I’m currently writing a set of books about how to visit in nursing homes. Each book covers very similar topics, but each is written for a different group of readers.
As I’ve started getting feedback from readers in my target groups, I’ve been particularly struck by the fact that, based on our prior experiences, each of us has a somewhat different picture of what we regard as normal nursing home procedures. Although I was not surprised to see differing perspectives, I was surprised to realize now readily I forget that every person’s unique experiences incline that individual to expect that certain behaviors are the norm in certain situations.
As I mulled that over, I decided that teen-age and adult students could profit from writing about how experience shapes not only present expectations but also inclines future behavior in certain directions.
Working thesis and writing skeleton™
I would give students this working thesis to explore: Prior experience shapes present behavior.
Novice writers could use a writing skeleton™ like this to plan an essay on that topic:
I know that prior experience shapes present behavior because Person One’s prior experience with __A__ shapes Person One’s present behavior.
I know that prior experience shapes present behavior because Person Two’s prior experience with __B__ shapes Person Two’s present behavior.
I know that prior experience shapes present behavior because Person Three’s prior experience with __C__ shapes Person Three’s present behavior.
That skeleton probably won’t produce great writing, but it will enable fledgling writers to organize their thoughts and force them to look beyond their personal experiences.
More advanced students could modify the writing skeleton™ to discuss a particular individual, such as an historical figure, or to discuss some current events.
Students could also use the writing skeleton™ to develop a personal essay.
The past month, the topic teachers most often searched for at PushWriting.com has been outlining. I suspect the reason teachers are seeking help with outlining is that they secretly concur with their students’ far more public opinion that outlining is a weird English class thing totally unrelated to their real lives. Actually, stripped of the furbelows that decorate it like a Victorian ball gown, an outline is about as exotic as a grocery list scribbled in pencil on the back of an envelope.
Outlines are misunderstood
Every post-secondary student I’ve ever had has believed outlining is a post-composition activity. That preposterous idea may not actually be taught in American schools, but it certainly isn’t refuted there. My sister, who is enrolled in a master’s program for physician assistants, is taking a course that requires students to pick a research topic, prepare a PowerPoint presentation outlining the research they plan to do, and then write their research papers. She said her classmates each picked a topic, wrote their research papers, and then wrote detailed summaries of their work arranged in “outline format.”
Students’ misunderstanding of what an outline is may derive from the common use of outline to refer to the contours of an object. For example, when we read the phrase “the outline of a barn in the distance,” we assume that the barn already exists. Perhaps that’s why students who haven’t had good ELA teachers tend to think of an outline as a sketch of the contours of a completed piece of writing .
Writers’ outlines should be tentative steps toward accomplishing some communications goal, just as a grocery list is a shopper’s tentative step toward preparing meals. Unfortunately, students tend to think the outline is a list of what the shopper actually brought home after visiting three stores and deciding to order take-out Saturday evening instead of cooking.
An outline is just a plan.
You need to teach your students how to use an outline as a communication planner in the same way you use a grocery list as a shopping planner. When you notice you’re running low on coffee, you write coffee on your grocery list. Writing that may remind you of two or three other items you need to buy or it might remind you of something you need to do before going to the grocery, like get gas or deposit check. Even if you don’t immediately think of anything to do other than buy coffee, you’ve primed your brain to look for other things you need to get on your shopping trip.
For an outline to be worth doing, it needs to be prepared as soon as possible after a writer is assigned a writing task. Your students may not think immediately of all the points they are likely to need or want to make in their communication, but like your shopping list, the plan should remain open to additions and substitutions right up to the time the communication is delivered.
An outline by any other name gets more use.
If you want your students to plan their written work—which is a highly desirable goal—don’t use the words outline and outlining. Instead, use the word plan. The plans students make are usually geared toward something they want to do or achieve. Thus, by saying plan instead of outline, you make the skill you’re about to teach into a familiar activity that students’ typically associate plans with positive outcomes.
In keeping with that informal, you’re-already-familiar-with-this approach, avoid talking about writing a plan. Instead use terms that make outlining seem a very routine, informal, no-sweat activity that helps students accomplish something they want to do. Students associate verbs like make, do, scribble, jot, record, construct, build, and craft with activities that most of them find much more fun than writing. If you use one of those non-ELA terms instead of write, you make preparing a plan sound like something students might possibly find useful outside school. That is precisely the impression you want to give.
