Norwich Writing Teachers' September Meeting

Back at the end of September, the Norwich WT met in our usual location of the refectory of Norwich C of E Cathedral at the usual time of 10:30am. With five regulars in attendance and the start of a new school year underway for only two members (with three of us having left education, at least temporarily), the usual familiarities was met with a sense of venturing into the unknown.

Under Jeni Smith’s instruction, we began by writing words. Clothing was the subject this time around and with autumn already upon us and summer not too far behind, a variety of vocabulary came to the fore. I don’t recall what everyone else read out in our round-robin at the end, but some choice words of mine were: chapeau, Singer Sewing machine, grandad’s fleece and back dress with the royal cypher. Discussion about the clothes and clothing-adjacent terms we'd come up with lent itself to a four-minute free write about experiences, memories and the people associated with them. The Singer Sewing machine I had mentioned was something that my mother used to lug into the dining room from her bedroom from time to time, and so I wrote about the time that this monstrous machine, that seemed to be heaviest (supposedly) portable object I’d ever encountered, had been nobbled by our cat. It amazed me how much detail I could remember from this one memory and how easily the description came: the weight, size, colour and brand of machine, the set-up in the room, the dining table itself and the prevalence of a ‘serious project’ that required precision and dedication. A project that had hilariously gone wrong when Bubbles (our dear ginger cat) had sat himself on the foot pedal and jammed everything. Looking at my notes now, I was so involved in the piece that I notice the words ‘TO BE CONTINUED’ next to a large asterisk denoting a desire to continue with the memory at a later date. Unfortunately, this is a later date that is still to materialise and I wonder how many times I’ve written this in my various notebooks in the past and how many times I’ve intended to dedicate time at home to flesh out other pieces written during WT sessions that have forever been entombed in my notebooks. Underneath the asterisk I can see an arrow and the words ‘Prompt for an origin story of an item.’ Did I have a specific item of clothing in mind to write about? I cannot remember, and neither can I remember having the intention to write an origin story about an item of clothing that I have myself owned or otherwise taken suitable notice of.

We were directed to a Sunday newspaper article, ‘What we wear tells the world who we are - but clothes also carry deep memories of our true selves.’ This encouraged us to write a list of 8 items of clothing: either belonging to ourselves or to another. I’d already written ‘Grandad’s fleece’ and ‘Mum’s denim skirt,’ at the start of the session so naturally these both made my list along with my granny’s blue summer dress, my husband’s nice grey jeans/hoodie combination that he wears sometimes and our niece’s unicorn onesie. I was reminded of the different purposes of our clothes: necessity, whimsy (in the case of the onesie), warmth, comfort and of course as extensions of our personalities. Eight items soon became a dozen, which soon became 25, I still felt like I was only scratching the surface of the stories and influence that clothes have had on my life. Inevitably, Jeni made us all distill our lists into an eight worthy of a ‘Desert Island Disc of Clothes,’ and much was discussed about the clothes that had affected all of our lives and the dilemma of what to do with your grandmother’s old fur coat. It wasn’t the first time an ethical dilemma had been discussed at a WT meeting, borne from a writing prompt and our memories and experiences. We all had vastly different experiences of things, and vastly different lists. Jeni read about pink items of clothing, Mark about belts and hooks, Rebecca about phases of her life and the clothes that accompanied them. I began to think once more of the different phases of my own life, and how our personalities are reflected in our clothes: from leopard-print leggings to pink fluffy jumpers, smart leather belts, denim skirts, school uniform from John Lewis and frog wellies that you refuse to take off at the age of seven. I think there’s an origin story or two right there…

After a discussion about creative freedom in schools and teachers’ need to share and be free of concrete schemes and plans, a next meeting date was agreed for Saturday, 2nd November at the same time and place. Who knows the origin stories, personal items or other topics we might discuss! As ever, all are welcome - please contact Jeni Smith or myself (via the website or social media) if you would like to join us.

-Stephen Pearson-Jacklin.

Pictures to follow (hopefully).

NWP @ Barbican London, August 2024

Members from London and Norwich Writing Teachers Groups meet for a long overdue catch up… and cake to celebrate 15 years of NWP in the UK.

Despite the brutalism of London’s Barbican Centre with its grey facades and squared lines, our long-overdue meet up in London was relaxed and easy. I have to admit that even though I’ve been an NWP/WT member for over a decade and have people send things through for the website from across the country, I was still a little nervous about meeting people from other groups for the first time. Members from as far afield as Coventry and Kent gradually joined Jeni Smith and me, who had been the first to arrive in the central Barbican Kitchen. It wasn’t long before we were talking about shared experiences in education, of NWP and Writing, of government and Ofsted machinations and all of the usual things that writing teachers talk about. It wasn't long before a discussion began on a recent OECD report into the ‘Three Paradigms of Childhood,’ and not long before Jeni introduced us to Tony Hoagland’s book The Art of Voice.

The OECD report had instilled in our minds a philosophy of a child-centred approach to teaching, a sense of the child becoming and the child having been (i.e. their sense of self, learning and writing from their own experiences). A lot of this already seemed at odds with the previous discussions on government and Ofsted and again I felt comfort and familiarity in the sense of reoccurring themes in our Norwich group: that quite often, as Writing Teachers and Teachers in general, we feel as if we are swimming against the tide and various agendas in order to do our best for those who we educate.

With all of this in mind, and a will and a hope for things to change in favour of child-centricity, we began to write words to get us going; Jeni instructing us towards a rough theme of childhood or foreign words.Proper nouns, brands and short phrases were also encouraged. Immediately I thought of growing up in rural Norfolk and spending part of my childhood in South Wales visiting relatives on my father’s side and, again comfortingly, the words came easily: cwtch, Penarth, Renault 5, Zigzag, LEGO, Little Snoring, amongst others that were entirely unrelated.

A slightly less easy and less comforting task came next: to write continually in spurts of three minutes. Jeni encouraged us with some words and inspiration from NWP favourite Natalie Goldberg: first about breakfast, then a memory of sound, and finally a time when we were in trouble in class. A memory of sound was probably the hardest, or most abstract, for me to write about in these three-minute stints. Instinctively, I reverted to writing about breakfast and, more specifically, Saturday mornings as a child, eating cereal in front of Live and Kicking.

As there was quite a few of us, we didn’t do the usual round of sharing together, but broke off in twos: my partner had recently lost a family member and had found writing about childhood memories difficult. Sharing, therefore, could have been more difficult, especially with a stranger from deepest darkest Norfolk, but somehow the two of us quickly found some common ground and catharsis for my partner in listening to my experiences whilst I tried hard not to drone on.

After that, we were given the freedom to write in longer stints about specific childhood memories within the parameters of primary or secondary schools. Easy enough to write about and share in smaller groups. Meeting outside of our usual Norwich group with people of a broader age range and cultural diversity enabled wider perspectives to be shared and learned from.

