Modes, Texts, and Affordance

I enjoyed reading both selections from “The Inner World of the Immigrant Child,” and “Literacy Moves On,” and feel that they are an appropriate compliment for each other, the former an experiential explanation of the latter. As there are a number of great discussions already underway concerning first article, I will devote this post primarily to the more analytical of the two texts.

Author Janet Evans presents a very interesting case surrounding the issue of multimodal literacy education and invites the reader to consider both the reality and the implications of students growing up in a technologically revolutionized age. She describes how user demands irreversibly enmeshed with technology changes, that is users (increasingly children) use technology to the point where user demands cause technology advances – and that it is the expectation that change will occur to meet those desires. One of the questions Evans brings out from her exploration of the public ire is to ask whether or not students are being prepared for the technology that is going to receive them after their schooling. I wonder how much of that should be the schools role? Should we be considering it to be increasingly a part of the core content in our classrooms (i.e., iMovie, Powerpoint, Ipads, etc.)?

I will say that I found the discussion on two points in Evans writing quite fascinating, though they were only brief (though important) markers throughout our readings. First is the essential question, “What is a text.” I find this point particularly interesting as it reminds me of one of the core questions in the field of linguistics, namely, “What is a word.” I linguistics, there are some who look to morphology (the study of parts of words) to say that a “word” can be something as plane as “plan,” as small as “-er” (plan-er) and as broad as including multiple “words” as one “word,” as it were. It seems here that the term “text” is asking for revision in response to a new age, a new generation of students and a new ideology about literacy, moving from mere text to a broader, more fluid definition:

“A text is now seen as a unit of communication that may take the form of something written down but also a chunk of discourse, for example speech, a conversation, a radio program a TV advert, text messaging, a photo in a newspaper, and so on.”

If this is how we define a text, and I do think this is an accurate description, how does this effect our instruction? Undoubtedly it is our role as teachers to move our students to a point to where they can clearly communicate their ideas in words alone – an important skill, especially in the context of certain professions (consider succinct business emails). But, if this has truly become only one aspect of literacy, how do we discover what our students already know about these different modes and how do we utilize that knowledge to help the explore them further while still teaching them the “hard word” of writing text only projects. Are there any who believe that this is outside of the realm of teacher responsibility – that is to say, it should not be incorporated into the standards?

Which brings me to my second point, perhaps one that will be explored in greater depth next semester (perhaps challenged outright): If we have redefined “text,” then a definition of “reading” needs to be rediscovered as well. Do we need to teach reading strategies for different modes? Or do we expect that students, having gained the basic power of reading books (however basic that is) to discover this on their own? In trying to think back on my own schooling, I do remember learning how to read a map (though I’m still not great at it), how to type, how to search for things on the web (and how to discern between what I found), and I even learned how to play video games from my friends. But, perhaps I’m old-school in that way.

Finally, what would be gained if we used many modes in teaching literacy in our classrooms? What would be lost? In the same way that we are asked by Evans to consider what is afforded by different texts, what does diversified “textual” instruction afford the students, and what might it take from them?

MGRP Reflection

This was easily the most enjoyable project of my entire collegiate career, and it’s little wonder why. Everything was my choice, my design, my interest, my creativity. It was liberating… which is surprising for me as I generally tend to grow in anxiety with fewer directions. Researching my topic was almost… thrilling. Choosing and creating the genre pieces was addicting and borderline debilitating, given the other work I have to do which often found itself skirting the border of neglect. I am excited to present tomorrow because I know that, though my work is not what I consider totally complete, it is still a full representation of both my topic and the fun I had in making it.

If I had to go back and tweek anything, it would be keeping to a timeline. Admittedly, the due date crept up on me a little bit – I think I mentally posted it under “Finals Week,” and never went back to reorganize my files. Other than allowing myself more time to hone and perfect what really felt like my craft (which would have meant more and perhaps more complex genres), I can’t think of much I would have changed.

I am convinced that I want to do this with my students. Why wouldn’t I? With the fun I had, I can only imagine what a 3^rd, 4^th or 5^th grader might do with this! Granted, I recognize that there are often institutional restrictions in some schools and districts, but let’s pretend we can circumnavigate those obstacles for now.