Teach and monitor students’ planning.
Planning is a skill that students will need throughout their lives and in every aspect of their lives. The ability to put a plan for communicating ideas and information on paper is particularly important in their “public” or outside-home roles. You don’t need to preach, “Someday you’ll need this.” What you do need to do is:
Teach students how to prepare a simple, written plan for communicating information (which textbooks often call a “three-point outline” and which I call a “writing skeleton™“).
And make sure students practice preparing a communication plan every time you give them a writing assignment.
Teaching how to make a writing skeleton™ is a quick and easy task. Making sure students practice planning isn’t hard, but it requires you to closely monitor every step of students work. That is tedious, time-consuming, boring, and absolutely necessary if students are going to learn to write well on demand, which is the writing that counts outside school.
A written communication plan has two parts.
In its most basic form, a communication plan has two main parts: a single-sentence assertion of what the planner says is true—which is the thesis the communicator hopes to prove—and a series of between three and five reasons for believing that assertion is true.
A thesis statement (A single sentence that makes an assertion about a topic.)
Thesis + because + reason one.
Thesis + because + reason two.
Thesis + because + reason three.
You can teach the writing skeleton™ format to students as young as middle school by using an example of something students of their age might want to convince someone about. Middle schoolers might want to convince their parents to let them have a dog; high school students might want to convince their school administration to let them hold a fund-raiser at the school for non-school organization.
Although I don’t normally recommend having students write about topics that are not course-specific, having students plan how to convince someone to do something for them can be a useful introduction to using a writing skeleton™. When students feel a personal stake in the success of the communication, it is relatively easy to make them realize that to be convincing, they must look at their proposal from the perspective of the person(s) they need to convince.
Craft topics that encourage planning.
For most students, the tricky part of writing is deciding on something to write about. By write about, I don’t mean just a topic, like peanuts or presidential debates. What students write about must be an idea that:
Is expressed in a full sentence.
Elicits differing viewpoints.
Has been discussed by knowledgeable people willing to share their insights publicly.
Is worth spending time discussing.
The best way to make sure students have good writing topics is to craft them yourself. That way you can be sure topics students write about are relevant to other required topics in your curriculum. Once you’ve taught the general plan, you should have no trouble thinking up a legitimate, class-related topic on which to have students develop a communication plan. However, if you’re still baffled by how to craft course-related writing topics, you may want to take a look at my books of ELA writing prompts, each prompt wrapped in a writing lesson:
Ready, Set, Write: 20 writing prompts on ELA topics for teens and adults who are not yet competent writers
Bullying Begins as Words: How verbal and nonverbal communication can promote or reduce hostility is explored in three sets of five prompts specifically for either not-yet-competent, competent, or proficient writers.
Ideally, the writing topics you assign should be interesting to a majority of students, but not to the same majority each assignment. If you have assigned three topics that each interested the same 75% of your students, you need to deliberately seek out topics that will interest the other 25% for at least a quarter of your remaining class writing assignments.
If you are going to turn writing students into student writers, you have to teach them to write without thinking about writing. Without procedural automaticity, writers can’t focus on the content of what they want to say.
Make students compare writing to other skills
Students are more willing to put in time learning to write if they can see the similarity between what they must do to write competently and what they must do to become competent at some other skill that matters to them.
Learning to write operationally—that is, to be able to do writing as a few sets of interconnected steps that don’t need to be mentally triggered, physically performed, and mentally monitored as independent tasks—is essential for our students if we expect them to become competent writers.
Rather than tell students that, I use writing prompts to force not-yet-competent writers to discover a connection between learning to do writing and learning to do some other skill that they see as immediately more important to them than writing.
Begin with a quote from Alfred North Whitehead
For this prompt, I begin with a quote from philosopher and mathematician Alfred North Whitehead in An Introduction to Mathematics. (Quoting Whitehead always impresses the department chair.)
“Civilization advances by extending the number of important operations which we can perform without thinking about them.”
After presenting the quote, I ask students what civilization means. Then I ask them what advances and operations mean in the context of the quotation. My students usually start with a dictionary and elaborate on its definitions.
Focus attention on small aspects of civilization
Because civilization is a huge topic, I tell students I want them to think about some tiny aspect of contemporary civilization they are familiar with and use their experience with it to illustrate how being able to do more tasks without consciously thinking about them improves its overall quality.
