Reasons to Write…
As a member of the Ahead of the Code project, I am evaluating online writing assistance tools, with the goal of providing insight from the classroom into the strengths, weaknesses, and areas of possibility of some of these platforms.
First, though, I think it’s important to set the stage for my “noticings” by trying to set the table for good writing this year.
We’ve been remote. We’re still remote. And we’re going to be remote for at least the next month.
Now in our fifth week of daily, live, online instruction via google classroom, the reality of our teaching and learning situation is clear to everyone. When we began this way, I think everyone secretly believed we’d only be remote for a week or two, during which we’d get to know one another, complete some journal entries, have some discussions, and generally ease into the school year before returning in person for the “real” high school experience. But time goes on, the virus continues its march back and forth across the land, and it became obvious after those first weeks had come and gone that the only way out was through, and getting through requires real teaching, real learning, and real writing.
So we created an inquiry question to give us a pathway towards a piece of writing that matters. For the last four weeks, we’ve viewed, discussed, surveyed, and written to address the question “where am I from, what do I believe, and what do I stand for?” Again and again, we prodded at the intersection of where we come from (our backgrounds, living situations, life stories) and what we believe (about ourselves, our capacity for growth, our purpose) as a confluence we might oversee to determine what we stand for.
For the last four weeks, we’ve viewed, discussed, surveyed, and written to address the question “where am I from, what do I believe, and what do I stand for?”
And now the unit is nearing its end. Right now, in fact, my third-hour class is drafting their response pieces on the left half of my screen, while I type this on the right. They’ve all turned off their cameras, and now appear as silent letters or icons, occasionally emitting a sound wave as they awaken their microphone to ask a question. And my room is silent, too — just me, the glow of the screen, and the sun filtering through the tendrils of wildfire smoke hanging in the air outside my windows.
But out there, all across town, writers are writing. And maybe their situation is more “authentic” in terms of what writing actually is right now than it would be if they were here in a desk. Here, I’d be shushing them, doling out bathroom breaks, and asking them to put their cell phones away. Out there, they’re operating in the space frequented by Ray Bradbury and Virginia Woolf, carving out a corner somewhere and trying to write something real, forever fighting the temptation to take a walk, make coffee, have a nap, or do any of the ten thousand things the mind of a writer brings to bear the moment he or she is faced with the echoing, empty avenue of the blank page.
Drafts are due on Wednesday, and THEN we’ll start questioning, polishing, and coaxing our way towards the best piece we can distill from today’s work. I’m still shopping for a platform that can help me to honor what they’re doing over there on that left screen, something that can help me to celebrate the creation they’re bringing into existence behind their little google icon. It should be helpful and kind, filled with enthusiasm, and cognizant of the work they’ve done and will do. It should suggest, but not overwhelm, should be polite but direct, and should leave them, at the end, knowing the work still belongs to them.
This is the burden it must help me to bear if it’s going to help REAL writers with REAL writing. Because they’ve earned it.
