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.

Transferable Skills: What I'm Learning from My Kids

After nearly two decades of being a home educator, and with the youngest of my three homeschooled children now living and studying at an out-of-state college, I've finally got the time to pursue my own career. This is both exciting and terrifying.

It's exciting, because I can put myself first, instead of second, third—or last. Make no mistake, I'm no martyr. No one compelled me to be self-sacrificing; I simply chose to make my kids and their learning community my highest priority. I always knew it was only a temporary arrangement (that is, if you can call 24 years "temporary"), and so with that in mind I gladly volunteered to confine all my plans, my hours and days, to fit the schedules of others. But now, at long last, my time is my own. I can try doing things I've never done before. I'm ready for a change.

And yet, this transition is also somewhat terrifying, because I've been an at-home mother and educator for so long that doing anything else feels really strange. Applying for jobs is intimidating, my resume looks unconventional and skimpy, my last paid employment was back in the '80s, and I expect the learning curve for any new job will be steep.

Luckily, I know three young adults who are wonderful sources of advice and encouragement.

When I turn to my kids and wonder how I'm going to make my way in the wider world of rapid change, independent contractors, and new technologies, I hear my own words coming back to me.

"You can do it, Mom!" they say. "You've got loads of experience: researching, teaching, organizing events, planning curriculum, keeping records, writing newsletters and reports." They remind me of all I've accomplished over the years, just as I used to remind them of their achievements when they were feeling unsure of themselves.

"Look at all you've done this year!" I'd say. "Remember how you couldn't do This or That back in September? But now you can!" Whether or not our school district required an annual written evaluation, I always prepared one for each of my children, so that they (and I) could see their progress. Now my kids are returning the favor, lifting me up in my time of self-doubt and helping to restore my confidence.

When I tell my oldest daughter I'm not sure what to do next, she tells me, "do what you love." (Now where have I heard that before?) I think about writing, tutoring, mentoring. She helps me consider the pros and cons of different jobs and opens my eyes to the possibilities. Never one to shy away from adventure or a new challenge, my eldest knows how to inspire me to try new things.

When I ask my youngest daughter—a college senior—for help with my resume, she says, "think about not only the things you've done, but also what you've learned in the process, the extent of the impact you've had." I think about the dozens of kids who have learned in my home, all the ways in which I've had to change and adapt, and the hundreds of homeschoolers who have contacted me over the years. I smile as I reminisce, all the while feeling so proud of the remarkable young woman who is giving me this advice.

I even confide in my son, who is home for mid-year break after his first semester. I tell him I'm feeling nervous about starting my first job, and he says, "You'll be fine! You've done much harder things than this. You've got this, Mom." I feel momentarily overwhelmed by his words of encouragement. Afraid I might embarrass him if I start to cry, I give him a hug instead, so he can't see my face. He towers over me by at least six inches, and when I step back to smile at him, I notice there's a dark shadow of stubble on his upper lip and jawline. Only a few months away from home and already he seems older, more self-assured.

Maybe it seems weird for me to turn to my kids for career advice and support, but oddly enough, they understand what I'm going through. Considering career options, updating resumes, applying for jobs: these are things they've either done recently or will be doing in the near future. Even if we didn't have that in common, though, the collaborative give and take of solving problems together has become so normal and habitual for us that we fall into the pattern naturally. I value their opinions as much as they value mine, and we trust each other to be honest, fair, encouraging and forthright.

It's now 2015, and my husband and kids have helped me transition from homeschooling to a new job. I suffered through a few months of dead ends and a couple rejections, but I've found part-time work that I love. I'm an editor for Author Accelerator, a startup company formed by Jennie Nash (editor, author and book coach) and Matt Richter-Sand, entrepreneur. My new "students" are writers who are serious about getting their books written and published, and I enjoy working with them. It's challenging to find the right balance between critique and encouragement, but Jennie is a wonderful mentor and I'm learning all the time. It seems like a perfect fit for me, and I'm happy to have found a use for many of the skills I cultivated as a home educator.