For example, if they play clarinet or chess, draw or do wood turning, work in food service or bookkeeping they undoubtedly have some tasks they must do routinely that can be considered that activity’s operations.
Give the writing assignment
I assign students to show from their personal experiences or personal observations that some small activity of contemporary civilization improves when participants in the activity are able to do more tasks without conscious thought.
Give planning aids along with the writing assignment
To support not-yet-competent writers, I give them a working thesis and a writing skeleton™ so they can quickly figure out what they might be able to write about. All they have to do is fill in the blanks.
The working thesis: I know __ improves when [who] extends the number of operations [it/they/we] can do.
Writing skeleton™ point 1: I know __ improves when [who] extends the number of operations [it/they/we] can do because __ improves/improved when __ are able to _A__ without thinking about it.
Writing skeleton™ point 2: I know __ improves when [who] extends the number of operations [it/they/we] can do because __ improves/improved when __ are able to B without thinking about it.
Writing skeleton™ point 3: I know __ improves when [who] extends the number of operations [it/they/we] can do because __ improves/improved when __ are able to C without thinking about it.
Given the introduction described here and the planning aids, most teens and adults will be able to produce a 500-600 word rough draft in an hour. The drafts won’t be great writing, but each draft will drag students through the entire writing process.
Repeatedly dragging students through the writing process is what teaching writing requires.
More specifically, I’ve been thinking about how to think backward from a goal.
For the last three months, I’ve been working at building a new website with content from my old “You Can Teach Writing” site.
That has necessitated learning a new software program to replace my antique Dreamweaver (purchased in 2000!), learning how to create responsive sites that will display properly on mobile devices, and figuring out how to organize all the website elements—photographs, illustrations, icons, call-out boxes, text, headlines—so I can find information when I need it and format it consistently across the site.
Finding all the information I need to learn requires a lot of research. All too often something I’m sure I will need to have later is discussed at the point where it is deployed, rather than at the point at which I ought to start collecting it.
I’ve not reached any earth-shaking conclusions from these three projects, but I’ve made a few observations that I want to remember when I teach.
Goals hold emotions
Goals always have an emotional component, either actual or potential.
I’ve seen that emotional component several times in software user forums where company employees were annoyed by users’ desire for step-by-step directions.
Users felt successful when they could complete a simple task quickly with the software, while the employees felt unsuccessful if users only wanted to do simple tasks quickly.
As a teacher, I’m tempted (and often succumb) to set goals whose achievement I would find satisfying. I’ve learned that if I set writing goals at a level that students think they can achieve and that they would be satisfied to achieve (I call it “C-level” for competence level), students are much more likely do the assigned work and achieve that level or higher.
Save information for use
People doing an information task for the first time waste a great deal of time and endure a great deal of frustration because they don’t know how to record the information they gather.
By contrast, experienced knowledge workers doing an information task develop strategies and templates for gathering, sorting, labeling, and saving the information they gather.
As a teacher, I try to give my students the benefit of my experience by providing strategies and templates that I and colleagues have found helpful.
Even though the materials I provide might not be useful to every student or in every situation, it’s generally easier for them to modify a prepared structure than to develop one from scratch.
Sequencing precedes skill
To an uninformed observer, skills look like an automatic response to a particular type of stimuli. Actually, skills are sets of tasks performed in such rapid sequence that the tasks seem to melt into one fluid action.
Before people are skilled, they learn to go through component tasks in sequence. Because tasks have both mental and physical components, the learners must:
Remember the next action required.
Physically position themselves to perform the action.
Perform the action.
Verify that the action was performed successfully or backup to #2.
Remember the next action required and go through steps 2-5.
When my writing students “get it” they will behave—and feel—as if they were born knowing how to write.
I need to remember that getting to that point will require many repetitions of the underlying process to get their eyes, brains, and bodies to perform the necessary actions automatically.
You can reduce the strain of difficult writing assignments, such as compare-contrast writing or literary analysis, by preparing students as they do other activities over fairly long period of time.
If, for example, you are going to have students write a comparison essay in March, 2015,
you probably should being preparing students in December, 2014, for the intellectual tasks comparisons require.
Josh and Caitlin may know nothing about writing comparison essays, but they most certainly know something about using comparison thinking.
Build on what they know.
Use that knowledge to help you teach something that’s in your December lessons.
Then tell students explicitly that the skill they demonstrated so brilliantly will be used later in the course for the comparison essay.
