Category Archives: Amy Rasmussen
You Know It’s True. Get to it!
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Scaffolding or Struggling, Sinking vs Thinking
So, when the school year started, I was all about scaffolding. I would do this, and my students would do that. I’d provide, build, prop, support until my students were writing their souls onto the paper. Good idea, right? Yeah, it worked about two weeks.
Then, I realized my students were bored. No matter how much I tried to get them interested in doing the learning my way, they were all about doing the learning their way: they wanted me to “get them started” and then let them GO.
Since I am a control freak, this presented a problem. What if they did the work wrong? What if they didn’t learn the skill I needed them to learn? What if I couldn’t stay on the carefully crafted schedule I’d created?
Yep. That last question—see? There’s the problem. I wanted the learning to be about me. My schedule. My way or the highway. I had to learn to let go and let them.
My approach to writing instruction changed. Instead of pounding my students sweet heads with pre-writing strategies, although colorful additions to their writing notebooks, I started more carefully following the advice I’d learned from great coaches like Jeff Anderson, Penny Kittle and Cris Tovani.
One thing I changed: I started using better mentor texts. I found pieces of writing that included the skill I wanted students to learn, pieces that were inflammatory or insulting—you know, writing that made students crazy with the need to respond? Pieces that made students think. We’d read these pieces together, and then I’d ask the students questions that helped them discover the writing skill in the piece. Inevitably, students will find what I hope they’ll find—if the mentor text is a good one.
For example, I just read this piece by Stephen King entitled “Tax Me, for F@%&’s Sake” that I plan on using in class one day soon. The title alone will make my students want to read it. (Careful–obviously, there is some salty language.) Take a peek:
What charitable 1 percenters can’t do is assume responsibility—America’s national responsibilities: the care of its sick and its poor, the education of its young, the repair of its failing infrastructure, the repayment of its staggering war debts. Charity from the rich can’t fix global warming or lower the price of gasoline by one single red penny. That kind of salvation does not come from Mark Zuckerberg or Steve Ballmer saying, “OK, I’ll write a $2 million bonus check to the IRS.” That annoying responsibility stuff comes from three words that are anathema to the Tea Partiers: United American citizenry.
And hey, why don’t we get real about this? Most rich folks paying 28 percent taxes do not give out another 28 percent of their income to charity. Most rich folks like to keep their dough. They don’t strip their bank accounts and investment portfolios. They keep them and then pass them on to their children, their children’s children. And what they do give away is—like the monies my wife and I donate—totally at their own discretion. That’s the rich-guy philosophy in a nutshell: don’t tell us how to use our money; we’ll tell you.
The writing devices in this excerpt scream to be discussed: Hello? Tone, Dash–baby, Word Choice Wonders, Asyndeton’s a-list, Repetition-Repetition, and more!
If I trust my students to search, find, think, and discuss what makes this writing effective—they will. Then, not only can I encourage my kids to use devices like this in their own writing, I can craft questions that get them thinking about topics to write about. Voile! My mentor text is now an ideas generator.
Questions like: What kind of story might be titled “One Single Red Penny”? What topics emerge from these paragraphs? Why should you care about United American citizenry? What are some things you’d like people to “get real” about? What are some things you consider “annoying responsibility stuff”? What are some treasures your family passes down from children to “their children’s children”?
My students will get into these questions, and look at all the different types of writing they can produce just by thinking about these topics? Literary, expository, persuasive.
Thinking. Maybe that’s the deal here. When I provide too much scaffolding, my students do not have to think near as much as when I let them struggle through.
In the rear of my classroom, I have a wall painted with chalkboard paint that says in colorful fancy letters: It’s TIME to think. Maybe it’s just me, but thinking equates to struggle, and I am pretty sure that’s where the learning is.
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Speed Dating in AP English
It’s getting close to AP exam time, and it’s also a time when my students are worn out. They come to class with glazed looks, and the bags under their eyes are often bigger than the sagging of their pants. I try to put on the neon hat and shock them into waking up and staying with me for another month, so any new strategy that tweets my way, I am willing to try.
Flashback to why this strategy matters:
One of the questions on the AP English Language and Composition exam requires students to respond to a prompt and compose an argument in which they use evidence from their own knowledge and experiences to build their credibility and prove their assertion. I tell my kids: You need a big knowledge cloud that you can pluck from during the test. What do you know about _________? Because the more you build your credibility and show that you are thinking on paper, the better argument you will write.