In terms of teaching inquiry and writing through the MGRP, there is no question that this is a deep resource. Everything about it involved writing, reading, re-reading, comprehending what I read and re-reading it again to get the right feel. For a kid like me who wants to get it “right,” this would keep me at my table all day. I love that it is so interesting! If it would be possible to make all of school this engaging, I think we would have a different picture of student achievement.

It does point out areas for concern and improvement as I move forward personally as a teacher. The amount of preparation and organization to keep this project rolling smoothly for a class of some thirty-odd students would be immense – it would be on me to find a way to make sure that I had as many safeguards to divert the chaos which is breeding just beneath the surface of this project. It would also be important to keep on top of the time – making sure that I knew, that my students knew and that my students’ families knew exactly where we were and how much further we had to go in the project.

All in all, this project is a big “Win” for me. I enjoyed it thoroughly and am looking forward to seeing it come to life in whatever classroom life affords.

Bright as a Button

Allen’s discussion of bringing subjects to life felt like a flyover, but I think she gave us a brief look at the important landmarks. For me, there were three main points that caught my attention.

First was her point of showing instead of telling. I have heard this mantra before and when I read a well shown story I do appreciate it more than a well-told story, but I have to admit, when I’ve tried to address this in my own writing I have felt a little like I was splitting hair. Finding a way to explain this idea to students who notice or create fine details in their writing I think might be a challenge because I know that, for me, sometimes “telling” feels an awful lot like “showing.” [For my part, I should probably practice a little more, too].

When Allen gave the “model a quickwrite, then revise,” I have to admit I cringed a little. I didn’t cringe because I disagree that it would be a good tool to use for students who are having trouble getting their MGRP started, but because I know how much I dislike doing it myself. My tendency has always been to lumber through a piece, sentence by sentence, making as many changes through the writing process as I can, reducing the revision process. However, I do see the value in this tool and do use it myself from time to time.

Last but not least, Allen implores us to kill clichés – to avoid them like the plague. She is dead serious and has a real bone to pick with these phrases which have been worn to a frazzle, and I agree – her point is as plain as the nose on your face. Though it may be an uphill battle, cutting these out of your writing does help with clarity and allows for the writers creativity to create depth for the reader. I know of a man, a prominent Christian preacher, who spent time as a young man writing out certain ideas in a hundred (literally) different ways, forcing himself to stretch his vocabulary and syntactic limits. Though this task may be dull as dishwater for many, he seemed to express that he was happy as a clam when he had finally found these new forms. In a nutshell, I think Allen’s heart to heart about avoiding clichés hit the nail on the head, and we should all keep a stiff upper lip with our cliché using students who are stubborn as a mule and won’t give them up.

Naked Verse

“Poetry [like death?] is the great equalizer.” –Camille A. Allen

There is little more I can see to add to Allen’s chapter except to add my personal experience with poetry and think about how I can use both in my classroom.

I have to admit that I made a start at writing my response in the form of a poem. However, as I share many of the same feelings shared in the opening of our poetry chapter, I couldn’t bring myself to finish it, much less present it. This was due in part to my recently developed cold and in part to the fact that poetry and I have as strained a relationship as any.

I do remember experiencing many of the lessons mentioned in Allen’s chapter, from acrostics, to “I Am” poems and the like. They were for me an entrance into a form with which I would have a long and fractured romance.

As soon as I was introduced, I loved poetry. It was freeing for me. For most of my gradeschool years, I had great difficulties writing. The chore that I could never seem to overcome was the incessant need to neatly organize (word-for-word) all that I was about to write before I set pencil to paper. This was true no matter whether it was a grades essay or a free-writing session. I don’t know what it was exactly, but I do know it took some time and the help of two amazing women to get past my hesitancy in writing.

Poetry, though, seemed easier somehow. I will be honest and say that I don’t know how the timeline works out exactly, I just know that around the time I was receiving help was around the time that I began to write poetry.

What poetry was able to do for me was to give me an outlet to play with words without remorse and, most fantastically, without a wild amount of punctuation (I still haven’t fully grasped all the nuances of punctuation). To condense the story, I eventually began writing poetry constantly, even up through my early college years, sometimes penning as many as one every other day (though, I would have only dared to share perhaps three from the lot).

Then, one long summer day, I was duped. My grandmother and mother, with the greatest intentions, took a short piece of my prose, modified it into a more poetic look and entered it into some national contest. I didn’t know about it until I had won. And, I’ll admit it – I was thrilled. I had put down my pen for some time leading up to that point, for various reasons, but this afforded me new steam. I began writing again with a fervor and confidence I hadn’t felt in years.