Once you start looking at your materials with an eye to the cognitive processes students need to write a comparison essay, you’ll find many places in which it feels natural to use a comparison to have student discover or describe a relationship.
Continue drawing on students’ knowledge of comparison thinking to help you convey information and to plant the notion that they have the necessary skills for the project coming up later in the year.
Activating knowledge and activating self-confidence over a period of weeks enable students to tackle difficult writing tasks without undue stress.
When it comes to writing skills, familiarity breeds confidence.
The kid who hates to write may also be the kid who is enthralled by video games. The games are probably more complicated than writing, but they appeal to kids because, among other things, they give rapid feedback.
Anyone attempting to learn a skill wants immediate feedback. Would you learn to knit if you had to wait until the end of the grading period to know if you were correctly applying the directions for knit and purl? I don’t think so.
The strategies writing teachers teach their least experienced writers should provide feedback apart from any feedback the teachers provide. That maxim is particularly important in what English teachers with self-destructive tendencies call the “pre-writing stage,” practically guaranteeing that students will skip planning entirely.
For planning strategies to be effective for struggling students, the strategies must have a quick pay off. Struggling writers cannot wait three days or a week to learn whether their plan worked. They need to know NOW.
The popular writers’ workshop strategy that has students write and rewrite to find their thesis does not give positive reinforcement soon enough to be effective with struggling writers or with writers who have learning difficulties.
If the first sentence Josh writes is a sensible working thesis sentence, that initial success makes it more likely that he will go on to prepare a three-sentence ¹writing skeleton™. Applying writing skeleton™ strategy reinforces Josh’s writing effort and makes it likely he will attempt another step in nonfiction process process.
How do you build feedback into the writing strategies you teach your beginning and struggling students?
¹ A writing skeleton™ is a list of main points of a piece of writing, each point formed by the working thesis statement plus the word because and a reason for believing the working thesis to be true. Such a skeleton keeps novice nonfiction writers from losing sight of their main point: As they plan they actually make their thesis statement part of their body paragraph topic sentences.
The most difficult part of writing nonfiction for most students is coming up with a good working thesis to control their planning efforts. With Common Core State Standards putting increased emphasis on argument, it’s useful to look at the role a good working thesis plays in planning an argument.
A first year college student wrote she was having problems writing an argument about holistic health care. She shared the thesis she had already written:
While conventional medicine is science based and has proven it’s place in life threatening illnesses and emergency situations, holistic health care is a less invasive way of healing the whole body, using natural therapies that have been used successfully for hundreds of years.
The student said she feared her thesis was too broad. She also said she didn’t know how to incorporate rebuttal and wasn’t entirely sure her paper was an argument. Her analysis wasn’t far from the mark.
If we strip all the extraneous language from the student’s thesis, we’re left with this as a working thesis:
Holistic health care is a less invasive way of healing the body than conventional medicine.
What is the exact opposite to that position? It’s this:
Holistic health care is a more invasive way of healing the body than conventional medicine.
Would anyone seriously argue that such things as nutrition and de-stressing are more invasive than brain surgery, for example?
That’s the student’s problem: An argument essay for training purposes needs a debatable working thesis, one that people can argue both for or against using facts and logic. A real-life argument need not be so black-and-white, but students need clear-cut propositions to debate in order to learn the process.
The student’s work contains a nugget that has potential for an argument essay that she might already have research to support:
Holistic care should be used by health care providers in all but life threatening and emergency situations.
To see if there are arguments for that thesis, the student could use a writing skeleton™ following this model:
Holistic care should be used by health care providers in all but life threatening and emergency situations because [reason 1].
Holistic care should be used by health care providers in all but life threatening and emergency situations because [reason 2].
Holistic care should be used by health care providers in all but life threatening and emergency situations because [reason 3].
If the writer can make a case for that position, she still needs to explore the opposition’s argument so she knows what she must refute. To explore the opposition, she can use the writing skeleton™ again like this:
Holistic care should not be used by health care providers in all situations that are not life threatening or emergencies because [reason 1].
Holistic care should not be used by health care providers in all situations that are not life threatening or emergencies because [reason 2].
Holistic care should not be used by health care providers in all situations that are not life threatening or emergencies because [reason 3].
The process I outlined here makes the process of planning an argument easy enough that average students can muddle through it. Muddling through may not sound like much, but students who don’t get through the process the first time rarely try it a second time.