by Hannah Lewis, High School English Teacher
In Virginia Woolf’s masterful and strange Orlando: A Biography, Orlando begins writing a long poem, “The Oak Tree,” when she is a young attendant on Queen Elizabeth I. She continues to work on it over the course of her 300+ year life, constantly revising, changing it, transforming it into something new. By the end of the novel, she plans to bury the poem under the oak tree of her youth that inspired the poem. That way, it can continue to transform and grow after she has passed away.
An old adage says that “a poem is never finished; only abandoned.” I prefer to say that a piece of writing is never finished, only ready--to send, to publish, or to turn in! And while publishing a poem or turning in an essay for an English class might be a form of abandonment, it should also be an opportunity for that piece of writing--and the writer who created it--to go on growing like that centuries-old oak tree.
Why, then, do we English teachers so often assign numerical grades to a piece of student writing, then abandon it, along with its writer?
There are decades of research that have firmly established that writing is a process. This may not come as news to any of us adults who have agonized about how exactly to word that email to our boss, that resignation letter, that message to a state representative. I suspect it isn’t really news to students, either, who agonize over how to word that text message to a crush or that comment on a friend’s Instagram photo.
If we know, in the real world, that our writing doesn’t come out perfect the first time we write it, why does it often seem that school assignments expect students to get it right the first time? Or imply that there’s a right way of writing to begin with? If students are consulting their friends about how to craft that perfect text message, why aren’t they looking for feedback about how to craft that perfect thesis statement?
Part of the answer is student engagement, of course. The stakes seem a lot higher to a 14-year-old if her text message comes across wrong than if her “thesis statement”--whatever that is--isn’t quite right.
A more important part of the answer is the way we train students to write for school based on the type of feedback they receive on their writing.
A student typically gets two pieces of feedback on her or his writing for school. First, she will get a letter grade, which seems awfully final and finished. Then, she might get some explanation of her mistakes. This feedback might include explanations about comma splices, inappropriate capitalization, or passive voice. Errors. Detractions from an otherwise seemingly “right” or “whole” or “perfect” piece of writing.
This type of feedback provides students with two misconceptions about writing. First, we are saying that they are done with that piece of writing--their cue to abandon it. We are also saying that their “grade” reflects “deficits” from some kind of perfect whole--also, obviously, not true!
Of course, we cannot escape the necessities of applying a letter grade to student work. But we can and should change the way we approach student writing and the kinds of feedback we provide. If we want to convey to students that writing is a process, we must give them feedback beyond the kind that implies there are rules to writing that students are breaking, and that following those rules creates perfect writing.
When giving feedback both on rough drafts and on “final copies,” I try to use the following techniques:
Respond with Genuine Reader’s Questions
Amy, what do you mean by this sentence? Or Mark, I’m not sure who “you” is here--can you be a little bit clearer? These questions should come from a genuine reader’s response to the student’s writing, not a teacher-grader hunting for errors to deduct points. Often, I leave these kinds of comments using Google Doc’s “commenting” and “suggesting” features, and students will actually reply to my comments/questions, even if they were a part of the student’s final draft. They are still thinking about their writing, even after conventional wisdom tells them to abandon it.
Model Revision and Make Connections
Students need to know that Virginia Woolf and William Shakespeare and Ms. Lewis all write, re-write, abandon, start fresh, and constantly revise their writing. They need to be made to see that they do, too! Talking to students about their own literacy practices outside of school, as well as sharing my own, hopefully demonstrates to students that writing IS re-writing, and that writing is personal, organic, and messy!
Make Time for Revision
Students cannot appropriately revise based on teacher’s growth-oriented inquiry-based feedback in one day, or a few hours. If we are just giving them pointers about editing (e. g.: capitalize i,move the thesis statement from there to here, get rid of “you” and passive voice), that kind of a time frame for revision would be appropriate. If our feedback is genuine, students will need time to think about it, to play around with alternative ways of wording sentences, and to ask questions.
Note: This one isn’t easy! It means a very quick turn-around time from when students submit drafts to when they get teacher feedback! There are ways to reduce the workload and turnaround time, but that’s a topic for another day.
Make Revision an Expectation for EVERY Writer
Every student needs to revise. If Virginia Woolf needs to revise, then a 15-year-old honors student is no exception! No piece of writing is perfect, and revision must be an expectation for all students. Otherwise, we are communicating to students that, actually, writing is about following rules and getting it “right.” We do a disservice to struggling and strong writers when we tell strong writers that their writing is “good enough” and doesn’t need to be revised.
Ultimately, school writing is about learning how to do real-world writing better, and creating the illusion that there are specific rules to follow to create “right” writing in school separates school writing from the messy writing process of real life.
