Writing Because We Love To: Homeschoolers at Work by Susannah Sheffer

This is the 8th post in my series about books related to teaching, learning and homeschooling.

(See my earlier post for a description of the series.)

Writing Because We Love To: Homeschoolers at Work by Susannah Sheffer is a book about "what children do when they are in charge of their own writing lives." By "in charge," Ms. Sheffer means truly in charge—not simply free to choose from a teacher's pre-selected list of writing options, but free to decide what, when, how and why they'll take the thoughts in their heads and turn them into words on a page.

Typically, teachers are the ones deciding what will go on during a writing lesson and what kind of feedback they'll offer their students. The problem with this approach is that it turns students into passive recipients. Or, as Ms. Sheffer writes:

"If you're sitting in a class that you didn't choose to take, being taught something you're not sure you wanted to learn in the first place, it may be difficult or even impossible to think about what you want from a teacher and whether you're getting it."

Contrast this with a situation where a student has "sought out a teacher because [she] has already come a certain distance on [her] own and now thinks a teacher would be helpful." That's the situation my homeschooled daughter was in when I first contacted Ms. Sheffer back in the late-1990s.

At the age of seven, after two years of public schooling, my daughter had lost nearly all her early interest in writing. The way in which writing was being taught in school killed her desire to write. She felt frustrated and betrayed by her clunky fine motor skills, which couldn't keep up with the pace of her thoughts, and so she abandoned writing altogether for almost an entire year. (One of the perks of homeschooling was that we had the freedom to set aside a despised subject for a while and take it up again later.)

During her year off from formal writing instruction, my daughter learned how to touch type (thanks, Mavis Beacon), and when she was able to type fast enough to suit her purposes, she went back to writing poems, stories and journal entries. Her passion for writing had returned, as I'd hoped it would.

By the time she was approaching her teens, she had written stories she didn't particularly want to show to her mother—not because they contained anything particularly shocking or inappropriate, but because she knew the sort of feedback I was likely to provide wasn't what she needed at the time. She sought an impartial mentor, someone who could give expert, unbiased advice on how to make her story more compelling. She might ask me later to proofread her work before she submitted it to a writing contest or magazine (such as Stone Soup, New Moon, or Teen Ink), but during the early stages of her writing process, my copyedits were not the answer.

So I was grateful when I found a notice for Susannah Sheffer's services in an issue of Growing Without Schooling magazine (discontinued as of 2001, unfortunately). After calling to make arrangements, I slipped my daughter's cover letter and printed pages into a large manila envelope, with a check to cover the consultation fee, and put them in the mail. Within a week or two, the pages came back with Susannah's edits and responses to any questions my daughter had asked. It was exciting for her to be treated like a real writer, getting feedback from a real writer, and it inspired her far more than any contrived writing prompt or scripted exercises ever had.

As for me, I learned from Ms. Sheffer that it's important for students to be able to tell their teachers, "Here's what I'm deciding to write about, here's why I'm writing it, and this is what I want from you." As a home educator, I had examined hundreds of writing tutorials and mountains of "language arts" curricula, but none of them advised me to start by asking my kids what—if anything—writing meant to them. (Well, that's not quite true: Families Writing by Peter Stillman came pretty close.) Looking back now, I shake my head when I recall the times I attempted to "teach writing" to my children by focusing on their spelling, grammar and punctuation. It's not that writing mechanics don't matter, because of course they do—eventually. It's just that learning how to write well demands so much more of us.

About a year ago, I found a paying job doing work I love: I'm currently an editor for Author Accelerator, and I help writers who are eager to finish and publish their books. Every week, my writers submit their pages to me electronically and, within a few days, I send them back my detailed feedback. Over time, I get to know the writers with whom I'm working, and it is always a privilege to be on the receiving end of their stories. Like Ms. Sheffer, I "will always struggle with how best to help them, how to respond appropriately, meaningfully, and in ways that they can truly use." And I'm continually awed by the courage and tenacity of those who are determined to improve their writing and get their novels finished.

Looking back now on the work that Ms. Sheffer did with my daughter, I realize she must have felt similarly about the students she helped. In the Introduction to her book, she writes:

"More than anything else, I hope readers [referring to readers of her book] will come away with an appreciation of the competence young people can achieve and the insight and reflection of which they are capable. . . . We can all learn from these writers who are writing because they love to rather than because they have to, and who have the time and the opportunity to figure out what best serves their work."

I wish you and all students of writing the precious gift of time and opportunity to express yourself with words.

Dumbing Us Down by John Taylor Gatto

This is the 6th post in my series about books related to teaching, learning and homeschooling. 

(See my earlier post for a description of the series.)

I first came across Dumbing Us Down: The Hidden Curriculum of Compulsory Schooling (1st edition, 1991) at a homeschooling conference. At the time, I was trying to understand why my mostly positive memories of elementary school in the 1960s were not enough to overcome my adverse reaction to sending my daughter to school in 1996. How had something that had felt so right for me, when I was a child, become something that felt so wrong for my own free-spirited little girl?