Finally, Jeni read us the poem “Let’s Meet Somewhere (Outside of Time and Space)” by Diane Seuss, and we were invited to come up with our own versions of this abstract piece. Having already written about my home town, childhood, food and a few other relatable things made this non-literal task easier. With more confidence and camaraderie in the group, we shared a few lines in front of everyone (if we wanted to), before conversation returned to the day-to-days of teaching and education and our reluctance to conform to schemes and ‘teaching by numbers.’ It’s comforting to know that WT groups up and down the country are as free-thinking and easy going as each other.

-Stephen Pearson-Jacklin.

Pictures to follow (hopefully).

NWP's (East) Anglian August Double Whammy...

Mark Cotter takes a break from his travels in Kent to guide us from sea to city (and scones), in his writing about two NWP meetings in August.

TWO SUMMER MEETINGS IN AUGUST!

IN THE LAND OF THE SOUTH FOLK

The drive up to Dunwich from Kent is unremarkable. Once one leaves the 'glories' of Medway behind, and one has crossed through the Dartord tunnel, then, the delights of the A12 bring one to Dunwich - eventually. I arrived with enough time to walk up to the Priory ruins and have a bite to eat for lunch before an ice-cream looking at the sea - which is where I met Jeni and three other intrepid writers from Suffolk.

With blankets spread about us, we settled down onto the beach for a bit of writing. An opening of words with a flavour of the coast, and then a writing prompt from Swims by Elizabeth-Jane Burnett led us to thinking about ourselves and others in the water. With the writing muscles thus limbered up, Jeni gave us a small piece of paper with a list of things to find or think about as we roamed the beach for a bit. In all honestly, I don't think I looked at the piece of paper once i had managed to get upright. I did use the time to connect with the sea, to listen to its rhythms and capture it - which, I hope, made it into my writing.

Once we had settled again on our rugs and blankets, we wrote about the beach and the sea. Some interesting writing came out of this, as we thought about Dunwich and, for some of us, included or alluded to, its history in our writing.  Our final piece of writing came from our own connection with the beach and growing up whether it was the sea being too far away, sand in the house, or preferring the beach in the winter. When all was written, when the cirrus had become a bit more cumulous and the sun was drifting in and out of view, it was time to vacate our little bit of beach and for me to head north and home.

IN THE LAND OF THE NORTH FOLK

Friday 23 August dawned and another meeting of Writing Teachers took place. This time, we were in our usual home, the Refectory of Norwich's Anglican Cathedral.

Being late August it was a small gathering - Jeni, Sarah and me. We were joined for a little bit by Jenny C who was busy teaching EAL students across the road from the cathedral precincts and joined us for her break. Jeni's prompts were about writing letters. Naturally there was a focus on the dying art of letter writing. We used a letter from Robert Pirosh about words to prompt our usual opening task of listing words, before using Let's Meet Somewhere Outside Time and Space by Diane Seuss to let our imagination and powers of metaphor run wild.

This was much more of a talking session than a writing one - sometimes they are. We never got as far as the final writing task - a letter unsent - as we spoke at length about experiences of coming across letters that others had written to us or that we had written home and parents had kept. Sometimes this kind of talk is a helpful way of starting something. I've been writing about old family photographs of late, and the discussions have given me a new avenue to explore as I piece together parts of an unknown, and fragmentary, family history. We are inspired in many ways, though the senses, objects or conversations. We aren't all gifted Proustian moments with a madeline. Which is just as well as, a Bread Source cheese scone demands its own, full, attention!

Mark Cotter

Memories and Multiple Identities

Stephen Pearson-Jacklin takes us through NWP Norwich Writing Teachers’ July gathering.

It was a bright, warm and sunny day for a gathering in what is known as ‘a Fine City,’ with a carnival-style atmosphere over Norwich itself and a much more tranquil atmosphere in the Church of England Cathedral’s Refectory (also known as Bread Source cafe). A new face, all the way from Cambridge, joined us along with a fresh perspective on Writing agency and identities. Becky informed us of her study into looking at what stimulus we give children for writing: do we let them choose from their own ideas and imaginations, or do we provide pre-made, prescriptive and identikit prompts for them to use? It came as no surprise to NWP/WT regulars when Becky informed us that there were ‘no negative effects’ of giving children, or indeed perhaps writers at large, more agency over what they write. Immediately, we reflected on our own identities as teachers, writing teachers that is, and how we can communicate our message of creativity and freedom to fellow teachers - and more importantly, school leaders - in the face of a constrained curriculum. Why not let teacher be creative, responsive to the interests and needs of their pupils, and let the learners decide what works for them in their own writing? Why be needlessly restrictive just to fulfil objectives?

With that in the back of our minds and what we might do about it moving forward, Jeni directed us to Cairn by Kathleen Jamie and started us off by reading the poem Swift. The patterned language reflected the sight and movement of the little, summer birds and influenced our first task: writing words, as usual, but this time with a focus on proper nouns. Constrained by time, people heading to other events in the City and even a swift, bright visit by Sarah who had taken a break from her holiday in Cromer to join us, we read aloud just a few words each in our usual round style. Sarah, Becky and Lin had a run of words referencing another fine city, York, and their time there either as residents or students. More identities, more memories that were to influence our later writing.

Jeni proceeded to give out postcards and we chatted about what we saw. Landscapes, buildings, and we drew on our earlier words and proper nouns to write cinquains about our local area. To smiles all round, Mark had asked if he could go rouge and not only dispense with cinquains but give his “thoughts without postcards.” Inspired by the glorious pine tree on the postcard in front of me and with carnival in the back of my mind, I wrote about Wells-next-the-Sea, hastily trying to edit and rewrite before we read our cinquains and non-cinquains aloud. For Mark, going rogue paid off, the freedom and agency to go with his own inspiration carrying him through. To my right, Jenny Corner was worried that one of her lines was a syllable short. Again, it didn’t matter as she had chosen the perfect words and phrases for her own poem.

'Instants’ by Susan Wicks and The Book (again from Cairn) were read aloud by our friendly convener. We took these as inspiration to write poems about our childhood memories. Difficult for some as a topic, but there is always freedom in our group to discuss what we find difficult. After writing and again reading aloud, we discussed our difficulties. Some stimuli, as it turns out, isn’t fun for everyone to write about. We wrote longer prose about memories, childhood, our different identities and experiences.

Throughout it all, there was agency to talk about our difficulties (personal and otherwise), to write something different and again to go rogue. Memories, children’s identities, teaching and indeed writerly identities can be difficult. Life can be a hard path to follow. This conversation evolved, as it sometimes does, into lamenting the constraints of the curriculum upon children of all ages and we again became purposeful in the face of our challenges. In talking about what helps us and drawing parallels between our different writings, we discussed classical music and its benefit not only to us but to learners, writers and even mathematicians. Somehow, we had covered history, geography, science, maths, music, art and more in one session. Multiple memories. Multiple identities. Multiple responsibilities - and multiple reasons to go rogue a little in our classrooms in the interests of inclusion, promoting and broadening culture. I looked at the scribblings in the pages of my yellow-covered notebook and questioned my own memories. For me, primary school wasn’t always a fun time. What about the children in my class? What of their familial bonds? What about their imaginations and what makes them tick? What do they find difficult to write about and how do I/we remedy that to make them feel comfortable as writers?