But then, as you might have guessed, the contest turned out to be a sham. A hoax. There was no committee that read my work. No real appreciation of what I had done. No, I was being used and, had they tugged me one step further, they might have had me swindled.

So, I stopped. I no longer write poetry. I’ll admit an occasional rhyme in jest, but, for the most part, the serious stuff is over. I don’t know if I will ever start again.

Now, from the autobiographical mess above I do think there is an application to be drawn out. Allen mentioned that poetry is an emotional experience, and I couldn’t agree more. Poetry is a mode of expression that begs for the soul’s dances and dirges. It is intimate. That is why it is freeing and beautiful. That is why it is terrifying.

When I found that my work was being exploited, I felt exploited. I still do, in many ways. How profoundly connected can a writer be to his or her writing?! I think it will be important for us to remember that when we begin to use poetry in our classrooms, we are asking our students to do something that can be frightening, uncomfortable and at the same time be beautiful and liberating. We will need to find a way to honor whatever they write and be ready for some of the big, “hard-to-deal-with” stuff that comes out on their pages. I know that not everyone will enjoy poetry (I’ll be the first to admit that reading it can be a bore). But, there will be a happy few who will see this new writing landscape and pour streams of themselves out into its fields and valleys. That’s when we need to be ready to honor and affirm not only their writing but the person they choose to share.

MGRPs in Action

Perhaps I’m easy to catch, but I couldn’t help but notice the emphasis of teaching students “skills in context” (Allen, 2001). Perhaps that was by design, or it could simply be because my research for my own Multigenre Research Paper (MGRP) (which has unfortunately pushed this post to the periphery) has a focus on this point as well. Either way, it caught my attention.

MGRPs, from both the book’s description and even in our short experience so far in doing one on our own. Hopefully I will be able to return to this in more detail later on in the week, but I found Powell and Davidson’s article to be a great example of the process and benefits explained by Allen. Removing the “meaningless” and “degrading” effects of treating students as passive recipients of information and knowledge (Powell & Davidson, 2005) by allowing them to engage in interesting and, in the case of the MGRP model, self-chosen topics which still reach out to meet the standards of their respective school systems.

An interesting point is the difference between Allen’s interaction with parents and Powell and Davidson’s note about their less than ideal communication. This does highlight in a testimonial how important, and perhaps difficult, it is to allow parents to also play an active role through informing and involving them throughout. Powell and Davidson’s description of the low, three-parent turnout is discouraging to hear, especially given the high level of investment and excitement on the part of the students (Powell & Davidson, 2005).

Works Cited

Allen, C. A. (2001). The Multigenre Research Paper: Voice, Passion, and Discovery in Grades 4-6. (B. Varner, Ed.) Portsmouth, NH: Hinneman.

Powell, R., & Davidson, N. (2005). The Donut House: Real World Literacy in an Urban Kindergarten Classroom. Language Arts , 82 (5), 248-256.

Proceduring Process

Whew.

Let me begin with this: I'm finally ready to start. Having moved in from Jersey the week before school began, it has taken me until now to finally get situated, organized and to get rid of that terrible fog of not knowing where everything was or what I needed to do next. It is truly a relief.

I was, interestingly, startled with a simple idea as I was finally putting giving everything a place and putting everything in them. Something many of you know and have known for years (as I have, to a degree) and perhaps some of you have even implemented with success. As I was trying to motivate myself in the usual way to "keep myself organized" with the same bored self-talk and rhetoric, admonishing, threatening and encouraging myself to "just keep it clean," I began to feel that same dread that always comes in a clean room. I remember life will happen, tired and apathetic days will come, and two or three weeks from now I'll have to start all over again.

But, this time there was something new. In observing classrooms this semester, both the good and the works in progress (hopefully), one theme continues to resurface again and again: Procedures are important. Teachers who have them seem to be able to move effortlessly from lesson to lesson, student to student, and task to task. Those who don't (or haven't found a way to implement the ones they have) are struggling and sometimes begging for the students attention and cooperation.

Procedures are important. That was the thought. If they are so important in the classroom for classroom management, teacher success and (thus, in theory) student success, why not start trying a few on now? Why not start making some procedures for my life so I can learn what it's like to live and work with them?

