Large clock face

Time, by MartyBell on DeviantArt

In my last post I promised to write more about designing online courses. How long should your online course be? I’m thinking of a course that the learner takes over a period of time, not one that is instantly downloaded.

My first reaction to the question is a simple knee-jerk: well, obviously, it’s as long as it needs to be given the audience, the subject matter and the course goals. But you know, I think it’s a bit more complicated than that.  Some patterns work better than other. There are lots of unspoken expectations about time in courses. Here’s my take on the meaning of time promises, based on personal resonance and a bit of Googling. Somewhere in this list there is an infographic begging to be let out.

As you go through, consider your own material and the nature of your audience. What are the expectations? What would work well and what would be downright odd?

The Miracle Zone

One hour
Task acquisition. Software mastery. Bite-sized videos.

24 hours
I once bought a book called Learn CSS in 24 hours. Turns out that the 24 hours aren’t “a day”. They are 24 …hours. It is a good book. I have it about 2 years and I think I’m only on Hour 11, although I’ve already had to jump ahead to Hour 22.

You can learn a lot in a day, but I am not convinced you can do it very easily online.

48 hours
Popular film with Nick Nolte and Eddie Murphy. Lost weekends in Vegas.

Mysteriously lacking in resonance, although ‘weekend retreat’ has a much better resonance. Very difficult to deliver online though: people can’t sustain their attention, and are constantly tugged away to dinner, films and football.

3 days
Packed with resonance. Death and rebirth. Meditation. Deeper personal change. Good for live events, more difficult for online.

7 days
Seven days of creation: goodness, a lot is possible in 7 days.

There’s a whizz-bang feel to seven days. Throw yourself in and get results. At the same time, it’s a very demanding time promise. What if you’re working? Do you take a week’s holiday? Do you do it in the evening? Also it is hard to stay engaged over 7 continuous days – real life gets in the way. It might be possible if your target is young and single.

The danger of seven days is that the audience fades away after 4, because they can’t sustain their involvement. Also, if instruction is continuous, there is limited time for response and reflection. The space for response is absolutely critical to the success of an online course.

(Digression: I bought a book on organising called Unclutter Your Life in One Week.  It’s a good book but sadly it’s not true. Again, the author points out that the 7 days are conceptual, rather than continuous: in this case, I don’t think the concept really quite worked. I felt slightly cheated, although I do wonder if I would have bought a book called Declutter Your Life in Approximately 8 months, Give or Take).

10 days/2 weeks
Weight loss zone, for some reason. Probably because this is the minimum time you can work out and get some visible results. It’s also the War Zone. 10 days that shook the world.

The Realistic Change Zone

21 days, 28 days
Habit change zone, especially for diet and fitness. If you can do something for 21 days, perhaps you can change forever? 21 days is short enough for momentum to power you through, long enough for some significant change to happen. (However! My trusty Google tells me that the psychology researchers from UCL say it’s more like 66 days to change a habit). Damn you, evidence-based people.

21 days feels good. It’s an achievable stretch. Actually, it feels stretchy. 21 days of yoga. That would work.

31 days
Daily practice over one month. 31 days to a better blog (but not in February).

Suggests a slow build and the acquisition of a more deeply engaged habit. As with 7 days, there’s an risk of overkill here: people do need a bit of space.

5 weeks
Untidy. We really don’t like fives as weeks.  Unless they are paired with another 5 or doubled to 10, when they recover the magic of 5. Five weeks to 5k. Five weeks to lose 10 pounds. This is a rather good length for a course but you might feel driven to add a week to make it neat.

The Goldilocks Zone

6 weeks
Many things are possible: transformation, skills acquisition, weight loss. This is the Zone of Credibility. A sweet spot. Change seems possible, even likely.

I like 6 weeks. It is the typical length of a half-term in our local school system. It’s the typical length of many of my projects – it can cover planning, executing, and reporting rather nicely. There is room to grow, room to think.  Room for homework assignments. Room to discuss things, reflect, work, conclude.

7 weeks
Strangely unpopular, unlike 7 days. If you feel compelled to go with an awkward length, remember the power of alliteration. Seven pounds in 7 weeks.

8 weeks
The alternative to 6 weeks, if you have more ground to cover. Mysteriously more powerful than 2 months, but very bad for alliteration.

10 weeks
The Academic zone, where I am in the UK. Evening classes, terms, major change. Within an online course, unless certification is at stake (you have to deliver two essays and get 60% in an exam), learner momentum starts to fade. We move from powering through to slogging it out. It feels like a big commitment, especially if there are no breaks.

The interesting thing is that people will do longer courses – but they might need these broken down into units and they might need rest weeks/implementation weeks. Think of pulses of work and rest.  Absorb, learn, reflect, rest. There’s often an natural energy in the work you want to communicate and it will help greatly if you can build it in.

The Long Term

3 months. 90 days. 12 weeks
We’re back in the Fitness and Weight loss zone.

4 months, 5 months:

16 weeks to a better body? Tricky. But this is the beginning of the Marathon zone, for a reason.

6 months
The business planning zone/business turnaround zone. Rather long for personal change, unless it’s with a highly committed inner circle.

The Distant Certificate Zone

9 months
Pregnancy and birth, obviously.  The true length of the academic year.  Time to acquire a diploma or formal certification.

12 months
A full year. The full working cycle for most of us. Probably too great a stretch for an online course, but you might plan for a yearly cycle in months or seasons.

