# data[].attributes.headline
She had the longest, most beautiful hair I had ever seen, reaching the small of her back. And the most fair and quite straight too. Well, makes sense since I was an immigrant from a country in the southernmost portion of Africa and all I was used to was my black, kinky-coily afro-type hair; I hardly ever saw long, straight, flowy, light coloured hair, but I thought it was so exquisite. “Hi, my name is Emily,” she happily introduced herself to me the first time I met her at church in Iowa City. “So you must be the one who wants to try the piano, huh? I’ve heard a lot about you from your dad.” I was surprised she knew about me and my curious interests before I even met her. After that church service, when most of the people had left to head downstairs, she called me to The Grand Piano, which sat gracefully on the tan carpet, extending its shiny, black body upward. Emily scooted over and patted the space next to her on the piano bench, her hair nearly brushing the bench she sat on. I sat carefully. “Ok, I’m going to play something and I want you to repeat it and play it back to me,”  she instructed with a joyful, yet understanding tone, “don’t worry, it’s going to be easy.” She played a simple little tune of three notes. Huh, I thought, easy. I repeated the same tune. “Awesome! Now try this.” She played another, this time, with five notes, her long pale fingers merely brushing the black and white keys, her hands moving in the most graceful of ways I had ever seen. I played her tune, attempting to mimic her ways, then we played it together and she taught me a few simple things which I caught on with delight. At the end of that day, she spoke to my dad, “You know, I’m quite impressed with how she’s doing, how’s she’s learning quickly, and I’d like to keep going. If it’s alright, I would like to give her lessons perhaps?” I felt the ground beneath me fall away, but at the same time, my heart soared up and away as I attempted to suppress a gasp and a grin. From that day on, I developed a close relationship with Emily; she brought her keyboard to our apartment and brought me piano books to teach me weekly. Sadly she had to move to Tennessee but to my surprise she left her keyboard and books for me. Now I find myself sitting here at my own bench, practicing for a church program, a funeral service, a performance on that very keyboard, imagining her voice still teaching me and I know I’ll stay at this keyboard for years upon years, hopefully someday nurturing the potential in another child, as she did for me.

# data[].attributes.subject
She had the longest, most beautiful hair I had ever seen, reaching the small of her back. And the most fair and quite straight too. Well, makes sense since I was an immigrant from a country in the southernmost portion of Africa and all I was used to was my black, kinky-coily afro-type hair; I hardly ever saw long, straight, flowy, light coloured hair, but I thought it was so exquisite. “Hi, my name is Emily,” she happily introduced herself to me the first time I met her at church in Iowa City. “So you must be the one who wants to try the piano, huh? I’ve heard a lot about you from your dad.” I was surprised she knew about me and my curious interests before I even met her. After that church service, when most of the people had left to head downstairs, she called me to The Grand Piano, which sat gracefully on the tan carpet, extending its shiny, black body upward. Emily scooted over and patted the space next to her on the piano bench, her hair nearly brushing the bench she sat on. I sat carefully. “Ok, I’m going to play something and I want you to repeat it and play it back to me,”  she instructed with a joyful, yet understanding tone, “don’t worry, it’s going to be easy.” She played a simple little tune of three notes. Huh, I thought, easy. I repeated the same tune. “Awesome! Now try this.” She played another, this time, with five notes, her long pale fingers merely brushing the black and white keys, her hands moving in the most graceful of ways I had ever seen. I played her tune, attempting to mimic her ways, then we played it together and she taught me a few simple things which I caught on with delight. At the end of that day, she spoke to my dad, “You know, I’m quite impressed with how she’s doing, how’s she’s learning quickly, and I’d like to keep going. If it’s alright, I would like to give her lessons perhaps?” I felt the ground beneath me fall away, but at the same time, my heart soared up and away as I attempted to suppress a gasp and a grin. From that day on, I developed a close relationship with Emily; she brought her keyboard to our apartment and brought me piano books to teach me weekly. Sadly she had to move to Tennessee but to my surprise she left her keyboard and books for me. Now I find myself sitting here at my own bench, practicing for a church program, a funeral service, a performance on that very keyboard, imagining her voice still teaching me and I know I’ll stay at this keyboard for years upon years, hopefully someday nurturing the potential in another child, as she did for me.

