember gripping the rail tightly while rain and saltwater stung my face. Although I was scared, I also noticed how calmly the crew responded. There was no panic—only focus and teamwork.

Watching my family and crewmates navigate the storm revealed the culture of commercial fishing. Everyone understood their role and trusted one another. The experience demonstrated that safety depended not only on individual skill but also on collective effort. In that moment, I learned that courage was not the absence of fear; it was the ability to continue working despite it.

The storm also deepened my respect for the ocean. Growing up in a fishing family, I often viewed the sea as a source of income and adventure. That day reminded me that it was also unpredictable and powerful. No matter how experienced a fisher might be, nature ultimately commanded respect.

Reflecting on this experience through an autoethnographic lens, I recognize how it shaped my identity. The storm became a lesson in humility, perseverance, and community. It reinforced values that were central to life on the fishboat: hard work, mutual dependence, and adaptability in the face of uncertainty. Growing up on the water taught me that challenges are inevitable, but they can also become defining moments that shape who we are and how we understand the world around us.”

The bot added this comment at the end: “This version is more personal and narrative-driven, which is often preferred for autoethnography because it centers a specific lived experience and then reflects on its broader meaning.”

I’ve been through storms on the boat, some big, some bad, some just regularly run of the mill. I recognize the tired trope of  “man’s struggle against nature as character building” in this bot-story. I guess I could prompt the bot away from this bland triumph narrative.  But why would I want to? I am, after all, the source it drew upon in concocting both stories it gave me.

The writing, despite the bot’s effort, remains impersonal and generic. At the same time it would pass muster for a student assignment.  In my own writing I like to add more details that sink the story into who I am. There is enough data in the bots background for it to sense that more needed to be done. When I signed off the bot offered me this final piece of advice:

“If you end up writing your own version, the strongest passages will usually come from specific memories: the smell of diesel and fish, early morning departures, repairing gear, rough weather, interactions with crew members, or returning to port after a successful trip. Concrete details often make an autoethnography feel authentic and compelling.”

This I agree with up to a point.  I am not interested in my (or my students’ writing) to feel authentic and compelling.”  I want my writing to BE authentic and compelling.

09/10/24

Quiz Writing [updated]

Here’s the deal -it takes work to answer a quiz or an exam.  However, it’s not simply how much time you put in, it’s really about learning how to study smart. Sometimes we can find ourselves spending lots and lots of time  preparing for something but not get anything accomplished.  To be able to manage a full load of university courses, a life beyond class, maybe a job, etc, means being able to studying effectively and not waste your time.

Smart Study means listening to what is said in class (remember the blog on ‘what’s the prof want anyway?).  The lecture gives you the ROAD MAP to a satisfactory grade (for the mark inclined -that’s a C+/B-).  Read more, participate in tutorial discussions, ask questions in lecture, talk to your prof and TAs (we can be found fairly easily), generate questions as you read.  If you engage in smart study you will do okay.

The Quiz. the quizzes will draw from lecture and readings.

Format: Each quiz will have two basic sections.  The first will involve short, fill in the blank and/or matching type questions.  The second will involve answering a number of paragraph type questions.  For this section there will typically be a set of three or four possible questions from which students will select two or three to answer in the space provided.

One of the hard things about a first time experience with university examination is it is unlike highschool exams.  The structure and content of the test isn’t laid out for you ; you won’t be told what exactly is on the quiz or exam.  You will have to work at it, but the signs are fairly clear.

  1. Course outlines have headings and assigned readings under those headings.  Read the heading. For our first unit the main heading is:  “What is Anthropology.”  This should give a student a really clear indicator of the primary learning goal of the unit -that is, you are learning about what makes something anthropology.  In class we have been talking  about how it is that anthropologists do what ever it is we do.  It would seem that this involves research (called fieldwork in anthropology), key concepts (i.e. conceptual tools used in doing anthropology), and some basic understanding that there are several types of anthropology.
  2. Lectures have structure -take notes following the lecture structure. Sometimes it might seem hard to figure out what to take notes on -everything?  or, just the important things?  (but then ‘what is important’?).  When a prof uses powerpoint or overheads it makes your job as a student a little bit easier.  Normally we (ie profs) select key words or phrases that highlight what we have decided are the most important of critical issues.  Thus, your job of figuring out what is ‘important’ is made easier.
  3. Now put readings and lectures together. Compare your notes of lecture with your notes from the readings.  If you are a habitual highlighter -consider locking your highlight pen away and opening up a notebook in which you write into it the key ideas from the things you read; don’t waste your time highlighting  everything in the assigned readings.  By the time you’ve finished highlighting your book will likely look like a rainbow.
  4. Finally, if you haven’t been reading along as per the course outline you will find it harder to speed read and catch the wave in time for your quiz.  Of course, there are those among us who can read the textbook the night before and do okay (or even great).  But for the majority of us doing well on a quiz, a term paper, or an exam is the product of smart study and hard work.

