This week Jay Matthews of the Washington Post drew attention to the problem of teaching writing in our public schools.
It's awful. That's the consensus.
His argument was sparked by a commentary earlier in the week by Paula Stacy in Education Week where she bemoans the lifeless writing products which pass for good thinking when students arrive in colleges and universities.
She's right, you know. In the main, writing instruction, when it is addressed at all, is horrible.
If you ever had to evaluate a raft of these so-called papers, you too would bemoan the state of writing in the United States. The papers are wooden, lifeless, replete with errors, and simplistic in their thinking.
In short, they follow the process steps outlined in various formulas (like the dreaded five-paragraph essay). Teaching formulaic writing is similar to teaching dance by pasting the silhouette of footprints on a dance floor and asking the dancer to follow the prescribed steps in some semblance of a rhythm.
And we all know what that looks like: rhythmically-challenged white guy trying to boogie.
Having read my fair share of five-paragraph essays, it's clear an instructor barely has to read in order to make an assessment since the path the student is taking is telegraphed in the thesis statement. No surprises. No turns of thought. Just scan down the page and see if paragraph one matches their first point, with some evidence; paragraph two should follow suit, and so forth, until arriving at a conclusion that restates the thesis (again, dear idiot reader, in case the point isn't clear yet through mindless repetition).
Poor Montaigne. How he must roll over in his grave. His "essai"--meaning attempt at understanding, often without a neat conclusion, sometimes even with more questions than answers--has come to this: all problems solved in three easy steps.
Writing has long been a neglected art in all of formal education. Why? There are a number of reasons, but first and foremost is the lack of attention and time spent understanding the craft of writing or using writing the way it is intended--as a tool for further learning.
The inattention to writing has been perpetuated for generations.
Poor writing instructors teach the next generation what they were taught and those hapless students grow up to teach the next class and so forth. And now districts can buy all the easy answers in a box, hand them out to teachers, ask them to spend an hour or two on writing twice a semester and feel smug in having resolved the writing problem. (Starting to see the danger in the "three solutions to every problem" thinking we've structured for ourselves?)
Teachers, like most of the adult population, are insecure in their own writing (having either hated it, been chastised for poor spelling, commas, what have you, or convinced that writers spring fully formed from the mind of Zeus and cannot be shaped by instruction.)
There is one group that has championed good instruction in writing for more than 30 years: The National Writing Project. This, one of the true academic communities in existence today--modeling learning through inquiry even beyond the level of most academic communities in our universities--brings teachers together to share best practice in both teaching and using writing.
In its often-heralded capstone professional learning program -- the Intensive Summer Institute-- the National Writing Project insists that teachers write, for themselves but also for their students. When the teachers return to their schools after the institute, they are often the oddball down the hall who is doing something weird with their kids--and getting results.
Teacher Consultants trained through the Writing Project write with and in front of their students modeling the messy, recursive process of composing a thought into the clearest expression possible. From invention to publishable quality piece, writing project teachers show their students where an idea comes from, how it is developed, how an audience shapes a message, how writing helps clarify thinking, and that anyone can be a writer--one who makes meaning from experience. Most TCs look for real-world writing opportunities for students, journal regularly, give students latitude in choosing topics, and infuse writing into every subject area.
The problem with writing in our schools is that it is treated as a separate discipline, when it should be a part of every subject. The irony in today's current instruction is that we assume that a child can sit down and produce a piece of writing that reflects their thinking without having been provided ample opportunity to first think independently.
Writing should inform every subject with students writing to themselves first. Even a kindergartner can ask "What do I already know about the changing seasons?" Students can collect their own data: What did I see on the way to school today that helps me understand how the earth rotates around the sun? What questions do I have about how the world works? What are my strengths? How do I know when I'm competent? What have I done that I am proud of? How did I do that?
These are real questions of inquiry that students can wrestle with in their own language and are a necessary step in learning any subject. Writing is a separate form of thinking wherein the writer comes to know his or her own mind. It is a necessary step in understanding and retaining experience. It is a record of where the mind has been. Oddly, after composing a true inquiry, the writer, rather than the reader, is the one who knows the subject best.
And, when used in this context, writing ISN'T about correctness. It is about thinking.
Our kids write poorly because they are asked to write what they do not know. And adults who have survived this method of formulaic composition do the same--and then act accordingly--finding repetitive, simplistic answers to weighty and complex problems. We cannot afford to perpetuate three-answer-group-think in a world with increasingly complex, global problems.
By the way--The National Writing Project-- probably the most under leveraged tool for improving instruction in our nation's school, repeatedly held up as the gold standard for professional development, and among the cheapest (the budget for the entire nation was only 22 million) was cut from the Department of Education budget last year.
Oh, well. That leaves 22 million more for multiple-choice testing.
At least those tests give you four choices instead of three.