Mark was more thoughtful about the writing itself, asking What do we do with our writing afterwards? When do we hammer it? Suddenly we were back to curriculum constraints as well as our own time pressures. These varied as much as our own lives and identities: meeting our own children, catching a train, resuming our holiday; and to attending the Pride carnival in the city that was busy away from our contemplative state.

“If ever there was a time for art, it’s now” - Claire Messud.

Verbing, vibing - and subbing for Jeni...

Mark Cotter reflects on our Norwich group’s May meeting

Somewhere in the badlands, where the clouds hang low like tissue paper over fields and lanes, a little yellow van makes its way to rescue a car. A car that will not start, that refuses to convey its owner through the wilds and into the land of the North Folk. Time hangs in the mizzle.

Meanwhile, in the bright, and warm refectory of Norwich Cathedral, a large corner table is slowly filling with a group of writing teachers, ordering coffee, de-caff tea, pastries, scones, sausage rolls or cake, and sharing news, new jobs, failed interviews, new houses, impending holidays, and life at the various chalkfaces of the county. Hesitant new comers approach with trepidation wondering if we are, indeed, writing teachers. It’s unusual for Jeni not to be here.

But all is fine. Stephen tells us she is on the move, the knight in modern armour from the Automobile Association has arrived to slay the dragon and give juice to Jeni’s old steed. The car, is now on the move. In the meantime, we share words, and try to verb a range of nouns and adjectives with varying degrees of success. The atmosphere is like that of a lesson with a cover teacher. We all know we should do something but we are happy talking and doing a little bit of writing and sharing. Writing about neighbours is suggested by a new member of the group, and the poem by Laura Strickland prompts some interesting writing, poignant and funny by turns. During the writing the figure of a woman in a yellow coat appears. Jeni has arrived. Yay!

One of Jeni’s tasks was to use sentence starters from an article that appeared in one of the supplements in the Weekend Financial Times. A mix of personal responses with the flights of fancy from others raised knowing nods and guffaws by turn. All too soon, the clock is striking the metaphorical midnight and we scatter to the four corners of the county (and beyond) trying not to leave glass slippers behind but taking memories with us until we meet again in June.

Patchwork identities and paying attention

Lecturer in Primary EducationTeresa Smith writes about creating polyphonic portraits at an NWP meeting

How can we create multi-dimensional characters in our writing? Do we truly acknowledge and honour this multiplicity of children in our classes: their other worlds, the bits that other people see of them, beyond our classroom walls? A recent NWP meeting helped me to to reflect on ways that we might.

We met in a café courtyard in Norwich; a small group, buoyed by the sunshine and blue skies.

We started by paying attention to sounds around us, followed by a wonderfully quick ‘drawing heads’ activity that developed into snippets of conversation and dialogue – we drew and gave voices to children on a playground and in the classroom, people at a gig, busy shoppers in the market.

Jeni Smith shared her current reading, Kala by Colin Walsh, in which the presentation of the title character is done solely through other people’s alternating first-person narratives. Walsh says, ‘Each one of us is plural, infinitely various. To be human is to be a self-contradictory site of permanent flux.’ And so, we each thought of a person to create a ‘polyphonic portrait’ of, trying to make them come alive through other people’s dialogue about or presentation of them.

It was not easy! But it influenced further discussions about the patchwork identities we all hold and of the multi-layered identities of the children we teach. It is all quite slippery, yet powerful stuff to think and write about. Perhaps you can think of someone who would be interesting to write about in this way.

Talk was abundant today. We shifted to the richness of school spaces and people as a source of inspiration for writing. We noted the importance of looking and noticing the world around us. We discussed the need for space and time to play, revise, come back to, think about, and explore ideas for creative writing – and how often it is those very things that we deny children. We considered the interweaving of drawing, writing, thinking, and how each one complements and supports the others. We all agreed that writing benefits from a good dose of divergent thinking, as opposed to convergence to the same outcome. I think it can also require a dollop of bravery, and encouragement to take a risk, in a safe space. To not say sorry for it.

I always enjoy the eclectic points of reference on offer in these meetings - a frame to follow (four lines to introduce a sound), pages from a Quentin Blake book, a Poem on the Underground, a current reading book. Prompts so rich that any one of them could have taken up the whole meeting. Yet we paused to write, share, and then move on from each, and that pattern created thinking and writing pathways that met and joined up in places, everyone finding resonance with each other’s writing in a criss-cross, spaghetti-junction type of way. That is one of the beautiful things about writing and sharing in a group. What can seem so difficult when trying to write in just my own company, feels so much easier when amongst others.

So, my request is that we give more attention to all these things that surround and gently cradle the act of writing: safe spaces, affirmation, drawing, encouragement, divergent outcomes, time, and no apologies – these are powerful components for both writing adults and writing children.

Of course, the sunshine, blue skies, a cup of tea and a cake certainly help too.

A Sense of Place - NWP Norwich Writing Teachers Group Meet, April 2024

From Suzanne Mccaig - NWP member, Year 4 teacher and English Lead in a North Norfolk Primary & Nursery School.

Amongst the cacophony of coffee cups, tea pots and chatter the wonderful writing group, which I have come to think of as a sanctuary, met in the Norwich Cathedral refectory. I say 'sanctuary' as it is very rare in our busy schedules in life that we actually do something for ourselves! After all, 'Tempus fugit,' we often do what is necessary and in our routine rather than thinking 'what do I want to do?' These Saturday meet ups are certainly something I want to do and coming together with 10 like minded individuals to write is both inspiring and comforting at the same time. 

We discussed 'place' and how it is evoked in writing and how often it works in story telling to evoke feelings and bring past experiences to mind. The landscapes of the stories we tell are so important and provide mirrors to reflect past experiences or doors into new worlds. 

We started with a list of words as all good writing sessions start. These were words that evoked a place such as the green lane, pebbled beach, flint street. When read them out loud in a round, these really allowed us to reflect on past experiences and dream of potential new visits! We then read 'Inventory' by Olivia McCannon for inspiration. This a list poem about her grandparents' house - and starts like this: 

Open door, high cistern, wooden loo-seat,

Harvesters hanging, mangle in passage-way

Long key in lock, block of wood dangling,

Wall-clock, drop-leaf table, pressure-cooker, beans,

Cherry-patterned table-cloth, jug of Bisto, crumbs,

Pink-yellow Battenburg, splashes of dark tea ...

As a timeline evokes the power of the noun, we all really enjoyed writing our own inventory for a house or a location that we felt familiar with. Some went back to a previous old haunt they revisit often, some went somewhere else familiar and it was so amazing to hear the eclectic mix of items that had built up our childhoods and lives. We could place the people there in those locations!

Our next inspiration was Part 1 of an autobiography from Adrian Henry and we all had a go at writing a passage similar to this.