One year/two years/three years/five years

The zone of academic transformations, via degrees, or business planning for golden futures (but note: you might be planning your next five years, but you are probably not going to spend that amount of time on it).

Merely thinking about these longer  time frames may bring you out in hives: wow, I have no idea if I can deal with my customers for the next eight weeks, let alone three years.

How do you decide what’s right for your material?

I think it comes down to identifying the natural cycle in your work. How long is long enough to absorb the lesson, reflect and experiment? My hobby is working with glass. The evening class I’m doing now takes us from initial idea to completed stained glass panel in 10 weeks, with a one week break.  It’s all broken down into phases: sketching and choosing colours. Cutting the pattern. Painting. Leading. Every week is full, but it’s not rushed, it’s been broken down, and at the end there is a completed piece. That’s the kind of effect you often want: an achievable goal, delivered at a pace that suits you, your people and your material.

I would love to know about other time resonances, especially what seems wonderful or just plain wrong. Seven weeks feels very odd, to me.  :)

This is one of a new series of posts on designing online courses. Do sign up if you’d like to get updates – right now, there’s nothing to tempt you apart from the subscription, but I’m planning to bring back my Website Check Up and Cure guide, and develop some other resources on training, online behaviour, and understanding customers.

Other posts you might like:

What you need to know about designing online courses.

 How to attract, engage and keep your online students


Empty seats in a stadium

Empty seats. Photo: Nina Matthews Photography, via flickr.

There was a period in my life where I was a full-time qualitative researcher. I used to moderate focus groups. The projects were about anything and everything: soup, fizzy drinks, shampoo, insurance, you name it. I usually moderated two evening sessions back-to-back, and I would drive out to some far-flung venue in the London suburbs through rush-hour traffic.

It turns out that the worst part of facilitating a focus group is waiting for everyone to show up.

Your first session starts at 6.30 maybe, and from 6.15 you are pacing around wondering whether everyone will show. There are empty seats arranged in a circle. Bowls of crisps, notepads and pens, stacks of non-disclosure agreements. The show’s supposed to start – but where is everybody?

Ten minutes feel like ten hours.

Then they start to arrive, one and two and finally the whole contingent. Eight women bustling with their bags and coats and glasses of wine. The worry’s over. You’re ready to start. You sit down in your own seat at the front, smile and start talking.

Those nerves never go away. Indeed, I’ve learned to love those nerves, as a sign that I’m truly engaged in that early process of bringing people into to the room.

But the truth is that the project itself stands or falls on what happens in the room once we are all gathered. How I frame the discussions, the questions asked, the tasks assigned, the quality of the conversation that unfolds and is recorded.

Those first few minutes of worrying about whether anyone would turn up? Meaningless.

(In the scheme of things).

Which brings me to online classes. I tend to see a whole lot of emotional energy expended in discussing how to bring people in, how to sell the class, how much to charge, and how to make sure there are enough participants to make a profit. It matters a lot: no people, no viable class.

But from the participant’s point of view, their moment of truth is when they show up for that first lesson. How they feel about coming to the second lesson.

For you, the class is sold. Sold out, even. Worry over.

But for them, it’s just unfolding.

What actually happens in the class matters a lot. If people love it, they will feel that their money was truly well spent. They will be happy. They will feel wise. And they will tell their friends and sign up for the next thing that you do. Get it right and you have a nicely rolling snowball. Get it wrong, and they fade away again.

Example: I did a face-to-face language class recently (I do lots of classes :) ). I went for a term and I definitely improved, but I didn’t really look forward to the classes. They felt like really hard work and not a lot of fun. I learned a lot about the correct terms required to discuss central heating, but I still can’t order a ham sandwich. So I didn’t sign up for the second term. Perhaps it was me (I mean, they never actually promised to cover the restaurant experience in detail).

This is the learner experience in a nutshell.

It’s unusual to have people run up and demand a refund if they are a bit disappointed (if it was billed appropriately and they didn’t have to sell their grandmother to attend). People will feel that it was them, not the class.

So how can you make a great online learning experience?

What makes it different from running a regular face-to-face course?

Here’s my initial list of stuff to discuss.

Motivation and goals: why you need to understand what drives your participants
Lesson structure and course structure: building a core that leads to success
Online dynamics: the hidden rules of interaction
Assignments: homework for stretching, rehearsing and playing
Classmates and social needs: the need to talk, versus the distraction of socialising and teacher burnout
Time and Space In Relative Dimensions: live versus canned, video, audio, webcasts, phone-ins and what do we mean by live anyway?
Price: Because you’re worth it..?

What interests you most?

I’m going to be writing a series of posts on this, interspersed with web design discussions.

You can sign up for updates – right now, there’s nothing to tempt you apart from the subscription, but I’m planning to bring back my Website Check Up and Cure guide, plus some other resources on training, online behaviour, and understanding customers.

And in the meantime here are some other posts I wrote about classes and communities.

Do you have a flock, a convoy or a sidecar?

Plotting your customer’s emotional journey.



Adding beauty to market research

April 29, 2009 Training

I’ve been reading various posts about market research and social media, which tend to focus on the usual self-hating stuff about the market research industry’s vulnerability.  I agree, pretty much:  some of the space that research took up is now being eaten away by other specialisms (data mining,  search engine optimisation, and web analytics), while […]

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