On Teaching Writing

           When considering what it is about writing I want to teach, Kenneth Burke first came to mind. One of the top most fascinating things to me is his fundamental philosophy of language - that the brain is wired for language use and symbol making. After all, nothing exists without our interpretation of it into meaning. In Burke's (1968) essay on the “Definition of Man,” he writes:

"Take away our books, and what little do we know about history, biography, even something so 'down to earth' as the relative positions of the sea and continents?" (p. 5).

Without the written form of our understanding of the world, Burke asserts that humans would be without large portions of what we "know." In other words, symbol-use is a primary form of human knowing. We do not only use language as a tool to accomplish things, as some animals use tools, but as a way to understand things. It is one of my principle goals to teach students the value of writing as a form of thinking about themselves, and what they know - to construct “personal versions of the world around them” (Kirby & Crovitz, 2012, p. 13). For students to begin to see themselves and their lives as a formative process of drafts, edits, and revision.
One issue I struggle with is how the world categorizes writing into so many genres. As a high schooler, I thought I didn't have what it took to write "argumentatively," though my narrative essays and biographies scored perfectly well. I sometimes wonder if the real problem was that I didn't have anything to argue about. Nothing was close enough to my heart that I needed to fight against. Christensen's* (2017) students thrive because she gets them writing about topics that they've experienced, often topics that dig deep into their emotions and essences.            
            When I began coming into my own as a writer, it was after my 11th grade English teacher required us to free-write for 30 minutes once a week, by hand. I would sometimes write 6 or 8 full pages, front and back. Occasionally I miss the discipline of having a special notebook for one purpose only - processing the world and what I knew of it. Going back to Kirby & Crovitz (2012), I think it really helped me develop my writing "fluency"  (p. 14). I love the idea of fluency, because as with speaking a new language or learning to read, it comes with much practice. Never formed from a strict formula, it is instead a creative act of the expression of one's personal knowledge and understanding.
            The best part was that he allowed us to write on the cover, or entry to entry, whether we wanted him to read it or not that week. It gave me a sense of an audience, but also a sense of support if I needed or wanted it. A sense that, no matter what I wrote that week, what I was feeling or thinking about was seen and valid. I think this is where true writing begins - when there's a real purpose and an invested audience. This is why Christensen's "read-arounds" (p. 15) are so productive: in their writing processes, all students are asked to share their poems, while the other students write down the reader's name, and a piece of specific, positive feedback on their writing. Through this, students have a sense of building something - a community, or what she calls a "collective text" - out of their writing efforts. It's about something more than adhering to a genre or standard. 

*For this week, in addition to Burke's "Definition of Man" linked above, I'm going to simply recommend Christensen's "Reading, Writing, and Rising Up" because I've easily been reading 30 pages a day, for FUN! If you're not in my book group and you haven't gotten it, you should.