These were brilliant and some writers really enjoyed sharing with the group which inspired and evoked emotion. Our last exercise to try was thinking about camera angles and either starting with an object and panning back or starting with a wide angle lens and focusing in on something. It was almost like when we started writing the curtain was rising on a scene and a character enters and establishes a relationship with you in the room. These were amazing as we discussed what we had found easier, panning out from a specific item or focusing in! The images of sheds, grandparents gardens, university halls of residence, the beach, and the juxtaposition between 'the exciting and the boring grandparents' houses' were just superb!!! A real treat to listen to and allowed yourself to drift off into these different locations and the worlds held within. 

After sharing, pondering and discussing, the writing group was coming to a close. Another incredible experience led by the amazing Jeni and supported by wonderful writers. A true pleasure and secretly something selfish for us all that we chose to do with our morning rather than something we had to do. 

Thank you to you all and see you soon. 

Norwich Group Meet, March 2023

Lin Goram reflects on a supersized Norwich Writing Teachers’ Group March Meeting

Date: Saturday 23rd March 2024

An unusually big group met at Norwich Cathedral this week – snagging and completely filling a big corner table. Before we started writing we all shared news and a lot of this centred on change – Sarah’s move to a rural school and successful writing workshops, my new job in teacher education, Rebecca’s recent circus workshops for home-education groups, Caroline’s first time writing with us.

Today’s writing was centred around the theme of time – we began with words and phrases associated with time. Lots of interesting words and phrases popped up, including ‘every nob and his dog’, ‘witching hour’, ‘the sun’s over the yardarm’. This led to some free writing using one of our words and phrases as a starting point. A long queue for coffee meant that we had started late, so carried on with writing with plans to share at the end.

Ann Patchett says: ‘There is no such thing as an old book; if you haven’t read it yet, it’s always going to be new to you.’ Jeni’s ‘new book’ is Niall Williams’ This is Happiness, in which he captures small moments – precise memories – in just a few words; and tells rambling stories that focus on the teller as much as the story in long, unwieldy sentences. We had a go at doing both, inspired by Le Guin’s writing exercise: write your story in one sentence. Some of our sentences were short moments, others were long stories. Moments shared included the birth of two of our children, a childhood memory of running downhill with Grandad at Framlingham Castle, wandering through Portobello market just last week. Stories shared included an early, silent commute to work, a trip to Mount Everest, young cousins fighting, a memorable trip to Israel.

Sandwiched in-between our Niall Williams writing, Jeni read two poems called ‘Today’, by Billy Collins and Frank O’Hara. I do love the Collins’ poem: I chose to read it at my niece’s naming day. ‘A spring day so perfect…so etched in sunlight’. There was spring in the air as we wrote – though some rain too! Suzanne shared her ‘today’ and captured our moment of writing.

We talked about time and the things we had chosen to write about: we’d recalled moments from our childhoods, from our younger days, from our current lives: from last week, last year, last century. Some of the things we had chosen to write about were one-off, treasured moments. Others were the repeated, habitual experiences of our lives, memorable because they are woven into our days and nights. As well as being rooted in a particular time of day or time in our life our memories were also rooted firmly in a place, so that remembering a particular place took us to a particular time. It seems that time and place are hard to unweave.

I wonder which times and places you could write about in one short sentence, and which would be long, wandering tales?

Next Norwich Group Meeting: Norwich C of E Cathedral, Saturday 27th April 2024 from 10:30am

Developing approaches to writing in the secondary English classroom: Reflect.

Lin Goram  

In my recent article ‘Developing approaches to Writing in the Secondary English Classroom’ I made some recommendations about starting points for teachers who want to focus on becoming more comfortable and confident with writing – both in and out of the classroom. I want to take some time to unpick the recommendations I made.  

This is the first of four blog posts, each focusing on a different area: reflect, plan, talk, write. In this blog post I’ll look at how reflection can help you develop confidence in writing and become more comfortable with being a writer. 

Here’s what I said in my article about reflection: 

‘Reflect on your experiences, confidence and attitudes to writing. It is important that we do this: as teachers who model the process of writing and draw out key elements of effective writing, we are expected to be competent, but “this is potentially problematic if [we] lack self-assurance and positive writing identities” (Cremin and Baker, 2010, p.9).’   

Since the main thrust of my argument is that to teach writing well we need to develop a personal writing identity, this blog post is going to focus on reflecting on ourselves as writers. 

Each of us has different experiences as a writer and a different relationship with writing, so I’m mostly going to ask questions. It’s up to you to think about your responses and what they mean for you as a writer and a teacher of writing. 

Personal reflection 

We’ll start with an activity: 

Put your pen to paper (or fingers on your keyboard!) and write continuously about your feelings about writing. You might want to respond to my original advice as a way in: ‘Reflect on your experiences, confidence and attitudes to writing’. 

Set a timer and write for five minutes without stopping. 

If you can’t think of anything to write, write that! Try to keep the words coming, even if it feels challenging. 

Don’t worry about the rules of writing: this is personal and just for you.  

(Side note: When I started writing creatively as part of a teachers’ writing group, it was during a Covid lockdown, so we met remotely. I wrote on my laptop, though I could see from everyone else’s Zoom screens that they were using pen and paper. I now favour a notebook and pen, as it makes the act of writing feel more deliberate, more concrete. It allows me to embrace the messiness of changing my mind and keeps a record of where I have made such changes through scribbles and crossings-out. You might want to think about how you prefer to write, and how writing on a keyboard or with pen and paper can affect the way you experience writing.) 

Congratulations! You have written something: you are a writer. 

Seriously though, my first point is that it is important to consider what ‘writing’ (as a noun) means to you. Cremin and Myhill’s work on the UKLA ‘Teachers as Writers’ project uncovered the fact that teachers often have a very specific idea of what constitutes ‘writing’ and this tends to be print, narrative writing with clear authorship: a book, a play, a collection of poems – all things you can borrow from the library or buy in a bookshop. 

So how do you feel about your reflections on your own writing experiences? Would you consider it to be ‘writing’? Is there anything that would have to happen for you to feel qualified to call it writing, and yourself a writer? Does writing always have to be for other people? Does it always have to be a finished product? 

Here's an activity which will allow you to explore Cremin and Myhill’s ULKA research more personally: 

Keep a list of all the writing you do in a 24-hour period. Include everything you write, with a pen and paper, on your laptop, tablet, phone. Remember to put the list you are writing on the list!  

Now look at your list:  

• What kind of writing did you do most often?  

• What was your most common method of writing?  

• Who were you writing for or to?  

• Which pieces of writing did you worry most about getting ‘right’?  

• Did you write on a weekday or a weekend? How might your writing differ in each case? 

• Have you changed your mind at all about what ‘writing’ is? How?  

You can use this activity to reflect more broadly on what ‘writing’ is to you, and your own writing habits: how you like to write; how writing helps you to think, process, remember; what you feel most confident about in your writing; when and where you choose to write.  

