Grammar Geek

It's time for me to admit it: I am a huge geek.

Okay, so that isn't exactly earth-shattering news to those people who know me well, but it's especially hard to deny one's geekiness when one is excited to read an article about teaching the semicolon, thinking to himself, "Yay! The semicolon is my favorite punctuation mark!" Some of us were born to be English teachers, I guess.

In undergrad, my comp professor even told me that I overused the semicolon and that I should use it maybe once per page, at most. (This general idea would later be echoed in my British Lit class, where the T.A. wrote on one of my papers, "Consider using the dash more sparingly.") They're right, of course - overuse of dramatic punctuation makes one's writing unnecessarily...dramatic. Anyway, apparently I'm not alone in my love for the semicolon; Angela Petit, author of the article "The Sylish Semicolon," talks about the effectiveness of teaching grammar within a context, using her lesson on semicolons as an example.

When it comes to grammar instruction, there seems to be two major mindsets out there of English teachers: "Oh dear Lord, this is boring. Even I'm bored. Let's either ditch this altogether or find some fun way to teach it," or for people like me, "I love grammar! The kids will see how enthusiastic I am about it and then they'll give a damn!" Neither attitude is really going to make a positive difference to high schoolers. A grammar geek has no problem discussing and analyzing decontextualized grammar, but the vast majority of teenagers do.

And why shouldn't they? Most of their grammar instruction has been done through worksheets and boring lectures - I spent most of my childhood diagramming sentences. I've talked about this before, but when grammar is learned as a series of complicated, nonsensical and yet ironclad rules, the students' engagement level is going to plummet. But if grammar can be taught with a purpose, within a context, as a way of looking at how language is put together and analyzing the reasons behind a particular usage or punctuation choice, and yes, with enthusiasm, then there may be hope for grammar instruction yet.

Resource link: Teachnology. This page has multiple links to fun and engaging grammar lessons for kids of all ages.

Never Cry Wolf

As teachers of writing, how do we evaluate student work over the course of a composition class? The typical answer is, we take each paper, grade them, and hand them back with feedback for what to do next time. The process may or may not include drafting or revision. With this system, it's hard to assess just how much a given student has learned over time. Using portfolio assessments is probably a better method for this kind of long-term evaluation, and I fully intend to use them for any writing class I might teach, whether it's creative or expository.

But what type of portfolio is the best to use? Kenneth Wolf, in his article "Portfolio Purposes and Possibilities" (gotta love that alliteration!) says there are three main types of portfolios: the ownership portfolio, which emphasizes student choice; the feedback portfolio, which is an ongoing record of the learning process; and the accountability portfolio, which is used for large-scale assessment. Each type has its own strengths and weaknesses, so each one is best suited for different, specific purposes.

The portfolio should be used in accordance with class objectives. Were I to teach a creative writing class, I think the ownership portfolio is the way to go, because I want to foster students' ability to assess themselves and experience several different forms and genres of creative writing. For an expository composition class, I'd definitely go with the feedback portfolio. It's the best way to document students' progress as writers, keep an open dialogue with them about their writing, and tailor instruction to meet their individual needs.

The accountability portfolio has its own merits, but not so much within an actual classroom. Rather, it can be used for large-scale student and program assessment - the state of Kentucky, for example, uses portfolio assessments to evalute students' abilities to meet statewide and national standards for writing. It would be great if other states would start to follow that lead, since portfolios provide a much better picture of student writing than standardized tests, but I don't see it happening anytime soon.

Even though I am absolutely pro-portfolio, it's important to keep in mind Wolf's warning: they are "a means, not an end...portfolios are only as good as the curriculum and instructional opportunities afforded to students." Simply having students do portfolios isn't a substitute for engaging and effective teaching, but it can be a valuable component if implemented with care and with a specific purpose.

This week's resource link is to the Center for Teaching, Learning, and Technology's website. On this page, there are multiple links to examples of student portfolios, both print-based and electronic.