# data[].attributes.body
Emily Kriz

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It was a solitary co
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It was a solitary corner of the cluttered basement of my lifetime home, jammed in-between walls on two sides, and an old bed covered junk on another. It was tight. Not claustrophobic, no, but tight. The lamp in the opposite corner of the room casts a dim orange across the entire room, never bright enough to illuminate fine details, but enough to let you navigate the space. It was always cool in the summer, a refuge from the blazing Nebraska sun...and always frigid in the winter, an arctic freezer of a room that needed a space heater or a good jacket to inhabit comfortably. The floor was stripped bare, exposing the grey concrete that made up the foundation of the house. It was the singular point of space in the house that was distinctly mine, even more personally guarded and important to me than my bedroom.
It was also very quiet. People coming down to the basement was rare, only the occasional trip to the laundry room would bring anyone close to my corner, and they’d simply walk right by, after all, there wasn’t any reason for them to walk to the desk and the computer on it. I liked to think my family recognized that it was my space, and were hesitant, perhaps even scared, to encroach on this little bit of territory. The computer tower that stood down there, nestled carefully in a little nook in the desk that I had create just for it, was the heart of this space, my space. An engine of sorts, one that I had carefully built for myself. My pride and joy, and perhaps the only thing in the house that I was truly protective of. The dusty case and old monitor are a testament to its age. An ever faithful companion to me, it was mine, and mine alone.
This little corner would seem to any other as a lonely, cold, unfeeling part of the house. A dark cave under a lively, bright house. But to me, that little corner is a window, a gateway, to the whole world and everything and everyone in it, and nothing could replace it. It was as much a part of me as I was a part of it when I sat in that old wheeled chair and turned on that monitor.

Eva Houston- My Nana
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Eva Houston- My Nana lived in a condo until I was about ten years old. It was not big and it definitely was not fancy, but it fit my Nana perfectly. She never kept anything that she did not need and made sure everything had its own place. All of the kitchen appliances were yellow and stained with age but that did not stop her from filling her whole condo with the comforting smell of warm shortbread cookies. 
	She had two bedrooms, one for herself and one for the grandkids. My cousins and I would lose days playing make believe in that room. But my favorite part about Nana’s condo was not actually one of her rooms. It was the storage room in the hallway. Neighbors used it to store shovels and extra light bulbs, but Nana taught me how to use my imagination to turn the cramped space into a pirate ship. On stormy nights we would crawl up onto brown cardboard boxes and pretend the cracks of thunder were attacks by nearby ships. Then my Nana and I would run out onto the patio and as the rain splashed back up on our feet, I would remember how lucky I was to be safe by her side. 

Matilde Arellano: Ev
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Matilde Arellano: Every summer when I was little my family would take a road trip to Arkansas, it would be the time of the year that I would long to come. The first time I went to Arkansas was when I was around 6 years, I remember getting there on hot summer day and feeling the fresh air that rural Arkansas has. My aunt’s house was one of the few houses in the small town of Wickes. The town is very small but the sense of unity there is strong. Early in the morning we would wake up to the aroma from the food that my aunt was getting ready for us to go the lake. As children, we would all be running around and yelling of excitement. The lake was like the Disneyland of Arkansas. I remember the way to get there by memory and the first time we visited was unforgettable. We rode in the back of my uncle’s truck, on our way there we felt the hot sun on our backs but also the wind that was created. The road to get there was also very bumpy so it was an experience. When we arrived we, the view was spectacular and one of a kind. The nature there was so pure and it could be felt with the air that surrounded us. All the trees and the birds humming. The lake was beautiful, it was so clear that when I ran over to see my reflection, I could see every detail of myself. I put my hands in the water and it was so pure and refreshing. What made it the best was that I was surrounded with all the people I loved and it was the first time in years that all my family was together. Who thought it would also be the first time in what would become a tradition. Going to that lake every year has become one of the days of the year that I wait for the most. Every year new memories are created and it’s a place where all my problems go away and it’s all happy moments. 

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Mia Garrett- A coupl
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Mia Garrett- A couple summers ago I had the amazing opportunity to explore a Base Camp in Almont, Colorado for a week. Almont Colorado has a population of less than 300 people. I wouldn’t think of it as a town, more of an expanse of land with a few people living every couple miles.  Although it may not be diverse in its human population, it has a very diverse animal population and many opportunities for adventure. 

