Peabloggy

Most writing is meant to have an audience. With the exception of private journaling and “notes to self,” most of us write in order to communicate with others - whether it be to inform, persuade, or move our reader. Schooled writing, however, is often only read by the teacher. Students see no value in many of the writing assignments they submit, and for good reason - many of them do not have an authentic purpose.

I’m realizing, though, that it can be difficult to find “authentic” opportunities for students to write in the absence of school publications. Most high schools offer opportunities for students to publish in the school newspaper or yearbook, but they must be enrolled in an elective course to do so; English classes do not contribute to these publications.

Over the past several weeks as I’ve been teaching seventh grade in my middle school placement for student teaching, I’ve seen how valuable it is for students to share their writing in some way - either by reading aloud to the class, or posting it where others can see. I’ve been brainstorming other possibilities for “publishing” student work, and somehow incorporating the standard English curriculum (which often focuses on expository essays) into school publication opportunities. Ideas, anyone?

- Rachel Bowers

“The five-paragraph essay does not exist in the wild,” writes Barry Gilmore in Is it Done Yet?: Teaching Adolescents the Art of Revision. But as early as the wild days of seventh grade, we teach our students the form of five-paragraphs and assess them on their ability to perform it. As a writing tutor at Vanderbilt’s Writing Studio and a preservice teacher, I struggle to make sense of the conflicting messages we send to students about how to write well:

• Expository writing omits the first-person article, but authorial voice is one of the most essential components of effective writing.

• Revision is where a writer truly exercises her craft, but you must learn to write a cogent essay in a limited time frame for important state assessments. You will never see this essay again.

• Writing is a truly collaborative act between a writer and her audience, but you must demonstrate an ability to construct an argument or expository piece without a deep understanding of your reader.

• Good writing has authentic purpose - to convince, explain, or move an audience - but you must learn to write an essay for the purposes of a timed test.

I wonder: What do we truly want to teach students about writing, and how can we best communicate that message? What kinds of writing do we find most valuable in our own work and lives? What are the priorities of good writing for us, and do our assessments communicate those priorities to our students?

As Literacy Education Advocacy Month approaches and mandatory writing assessments continue to impact Language Arts instruction in profound ways, we must consider our answers to these questions.

- Rachel Bowers

I have mentioned in previous posts how the landscape of literacy is changing due to the growing influence of digital media and online social spaces. The Washington Post published an interesting article on the growing field of online social networking research (”About Facebook! Forward March!”). However, I wonder if this area of study really is an “extremely obscure wing of the ivory tower,” as the article claims, or if it will continue to grow as rapidly as its online subject of study.

Determine your own opinion here.

–Katie Harris

Anne Lamott, author and activist, wants to propose a revolution. But not your typical revolutionary show of military force or government takeover. In an article for Salon.com, she expresses her frustration with the current political climate in the US. Regardless of political leanings, I think her suggested tools for revolution are worth consideration. She writes:

“In this revolution, there will not be any positions except kindness. And libraries. We will not even have a battle cry, as that can lead to chanting, and haranguing…We would simply look one another in the eyes, shake our heads, and say, “This just can’t be right.”

I consider Lamott’s thoughts on revolution in light of widespread frustration with things like the No Child Left Behind act. I think about her words alongside those I read over the break from Promoting Reading in Developing Countries by the International Reading Association and Vincent Greaney - accounts of countries where the literacy rate for women is practically 0% and areas where some of the most compelling reading material is a discarded owner’s manual for US-made vehicles - written in English, a language few to none of the local children speak.

And I thought about libraries. I remembered how excited I was as a child when I got to pick - I got to PICK - a book from the library to take home. I think of my current life as a grad student on a budget, and how grateful I am for the stacks and stacks of books available to me with the click of a button - from local libraries, and even distant ones through elaborate loan systems.

We cannot underestimate the power of ideas, and I’m experiencing renewed gratitude for the easy access I have to so many of them. So how can we provide wider access to more and better reading material for communities that currently lack it? I’m wondering where I sign up for Lamott’s revolution.

- Rachel Bowers

November is National Novel Writing Month (lovingly dubbed NaNoRiMo). Participants sign up, begin writing November 1st, and eventually complete a 50,000 word novel (175 pages) by midnight, November 30th. In an effort that elevates quantity over quality, NaNoRiMo allows those would-be writers to finally take up their pens and create. As described on the official NaNoRiMo website: “They started the month as auto mechanics, out-of-work actors, and middle school English teachers. They walked away novelists.”

To some, this event may seem baffling, but it can be an effective way to brush that inner critic off your shoulder while writing. How many people have you met who say they’d like to write someday, but not now? It is this same internal voice that sometimes impedes student writing in the classroom. Students need a space in the curriculum where it is okay to make mistakes and okay to write without second-guessing, then learn about the wonders of revision.

—Katie Harris

Last weekend, I went home to D.C. to visit family, and discovered a great new cafe/bookstore: Busboys and Poets. The place was packed with a lunchtime crowd, but I got sucked into the shelves off to the side where I found an incredible collection of books on multicultural education, equity in schools, environmental issues, contemporary poetry. As I browsed, I realized that someone had very intentionally chosen each title. I asked the hostess about the management, and she handed me a bookmark and business card. Apparently, Busboys and Poets is run by Teaching for Change, a non-profit that aims to help teachers create classrooms in which students learn to “read, write and change the world,” hopefully leading to a more equitable society. Learn more about Teaching for Change here, but if you’re ever in D.C., check out Busboys and Poets.