I'm still at the start and I haven't written any down yet (that's on my to-do list), but I have noticed that my initial reaction is to pull away from them. Procedures and protocols are tiresome and oppressive, at first. They sometimes tell me that I can't do what I want to do right now and ask me to look further down the line. For instance, I sometimes want to walk into my room, kick off my shoes, toss my bag down and go straight to Hulu (online television), but my procedure is to empty my bag, hang up my keys, put away my shoes and check my to-do list. That's not what I want or what is natural at first. But, I have hope that given time and practice, they eventually will become easier and more second-nature (plus, when I break a protocol, I have to give myself 10 pushups -- which is kind of a win - win, when you think about it).

Learning how to implement procedures that I have to follow is fun not only because I'm learning how to look for situations that require them and then creating them, but I'm also learning how it feels to follow them. It takes time. It's hard. It's uncomfortable. If this is what we are going to be asking our students to do, I am thankful to be figuring out the kinks now. I am seeing how important it is to have procedures, how hard it is to adopt them and understanding why it is so important for students to own them -- if I didn't have the intrinsic motivation to keep them, I wouldn't. It would be easy to let them go. For now, I'm learning how to see the need and fill it with procedures. Hopefully I will learn how to encourage student ownership and the development of intrinsic motivation as I go along.

Dilemmas and Discourses

I appreciated the attention which Karen Wohlwend’s article “Dilemmas and Discourses of Learning to Write: Assessment as a Contested Site” drew to the realities of teaching in an actual, student-filled setting. Her discussion of the “surface dilemmas,” or, “clashes between overlapping discourses,” experienced by actual, practicing teachers is a comfort to me (perhaps strangely) as an aspiring educator. Much of the coursework thus far (in all our classes) has been chalk-full with practical, intellectually verifiable ideas printed on white pages, discussed in orderly rooms with highly educated adults, and therefore out of context. Thankfully so, on the one front, for where else can one prepare for the task of teaching students than outside of the context of students – this would have to mean, as I intend it, that when we are “learning” to teach with students, we are actually teaching. On the other hand, though, it is refreshing to read about the reality of putting ideologies and discourses into practice in the classroom where tests loom.

There are two points from this article which I hope to discuss and elaborate upon, namely the issue of navigating the tension between the desire to “provide developmentally appropriate literacy activities” (349) especially as it relates to a situation developing in the state of New Jersey (which I realize I likely out of the scope of interest for many in our cohort), and how does one address discriminatory ideologies and practices in relation to literacy education?

To address the issue of tension between state requirements and appropriate instruction, my question is simply: How does one make choices in this environment and how does this benefit students? In the particular case of New Jersey, where the current Governor has gone on record explaining his plans for tenure changes and where discussion on teacher’s job retention on students’ test scores is buzzing at high pitch.

Basing job retention on student test scores, in one line of thinking, might help to ensure that ineffective and uninterested teachers are no longer allowed to dawdle around in the system. It could help to “cut dead weight.” This, however, is true only in the case where the tests and standards are consistent, developmentally appropriate and student interested. I am confident that I am not the only one to suggest this may not be our current situation. What seems more likely to me is that more teachers will find themselves in Diane’s situation where they feel they must teach in developmentally inappropriate ways in an attempt to retain their jobs.

If it is our goal, as Americans interested in education (as many more seem to be today), to be effective teachers in student-focused learning environments, then this idea of test-based-job-retention is ridiculous. A teacher faced with the choice between giving her students what is best for them as individual learners and keeping her job, I have to imagine, will almost always choose to protect herself first. I would expect every individual, whether an educator or entrepreneur, politician or clergyman, to value their family’s welfare highly, which is why magnifying tests and standards to such a degree seems to be without much sense. I am not against tests or standards, provided they are responsibly crafted and are used as a one barometer or many for determining teacher effectiveness. Otherwise, the tension between what is developmentally appropriate (or just simply “right”) for individual learners and “the test” will only be amplified.