Surrounding Almont is a mountains in every directions. On cloudy days you can’t tell if the white you see is the cloud or the snow-capped mountains. No matter which way you look you will see more of trees, and more 14,000 foot hills with a white tip. When my group first arrived at the basecamp I was astonished by the views. My friends and I decided to explore the ground and headed down a dirt road that lead further into the tall dark forests. We passed an older man on his beautiful white horse on their afternoon walk. We also passed a small grey swamp, where we witnessed a mother duck lead her babies out of the pond. 

The ground we were walking on was full of vegetation. All sorts of plants were growing everywhere, including plants we wanted to stay away from. After a few days of fun filled adventures around the Base Camp, it was time to tackle one of those mountains. The begging of the trek was fairly flat as we advanced further into the forest. We began to see more wildlife the further we trekked. We saw families of deer in the distance and eagles soaring high in the sky. The only noise we heard was produced by either nature or our own voices. The peacefulness I felt in Almont is a feeling I will cherish forever. 




Michaela Gurnett
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Michaela Gurnett
Since I was young my family has had a small lakeside cabin in Halsey, Nebraska. The entire experience starts with a four hour drive from my house, to a tiny town that seems abandoned if you didn’t know where you were at. When you look out the window all there is to see is slight foothills along the highway for miles and miles. My family and I know that we are close when we drive past the towns high school grass football field right off the highway. From the highway the worn down bleachers look like they would be in a movie. Once we arrive and stretch our legs from the packed car, I can instantly feel the hot sand sink between my toes. As soon as my little toes brush against the sand I instantly get the urge to jump right into the elegant clear water. My brothers and I rush into the inside of the house, but it is nothing special. With gray cement floors and tan boring walls we do not spend much time inside. All of the beauty we can see from the patio that is right outside the back screen door. The patio is where our parents spend most of their time because it provides a beautiful uninterrupted view of the lake and it is the perfect place to watch us play in the water or even watch an intense game of cornhole. The lake is not like an ordinary lake. It is a remote private lake that we have all to ourselves. On the small lake there are swings that go right over the water and there is also a long zip-line that stretches across the beautiful body of water. Halsey Nebraska means nothing to most people, but it is where my favorite and crazy memories of friends and family have formed. 

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Mia Garrett
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Mia Garrett
Thinking Abou
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Thinking About the Old and New: Tim Kaldahl’s Theory of Writing Instruction (posted 2014)
Every writer evolves. When a person sits down at a keyboard or picks up a pen and pad of paper they bring their life experiences with them. A high school English teacher can add to the experiences of his or her students by assigning great literature and providing (requiring) opportunities to write. While this approach sounds simple, getting young people to enjoy writing—and to help them see themselves as writers—has to be approached with planning, thoughtfulness, and faith.

Faith is a word I use with great care. One of the few things I have faith in is writing; another is education. My favorite teachers presented books, ideas, feedback, and advice that made a profound difference. It’s with them in mind, in addition to what I have been learning during my Chadron State Post-Bac studies, that I have tried to organize my thoughts on a theory writing instruction.

While taking Theory & Practice of Teaching Writing this summer, I have found myself attracted to an old, traditional educational approach that focuses on reading quality written works and writing and to a much newer, and inclusive, method of writing instruction and feedback. I see the connections between the two, and I find this old-new approach interesting.

My experience of learning to write was grounded in a Roman-style imitation method, although I didn’t know it. The practicality of having students read assigned written works and work on their writing in various ways and formats, as described by the orator Quintilian 2,000 years ago, has stood the test of time. I can’t imagine many English teachers arguing that having their students read good books and practice their writing by writing wouldn’t be beneficial. What Quintilian wrote about students and reading doesn’t sound dated to me at all. “For my part,” he wrote, “I would have them (students) read the best authors from the very beginning and never leave them, choosing those, however, who are simplest and most intelligible” (Bizzell and Herzberg 375).

In my case, my language arts and communication classes from junior high through college essentially followed a standard reading and writing approach. On top of enjoying literature, as a student I had the ability to look over different written formats (news stories, features, themes) and learned quickly from examples. A language arts teacher, I think, absolutely needs to supply models of excellent essays, short stories, term papers, etc. if they want students to produce their own versions of that work.