- Rachel Bowers

You’ve seen the movies (and I’ve discussed them before here): slam poetry in the classroom, kids sharing heartwrenching personal accounts of violence and abuse at home, teachers flawlessly responding to those stories with grace while other students listen in awe and respect.

But what is the place of personal narrative writing in the secondary English classroom? This is a question I’ve been discussing lately with other preservice English teachers, and we haven’t necessarily come to any conclusions. We know from research that writing about personal experience helps students learn the nuances of argument, develop a sense of voice, and use concrete detail - because they’re not worried about treating unfamiliar content.

At the same time, bringing personal history and experience into the writing classroom might feel invasive to students whose lives are difficult to share. It might also blur boundaries between teachers and students - which could be a good thing in some cases, but might also lead to quick burnout for the teacher.

One of my colleagues has suggested that though it’s important to give students opportunities to work through personal experiences via creative/personal writing, teachers should try to limit their comments and responses to the quality of the writing (and suggestions for improvement) rather than the personal implications of the content. That seems like a difficult challenge for English teachers - who are often a sensitive, emotionally engaged group - but I wonder what effects it might have in the classroom.

- Rachel Bowers

Last weekend at the annual conference of the Tennessee Council of Teachers of English, Deborah Appleman presented a rationale for why high school students should learn - and how they can learn - literary theory. Many high school English programs promote either a Reader-Response or New Critics approach to teaching literature. Teachers either ask students to share their personal reactions to a text (Reader-Response) or tell them how “experts” interpret the text (New Criticism). Appleman suggests that if teachers would dare to provide students with a whole set of critical lenses with which to view any given text (Feminist, Post-Colonial, Deconstructionist, Marxist, etc.), they will have equipped students to be critical readers of the world.

Even seventh graders can do literary theory, she said.

Her book, Critical Encounters in High School English, outlines her reasons and strategies for teaching theory in high school, but one thing she said on Saturday has been percolating in my brain ever since:

“Not everyone’s life will be shareable when they’re in my classroom, and how can I presume that I would be the one that they would want to share it with?”

Teaching critical theory, she said, allows us to give kids a lens for discussing a text in a meaningful way without telling them what to think or focusing exclusively on feelings and gut reactions - or compelling them to share potentially sensitive details of their personal or family lives.

Appleman quoted James Baldwin, saying:

“The paradox of education is precisely this: that as one begins to become conscious, one begins to examine the society in which he is being educated. The purpose of education, finally, is to create in a person the ability to look at the world for himself, to make his own decisions…But no society is really anxious to have that person around. What societies really, ideally want is a citizenry which will simply obey the rules of society. If a society succeeds in this, that society is about to perish. The obligation of anyone who thinks of himself as responsible is to examine society and try to change it and to fight it - at no matter what risk. This is the only hope for society. This is the only way societies change.”

Teaching theory, Appleman argues, begins to equip students with the tools they need to look at the world for themselves with a truly critical eye - and whatever conclusions they come to will determine the extent to which they seek change in society.

- Rachel Bowers

It is a beautiful thing when assigned reading for a class becomes a joy to accomplish. That’s how I felt yesterday reading Peter Smagorinsky’s Teaching English Through Principled Practice (2002). I’m a nerd, I admit it.

Smagorinsky advocates for the use of conceptual units in the teaching of English - centering each three-four week unit of study around a central theme, question, historical period or other cohesive subject, and then developing assignments that allow students to engage that theme or question in a variety of ways. Not brain surgery, but he offers practical insight gained through years of in-the-trenches experience.

He also suggests that teachers spend significant energy considering the ways in which student interests differ from their own. In other words, most of our students won’t be book-loving nerds like us. Again, not brain surgery, but it’s easy to gloss over this fact instead of spending time to understand what it will take to engage student interest in reading.

I found one of Smagorinsky’s questions especially useful. He asks, “What do you think makes something literary?…What do your students think makes something literary?”

As an avid reader (I just finished Khaled Hosseini’s Ten Thousand Splendid Suns and am now in the middle of Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen), I tend to abide by the “I know it when I see it” mentality. But as I sit with Smagorinsky’s question, I’m realizing it’s an important one to consider before I dare suggest that my students read anything in particular.

Any thoughts on what makes for a work of literary merit?

- Rachel Bowers

Writing is (most often) a painful process. We procrastinate, stumble around our ideas, fumble through drafts, and still have to proofread. But most of our jobs and degrees require that we write - and write well. I’ve been writing for school, work and personal expression for over twenty years, and I’ve been fortunate enough to get paid to write for well over two years. But I still procrastinate and stumble around my ideas, concerned that I don’t have anything intelligent to say.

This fall, I will be working part-time as a consultant at the Vanderbilt Writing Studio, a place of support for students as they organize ideas and work to complete writing assignments. As I consider how best to support students, I’ve been thinking about what helps me feel comfortable enough to actually start writing. In addition to a fresh cup of coffee, good lighting, and a moderate amount of low background noise, I’ve found that two things help me focus and accomplish the task more easily.

First, it helps to feel that my writing is, on some level, a collaborative process. Even though I know I’m the one who has to put the words to paper (or screen), talking through my ideas or writing with others in the room keeps me from feeling so isolated by the blank page.

Second, my writing is easier (and better) when I know that it will find an audience. When I’m afraid no one will read it, my motivation plummets and the writing suffers.

As I consider the ways we teach writing, those would be two of my main goals for students: encourage them to collaborate (at least in the prewriting stages of generating and organizing ideas) and provide as wide and positive an audience for their writing as possible.

Anyone else have any other “conditions” for writing that make the process less grueling?

- Rachel Bowers