Writing for a Purpose—Not for the SAT

My kids are not pleased. My oldest took the SAT in 2005, the year the Writing Section was added. "This writing test is so stupid!" she complained, "Who writes like this in real life?" Her younger sister agreed, as she took the SAT a few years later and was equally frustrated by the arbitrariness of the scoring. My youngest, a senior in high school, just finished taking the SAT last year. He was as annoyed with the writing test as his sisters had been.

So, you can imagine their collective reaction when they heard the recent announcement:

"The SAT Writing Section will no longer be required."

"Seriously?" they asked. "Why did they ever add it in the first place?" 

Good question. Why had it taken nine long years for the College Board to realize that a high-stakes, time-pressured, standardized test is a terrible way to assess writing skills? In what other situation would anyone be asked to prepare a handwritten (no pens or typing allowed), five-paragraph essay in under 25 minutes—with no access to reference materials, no time for review or revisions—and perfect on the first try?  Such a contrived scenario goes against everything I have tried to teach my kids about writing as a way to learn and communicate. 

Ask any writer. Writing isn't about getting points; it's about discovering your voice and articulating your thoughts in a clear, compelling way. A first draft of prose hastily cobbled together might be interesting—it might even be grammatically correct—but it doesn't really tell you much about the writer. Competent writers need to care enough about their writing to persevere during the iterative process of investigation, discovery, drafting and revision. A writer without any mettle probably isn't going to be much of a writer, no matter how impressive her initial draft of a five-paragraph essay might seem. 

When it comes to writing with a purpose and caring enough about your writing to keep working at it, William Zinsser (On Writing Well, Writing to Learn, and others) is an extraordinary mentor. Zinsser truly understands the connection between thinking and writing, and how the two reinforce each other.

"Writing is how we think our way into a discipline, organize our thoughts about it and generate new ideas" (p. 202, Writing to Learn).

By clarifying our thoughts in writing, we come to understand them better. That's why I've recently asked a group of homeschooled high school students to create and maintain their own blogs. Their feelings about the assignment are mixed: some are enthusiastic, others are dreading it. In an effort to encourage and inspire them, I've asked them to examine other blogs of their own choosing to determine what qualities they might like to emulate—or avoid. What purpose would they like their blogs to serve?

I've also provided them with a set of blogging resources—a small collection of videos, articles and brief tutorials to help them get started.

My next step is to work with the students to define the criteria they'll use to evaluate the design and content of their blogs (most likely, we'll create a variation of this Rubric for Evaluating Student Blogs by Karen Franker). I'll be asking them to comment on each other's blogs, too.

Yes, I've heard that "Blogging Is Dead" (from Fast Company), so there's a chance these students will abandon their blogs not long after they begin them. And, certainly, one could argue that there are too many bloggers out there already (as Jeff Goins acknowledges in "Bad Writing Is Essential to Good Blogging"—the 100+ comments in response to his post are interesting).  But honestly? I'm not expecting my students to achieve fame or fortune as bloggers.

People blog for many different reasons, often quite personal ones, and my students can decide for themselves what they want to learn about through their writing. They can pick and choose what they want to release to the public. Of one thing I'm sure: their blogs will be a more meaningful assessment of their writing skills than the dreaded SAT Writing Section ever was.

Excuse My Absence: November Is National Novel Writing Month

For the past couple of years, I have set aside time during the month of November for National Novel Writing Month. Although I've yet to take my "novels" to the next stage to have them published, I have enjoyed the process immensely. One of the highlights of my years of home educating has been to participate in NaNoWriMo with my kids.

I have to thank my kids for this. They were the ones who discovered NaNoWriMo. When my oldest daughter was around 15 and an avid writer, she successfully completed the challenge: writing 50,000 words in 30 days. Her younger siblings, who were only nine and twelve at the time, entered the competition, too. Although they didn't reach the 50,000 word goal that first year, they got a taste for writing that stayed with them.