Back to today’s reflection. Peter Elbow calls himself a ‘cheerleader’ for private writing: writing which we do not share but is done ‘to pursue a train of thinking all by oneself’. When I asked you to write, I told you that you weren’t expected to share. So why did I ask? I wanted to give you the chance to think, process, articulate – to pursue and develop a train of thinking in a safe way and to feel that you could be completely honest. Writing can be perfect for that – especially when we want to focus on our own thoughts and feelings as a starting point.  

Let’s think now about what you wrote. Perhaps you wrote about a teacher who inspired you. The journal you kept when younger. A lack of confidence in your ability to write anything which is ‘any good’ (I do hope you didn’t write this, but several years ago I would have!). Can you see anything in your writing which is contributing to how you feel about yourself as a writer – any barriers to feeling comfortable with a writing identity? Any experiences which have made you feel confident about calling yourself a writer? In a sense it is just as interesting to reflect on what you chose to write about, as a starting point for ongoing reflection. 

Lastly, let’s about what I meant when I said, ‘Don’t worry about the rules of writing’. What did you understand by that, and where did you get your ideas about ‘the rules of writing’ from in the first place? Earlier I said that as teachers of writing we are expected to be competent – did you write about that in your reflection? What do you consider ‘competence’ to be in this context? Does it make a difference that you are a teacher of writing? I’ll return to this in later blog posts. 

Now what? 

Now that you’ve reflected on yourself as a writer, how do you feel? What did you think about that surprised you? Were any of the things you wrote about unexpected? Is there anything you’d like to think about more? Anyone you can talk to or ask questions of? 

Most importantly, you are probably reading this blog because you are interested in reflecting on and possibly developing your own writing identity. So what does this mean for you as a writer? Here are some thoughts: 

• Write regularly, with a focus. You might want to respond to something you have read or seen, or explore an experience you have had. This might mean setting time aside to develop the habit. It might even mean writing when you don’t feel entirely comfortable with it. But think about what the writing is for – you’re likely to keep this writing private, so what do you have to prove?  

• Thinking is messy, and if you’re going to write what you’re thinking, your writing will likely be messy too. The more comfortable you get with the messy process of writing, the more self-assurance you are likely to have about being a writer. 

• In my original article I said that people who identify as writers are more likely to enjoy writing. This can of course become a circular idea where you might feel you would need to enjoy writing in order to identify as a writer. Becoming comfortable with writing is a good first step towards enjoyment. 

• Think about writing as a process: the writing I have asked you to has not been about producing a final, finished product, but rather a record of your developing thinking. If writing is a process, a ‘good’ writer is someone who can explore ideas through writing.  

• Remember that writing more isn’t a silver bullet for developing a writing identity. It might, though, mean that you are understanding of how others might feel when you ask them to write. It might help you find the words for talking about the process of writing, and how it feels. It might help you feel confident in writing and sharing your own words. 

• If you want to write something that is more of a final, finished product, perhaps to share, or to use as a model in your classroom, be realistic about what you want to achieve and how much time you have to achieve it. It took me several hours to write this blog, drafting and redrafting – and I could have taken several more. And just get writing: Free writing is a good way to start. As Anne Lamott says in ‘Shitty first drafts’ (note the title!) from Bird By Bird, ‘You need to start somewhere. Start by getting something – anything – down on paper.’ 

• Join a writing group. This might be one in which you focus on the skill, the experience or the wellbeing benefits of writing. I’ve been in groups where we have given constructive criticism on each other’s writing, where we have just listened to each other’s writing, and where we haven’t shared our writing but instead shared how it felt to write. There has always been the option not to share, to keep our writing private. I’m a real joiner, so for me the shared act of writing – initially on Zoom but now in the beautiful surroundings of the Refectory at Norwich Cathedral – is what I prefer, and I’ll always read out what I’ve written! But that might not be for you, and that’s fine. 

Next I’ll be turning to how we might plan to teach writing. It won’t surprise you to know that I’m going to set out why a strong sense of your writing identity is essential when planning to teach writing!  

References 

Cremin, T., and Baker, S. (2010), ‘Exploring teacher-writer identities in the classroom: Conceptualising the struggle’, English Teaching: Practice and Critique, 9(3): pp.8-25.  

Cremin, T. and Myhill, D., (2018), ‘Teachers as Writers’, ULKA report. Available at https://ukla.org/wp-content/uploads/View-Teachers-as-Writers.pdf. Accessed 13.4.24. 

Elbow, P. (n.d.), ‘THE IMPORTANCE OF AUDIENCE AND RESPONSE IN WRITING’. Handout available at https://peterelbow.com/pdfs/Four_Audiences_for_Writing_Responding.pdf. Accessed 13.4.24. 

Goram, L. (2023), ‘Developing approaches to Writing in the Secondary English Classroom’, Impact 22, Chartered College of Teaching, pp.20-22. 

Lamott, A. (1994), ‘Shitty First Drafts’, from Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life, New York: Random House. 

Fuel for the writing mind

English lead and Year 2 class teacher Sam Brackenbury writes about the rich rewards of his most recent NWP meeting.

In March, four of us met on a corner table amongst the comings and goings of the busy refectory café at Norwich Cathedral. There was a girls’ choir rehearsal taking place nearby so there were plenty of hurried hot chocolates and, moments later, a clutch of returning parents clearly enjoying the moment of inner exhalation that comes after arriving somewhere just on time and the promise of a warm drink. As always, this beautiful space provided fuel for the stomach in the form of cinnamon swirls, cardamom knots and good coffee, as well as fuel for the writing mind.

We began with lists inspired by the here and there, invited to explore both the physical and metaphorical. Naturally, the meeting of modern and old found around us was a starting point  - cobblestones, cut glass panels, stone arches and architraves - but we all quickly moved towards a sense of ‘being’ whilst here. This had flavours of the reverence that religious spaces inspire but also the joy in honouring a time for ourselves in a busy half term, to write and to discuss our teaching of writing. 

Our next focus on luggage tags led to lots of ideas for the classroom. These were lists of a sort, explaining where something or someone may start 'from' and where it or they may head 'to'. Our collections ranged from conventional phrases, "from ashes to ashes", to stories of places where we had lived. This led to conversation about how such an activity may be used as a vehicle for exploring or introducing character, with talk of Shackleton's crew and upcoming units of work, but also how it may inspire journey writing. The rhythmic 'from' and 'to' seemed a great vehicle for a set of directions, either before writing a more lengthy piece or as a poetic alternative. 

I've always found this discursive, reflective aspect of writing amongst fellow teachers so valuable. Engaging with the writing process always unearths helpful reflections to apply when children come to write or ideas for how the task might be scaffolded as well as how it may lead to further writing. It also reminded us of how much we enjoy the autonomy to think and plan for our young writers, knowing them so well whilst also knowing that they are entitled to varied writing approaches and opportunities across their time at school. With this in mind, these shared creative, collaborative spaces are so important, both for professional development and, ultimately, how they influence the minds that are being shaped in our classrooms.