To help build that knowledge cloud, I have to push knowledge, specifically knowledge of a student’s world. If students read or listened to the news, this would be easy—but, most don’t.
My burning question? How do I create a topic dump with current events?
First, I came up with the idea to give students a topic, i.e., freedom, conformity, sustainability. As homework they have to research the topic enough so they can bring a news article to class that reflects that topic in some way. We got this far, and I wasn’t sure what I was going to have my students do with the articles once they found them. Then, I listened in to @dontworryteach, @dlaufenberg, and @mssandersths discussing “speed dating” on Twitter, and I took their ideas and made them my own. Thanks PLN!
Speed Talking with Current Events
Inner Circle faces outward. Each student has read and knows his/ her news article.
Outer Circle faces inward, across from a person in the inner circle.
The students in the inner circle explain their news article to the person facing them. What happened? Why does this matter? How does it relate to the topic of the week? They speak for 2-3 minutes—only about the news article—while the outer circle person listens.
When time is called, the outer circle students think of topics that might be in the prompts given on the AP exam, and they try to figure out how they might use that news article to support an argument that relates to that topic. They speak for 1-2 minutes.
When time is called, students on the outer circle move one seat to the right.
Repeat the process of talking, listening, talking, listening.
Switch places from inner to outer circle about midway into the class period, and repeat the process.
Students repeat their news article several times, which will help them remember it. And, all students are flooded with ideas that they may find helpful in building their arguments for the AP English Language exam.
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I asked my students at the end of class today to rate this strategy on a scale of 1 to 10 with one being “It’s horrible. Never make us do this again.” And 10 being “Please let us learn like this more often.” The average rating was a nine. I’ll take that.
Variations: reviews of concepts, terms, pretty much anything you want students to talk about and remember.
I’d love to hear your ideas.
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“Mrs. R. You’re the Only Teacher Who Failed Me”
It’s tradition that at the end of graduation the teachers line the tunnel as students exit the coliseum. We clap and hug and congratulate students as they literally walk out into the sunshine of their futures. I usually enjoy the spectacle of it all: the loud hurrahs and the sweaty hugs. But last spring, instead of the smiles and thanks that in years past I tucked away as a sweet ending to another school year, I got a reluctant side squeeze and a comment that sunk my heart to my toes:
“Mrs. R., you’re the only teacher who ever failed me.”
While he and I both knew what he meant (the silly guy didn’t turn in a paper all year), his words sent me spinning. I left graduation wondering: Did I fail this kid?
Maybe. But I’ve learned a thing or two that could have made a difference.
I’d recently shifted my teaching from the traditional classroom set-up to a reading and writing workshop approach to learning. I read Nancie Atwell and Donald Graves and Linda Rief. I visited teachers who were models for how workshop works on a day to day basis. I thought I had workshop figured out; it would be easy to get students to respond to my requests for writing on a regular basis.
Not quite.
First of all, different writing coaches call “workshop” different things. A workshop can be a year-long class with small groups of students doing various reading and writing tasks; or a workshop can be a single class period where students “work” through a piece of text.(And in PBL a workshop is something entirely different.) I’d yet to learn what reading and writing workshop meant to me. I knew I needed to use mentor texts, get students writing through the writing process, allow for collaboration with peers, hold mini-lessons as needed, and confer with students about their writing; but second of all, it was plain hard. I learned and implemented most of it, but I was lousy at holding regular student conferences– the one thing that could have saved Jonathan, the one who thought I failed him, as a writer.
Conferring with students about their writing (or their lack thereof) is vital.
Jonathan would come to class empty-handed, and instead of taking the time to say: “How’s the writing going….”, I’d shake my head and tick off in my grade book that he had a missing assignment. I needed to get to the kids who’d actually brought drafts with them—they needed my time, not the slackers. Hindsight is a cruel teacher. Every student needs a conference not just the ones with papers in their hands. A one minute conversation might have made a difference to this boy, who loved playing the drums and moonlighting as a DJ, but had no use for putting thoughts on a page.
In the book Write Beside Them, Penny Kittle states in regard to conferring with students: “I work hard to listen, encourage, and direct my teaching toward something that will help this writer at this moment in time.” I needed to do that, too.