While I admire much of the imitation method, I do see that using it without thinking through ideas for differentiation and supportive assessment is likely to result in what is often seen in classrooms – students failing to learn and learning to think of themselves as failures with writing. While I learned and received good grades, I can’t say my experience was true for all (or even many) of my classmates. While critiques I received were mostly positive, I can understand how a teacher’s negative comments on a student paper can be damaging. Even during Roman times, the advice on giving feedback to young writers tended toward a light touch. “Nor is it improper of me to offer this admonition; that the power of boys sometimes sink under too great severity in correction; for they despond, and grieve, and at last hate their work, and, what is most prejudicial, while they fear every thing, they cease to attempt any thing,” wrote Quntilian in Book II, chapter four, section 10 of Institutio Oratoria (Bizzell and Herzberg 370).

Quintilian describes how students should be brought along in their education, starting first with simple lessons, but progressing over time. My newer educational touchstone has become writing educator and scholar Peter Elbow. I’d like to think that he and Quintilian would agree about the importance of having students start with what Elbow describes as “low-stakes” writing before attempting more involved “high-stakes” assignments.

While Quintilian offers some advice about being kind and supportive to students, Elbow states several times in his essay “High Stakes and Low Stake in Assigning and Responding to Writing” that an educator should “at least do no harm” when providing a comment on a student paper. While I have much to learn, I do think what Elbow writes about is also anchored in common sense.

I agree with Elbow, when he writes that writing for a class often feels like it’s important and “high stakes” for students (352). That high-stakes situation sets the stage for student stress and failure. Elbow is a proponent for lots of writing as a solution to get past that feeling of stage fright, but much of it can be “low-stakes” or non-evaluated writing assignments, journaling, etc. Getting students comfortable with putting ideas down on paper is the basic, important activity. Higher-stakes assignments with more formality (and likely more involved critique) will eventually enter the picture during a course. Low-stakes assignments will most often receive very little or no teacher comments.

“The goal of low-stakes assignments is not to produce excellent pieces of writing, but to get students to think, learn, and understand the course material,” Elbow writes (351).

But Elbow isn’t, and I’m not, saying that there shouldn’t be a place for high-stakes writing assignments. Higher stakes written pieces (longer essays, terms papers) become projects where there are multiple drafts and students get feedback from their teacher and often other students. In my mind, in the draft process a student is walking a paper forward with increased accuracy and focus thanks to supportive guidance. I very much agree with these lines from Elbow – “Assigning more writing, using less response, and using more praise doesn’t mean leaving out all criticism or lowering standards. Students need the experience of writing a great deal and getting minimal low-stakes responses because they tend to associate writing with criticism and high stakes” (357). Elbow finishes this thought with “(w)e are actively setting up powerful conditions for learning by getting students to do something they wouldn’t do without the force of our teaching” (357).

The educating “force” of my favorite teachers definitely existed.  They set standards I wanted to meet, taught me things I didn’t know, and let me explore a bit with my writing.  Looking at it now, I’m not sure how much was planned and how much was setting a stage  for education to happen, but it worked.  They also, like Quintilian and Elbow express in their books, cared about students.  I mentioned faith in education and writing earlier, and I’ll add another item to my list.  I also have faith that students, when provided with support and guidance, will prosper. I know not every student will fall in love with writing and books, and that is to be expected.  But writing and books shouldn’t be seen as the enemy, as something that creates a feeling of failure.

My theory of writing instruction calls on me as an educator to provide great readings, ample opportunity to write in various ways, thoughtful feedback, and a classroom space that is supportive for learning writers and the writing process. A final point is that by demonstrating a high level of caring about the subject, about learning, and about the students I will hopefully be able to show how important writing can be to young people.

Works Cited

Elbow, Peter.  Everyone Can Write: Essays Toward a Hopeful Theory of Writing and     Teaching Writing.  New York: Oxford University Press, 2000. E-book.

