Promoting Expressive Writing

WHO WAS LOOKING ANYWAY?

Just had to try this out. I’m always looking for new ways to direct writing activities that foster kids’ interest rather than the “have-to writes.”

After reading a student’s response in my distance learning writing class this summer to a message by another, I was struck by her comments on the work she did to help students pass their writing test and then her rationale on why they didn’t. Several other teachers in her school commiserated with her as well —their students didn’t pass either.

Are we surprised when kids don’t pass after our stoic endeavors to give them the tools, even though we believe there is a better way then how we’ve been directed to do this?

If you haven’t read Thomas Newkirk’s new book Holding on to Good Ideas in a Time of Bad Ones: Six Literacy Principles Worth Fighting For, I would suggest it.

Anyway, he talks about the generative role of language use in a marvelous chapter on expressive writing. Also follow the discussion on Ning to see how teachers are responding to this book, especially the chapter on Expressive Writing!

He has lots of ideas but I took to this one:

Have your students select an experience that didn’t last more than five or six minutes, but that they remember in absolute detail. The example in his book leaves me with shivers just thinking about it.

Anyway, here goes mine:

A Courtroom Experience

When we got to the jury room, my 11th grade social studies class rolled into their seats. The austerity of the room grabbed me. The seats were pews; the judge’s bench situated augustly above us all. The two tables up front were positioned for the Defense and the Prosecution. The jury box sat separate with the decision up there in the ether. The wood paneling, the stark white of the walls, the light angling in from huge windows set the scene for the trial to begin.

I felt my knee genuflect as I turned to enter the pewlike seat, not just bend but hit the floor!

My face flushed as I quickly realized what was happening—the Catholic-like atmosphere had launched me into church mode. I abruptly stopped my hand from making the sign of the cross. My face flushed; my mind whirled: how could I redeem myself, but the twitters—not the mobile kind— had already started. Fortunately at that time, cell phones had not been born. My activities would have been up on You Tube in a flash. My face burned; I felt damp all over. Embarrassment is so obvious in its manifestations!

Could I pretend I was picking something up from the floor? Some of the kids were smiling trying to keep themselves from rolling over gagging—at least those who knew church culture; others looked around perplexed. What was going on? Suddenly, the silence of the courtroom was filled with muffled sounds; gagging laughs, voluable honks, and stifled squeaks. Furtive glances streamed up and down the rows.

I shrugged my shoulders looking all around, and smiled as if to say:

“Yes, you’re right, your teacher is capable of weird behavior, let’s get on with the business at hand.”

The bailiff asked us to rise.

Carrol