We ended by taking one of our luggage tags and expanding this journey to create a more extended piece before parting ways. From the cathedral back to our classrooms via a restful weekend, savouring the richness that all teacher-writing groups offer.

Creating in the Cathedral

Lin Goram shares her reflections on writing in public spaces after a recent NWP meeting.

It was busy again at the cathedral refectory. Lots of people coming and going, including a couple who shared our table for a while. We talked about the possibility of booking a private room to meet, and meeting in spaces created and designed for writers to write together. Meeting to talk, read and write together in public spaces feels important: it is a social activity and one which can be commonplace and unremarkable, in the mix with eating scones, drinking (excellent) coffee and chatting with friends or relatives.

In this session we wrote about nature, about the small but precise things we can notice and record in our everyday, outside lives. We warmed up our words, ironically, with words about the cold: monochrome, grey, fresh, crisp – and Mark’s lovely dialect words: hozzy nozzy, among others! As usual, Gilbert White’s observations in his diaries were a starting point. Our short diary entries for this morning inevitably focused on the current cold snap: crisp, frosty doorsteps and grey colours. Observing with precision, then distilling these observations into short but vivid descriptions is harder than it sounds!

The writing of Laurie Lee (Village Christmas) and Charles Dickens (Bleak House) led to writing about warm and cold places: Mark’s snow-covered beach and Helen’s unexpected encounter in Venice. It led us to talk about how we had written about places where things meet: home (a warm bed in a cold room), a wintery beach (snow and sand), Venice (British and American tourists), Romney Marsh – my choice (land and sky). I love to share what I’ve written, though for me it is always about making the words I’ve written real by saying them out loud. As we share our reading, there is the occasional nod of heads as we can picture the voices, the landscapes, an image or sound.

There is something about being in the cathedral – the natural light, the bustle – which contrasted with the quiet phases of writing. Another unexpected pairing.

Norwich Group Meeting, December 2nd 2023

Lin Goram reflects on all things festive

We didn’t get our usual corner table when we met on Saturday in Norwich Cathedral Refectory. It’s always busy there – we had to do some shuffling about to cram six of us, plus resources and coffee, round a small table. When I think about the activities we did, being crushed up together made it all the more fun. Today was about creating a small oasis of mess and stickiness and storytelling in an already bustling place.

It feels like a time of change for lots of us – some of us are looking out for a change in job, others embracing changes which have recently happened. We chatted about how we’d come to writing group in the first place – for me it was part of the activities in the writing pedagogies course I chose as part of my MA studies at UEA. I’m a relative newcomer – some have been coming to the group for over ten years! Despite my toddler status, the experience of writing together and sharing our writing makes me feel as if I know everyone well. I feel welcomed and settled.

We started with a shopping list of words and phrases about Christmas. My carols were from Kings; Mark’s carols were heard in Waitrose. A mix of warm and cold, anticipating the joy as well as the weight of expectation to make Christmas excellent for our loved ones.

We moved on to reflections on the rituals of Christmas, using Dylan Thomas ‘A Child’s Christmas in Wales’ as a starting point. We decided not to share as it was much more exciting to get going with the next activity. Jeni shared some fantastic picture books with us, including Jon Klassen’s ‘How Does Santa Go Down the Chimney?’ and Neil Gaiman’s ‘What You Need to be Warm.’ Even the staff were enjoying it!

Then we really got into it: Jeni’s incredible three-inch hole punch meant we had perfectly sized pieces of card to make baubles – complete with heart-shaped holes to thread ribbons through for hanging. We did plenty of cutting and sticking: choosing angels and birds to create our baubles, with messages for loved ones on the back. Writing a short message means you have to be so sparing with words – not easy for me! – and having a loved one in mind makes the message all the more meaningful. There is so much power in just two or three words – at points it felt very emotional as we thought of the people we were writing to.

From baubles to boxes: we then spent time creating tiny Christmas boxes, with room for concertinas of paper telling Christmas stories (how does Father Christmas get down the chimney?). Since getting home I’ve bought reams of glittery paper and made boxes for everyone I can think of – some with chocolates in, others with stories.

What messages do you have for yourself and for loved ones at Christmas?

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The next Norwich Writing Teachers’ Group meeting has been set for Saturday 20th January 2024 in the Refectory of Norwich Church of England Cathedral. Scroll down to the previous blog entry for venue details or please email/message us via the website or social media for more information.

Norwich Group Meeting, Saturday 11th November 2023

Finding our voice, words we relish and remembrance

Stephen Pearson-Jacklin reflects on the Norwich WT Group Meeting.

The refectory at the Anglican Cathedral in Norwich is always a busy, bustling place. Especially on Saturdays; and even with a cool wind whipping up the Fine City. Today was no exception and it was only hearty waving arms from Jeni Smith and Mark at the furthest table that caught my eye and helped me find my seat with the group. Three of us made it this month, with others either delayed or waylaid by teaching and other commitments. Before we could begin proper, all fell silent for the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month. The dozen-strong queue for coffee and cake stood still. People outside and in, amidst conversation and everyday life, paused to reflect on conflicts past and present. Some stood at their tables. Of course, afterwards the three of us then shared stories of ancestors and living relatives who served, or are serving as well as our awareness of the world around us: conflict, change, upheaval and turmoil. Once the hustle and bustle resumed, the little minute’s peace and quiet seemed all the more poignant. All the more important.

Of course, Jeni always arrives at WT events armed with a plethora of ideas and activities. We almost always start by writing words - I’d been thinking of these in the car and on the walk up from the multi-storey - but the theme this time was words you frequently use, words you relish. Occupation, sleep, kitten, place, journal were some of those on my mind: the first relating to Remembrance and teaching. We wrote more, full sentences this time, on the theme, ‘I am from…’ Jeni and I keeping mostly to the structure of starting sentences in that way. Mark made a list. We told of links to other parts of the country, the influences family and friends have had upon us. The effect that teaching has had upon us. Our own occupation, it seemed, had taken a heavy toll on us and we pondered on the flux of people either leaving or thinking about leaving teaching.

After much ruminating, we pondered a ‘What if…’ - what if we had led a different life? Had a different name, a different career, what if we or our ancestors had made different choices? There was the writer who had not pursued teaching, but had become an author and journalist instead. Highs and lows, of course, humour and horror but an adventure and a vignette of another life. There was James (aka me) who was rally driving through an Alpine forest, as far away from teaching and education as perhaps one can be. There was the grandmother who had led another life and not married grandfather. A more romantic, dreamy story than crashing through woods at breakneck speed or the (mis)adventures of said journalist. We reflected on how we’d written the stories, just as we had on the different ways all three had approached the ‘voice’ activity beforehand. On hearing the story of the grandparents who had not married each other, I reflected back to my own grandfather who I always understood had wanted to stay in the army and not return home after the War. In that scenario, my own grandparents may have not married each other either. An entirely different ‘What if,’ and a different voice I would have had, had I been here at all! WT often serves up curve-balls like that, as inevitably one thought arises from another or from the way in which someone else has approached their writing. As unnerved as I was by the realisation that there are probably millions of circumstances by which I would not be here today, and again millions more by which I would not have my present voice and identity, there is always comfort in Writing Teachers sessions in hearing the words of others and in knowing that there is freedom in what we compose. No pressures from the curriculum or from ways of doing things.

