writing in the open spaces

I struggle, as most writing teachers do, with the tension between wanting to help young people become confident, strong writers and the necessity of helping them produce the required school stuff.

I am not implying that learning how to organize an analytical, focused essay is unnecessary. My concern is that we tend to ask students to do this before they have acquired writing habits, before they have developed an awareness of the importance of writing to communicate, reflect, and learn. And before they have recognized that good writing is a kind of storytelling.

So when I read Troy Hicks’ post on digital writing today, I found myself nodding in agreement:

Buffy raises the key issue here about digital writing that could be said for much of the history of writing instruction; this is the tension we feel between allowing students the freedom to choose topics, genres, and assessments that they find personally meaningful and will help them grow as writers in contrast and/or competition to what we feel we should or must do as teachers of writing.

These are not just problems with writing, or with digital writing; these are problems with what my colleague Anne Whitney calls the “schooliness” of school. Writing is normally very “schooly” and, when it isn’t, it’s too “touchy/feely.” We are caught in a trap of either living up to a formulaic model or praising students for their efforts without any substantive feedback.

We want our kids to think of writing as a way to think, share, organize, and reflect–using whatever tool meets the need. Narrowing an assignment to an academic essay does our students a disservice. But more than that–they will have followed the rules to produce a product rather than creating a piece of writing out of a complex thought process.  In our quest to “prepare students for college,” we do the very thing that limits them–teach formulaic writing.

This essay, written several years ago, talks about the disconnect high school teachers and college teachers have about writing. I’ll copy one paragraph here, but the essay should be read in its entirety:

One study surveyed writing teachers at the University of California and local high schools about their priorities.¹ A number of the high school teachers preparing students for college emphasized reading and interpreting literature, considered writing as a way of expressing a pre-formed meaning, suggested formulas for structuring essays, and taught students that the use of the first-person I would not be acceptable in college (cited in Hjortshoj 28–29). High school teachers comment that their assumptions about how to prepare students for college are often based largely on their own undergraduate classroom experiences (Gardner 101). The authority a teacher gains from being able to say to a high school student “you will need to know this in college” is a powerful motivator (Stump, personal interview, 2005). In the University of California study cited above, however, a number of the college teachers reported different priorities: using a range of reading materials, emphasizing writing for discovering and exploring meaning, discouraging formulas for essay structures, and considering the use of I to be appropriate (qtd. in Hjortshoj 28–29).

To go back to Troy’s post:

In the simplest terms, it boils down to whether or not we prepare students to write five paragraph essays and to be able to respond to prompts on the test, or whether we want them to be real writers.

I’ll opt for real writing every time.  But clearly teachers from all levels must continue to talk about this.

 

As I change my focus from anything/everything education  to creating a writing studio, I find myself making incremental shifts in habits. For example:

• I haven’t tweeted since, oh let me see: December 10. I am thinking about closing my Twitter account all together, but I am still mulling that one over.
• I’m subscribing more and more to blogs like this. And I find myself clicking “unsubscribe” more and more to education blogs I used to read daily.
• Each morning I write–something. Not the full Pages suggestion set by Julia Cameron, but words on paper, or laptop, or an iPad. Something.

These days I want to talk less and “do” more. For a while at least, I plan to use a series of writing prompts, so the topics here will vary. I feel like playing with words, telling some stories.

And now, I am taking my notebook to bed. Because you never know when it might come in handy.

Yet not waiting for inspiration. Writing every day. Writing practices.

 

So far, I am a failure. I managed 1000 or so words for NaNoWriMo, and then decided I hated my plot. I haven’t been able to get back on track, and it’s killing me.

As much as I loved the idea of writing a novel, I don’t know if I can. Or if I want to.

I think I may have to switch gears and write something about middle-schoolers, writing, learning, or thinking–and ways all of that can come together. But, as I’ve said so many times recently, failure isn’t all bad, is it? We can learn from our failures if we reflect on them.

At this point, I am still swirling around in the mud. As soon as I come up for air, I’ll see if I can regain my focus and figure out what my problem is.

 

Changing my physical space changes my frame of mind. Sitting in my mom’s house, nestled among blankets, the cat, and old family memories gives me an idea for a story.
But writing on an iPad is slow-going. The iPad is great for traveling, but I guess it’s time for a keyboard.

 

I love Patti Digh. A couple of years ago, I read Life is a Verb, and I’ve been following her ever since. This post is one of my favs–Toast Rules.

The best line: “Well,” I said sweetly, “I just never knew you could actually go past toast time. Call me crazy, but it seems to me that if you have bread and a toaster, it’s pretty much always toast time.”

She’s referencing a restaurant that has rules about when to serve toast. As I read it again, I was reminded of the course I am taking at P2PU, Writing and the Common Core, led by Bud Hunt. We are reading and commenting on the Common Core standards for writing, and writing together as we think about what this means to us as teachers.