Perhaps less off course than the thought strand above, I found the discussion about the marginalized students in Diane’s classroom intriguing. On the one hand, there are students who are fully engaged and involved in self-led and group learning. However, a student like Jamal is not able to be included at the table because he is not like those students in either ability nor appearance. As a teacher, how does one accommodate for this? Are we to take away the table (or whatever activity or situation would be appropriately analogous) so Jamal is not forgotten, while leaving the other students without this valuable resource? So students are left out socially due to their absence with a specialist, how do we as teachers reintigrate them into the classroom? Is this simply a matter of vigilance on our part (that is, noticing these moments and situations and addressing them immediately—though, this would require more attention than we are likely able to spare), or are the tools and processes which can guide this process?

Crafting Continued

Hale is full of great ideas for encouraging and improving student writing. She has developed a system of crafts, mini-lessons and conference strategies that are brilliant and, with some thought and dedicated time, look to be relatively simple to implement. A careful eye and a patient tongue may actually be the most arduous skills to master in her scheme.

In the midst of the discussion and explanation of some of her conferring strategies (precisely between pages 121 and 124), Hale makes two subtle, harmonizing notes about her art, namely that one must remember to help build a students confidence and, from that foundation, present them with tools for self-evaluation. Throughout Crafting Writers, Hale faithfully sews the same warm thread of encouraging students, crossing crafts into compliments and using her conferences to recognize “legitimate” talents. Building the foundation of self-confidence in a student can help to develop a student’s “internal motivation,” which she notes must always be discovered and is never imparted. With a sturdy foundation as a “scholar,” they will have what they need to begin the (sometimes intimidating) task of reflection.

From a personal perspective, I know that encouragement at the early grades can be a great help in encouraging writing throughout one’s life – in my doubting moments, I still remind myself of Ms. Garrison’s (my 5^th and 6^th grade teacher) thoughtful compliments. Teaching students, “all students” (121) their strengths is crucial to their development as writers, academicians and as individuals.

I recognize that much of this is recap with, perhaps, a little bit of romanticism about actually crafting writers, but it brings me to what really is one of my only questions: will there ever be students where it is best not to point out their strengths?

My gut reaction is “no, that’s nonsense and just mean.” I think I agree with myself, but I am curious to read what others might think. I can imagine a student whose self-confidence has ballooned into a pig-headed arrogance – is it appropriate not to notice their strengths?

Again, I don’t think this is the case. Pointing out strengths might actually be the only way to reach a student who is in that frame of mind, appealing to their pride while pointing out areas of improvement.

On a side note, does anyone else have trouble coming up with meaningful, relevant questions from some of our readings? With Hale, I find that she is straightforward I agree with pretty much everything she has to say. The questions I had as I read, she resolved with her balanced approach. I’m digging deep (as you can see above) to come up with some good interaction with the reading. If you have suggestions in coming up with questions, please feel free to share.

Crafting Writers: K-6

(Super)Brief Summary: Our reading selection of "Crafting Writers," by Elizabeth Hale dealt largely with "specific craft" (7) strategies for developing young students (mainly in the intermediate-elementary range) into independent writing artists. Hale provides the reader with a reading tool used to locate and extract elements of "good writing," which can then be introduced to students as they develop in their writing.

[Apologies for the insert: Does anyone remember whether or not we refer to readings in the past or present tense? I employ the present tense below.]

In trying to come up with literacy related questions, I have felt somewhat stumped. Hale's presentation seemed quite forward and, all-in-all, well presented.

I do appreciate her appeal to the "art of writing" (5). I enjoy having my attention pulled towards the "style" of students' writing (3) and away from the more popular and rigid realm of writing mechanics (16). The "craft" tool I looks to be both fun and effective and is something I would like to begin developing for myself now, if possible, helping me to be readily armed come day one in the classroom.

A thought I found interesting was the relationship between our approach to "craft" and to our children's writing. There are, of course, many parallels which one could draw (i.e., "show, not tell;" focus on student writing, not rules; etc.), but the one which caught my mind was a combination of the "zoom-in" tool and crafting process, namely recognizing the small part, naming it, and saying why it's good (27). These together, though applied differently byHale, seem to be very similar concepts to those which we discussed in class last week.

When looking at a students writing, especially in the early grades, one of the important skills for a teacher is to recognize the "small part" in a student's writing which shows an understanding and skill (and from our exercises, this is itself a skill), note which skill and aspect of writing the element represents and to say why it's good. Then, "zooming in," we can focus our attention on that element and begin to build out from there. The tools which Hale provides in developing craft lessons, while in many ways standing in their own right, seem to be extensions of the "umbrella" skill of precise, positive attention and teaching from the students strengths.