More info on exams and exam writing can be found under the ‘good question’ post.

Edited and updated. Originally published October, 2010.

09/9/24

Where is ‘The Field?’

Anthropologists do their research in ‘the field.’ This is to set it apart from where we write up our research results.  That is we make a distinction between where and when we conduct our research and the place and time within which we write up our findings.  In recent decades this fairly simplistic distinction between field and home has become complicated by critique (Geertz 1988), advances in information technology, and changes in research practices.  Nonetheless, practicing anthropologists still refer to their place of research as the ‘field’ and what we do in the field as ‘fieldwork.’

My impressions and observations of many years of research in the Bigoudennie (an area within Brittany, France) are recorded in notebooks, files and in the photos I took during my time in there.  Glancing through my family photo albums I see the passage of many years in Brittany recorded from the perspective of the everyday life of a family.  These photos mark the events, trips, birthdays, guests, anniversaries and other everyday moments of parenthood and family.  The place, that is to say the “field-site,” enters this record as glimpses of landscape and blurred backgrounds against which the normal life of a family progresses.  Later photos, taken on return visits, tend to capture reunions with friends in their homes.

My experience being in the Bigoudennie is overwritten by my experience as a father and as a partner to my spouse.  We attended the public-school festival like the other parents.  Some sunny afternoons we might pile into our car and take a picnic on the beach, along some nearby lakeshore or in a neighboring wood.  On my way home from the daily commercial fish auction I often stopped to pick up a few things at the supermarket or bakery.  These are not earth-shattering events.  They are part of a family life, which continues irrespective of whether or not one is in France, Canada, the United States, or elsewhere.

One of our early arrivals in Brittany is captured in a series of pictures of my sons, playing on a beach near our first temporary lodgings.  It is late in the afternoon and the setting sun colors the landscape.  In one picture, the boys are standing behind an inscription etched in the sand: “Jarek and Tristan, Oct. 16, 1994, Brittany.”   This photo masks the anxiety of navigating along highways and county lanes, searching out what is for us, strangers here, difficult and incomprehensible.  Now, having finished with the necessities of shopping, signing leases, and cleaning up, we have retreated to this beach to relax and take stock of the place we shall call home for the next year or more.

In one of the few photos of which I am in the picture I am standing on the edge of a quay in the Port of Lesconil.  One boy is perched near the edge of the dock.  I am holding the other on the seat of an adult’s bike.  Off to the side, an old-style dragger is coming alongside the dock.  The white-washed sides of stone houses are just visible across the harbor. While my presence is clearly expressed, the skipper of the dragger is barely a silhouette framed in the window of his wheelhouse.  The clues to his identity are locked within the silhouette of the boat and in its registration number. Much can be learned from a reading of the boat: age, rigging, gear-type, crew size, port of registry, etc….  However, these faceless and objective data push the skipper and his crew even further into the shadows.

My field work experience in Brittany mirrors the classic demarcation between away and home, the field and the place where one writes up one’s work.  Before and along side my Breton research I did work in my home community on the north coast of BC. My master’s degree focussed on industrial fisherfolk I grew up among. This work continued to work with family and community from my home First Nation, Gitxaała (see People of the Saltwater).

‘The field’ of my north coast research intersects with my family, friend, and life networks. Here, even when I stop writing I remain enmeshed in ways that I am not in my Breton work. For many decades the discipline of anthropology down-ranked research at home. I ended up doing my doctoral research in Brittany, not BC, based on the strong advice of my mentors (and they were right for a doctoral student at that moment of time). My professional research since being hired at UBC has, however, mainly focussed on work about my home (First Nation and non-Indigenous), the intersection between First Nations and the nation state, and on the people who study First Nations. So my field has become the university itself, not simply a place some distance away.