At first, all I had to go on was a gut feeling, because I hadn't yet found the words to describe exactly what it was about the school environment that bothered me, but the feeling wouldn't go away. I just knew there was something about the way my daughter was being instructed and confined all day that didn't sit well with me. What had been OK for me was not something I was willing to accept for her.  It was as simple—and irrational—as that. What I needed was a rational explanation for what my instincts were telling me.

I think that's why Dumbing Us Down caught my attention. "Strong Words from the New York State Teacher of the Year" the cover proclaimed. Glancing at the back of the book, I learned the author was a teacher who had broken ranks and turned against the system that had employed him.  He had resigned "after 26 years of award-winning teaching in Manhattan's public schools." What had happened to provoke this teacher, who in his book describes school as "a twelve-year jail sentence where bad habits are the only curriculum truly learned"? 

Strong words, indeed, but was there any truth to them? I bought a copy of the book to decide for myself. In the first chapter, I read about the seven lessons that make up the "hidden curriculum of compulsory schooling." They are, according to Gatto:

1. Confusion—"Everything I teach is out of context."
2. Class Position—"The variety of ways children are numbered by schools has increased dramatically, until it is hard to see the human beings plainly under the weight of the numbers they carry."
3. Indifference—"The lesson of bells is that no work is worth finishing, so why care too deeply about anything?"
4. Emotional Dependency—"By stars and red checks, smiles and frowns, prizes, honors, and disgraces, I teach kids to surrender their will to the predestinated chain of command."
5. Intellectual Dependency—"Good students wait for a teacher to tell them what to do."
6. Provisional Self-Esteem—"I teach that a kid's self-respect should depend on expert opinion. My kids are constantly evaluated and judged." "Self-evaluation, the staple of every major philosophical system that ever appeared on the planet, is never considered a factor."
7. One Can't Hide—"I teach students they are always watched, that each is under constant surveillance by myself and my colleagues."

Although I didn't agree with all the libertarian rhetoric in Gatto's book—too many sweeping generalizations and not enough evidence to convince me—his list of lessons validated what I had been feeling. My daughter had already complained (in first grade!) about doing work that seemed meaningless (i.e., out of context). She grumbled about not having enough time to finish her work and the lack of "alone time." And, as her mother, I was concerned about her lack of freedom: her teacher made all the decisions about what, when and how to learn, leaving little opportunity for self-directed learning or "free play." 

So, why hadn't these things bothered me when I was in school? I think it was because I was the kind of child who needed a place that was predictable, where expectations were clear and consistent. I thrived on the gold stars and approval I got from teachers. For reasons I won't go into here, I didn't expect to have control over my own life, so I was ripe for schooling.

But a child who has always been encouraged to believe in herself and pursue her own dreams knows what freedom feels like. She takes for granted her ability to branch out and explore, gradually widening her reach as she grows older. I think that's why putting my daughter into school felt so much like putting her into a cage. Compared to her life at home and within a larger community, it was too limiting, too confining, too prescriptive. I wanted her to have access to a bigger experience than school could provide. 

That's what Gatto's book helped me to see:

"Whatever an education is, it should make you a unique individual, not a conformist; it should furnish you with an original spirit with which to tackle the big challenges; it should allow you to find values which will be your road map through life; it should make you spiritually rich, a person who loves whatever you are doing, wherever you are, whomever you are with; it should teach you what is important, how to live and how to die." 

What Is Deeper Learning?

I am currently participating in Deeper Learning MOOC (DLMOOC), a free online course that lasts for nine weeks. It will be the second, massively-open online course—or MOOC—for me. The first one was Learning Creative Learning, which I blogged about last year (starting with the post "The Biggest Class I've Ever Attended"). Once again, I am excited to be sharing ideas and learning from others who feel as passionate about education as I do.

The first week has been spent on introductions and setting up subgroups, but online discussions are already getting underway.

So, what exactly is deeper learning? For a definition, I began by referring to the suggested readings for Week 1. According to an infographic on Deeper Learning:

"Deeper Learning ensures that students master core academic content, think critically, solve complex problems, work collaboratively, communicate effectively, direct their own learning, and develop an academic mindset." 

Two phrases contained within that definition—core academic content and academic mindset—require additional explanation, but allow me to return to them later. Scanning the rest of the infographic, I see cute cartoons that represent four types of (presumably, deeper) learning:

1. Learn! Personalized Learning
2. Do! Project-Based Learning
3. Apply! Work-Based Learning
4. Show! Competency-Based Learning

I imagine the exclamation marks after the commands (Learn! Do! Apply! Show!) are intended to convey excitement, but I feel as though I'm being issued directives. I wonder how students will feel if they are told to "Do!" or "Apply!"without being given much choice in the matter?  

Also, while I'd like to think that "personalized learning" means students will be allowed to learn at their own pace and make meaningful decisions regarding what and how they learn, the mention of "core academic content" makes me skeptical. I'm not sure exactly how much personalization will be permitted if learning is core-driven rather than student-driven. No doubt, there's value in learning from projects, real-world experiences, and student demonstrations of competency, but I feel what is most important is for the students to be the ones asking for those activities. If they are mandated by teachers, how might that impact the students' opportunities for deeper learning?