Our Charge: Take Joy in Err

When I look at or hear a masterpiece, I often marvel at the highly produced and oft rehearsed end result. “What a magnificent piece,” I think after hearing a new orchestral achievement. “What a brilliant idea,” I might think after reading a new favorite story. Rarely, though, do I consider that this did not appear as one solitary spontaneous act. Never do I say or think, “What an incredible culmination of years of practice, errors and experimentation!”

Reading this week from Lyon and Moore’s “Sound Systems,” and Cusumano’s “Every Mark on the Page,” I have been drawn to consider the beginnings of what most consider to be the rudiments of education and, some might say, society, namely, possessing the ability to read and to write. Together, these writings are directions and encouragements for teachers to begin thinking about how they would teach a non-reader and non-writer to become fully effective in both skills. Taken as compliments to each other, this book and article give insights from the practical, procedural perspective and gently admonishes educators to be patient in allowing students to progress properly.

The point that most caught my attention in these writings was Cusumano’s description of the beauty in an apparent skill regression. In the analysis of a child’s writing, the child appears to have misapplied a writing rule she once knew. Cusumano acknowledges that many would assess this as a failed attempt on the child’s part. She is quick to explain, however, that this strange application of a writing convention is actually a moment youthful discovery – that she is in fact, “exploring her limits.”

Cusumano mentioned early in her article that learning to write is much like learning to speak – it is an inventive process on the part of the child, constructing their own understanding from their observations of the world around them. Considering language, reading and writing in this way should offer us as educators a reason, if no a means, for liberating children to explore the rules and limits or writing (and, perhaps to a lesser extent, reading) rather than to have those rules “imposed form without” (Cusumano, 2008).

This idea of allowing children to explore and discover writing rules and to slowly grow into readers (as described in Lyon & Moore, 2003) is wonderful. As an aspiring educator, I have to wonder: what can I do with this?

Cusumano’s consistent emphasis on “enthusiastically accepting” a child’s accomplishments as they move forward in their own learning trajectory is, I believe, at least the very first application of this idea. As educators, we will need to be diligent in remembering that the focus of our work, at least in early reading and writing, is not on our literary pronouncements and rule-instruction but is instead on child-learning. It should be our daily task to remind ourselves that our students are master craftsmen and craftswomen in training and that we are their guides along the way. Finding that balance between self-lead learning and enabling instruction will undoubtedly be a challenge, but that is our charge.

The backside of this lofty idea and wonderful charge, of course, appears to be a good amount of careful planning and consistent assessment. It is easy for me, as a pre-service educator, to continue on about beautiful ideas and ideals, so I hope to remember this next point to keep good ideas in perspective. This means work. The recommendations from both readings are not possible without intentional designs of the teacher. In learning to scaffold phonics learning, Lyon and Moore explain how important it is to understand different the stages of learning and to keep scrupulous records to inform a teacher’s guidance. Cusumano’s approach requires developing a patient heart and a positive eye, all the while being proactive in educating families and the local community about what it means and looks like to read and write. Having spoken to teachers here and there, this necessary work is also work done in our “extra” time, which will sometimes feel like more burden than it is worth. Hopefully we will find perseverance in those moments.

All in all, it is exciting to consider the creativity that goes into learning to read and write at the early stages. We will have the opportunity to guide our students towards the skills and knowledge they will need to go and create the great works which towards which the next generation can aspire. I’m looking forward to the challenge.

Works Cited

Cusumano, K. F. (2008). Every Mark on the Page: Educating Family and Community Members about Young Children's Writing. Language Arts , 86 (1), 9-17.

Lyon, A., & Moore, P. (2003). Sound Systems: Explicit, Systematic Phonics in Early Literacy Contexts. Portland, ME: Stenhouse Publishers.

Talk, Text, and Texting

In response to a question posed by Karen Wohlwend on my previous post, I have decided to draw out my thoughts here.

The question posed was whether writing is “just speech written down on paper.”

Writing is not just transcribing speech down on paper. Speech written really only exists in very specific, often academic, contexts (such as in linguistic research) and is often incomprehensible to readers, especially those who do not share the same context. When speaking, people use generalities to refer to things in time and space, drawing on immediate and personal contexts that are not contained in words, speak with extensive filler sounds, stutters, starts and restarts, and with what would be considered a wide-range ungrammaticalities. Writing, at least in its traditional sense, is a completely different animal with different rules and conventions which, in turn, sound stiff and clunky when spoken.