Quintilian.  “From Institutes of Oratory.” The Rhetorical Tradition: Readings from Classical Times to the Present.  Eds. Patricia Bizzell and Bruce Herzberg.  Boston: Bedford/St. Martin’s, 2001.  359-428.  PDF.

add

# data[].attributes.body
It was a solitary corner of the cluttered basement of my lifetime home, jammed in-between walls on two sides, and an old bed covered junk on another. It was tight. Not claustrophobic, no, but tight. The lamp in the opposite corner of the room casts a dim orange across the entire room, never bright enough to illuminate fine details, but enough to let you navigate the space. It was always cool in the summer, a refuge from the blazing Nebraska sun...and always frigid in the winter, an arctic freezer of a room that needed a space heater or a good jacket to inhabit comfortably. The floor was stripped bare, exposing the grey concrete that made up the foundation of the house. It was the singular point of space in the house that was distinctly mine, even more personally guarded and important to me than my bedroom.

It was also very quiet. People coming down to the basement was rare, only the occasional trip to the laundry room would bring anyone close to my corner, and they’d simply walk right by, after all, there wasn’t any reason for them to walk to the desk and the computer on it. I liked to think my family recognized that it was my space, and were hesitant, perhaps even scared, to encroach on this little bit of territory. The computer tower that stood down there, nestled carefully in a little nook in the desk that I had create just for it, was the heart of this space, my space. An engine of sorts, one that I had carefully built for myself. My pride and joy, and perhaps the only thing in the house that I was truly protective of. The dusty case and old monitor are a testament to its age. An ever faithful companion to me, it was mine, and mine alone.

This little corner would seem to any other as a lonely, cold, unfeeling part of the house. A dark cave under a lively, bright house. But to me, that little corner is a window, a gateway, to the whole world and everything and everyone in it, and nothing could replace it. It was as much a part of me as I was a part of it when I sat in that old wheeled chair and turned on that monitor.

# data[].attributes.body
Eva Houston- My Nana lived in a condo until I was about ten years old. It was not big and it definitely was not fancy, but it fit my Nana perfectly. She never kept anything that she did not need and made sure everything had its own place. All of the kitchen appliances were yellow and stained with age but that did not stop her from filling her whole condo with the comforting smell of warm shortbread cookies.

She had two bedrooms, one for herself and one for the grandkids. My cousins and I would lose days playing make believe in that room. But my favorite part about Nana’s condo was not actually one of her rooms. It was the storage room in the hallway. Neighbors used it to store shovels and extra light bulbs, but Nana taught me how to use my imagination to turn the cramped space into a pirate ship. On stormy nights we would crawl up onto brown cardboard boxes and pretend the cracks of thunder were attacks by nearby ships. Then my Nana and I would run out onto the patio and as the rain splashed back up on our feet, I would remember how lucky I was to be safe by her side.

# data[].attributes.body
Matilde Arellano: Every summer when I was little my family would take a road trip to Arkansas, it would be the time of the year that I would long to come. The first time I went to Arkansas was when I was around 6 years, I remember getting there on hot summer day and feeling the fresh air that rural Arkansas has. My aunt’s house was one of the few houses in the small town of Wickes. The town is very small but the sense of unity there is strong. Early in the morning we would wake up to the aroma from the food that my aunt was getting ready for us to go the lake. As children, we would all be running around and yelling of excitement. The lake was like the Disneyland of Arkansas. I remember the way to get there by memory and the first time we visited was unforgettable. We rode in the back of my uncle’s truck, on our way there we felt the hot sun on our backs but also the wind that was created. The road to get there was also very bumpy so it was an experience. When we arrived we, the view was spectacular and one of a kind. The nature there was so pure and it could be felt with the air that surrounded us. All the trees and the birds humming. The lake was beautiful, it was so clear that when I ran over to see my reflection, I could see every detail of myself. I put my hands in the water and it was so pure and refreshing. What made it the best was that I was surrounded with all the people I loved and it was the first time in years that all my family was together. Who thought it would also be the first time in what would become a tradition. Going to that lake every year has become one of the days of the year that I wait for the most. Every year new memories are created and it’s a place where all my problems go away and it’s all happy moments.

# data[].attributes.body
Mia Garrett- A couple summers ago I had the amazing opportunity to explore a Base Camp in Almont, Colorado for a week. Almont Colorado has a population of less than 300 people. I wouldn’t think of it as a town, more of an expanse of land with a few people living every couple miles.  Although it may not be diverse in its human population, it has a very diverse animal population and many opportunities for adventure.

