Writing is learning
The most recent episode of my podcast discussed the way that we teach writing in high school and college.
For some context: I have been thinking a lot about the idea that each grade level is meant to prepare students for the next grade level, and that primary school is meant to prepare for middle school, and middle school for secondary; you get the idea.
And I do recognize that there is something important about this element of education. But it also has its limits. These limits had been nagging me for some time. But I couldn’t quite figure out how to express them until I was exposed to a bit of the history of kindergarten.
The movement itself, first in Germany, then in the US, was intended to break with the notion that a 5 or 6 year old needs a regimented curriculum. Children who are beginning their educational journey (indeed, I might argue “everyone on this journey, no matter their age”) should play and explore their environment. And this made the kindergarten movement quite successful in the US.
However, once the institution was in place, it was quickly conscripted into playing the same game as every other educational institution. Kindergarten should prepare students for 1st grade.
The absurdity was (should be?) immediately evident: When do kids just get to be kids? And we can extend this question to every level: Shouldn’t 5th graders have some time to just be 5th graders, learning the kinds of things 5th graders want to know, rather than preparing to be 6th graders--which apparently means “preparing to be 7th graders”.
I mention this because teaching writing at the secondary and college level--especially with its emphasis on form over content (or at least “form before content")--is increasingly just an exercise in preparing students for writing in university, without asking why we are teaching them how to write this way in university.
When was the last time you wrote a formal, academic paper? If the answer is “recently”, and you are not currently a student (the problem I am currently addressing), then you are almost assuredly a teacher/academic.
Given that the vast majority of university graduates will not pursue further postgraduate degrees, and many of those who do will not need to know how to write in this way, shouldn’t we, as educators, at some point ask ourselves what the writing is for all on its own?
For my own personal growth as a teacher, this question has been instrumental: I have been trying to ask this same question about all of my educational activities, whether I am considering lectures, content, kinds of reading, writing, group work.
I think that “because you will need to know how to do X in university” had a stronger grip on me 10 years ago. This is sometimes still the only answer available. But now I am up front about it: It may have no pedagogical value, but you will need it later on. And when I can ask these questions and allow for honest answers, some useless baggage gets swept away.
At the end of my final semester research/writing course this semester, I received the same feedback from virtually every student--those who struggled, those who cruised, those who were on top of their work and those who were behind. They all said they learned a great deal from their writing. This may not be revelatory to you, but this is something of a breakthrough for me going forward.
Writing is not something we do to prove we are learning. Writing is a kind of learning.