Further, I would say that writing extends beyond writing on paper as well. The obvious example to the point would be our blog posts and the use of "book-machines" like the Amazon's "Kindle." To extend further back in history, with the fear of being overly thorough, much writing has been done on a number of different materials from parchments to stones.

In addition and returning to our more immediate time, Mrs. Wohlwend has alluded to less formal writing on other devices, such as texting on cell phones. I find this to be an inviting thought. I have had frequent conversations with a high school teacher in Newark, NJ who has described her students, who are perennially behind in all their subject areas, as having the potential to text their papers faster than they could type them. I found this an intriguing idea (especially as I am a rather clumsy texter), and was even more drawn in when I gathered that, had she the means, she would actually consider allowing them to submit papers via text – even if only first drafts.

The benefit, naturally, would be drawing out the students already developed ability to communicate in written language. They are able to emote and explain complex ideas and life situations, often with the aide of T9 (which I use extensively). However, the drawback is that “text-talk” is deeply diverged from standard written English and is unintelligible to many readers – especially those who are not fluent in the language of the highly adaptable texting world. This is not to make a value judgment on this kind of writing, but rather to mention one of its weaknesses – inaccessibility. As a teacher, it seems reasonable and appropriate to meet students where they have texting skills and then help them to extend those to write standard American English (if you prefer). Texting certainly can provide some basic, though often technically complicated skills, but I believe these should be a baseline from which to further develop their writing.

I am interested in learning more about your thoughts concerning texting as a writing form and if you know of any resources which address this topic. Are there tools developed and in place to harvest and capitalize on the skills which these learners already have? Are there more benefits you see or reservations you have concerning texting? What are they and how can they be either be used for student benefit or adequately addressed?

Finally, what other forms of writing do you see that are accessible to the upcoming generation which we and former generations may be missing?

Picture URLs:

http://www.thecreativepenn.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/12/istock_writing.jpg

http://www.pvc.maricopa.edu/puma/nov06/teenslang.html

Community Literacy Dig: Playing with Language

Monday morning I was a part of a team conducting a “literacy dig.” As an observation team it was our task to explore, discover and collect different uses of language and literacy in a specific location over the span of approximately one half hour. Our team selected a local playground.

My role was to observe and report moments of speech between people we observed at our location. In other words, my task was to describe how people were saying what to whom.

During the time we spent collecting data I noticed three main ways of communicating between three distinct groups of speakers. The first group of speakers I will be looking at are the children who were at play. The second group of speakers consists of parents, grand-parents and other supervisors on the grounds. The third group contains the members of our research team.

Children’s Communication

“Mommy!”

The most distinct and consistent utterance I observed from the children was the calling out for their mothers and, less frequently, their fathers. The call could be heard over the entire playground at almost any given point in time, spoken with a wide range of emotions.

The two most common uses of “mommy” and “daddy” were in either expressions of excitement or pain and fear. The first half-dozen or so of the “mommy-daddy” tokens were exclamations of delight.

“Mommy, I did it!”

“Hey mom! … I climbed up that thing!”

“Mommy, look at me!”

The second most common instances of what I am calling the “mommy-daddy” token were during moments of pain or frustration. One example of this was where a young boy, around two years old, was standing next to the swing of his choice. Unfortunately the swing hung to high for him, and he saw his swinging prospect depended entirely upon his mother’s participation. Instead walking over to get her attention, he repeatedly called “Mommy!” until she arrived.

Outside of the “mommy-daddy” speech tokens, the most notable language information from children was the consistent focus on the self. In every instance I recorded, the children spoke solely in reference to, in the benefit of and in the direction towards themselves. For instance, one child called out to a group of his newfound friends:

“Come over here guys – come over here!”

Another informed his dad that he was “gonna go up the BIG slide!” – the focus being on him and his goals – and later complained, “I’m hungry. When going down a slide, a child could often be heard saying, “Mommy, look at me!”

The most obvious instance occurred when a boy was seeking the attention of his mother, who was at that time busy caring for her other child who seemed to be in some pain. He was hoping to use some playground apparatus that required an adult’s help.