Surrounding Almont is a mountains in every directions. On cloudy days you can’t tell if the white you see is the cloud or the snow-capped mountains. No matter which way you look you will see more of trees, and more 14,000 foot hills with a white tip. When my group first arrived at the basecamp I was astonished by the views. My friends and I decided to explore the ground and headed down a dirt road that lead further into the tall dark forests. We passed an older man on his beautiful white horse on their afternoon walk. We also passed a small grey swamp, where we witnessed a mother duck lead her babies out of the pond.

The ground we were walking on was full of vegetation. All sorts of plants were growing everywhere, including plants we wanted to stay away from. After a few days of fun filled adventures around the Base Camp, it was time to tackle one of those mountains. The begging of the trek was fairly flat as we advanced further into the forest. We began to see more wildlife the further we trekked. We saw families of deer in the distance and eagles soaring high in the sky. The only noise we heard was produced by either nature or our own voices. The peacefulness I felt in Almont is a feeling I will cherish forever.

# data[].attributes.body
Michaela Gurnett

Since I was young my family has had a small lakeside cabin in Halsey, Nebraska. The entire experience starts with a four hour drive from my house, to a tiny town that seems abandoned if you didn’t know where you were at. When you look out the window all there is to see is slight foothills along the highway for miles and miles. My family and I know that we are close when we drive past the towns high school grass football field right off the highway. From the highway the worn down bleachers look like they would be in a movie. Once we arrive and stretch our legs from the packed car, I can instantly feel the hot sand sink between my toes. As soon as my little toes brush against the sand I instantly get the urge to jump right into the elegant clear water. My brothers and I rush into the inside of the house, but it is nothing special. With gray cement floors and tan boring walls we do not spend much time inside. All of the beauty we can see from the patio that is right outside the back screen door. The patio is where our parents spend most of their time because it provides a beautiful uninterrupted view of the lake and it is the perfect place to watch us play in the water or even watch an intense game of cornhole. The lake is not like an ordinary lake. It is a remote private lake that we have all to ourselves. On the small lake there are swings that go right over the water and there is also a long zip-line that stretches across the beautiful body of water. Halsey Nebraska means nothing to most people, but it is where my favorite and crazy memories of friends and family have formed.

# data[].attributes.body
Mia Garrett

# data[].attributes.body
Thinking About the Old and New: Tim Kaldahl’s Theory of Writing Instruction (posted 2014)

Every writer evolves. When a person sits down at a keyboard or picks up a pen and pad of paper they bring their life experiences with them. A high school English teacher can add to the experiences of his or her students by assigning great literature and providing (requiring) opportunities to write. While this approach sounds simple, getting young people to enjoy writing—and to help them see themselves as writers—has to be approached with planning, thoughtfulness, and faith.

Faith is a word I use with great care. One of the few things I have faith in is writing; another is education. My favorite teachers presented books, ideas, feedback, and advice that made a profound difference. It’s with them in mind, in addition to what I have been learning during my Chadron State Post-Bac studies, that I have tried to organize my thoughts on a theory writing instruction.

While taking Theory & Practice of Teaching Writing this summer, I have found myself attracted to an old, traditional educational approach that focuses on reading quality written works and writing and to a much newer, and inclusive, method of writing instruction and feedback. I see the connections between the two, and I find this old-new approach interesting.

My experience of learning to write was grounded in a Roman-style imitation method, although I didn’t know it. The practicality of having students read assigned written works and work on their writing in various ways and formats, as described by the orator Quintilian 2,000 years ago, has stood the test of time. I can’t imagine many English teachers arguing that having their students read good books and practice their writing by writing wouldn’t be beneficial. What Quintilian wrote about students and reading doesn’t sound dated to me at all. “For my part,” he wrote, “I would have them (students) read the best authors from the very beginning and never leave them, choosing those, however, who are simplest and most intelligible” (Bizzell and Herzberg 375).

In my case, my language arts and communication classes from junior high through college essentially followed a standard reading and writing approach. On top of enjoying literature, as a student I had the ability to look over different written formats (news stories, features, themes) and learned quickly from examples. A language arts teacher, I think, absolutely needs to supply models of excellent essays, short stories, term papers, etc. if they want students to produce their own versions of that work.