Unnecessary Roughness

I recently had a discussion with a veteran English teacher about papers she assigned in her class. I asked if she included a revision process with her writing assignments, and what she told me was really interesting: she didn’t normally include revision because what she’d learned was that if students knew that their paper wasn’t going to be the “final” product, they would turn in crap the first time. Now, this was a literature teacher, not a composition teacher, but I still found it interesting that she assumed the revision process would just consist of students turning in a rough draft, her making corrections, and having the students turn in a final draft a week later. This is actually how teachers often do revision – they give one grade for the rough draft, so the student will actually make an effort the first time around, and then another grade for the final draft (which is usually based on how many of the teachers’ corrections they went and did). The idea of a peer revision process never even came up in this conversation. Neither did the philosophy that students have a “right” to write badly, as Vicki Spandel asserts.

In this case, I think the teacher has a legitimate concern that students will simply not make an effort the first time around if they know they get another chance. Having been one of those procrastinating writers, I can attest that I often phoned in rough drafts if I could do so with no consequences. Of course I think students have the right to not have to be perfect the first time around. But I don’t think they have the right to be willfully lazy or sloppy in their writing if someone else is going to take the time to look over their writing and help them. In this case, the revision process is a waste of time.

But if I had put a lot of effort into that draft, I’d get upset when the draft was graded and I didn’t get full points. “It’s a rough draft,” I would complain. “It’s not supposed to be perfect.” In retrospect, I still think it’s unfair to grade a rough draft as intensely as a final draft. There ought to be some kind of accountability for the quality of rough drafts without unfairly demanding perfection the first time around. I think the best way to ensure students put effort into their rough drafts is to set a minimum quality standard and give each student the same amount of points if they meet that standard (sort of like giving a check mark). It’s not a perfect system…it’s going to take a lot of effort to balance giving students the freedom to make mistakes but not the freedom to get by with a minimal amount of effort.

This is a link to Weekly Reader Online, an online writing magazine for teachers and students. The particular issue linked is all about the revision process, with multiple articles and resources attached.

Have You Driven a Five-Paragraph Essay Lately?

The Ford is a functional car: nothing special, but sturdy and reliable. That's why my mother, a veteran middle-school teacher, compares the five-paragraph structure to a Ford for her students. As she explained it to me, whether or not I want to teach the five-paragraph essay is immaterial; I will probably have to teach it. So the question becomes, how am I going to teach it? In what context should the five-paragraph form be framed for students?

To answer that question, let me refer to this week's readings, which consisted of several articles, each with a different take on the five-paragraph theme, or FPT. On one extreme is Tracy Novick, whose letter to the English Journal praises the FPT, saying that, "taught with creativity and variety, it gives our students a useful tool," comparing it to the sonnet form of poetry, without which we wouldn't be studying Shakespeare. On the other side is Kimberly Wesley, who, in her article "The Ill Effects of the Five Paragraph Theme," eviscerates the FPT, saying that it tends to "stunt students' critical thinking abilities." Wesley would prefer that organizational formats should fit the purpose of the writing, rather than the reverse, which I can certainly agree with.

I don't have a problem with the idea that formal writing needs a structure, and that the FPT is one that people generally agree on. My main problem with the FPT is its emphasis on the number three. We somehow think that three is a magic number, as if it's more important to have three points than for those points to have depth. Of course a paper needs a beginning and an ending, but will every thesis have three equal areas of analysis? Not so much. I have seen (and written) too many essays in which the writer's third point is pretty much tacked-on and irrelevant, or in which one of the points is really two points (because the writer had four points but had to condense it down to three).

I also hate the idea that the FPT is "what they'll need to know for college," because no. As long as there's some organization, college professors (and the TAs who'll actually be grading your papers) care more about the quality of your ideas and the depth of your analysis. They're not counting your paragraphs; they care that you have something worthwhile to say and have put some thought into it. Just like in the real world, the managers who read your memos or the people who read your letters don't care about the format as long as you're comprehensible.

The five-paragraph form is a tool, not a dogma, and it's a pretty limited tool at that. But it can be useful for those writers who don't know how else to organize their thoughts. As long as it's not presented to students as the only way to write (and that alternate forms of writing are taught alongside it), I can live with having to teach it in my class. Since, you know, I won't really have a choice.

Resource link: The Five-Paragraph Essay. This site explains the five-paragraph form and breaks it down using a sample essay. It can be a guide for those students who know the very basics of the form but need more assistance with it.