It’s great fun, both being in community and sharing ideas about writing.
When I happened upon Patti’s essay again today, I was reminded about writing rules and how they limit us.
“Don’t start sentences with AND,” or “Never write a fragment.” Often, students become so hung up on following the rules (and making sure they have the five-paragraph essay down pat) that their writing is boring, gutless, and drab. I say, listen to Patti.

It’s always writing time, served up with voice and style.

 

I mentioned to my writing group (I like the sound of that, by the way) that I had too many drafts of posts in my “saved” folder. Bud Hunt said, “Hit publish, Susan, hit publish.”

He’s right. But here’s the thing. This one had only a title. “Standards at all?” Nothing else.

That’s because my thinking is still muddy here. Why do we need standards for writing, especially standards that limit and constrict? We are talking about the Common Core Standards in our course, so that’s what I’m referencing here–the writing standards. And, for the most part, I don’t mind them. I like that all writing teachers have some direction and purpose. Rather, I am hopeful teachers feel encouraged to write more often and use writing to learn because we have standards.

But I wrote the title a few days ago, thinking that standards could be too confining, too limiting. As a writing teacher, I’ve found the best writing comes from the inside out, when it matters to the writer. Bud talks about this on his blog today, when he shares his thoughts on personal vs argumentative writing. His point is that students will become better writers when they care (if they care). And I think that’s what I was thinking about when I wrote “standards at all?” Because for me, the caring comes when we start not with standards but with supportive, thoughtful teachers.

I know. That’s a wishy-washy platitude that means little. Unless, of course, we live into that vision. To write is to put a piece of yourself on display, and it’s risky. Beginning writers need to feel support not ridicule, community not criticism. Good writing begins with a safe place to experiment, and I’m not sure the standards help teachers understand that.

So now we’re back to what makes a good teacher, aren’t we? And how do we help students become comfortable and confident learners who care. I don’t have answers for you, Bud, but your last line is a starting point for me:

And what did we do to make that happen?

 

A few days in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia, and I’ve come away with some lessons learned:

1. Time to do nothing but read, walk, write, and sleep soothes me.
2. Disconnecting is easy; I didn’t miss being online at all.
3. Cabins are warmer than tents.
4. My ego gets in the way of so much.
5. Going down the trail is much easier than climbing back up.
6. Writing helps me make sense of life.
7. When I wake in the middle of the night, I shouldn’t leave my kindle on the floor under the bed. (really hoping they find it and mail it to me.)

Edit: And they did find my Kindle. Thanks, Shenandoah National Park employees:)

What We Need Is Here
Wendell Berry

Geese appear high over us,
pass, and the sky closes. Abandon,
as in love or sleep, holds
them to their way, clear
in the ancient faith: what we need
is here. And we pray, not
for new earth or heaven, but to be
quiet in heart, and in eye,
clear. What we need is here.

 

Transliteracy Clip

I’ve seen the term bounced around the internet over the past year, but I hadn’t taken the time to explore what transliteracy really means.

If you aren’t sure, here are some places to start:

Buffy Hamilton shares this presentation:

The reading/writing/learning world is changing faster than most of us can keep up, so realizing we need to label the need to communicate across various media makes sense to me. Defining this will also help us frame our teaching and learning, allowing us to let go of strongly-held beliefs that only traditional reading and writing matters for success.

(By the way, I grabbed the clip above using my new LiveScribe pen!)

 

We are in week two of the new school year, and I don't feel like I'm hitting my stride yet. Oh, I'm enjoying my classes, and most of the kids are responding positively. They are blogging, and I'm reading. We are sharing ideas, and they are politely taking notes and following my directions.
But I want more.
I haven't been able to step aside yet. I am so used to leading, pointing, asking, questioning…and waiting for a response. In this Introduction to Genres course, we have been reading and
discussing short stories with the goal of each student writing one
himself. Yet, I am eager for them to find a reason this matters beyond the requirements of the syllabus.  I want to find a way to make this process more meaningful for them…to help them understand the value in a good story, the value in knowing how to tell a good story.
Tonight, I was having trouble falling asleep, so I decided to catch up on my RSS feeds. With my new teaching position, I just haven't had much time for anything other than my classes lately.
I was zipping through the feeds when suddenly Presentation Zen caught my eye:"Obama delivers a speech like a symphony." Could it be? A Dan Pink reference?
But wait, there's more.
"What makes a good story?" Garr Reynolds asks. Story? As in "how to tell?" I read on.

He references Bruce Block's book, "The Visual Story," writing:

In his post, Reynolds dissects Obama's speech and explains how it much like a good story–of the best kind. Here, he jots down his ideas:


And there they are. The terms we have been using in class.
In real life. Used to talk about a powerful story.
So, I will be sharing this with them, and I'll play some of the acceptance speech in class, too–not for political reasons, but so they know their teacher isn't the ONLY one talking about exposition and conflict these days.
What do you think? Will it matter to them?

 

WR has been around forever. I remember it from MY elementary days!

This online version has reading and writing tips for all disciplines. Many are posted in PDF’s, which you can open, print, and copy for use in your class. Here’s an example.

This student before and after sample is also terrific.