Writing conferences are essential to getting some students to even begin to put pen to paper. Some students need coaxing through the whole process. I doubt it matters if they are 7 or 17. Maybe it’s fear. Maybe it’s stubbornness. Doesn’t matter. Those initial one-on-one conferences must be purposeful and timely. Maybe if I’d taken the time to listen to this kid instead of demanding something from him, Jonathan’s behavior, work ethic, productivity, and final average in my class would have been different. I missed the opportunity, and he missed out on his credit. Yep, although it was his fault he failed my class, I think I failed him as a writing teacher.
But I’ve learned a thing or two that will make a difference. Maybe future Jonathans will benefit.
How do you conduct writing conferences? Please share your tips for pulling in and keeping students in the writing process?
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Turning Discovery and Learning Over to the Student: That’s Workshop
On occassion, teachers ask me to explain what I mean when I start talking about my reading/ writing workshop classroom. The following is a response to an initial request on Twitter, which later expanded to questions and answers. Tweet: “I am thinking of switching to a workshop approach. Does anyone have any pointers?” Well, yes, actually, I do.
First of all, there are many definitions of “workshop.” Some gurus like Donalyn Miller go with an all student choice approach, while others like Kelly Gallagher and Nancie Atwell incorporate some whole class reading and instruction into their workshop classrooms. While my district is working to implement workshop into the curriculum this summer, we are trying to define what workshop means to us. This is what we’ve deciced so far:
Reading/Writing Workshop means students have a say in the titles and topics in which they read and write. Students read, discuss, write, and share in small and large groups. Teachers continually hold “book talks” and introduce new books, so that students have numerous titles in which they may choose self-selected reading. Teachers may also have short lists (perhaps 5-6 titles) in which students may choose titles and form small book clubs or literature circles. Students gain the pleasure of reading about topics and events that interest them; teachers focus on skills that help students become more critical readers. Students develop as writers as they choose topics that relate personally to their lives. They learn to take pride in their work as they take their writing thoroughly through the writing process and practice the habits of published authors. Teachers introduce mentor texts in which students analyze and model an author’s craft and style. Ultimately, students publish their writing and find pleasure and satisfaction in potentially getting feedback from their audiences.
As you can tell, we’ve combined several different “workshop” models into what we think might work best for our kids. When I first learned about workshop I read Atwell’s book In the Middle, which was great, but I quickly realized that her idea of a student-centered (and self-motivated) classroom would not work with the majority of my sophomores. I knew that I needed to offer more direction. My kids either jump off task and topic quicker than I can take a breath, or they are lumps of lard waiting for something exciting like the monthly fire drill. There’s no way Atwell’s “divide-the-class-into-groups-and-have-them-work-through-center-type-activities” would ever work with my on-level students (my AP kids another story). I had not attended Penny Kittle’s training yet, nor had I read her book Write Beside Them. Once I learned from Kittle, I knew I could create a workshop model that would work for my students.
I’ll try to answer your questions, and then really, you’re right– jump in with both feet! You’ll learn through trial and error, and if nothing else, your students will be reading and writing and engaged.
Q: Normally, we think of each grade level by the books students read. Juniors read American Lit (Huck Finn, Scarlett Letter), Seniors read Brit Lit (Beowulf, 1984). If we move to a workshop, what defines each grade level? What makes sophomore year different from junior year? Is it just a constant reinforcement of the skills?
A: Yes, it’s a skills-based focus. Pull out the standards and decide which are the most important. Texas now does this for us with our Readiness and Supporting standards. We did not join with the National Core, and I am not sure what those look like at different grade levels. I’m pretty sure that no matter there are some standards that must be much more recursive than others. Those are the ones we return to over and over again with reading and writing workshops. For example, our new state mandated test (STAAR), which starts this coming year, will include narrative & expository writing (9th grade), expository & persuasive writing (10th grade), persuasive & analytical writing (11th grade). Obviously, the skills needed to write in these forms will be taught throughout the year, ideally through the use of mentor texts, teacher modeling, and delving deeply into the writing process, which must be the focus–process–more than the product.
I believe it is still possible to move through thematic units with American Lit at 11th and Brittish Lit at 12th. My district still mandates a few “required” texts at each grade level, and the new workshop curriculum will reflect the same American Lit then Brittish Lit as you mention; we just now have the freedom to either do all of the text or just excerpts, and the approach is different– student-centered learning instead of the ‘ole Sage on the Stage: teacher at the front of the room doing all the talking, and kids glaring at their eyelids trying to remember what they read in Spark Notes so they can pass the end-of-class quiz.