Writing, remembering and reflecting always have an impact on me, and I’m sobered by that as much now as I was twelve years ago when I first began attending Writing Teachers’ meetings. As I sit here now, I wonder what we might have talked or written about if the date had not been 11.11 and the time not 11am, even if we’d had the same prompts. I’m pretty sure I’d have still written about wanting to be a rally driver, and would still have thought about my cousin who wanted to be a fire engine or a police dog (now there’s something to write about!). My cousin who is now, somewhere, out there in a submarine. Now that’s about as far from teaching as you can get!

Have you ever pondered what if…? Have you ever thought about where your voice is from? What are the words you relish, that you use frequently? Have you ever pondered on a why, or taken a pause?

>> The next Writing Teachers’/NWP Norwich Group meeting will be at 10:30am on Saturday, 2nd December 2023 in the refectory at Norwich (Anglican/C of E) Cathedral. Sat Nav = 65 The Cl, Norwich NR1 4DH.

Parking: St Andrew’s Multi-Storey (9 mins), St Helen’s Wharf (10 mins), Rose Lane Multi-Storey (10 mins). There is very limited parking within the Cathedral grounds itself.

By Rail: Norwich Cathedral is a 12 min walk (approx) from Norwich Railway Station.

By Bus: please use public bus stops in Magdalen Street and Tombland from Norwich Bus Station and other directions/routes. If arriving by Park & Ride, Norwich Cathedral is a short (6-8 min) walk from Castle Meadow bus stops.

Much More Poetry, Please

Secondary English teacher Theresa Gooda reflects on a week of poetry and shares some thoughts for classroom writing.

In the month of National Poetry Day, and in the aftermath of hearing wonderful poets last weekend at the Shelley Memorial Project Poetry prize 2023, I feel bombarded by poetry, and more inspired than ever to use poetry as a stimulus for writing in the classroom.

Roger McGough, photo credit: Allan Melia

The Shelley event included music-accompanied performances of some of Percy Bysshe Shelley’s most famous poems, including Ozymandias and To a Skylark, plus part of The Masque of Anarchy, and an original piece of music inspired by the latter, Rise Like Lions. It was a refreshing new way to meet old friends.

The prompt for this year’s poetry writing competition, judged by Simon Zec, was ‘the spirit of rebellion’ and the winning poems were suitably stirring and protest-themed.

The climax of the evening was a peformance by Roger McGough which included some of his best-loved poems from across his extensive career. He signed my copy of The Mersey Sound, and, although I didn’t know it then, along with Brian Patten, Roger McGough was probably one of the most important poetic influences on me as a child.

What was remarkable about the poetry across the evening, past and present, was the way that poems ‘spoke’ to each other. Roger McGough performed poems that were in conversation with Dylan Thomas and Allan Ginsberg, amongst others. One poem, which made me laugh out loud, had Dylan Thomas plagiarising lines for Under Milk Wood by eavesdropping on the punters in Brown’s Hotel. The prize winners had, of course been inspired by Shelley, some directly, others more obliquely.

Also over the weekend, Poetry by Heart’s poem of the week dropped into my inbox: Cottage, by Eleanor Farjeon. The email suggested ways of structuring a choral performance of the poem, but I was struck by the simplicity of the list, which involves counting up to 12 with lots of objects to that the speaker wishes to fill the cottage that they are confident that they will one day live in:

Four giddy Goats,
Five Pewter Pots,
Six silver Spoons,

for example. It struck me that it would be a great poem to use as a writing prompt across the key stages.

I quite liked thinking about all the lovely things I’d put in my own dream shepherd’s hut of the future.

I think myYear 7s would enjoy the alliteration, and I imagine that students in KS1 and KS2 would appreciate the number structure.

I shall find a way to use it this week, and poetry more widely, in the spirit of rebellion against a rigid curriculum that doesn’t seem to allow much space for creative thinking at the moment.

New starts

NWP director Jeni Smith reflects on a recent writing workshop for student teachers.

It’s late September and we are well into the autumn term. I have always loved this time of year – a crispness in the air, new shoes and new pencil cases, a new start without all the portentousness of a New Year. Across the country, students are starting out on the voyage to become qualified teachers. This always seems to me a time of great promise. The commitment and enthusiasm that each new cohort brings to teaching is an important point of growth for schools and the children we serve. So it is always a pleasure and a privilege to be invited to run a writing workshop for student teachers. This week I zoomed into a class at London Metropolitan University where twenty-three student teachers were gathered at the beginning of their year of training. It is the third time I have visited. This group were as impressive as ever: willing to take part and mutually supportive. In teaching, our professional friends are worth their weight in gold.

They had already heard about NWP so we plunged straight in. Writing is learned from the inside out. Our own writing and reflections on writing can be a powerful influence for young writers. Our writing voices come from many places, from our family and community, from our reading and listening. Our own language is where we start.  And we began, as ever, with a list of words -always surprising, always a pleasure: words from languages other than English, words redolent of home and of a new term. ‘Barbie’ was in there. ‘Grubby’ wasn’t far away. Then I read Naomi Shihab Nye’s wonderful ‘Gate A-4’ (published by Bloodaxe in Tender Spot. 2008). You may well know it. You can find it here.

It’s such a wonderful story, one that touches us in many different ways. It led into us into making a list of familiar family stories: stories told in certain places; at particular times in the year; about parents, siblings, friends; stories they tell about us; stories we tell when we introduce ourselves; stories we only tell ourselves…. We give each story a tag –‘the story of the brass curtain ring’; ‘the story of Lucy and the stoat’; ‘the story of my grandmother’s wrists’. Our list of stories might become a poem. When we hear others read their story lists aloud our curiosity is roused. How we love stories! We chose one of our stories and free wrote. We made little origami books and tried out ways of representing our stories in the book’s six pages. We were together for such a short three quarters of an hour, but at the end of that time, writing had changed us.

Students spoke about the surprises inherent even in the writing of a list of words. They revelled in the detail that emerged as they wrote and the way that the writing had reminded them of forgotten events, reminded them of who they were. They will bring themselves to the lives of children in important ways. I feel sure they will find ways to make it possible for writing to touch children in these important ways. It is wonderful to know that there are teachers like Rachel Booth, who recognise the value of writing in this way and who encourage their students to travel hopefully.

Thank you, Rachel, and to all the students who are working with you this year. It is the voyage of a lifetime. Take your pencil and notebook. Write with the children you teach. Listen to what they have to say.

Writing Matters: NWP at the 2023 UKLA Conference

Secondary English teacher Theresa Gooda reflects on her experience of participating in this year’s UKLA conference at Exeter University, 23rd -25th June 2023

I feel the need to put pen to paper - or fingers to keyboard - before too much time passes and I forget about just how powerful the 2023 UKLA conference really was. Because I returned recharged, reinvigorated and feeling as if I had acquired reinforcements to help me keep fighting the good writing fight.