While I admire much of the imitation method, I do see that using it without thinking through ideas for differentiation and supportive assessment is likely to result in what is often seen in classrooms – students failing to learn and learning to think of themselves as failures with writing. While I learned and received good grades, I can’t say my experience was true for all (or even many) of my classmates. While critiques I received were mostly positive, I can understand how a teacher’s negative comments on a student paper can be damaging. Even during Roman times, the advice on giving feedback to young writers tended toward a light touch. “Nor is it improper of me to offer this admonition; that the power of boys sometimes sink under too great severity in correction; for they despond, and grieve, and at last hate their work, and, what is most prejudicial, while they fear every thing, they cease to attempt any thing,” wrote Quntilian in Book II, chapter four, section 10 of Institutio Oratoria (Bizzell and Herzberg 370).

Quintilian describes how students should be brought along in their education, starting first with simple lessons, but progressing over time. My newer educational touchstone has become writing educator and scholar Peter Elbow. I’d like to think that he and Quintilian would agree about the importance of having students start with what Elbow describes as “low-stakes” writing before attempting more involved “high-stakes” assignments.

While Quintilian offers some advice about being kind and supportive to students, Elbow states several times in his essay “High Stakes and Low Stake in Assigning and Responding to Writing” that an educator should “at least do no harm” when providing a comment on a student paper. While I have much to learn, I do think what Elbow writes about is also anchored in common sense.

I agree with Elbow, when he writes that writing for a class often feels like it’s important and “high stakes” for students (352). That high-stakes situation sets the stage for student stress and failure. Elbow is a proponent for lots of writing as a solution to get past that feeling of stage fright, but much of it can be “low-stakes” or non-evaluated writing assignments, journaling, etc. Getting students comfortable with putting ideas down on paper is the basic, important activity. Higher-stakes assignments with more formality (and likely more involved critique) will eventually enter the picture during a course. Low-stakes assignments will most often receive very little or no teacher comments.

“The goal of low-stakes assignments is not to produce excellent pieces of writing, but to get students to think, learn, and understand the course material,” Elbow writes (351).

But Elbow isn’t, and I’m not, saying that there shouldn’t be a place for high-stakes writing assignments. Higher stakes written pieces (longer essays, terms papers) become projects where there are multiple drafts and students get feedback from their teacher and often other students. In my mind, in the draft process a student is walking a paper forward with increased accuracy and focus thanks to supportive guidance. I very much agree with these lines from Elbow – “Assigning more writing, using less response, and using more praise doesn’t mean leaving out all criticism or lowering standards. Students need the experience of writing a great deal and getting minimal low-stakes responses because they tend to associate writing with criticism and high stakes” (357). Elbow finishes this thought with “(w)e are actively setting up powerful conditions for learning by getting students to do something they wouldn’t do without the force of our teaching” (357).

The educating “force” of my favorite teachers definitely existed.  They set standards I wanted to meet, taught me things I didn’t know, and let me explore a bit with my writing.  Looking at it now, I’m not sure how much was planned and how much was setting a stage  for education to happen, but it worked.  They also, like Quintilian and Elbow express in their books, cared about students.  I mentioned faith in education and writing earlier, and I’ll add another item to my list.  I also have faith that students, when provided with support and guidance, will prosper. I know not every student will fall in love with writing and books, and that is to be expected.  But writing and books shouldn’t be seen as the enemy, as something that creates a feeling of failure.

My theory of writing instruction calls on me as an educator to provide great readings, ample opportunity to write in various ways, thoughtful feedback, and a classroom space that is supportive for learning writers and the writing process. A final point is that by demonstrating a high level of caring about the subject, about learning, and about the students I will hopefully be able to show how important writing can be to young people.

Works Cited

Elbow, Peter.  Everyone Can Write: Essays Toward a Hopeful Theory of Writing and     Teaching Writing.  New York: Oxford University Press, 2000. E-book.

Quintilian.  “From Institutes of Oratory.” The Rhetorical Tradition: Readings from Classical Times to the Present.  Eds. Patricia Bizzell and Bruce Herzberg.  Boston: Bedford/St. Martin’s, 2001.  359-428.  PDF.