Q: We have partial block. Monday-Wednesday are 50 minutes.. and then we block 90 minutes Thurs/Friday. So I only see my students four days a week. How would you recommend we organize the workshops with those time limitations?
A: I work within the constraints of 47 minute classes five days a week. I’d love to have your 90 minutes on Thurs/Fridays, but I’m not exactly sure how to tell you what I’d do with them. I think your organization will come naturally as you play with what approach to workshop feels right to you and works best for your kids.
Q: How do students keep everything organized? Do they have a reader’s notebook, writer’s notebook.. and then some way to publish their finished products?
A: Yes, all students have writer’s notebooks. We use the hardbacked composition books because they hold up so much better and are less of a hassle than spirals. Make sure to work in time for students to decorate and take ownership of their notebooks. This is vital. Also, teachers must create a notebook and model writing for their students as often as possible.
We made our notebooks “interactive” because our science department had great success with students cutting and pasting all handouts in their science notebooks. Students liked the Kindergarten-ness of scissors and glue…oh, and foldables, kids love foldables!
Q: I was thinking the publishing would be perfect on a blog. What do you do for that?
A: I have a class blog http://rasmussena.edublogs.org/, and my students all have their own blogs. My AP kiddos do great at publishing pretty much once a week. Three kids are even getting published as student samples in Tony Romano and Gary Anderson’s book Expository Writing. I’m proud! (a Twitter connection–another testament to PLN). I was not as successfull getting my 10th graders to take ownership and publish on their blogs. My fault. I expected more than they could give without more time in the lab and instruction from me. I will handle blogging differently with my on-level students next year, but so far, blogging is the best thing I’ve found for students to publish to a world-wide audience, and I’m determined to make it work with all my students.
Other publishing resources- Teen Ink, Teen Ink Raw and lots of online writing contests. Google it. I also want to compile a class anthology that students publish at the end of the year.
Q: Are there some things you can do as a full-class? For example: Macbeth with my seniors. I have the Folger book with the Macbeth activities that I love doing where the students act out portions of the play. Normally, I devote a month to Macbeth. Obviously, that would need to be drastically cut down in a workshop. How do you incorporate some of those whole-class studies that would be too challenging for the students to do on their own?
A: As stated previously, the definition of workshop is different to many people. Whole class instruction can still happen and be called workshop. Are students reading? talking about texts? problem solving? analyzing? Are students writing? responding to challenging texts? learning from one another? Yes?? You’ve got a workshop!
I attended a training last summer where Sheridan Blau of National Writing Project fame now a professor at Berkley (I think) held several “workshops” in the course of the afternoon. Blau called the following a workshop:
1. Read the poem.
2. Respond in your notebook.
3. Share response in small group.
4. Discuss and analyze poem in small group.
5. Share out in whole class.
6. Respond in notebook to whole class discussion.
I love the simplicity of this. I learned a similar approach from Penny Kittle. Basically, it’s turning the discovery and learning over to the students. It’s allowing and teaching them to think and share their thoughts. In my experience, students always find the literary elements and devices that I want them to learn. They might not know the term, but they can “find what’s interesting.” The interesting thing leads to me teaching them the skill.
Okay, that’s a lot of information, and I hope it’s clear. Questions? Ask away. I’m happy to help
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I Want to Be That Teacher
Lately on Facebook I’ve noticed a rash of “You know you grew up in _____ if…” status updates. The comments vary from favorite restaurants and haunts to town and school traditions. It’s been interesting to note how often the conversation turns to high school teachers, and surprisingly, most of the comments are positive. I am fascinated by what people remember.
I have a few memories of my own:
Mr. Strittmatter who wrote out algebraic equations as if they were poetry, and I finally got math.
Mr. Tisdel who loved Melville and planted in me a love of literature.
Mrs. Shirey who devoted hours of her life, so I could say I created a great yearbook.
But here’s the thing: when I try to analyze what they did, I come up short. Was it kindness, patience, passion for their content, the sheer joy of teaching? A myriad of other things? I don’t know.
I do know I remember them: names, faces, the way they made me feel.
In a week, I start my 6th year teaching, and as I think about how I will partner with my students one question resonates:
What do teachers do that create the impact on a student that lasts for decades?
I want to be that teacher.
Three Teachers Talk 