“I’m here to gripe,” Mrs. Moyer (not her real name) snapped, tossing a stack of essays on the table and collapsing into the chair beside me. I was interviewing writing teachers on their instructional practices and what they noticed about the strengths and needs of their students as they reflected on selected writing samples.
“How can I help you?” I asked, bracing myself for whatever would come next. I hadn’t worked with this teacher long enough or often enough to understand what her needs were just yet.
“These kids can’t write,” she spat. “More importantly, they don’t want to. They are completely apathetic. All they really care about is where the next party is. They spend more time texting their friends than paying attention to me in class. Their work is atrocious, too. Not a single one of them can compose a fluent paragraph. They have no clue what the parts of speech are, let alone how to identify them properly. I’ve had it with them,” she admitted.
And I waited a moment before I began any further inquiry.
“Can you explain the topic of the assignment?” I asked.
“It was a critical lens essay. They know how to write them. Or at least they should by now. We’ve been hammering this into them for four years!”
“And how did you define what you wanted them to do?” I wondered.
“I gave them directions. Not that they followed them.”
I asked what kind of models she provided. There were none.
“And did you demonstrate what you wanted them to do or write beside them at all?”
Her eyes rolled dramatically, and then they narrowed. “What on earth does that mean? If you mean did I spoon-feed them the process, then the answer is no. They should know how to do this by now.”
I agreed. Eleventh graders should know how to write a critical lens essay. They didn’t, though. At least, they weren’t able to demonstrate this. And it was clear that their teacher was too upset to consider why or how she might be able to help them better.
“Have you ever been invited to talk with your colleagues about these problems so that you could brainstorm solutions?” I asked.
“We don’t have any common time together,” she replied.
“What about seeking help in other ways?” I offered. “Have you ever received support as a teacher of writing?” She looked at me like I had grown seven heads.
This exchange continues to haunt me, many years later. I wonder: do seemingly burned-out teachers refuse to use effective practices, or does a teacher’s struggle to adopt effective practices without adequate support and feedback lead to burn out? Similar frustrations are often revealed when we talk with young writers about their work. “I don’t know how to do this,” they will tell us. “I don’t want to do it,” they’ll admit. “I don’t even know what you mean,” some will seethe, moments before declaring their work “garbage” and trash-canning it.
In my experience, the following tools, processes, and interventions have enabled writers to persevere, often against significant odds. As I write this, I realize that teachers tend to persevere when they are provided similar supports.
- When learners of any age are provided choice and invited to learn about and produce things that matter to them for real audiences that they can engage with, they are better able to persevere.
- When learners are invited to make use of the tools and technologies that serve them best and that enable them to connect with their intended audience in purposeful and efficient ways, they are better able to persevere.
- Helping learners reach out to those within and beyond the community who have expertise in areas that they struggle with is a critical part of any facilitator’s work. The potential to network and learn from others online enriches this.
- When learners are invited to investigate models, identify their common elements, and use what they notice to create a vision of what quality looks like, they gain a level of clarity that enables them to establish their own clear targets.
- When learners create rubrics that reflect criteria for each stage of development, they literally design pathways that can, as needed, scaffold them toward success. Once the process is underway, the rubric often functions as a road-map through rough terrain. Learners can define the path they are on, how close it takes them to their ideal, and what actions they will need to take next in order to continue forward. Rubrics also enable learners to pinpoint potential roadblocks with greater precision. This enables them to ask for support in a timely manner.
- Participating in meaningful peer-review processes provides learners with insight, ideas, and strategies that enable them to revise their thinking and their work.
- Criteria-specific feedback which makes clear references to each learner’s work inspires them to persevere, particularly when the feedback that is provided attends to one element of their work at a time.
- Coaching learners to firewall their works in progress, to select effective mentors and coaches, and to advocate respectfully for themselves, for their work, and for the processes that have proven to help them can sustain help them sustain their energies and nurture their own process as well.
This week, I’ll be revisiting the best of what we’ve learned at Studio relevant to perseverance. I’ll be sharing some new strategies, perspectives, and bits of inspiration too. I think this is a perfect topic for the new year, and I’m looking forward to exploring it more in our sessions with writers this month!
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