Writing Every Day

The Key to Learning

I was thirty-five years old before anyone asked me to write my own ideas or opinions. The location was the University of Maine, and the instructor was Dr. Cyrene Wells, protege of Don Graves and Nancie Atwell, two movers and shakers in the teaching of writing. She handed out an article and asked us to write a “one-pager.”

I said, “You mean you want us to summarize it?”

“No,” she said. “I want you to react to it.”

“So, like an outline?” I responded, somewhat flummoxed.

Patience was one of Dr. Wells’ virtues. “Read the article, and then write one page about how you feel, your opinion.”

And then, when I got my paper back, she had written you write well across the top.

I was thirty-five years old, and I had never heard that before. In fairness, I had never written much. Those were the days when dinosaurs roamed, and “writing” meant handwriting. In highschool I wrote a paper about Truman Capote. (I still have it.) I think it was the only paper I wrote in high school, although my good friend Ron Dyer—he of the amazing memory—will correct me if I’m wrong. I didn’t write any poems or short stories, no memoir or essay.

I didn’t write another paper until I was in grad school at the University of South Florida. That’s right, Folks. I made it all the way through my Bachelors degree without writing a paper. Not one. I wrote the grad school paper for one of my favorite teachers, Dr. Tom Curtis, a snarky, middle-aged dude who liked to make fun of students; the class was The History of Economic Thought, which was every bit as exciting as it sounds. (Those sarcastic teachers were always my favorite, even when I was the one being poked.) The topic was Thorstein Veblen and his theory of conspicuous consumption, something that has stuck with me ever since. (I still have this paper as well.) The paper came back with this note: Your writing is better than your Economics. I didn’t take that as a compliment to my writing but rather a negation of my economics.

Maybe you can understand why, several years later, I was confused with Dr. Wells’ request. Wait. Someone wants MY opinion. This was a completely new concept. Not only had I never been asked for my opinion in all my years of academia (there were only right and wrong answers), but my opinion at home was not sought after either. I was raised in one of those households where children, especially girls, were supposed to be seen and not heard. Put those two ideas together—no writing and an old-fashioned up-bringing— and you’ve got a girl afraid to voice her opinion. It is interesting to me that I have spent most of my life holding my tongue, at least in public, afraid to say what I thought lest it get me in trouble. My point-of-view was often different from that of others, principals, for example. I was a timid little mouse.

But Dr. Wells had created this possibility that I might, one day, write. I had always loved books, and I remember daydreaming during the high school years about becoming the next Great American author, but I thought a person had to be born super talented—gifted really—and no one had ever told me that I might be able to write. No one said, “You write well,” until Dr. Wells did it when I was thirty-five years old.

No kid should have to wait until the age of thirty-five to be told they write well, and every child has the potential to write well.

When my sons went to elementary school in Maine their remarkable first grade teachers, Pam Campbell and Rebecca Goode, knew how to start a child off on the right foot. They were in Maine after all, Atwell country. (Nancie Atwell has come upon hard times of late, I hear, but at that point in time she was the premier writing teacher, along with Don Graves.) They came home with pictures they had drawn with the stories written in their teachers’ handwriting underneath. Later, the stories were written by the kids themselves, misspelled and hard to read, but they were their own thoughts and ideas.

This didn’t last long though. We moved to Florida, and they were forever haunted by the five paragraph essay, and so was I, although I had never heard of it before arriving in Florida. My dreams of a writing workshop in my middle school classroom were quickly stymied when my well-meaning mentors told me I needed to help kids organize their essays. “You must teach the five-paragraph first,” they said. “Children need structure before they can write on their own.” From my own experience, that is not true, but in fear of losing my job, I taught the five-paragraph… for twenty-seven years… except for that short time period where I thought I had found a way out. (see previous post) As I look back on my career, I wonder if I have done more harm than good.

Another quick Florida story: I went to my son’s fifth grade open house, many years ago, raised my hand, and asked about the writing “program.” The teacher replied, “Yes, we will write a paper this year.” I knew all was lost. Shades of 1975.

I’ll get to the point: every child needs good writing instruction, and every child needs to write every day. My students frequently ask, “Why do I need to write if I don’t plan on being an author?” If I only had a nickel for every time I’ve been asked that!

Writing helps us think through life. Keep a journal and see how your life changes. (More about that later.) Not many write novels, but almost everyone communicates. The written word has become more important, not less, with the advent of the internet. Many people, like me—no longer interested in writing the Great American novel—can find a place to voice ideas and engage in important conversations. This is the heart of citizenship in America.

I want my granddaughter to have opportunities for writing every day of her life. Why isn’t this done in the public schools? Because it is too expensive. There are both opportunity costs and monetary costs. When teachers provide time for writing, which is time consuming, they are forfeiting the opportunity to lecture, to do a lab, to practice. These are hard choices for the content area teachers who perhaps do not understand the importance of everyday writing.

In the English class, where one would think that writing happens every day, teachers are often handicapped by testing requirements. The reading test often takes precedent, and writing, as mentioned in a previous blog, takes the form of the five-paragraph essay. Writing in any other form just gets squeezed out. In addition, students will not receive adequate feedback on their writing until classes are smaller and/or teachers have more planning time. Personally, I’m getting tired of spending my weekends grading papers. The monetary cost of teaching writing correctly is in the hiring of enough well-trained teachers.

In the homeschool environment, I plan on using writing as a tool for thinking. Baby Girl will be afforded lots of opportunities to write what she thinks. She will have a big, fat “learning log” to record what she has learned. Her world will not be limited to the five-paragraph essay; instead, she will write essays for which SHE has created the structure. She will write narratives and poetry and letters to the editor. She will write for all kinds of audiences, and she will write journals for which she is the only audience. In so doing, she will learn and grow in a way not afforded to our public-school kids, at least as far as I can tell, not here in Florida, not in this school district.

What has your writing experience been like? I would LOVE it if you would comment!