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.

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. 

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. 

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. 

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.