Boy: “Mom!”

Mother: “Yeah” (other child crying in the background).

Boy: “I need your help with this.”

Mother: “I don’t know about that.”

Boy: “I can not… I can not do this [task] now [without your help].”

[no response]

Boy: “Mom, you can help me do something now.”

Mother: “I can’t totally help you right this second…”

The egocentric nature of children’s speech was not that surprising. They are the center of their world (as are we all, at least perceptively) and are still developing not a fuller world context from which to speak.

Adult to Child Communication

I was intrigued by the speech of adults, especially when interacting with the children. Adults would speak to children in ways that acknowledged and affirmed their centeredness. This would usually be coupled with the adoption of their speech and vocabulary, notably the expected “mommy” and “daddy.”

“Hey John, wanna go over here to this one?”

“Wanna go climb? Wanna go climb?”

A Grandfather, while pushing granddaughter on a swing sang a playful, “Aah rigidigikiky-diky.”

Often, in a similarly understanding way, adults would respond to children’s stories and statements with simple “uh-huh” and “okay” fillers, seeming to simply acknowledge that the child had spoken while not addressing the speech content.

In addition to using child accessible language and acknowledging their speech, many of the adults gave children directions in the form of questions. Instead of speaking directly and saying, “Jenny, we are leaving in five minutes,” one father told his swinging daughter:

“Hey, we’re going in three minutes, okay?”

In another instance, a father seeking to encourage his daughter to go play in another area spoke a gentle:

“You wanna swing? You wanna swing next to her?”

The first of the final two uses of language between children and adults is where adults were directing children to a particular parent, saying things like:

“Your mommy is over here.”

“That’s a daddy job.”

It is interesting again to note that the adults used words like “mommy” and “daddy,” where normal adult speech does not include these words with the same frequency.

The last use of adult to child language was in the form of reprimand, speaking in bold declaratives to attract the attention and obedience of the children.

“That’s enough, Jimmy!”

Adult to Adult Communication

The last use of language on the playground transpired in interactions between adults. Almost all speech in this context revolved around the children or child related ideas or activities. For instance, in one interaction, two grandparents were discussing a swing set:

Grandfather: “You go ahead and push

Grandmother: “Why they would put slick seats on swings, I just don’t know…”

[moments later the child nearly fell from her swing, being steadied by the grandfather]

Grandfather: “[I’m] glad I listened to you, for once!”

Finally, I captured a moment when one of the members of our research team was asking permission to photograph a child. She used language that was very different from the informal, child-like language and was more proper and deferential.

“Excuse me – I’m doing a project for class and I was wondering if I could take a picture.”

All in all I found that language use at this playground was largely informal and child-centered. With few exceptions adults would use language accessible to children when speaking to and (often) about them. Above all, the cry “mommy,” is the constant and ringing theme of the our morning’s playground music.

The Begin

Today is my first day of graduate school. And I am doing what is perhaps the coolest thing I've ever done as a student-- I'm creating a blog for class in class.

I feel a bit like a kid with a new toy... or better, a new idea. I had honestly never considered that something so informal, so public and so common (at least, to this generation) as blogs could be used as a means and even an end for literacy education. I feel a little embarrassed that I hadn't thought of it before -- but, I suppose every good idea leaves people thinking "of course! I shoulda thought of that...."

Shelby Witte's "That's online writing, not boring school writing": Writing with blogs and the Talkback Project" describes some of the enthusiam I feel for this idea, though I admit I relate more with her students than with her. At least I did as an initial reaction. One of the big appeals of blogging is that it allows an avenue for writing what is really on one's heart and mind -- whether it's a political dogfight or emotional vomit-- which is partly why I'm so excited about all this. One of the student's Witte cites said that writing one a blog was not just writing, it was their "voice." I have a voice and I, as many others, wish to be heard.

The brilliance of blogging -- especially as a tool -- is that it is such an intimate experience. Writers, students, and student writers (such as myself) can write what weighs heavy with us with the buffer of anonymity, if we so choose, and distance from our readers. But, I have to admit that for me, the intimacy has been exactly why I dislike it. In my whimsical moments, I often catch myself disclosing more in the first publishing than that with which I am later comfortable (as is true with this post). I would be curious to see if that is simply a peculiarity of mine or if writing in the informal blogosphere is conducive to that kind of literary approach.