But the trouble is, the relentlessness of the battle against policy and curriculum pressure that currently denigrates authentic writing and celebrates ‘performing’ of writing means that, just as when I go on holiday and return relaxed and revived, some of the goodness wears off quickly with the stresses and strains of daily life. So, this opportunity to revisit ideas a couple of weeks after the event is as much for my own benefit as it is for anyone else who might read it.

The conference was entitled Writing Matters. Before a word was uttered I liked the duality in inviting ‘matters’ to operate as both verb and noun. Because it matters very much indeed and there were plenty of associated matters to discuss. I can't possibly share them all, because that would incorporate, well, too much writing. So I shall identify a handful of highlights and reflections amidst what I found to be a beautiful plurality of voices drawing similar conclusions: that narrow, exam-focused writing was harming both teacher and writer identities; and engaged in a collaborative search for new methods of harnessing agency for all. 

I was delighted that NWP UK were amongst those voices and intend to write a separate, more detailed blogpost about our contribution to the writing conversation.

In the first symposium I attended, the research showed that pedagogy and assessment impact significantly on writer identity. Not rocket science. But it was a theme that echoed throughout the conference. 

I was saddened to hear, for example, of Australian pre-service primary teachers who saw their own writing as flawed and therefore operated within a deficit schema around writing and therefore experienced high levels of anxiety around the teaching of writing as well as the act of writing. When this is harnessed to the idea that highly apprehensive teachers tend to focus on grammar and punctuation, at the expense of things like form and creativity, (Daly et al.,1988), it is easy to see how a cycle of problematic principles about writing might emerge.

Lessons from the pandemic were interesting to ponder, and ways that teachers might validate and utilise student experience of writing during lockdown. I know that I was very conscious of this in the immediate aftermath, but have tended to quickly forget as curriculum demands returned to ‘normal’ post-pandemic.

Charlotte Hacking, of CLPE gave a keynote address reminding of the importance of visual literacy. She also presented writing as four stages - ideation, creation, reflection and publication - and, whilst they are by no means distinct or discrete, she argued that teachers tended to move directly from creation to publication when all four are equal and iterative. It certainly gave pause for reflection on some of my own classroom practice around writing. I was also heartened to see the work of Barrs & Cork (2002), and Graves (1983), with approaches that have been hugely influential in my own teaching career, cited anew.

Hacking shared a video of Ed Vere creating characters from shapes. It was one of those things that I took straight back into the classroom, with Year 7, where I used the interaction between pairs of characters that the students created to introduce a unit on script-writing alongside the reading of a play.

Poignantly, Hacking pointed to the numbers of teachers in the profession who are simply not enjoying what they are doing due to lack of autonomy. I am, of late, one of those teachers. Hacking reminded me of some of the possibilities for teachers of writing, arguing passionately for licence, volition and validity in classroom writing practice.

Given the principles of NWP, it's unsurprising that my selections of workshops tended towards those which involved plenty of participant writing.

The session from the British Library team was a wonderful example. We are no strangers to the affordances of writing within concertina and miniature books at NWP, as our making pages attest, but it was fun to revisit and play with these once more in fresh contexts. I came away with an idea for an introductory A-Level English Literature lesson where I will encourage the students to create a concertina book to explore their reading identities.

There was so much else. There was the joy of the UKLA book awards, and Manjeet Man’s wonderful acceptance speech in which she identified school as her ‘safe place’ and celebrating the kindness of teachers. There were the off-the-record conversations that offered so much food for thought. Like the colleague who recounted over dinner the shocking treatment of her institution at the hands of OFSTED, where inspectors demonstrated an almost unbelievable disregard for the welfare of trainee teachers on their PGCE course.

So, I have come away with new ideas for research of my own, inspired by areas of research that were presented at the conference. I have valued the privilege of being able to meet up with like-minded colleagues, old and new. But, most of all, I am grateful for the reminder that I'm not alone. That there is a national, nay an international, movement determined that writing in an educational context should be so much more than the restrictive (and punitive?) practices that macro and micro political factors have attempted to push it to in recent times. The call to creative subversion, of finding ways of working within the confines of curriculum to get at the heart of writing matters, a heart that goes way beyond the formula for passing examinations.

It’s easy to feel a little lost as an English teacher at the moment, compounded by the devaluation resulting from the impasse over pay and conditions, and the lack of autonomy created through homogenisation and academisation. Now, more than ever, students, and teachers, need the affordances of writing to harness their voices. Together we can create a choir to sing the song of writing, and I returned from the conference hopeful and recharged.

Here's to all the playful classroom writing encounters yet to come!

Poetry, because lives matter

Secondary English teacher Theresa Gooda reflects on why poetry is such a powerful way of teaching writing.

As a younger teacher, I remember being quite terrified of teaching poetry. I think I’d always found it difficult at school at university, and, until a few years ago, I certainly wouldn’t have dreamed of sitting down to read a collection of poetry. Now I’m as likely to pick up a book of poetry as I am a novel when I’m gathering together reading for, say, a holiday, but it has taken decades to reach that point.

Gradually, I came to enjoy some poets and poetry, probably through coming to know individual poems well from teaching them. Slowly it became pleasurable rather than a chore. For the classroom, I like that often there is a small amount of text so it feels manageable, but that words on the page are much richer and more playful when part of a poem. 

It’s rewarding to use poetry as part of an English lesson. A student ‘getting’ a poem is great, but even better the other way round: I love it most when a poem ‘gets’ a student.

But I think that what I really enjoy is the way poems ‘teach’. I don’t mean that they do so in any moralistic way. I simply mean the way that they ‘teach’ writing, without me having to do very much at all. 

Poems often offer structures and ideas that students can borrow and try on for size. Giving a student a copy of Great Expectations and expecting them to write like Dickens is more than intimidating. Sharing a copy of  ‘This Is Just to Say’ by William Carlos Williams gives students a form they can emulate and be inspired by.  I rarely ask students to write ‘poetry’ as a result of reading poetry, but their writing will be richer for reading it and experimenting.

Although it was published forty years ago, I’ve only recently come across Richard Hugo’s ‘The Triggering Town ', a collection of lectures and essays on poetry and writing. It’s billed as being full of excellent advice for beginning writers, and, while I’m always a little bit wary of ‘advice for writers’ lest it become too formulaic, much of Hugo’s advice is heartening and relates to exploring process rather than outcomes.

In school we seem obsessed with the outcomes, and spend a great deal of time telling students ‘how’ to write. Yet so much happens during the act of writing that it’s almost impossible to be told ‘how’ to do it: you simply have to ‘do’. As Hugo puts it, ‘ultimately the most important things a poet will learn about writing are from himself in the process’ (1982, p. 33).

Hugo begins with a disclaimer. He isn’t hoping to teach readers how to write, but ‘how to teach yourself to write’ (1982, p. 3). He is speaking to ‘those of us who find life bewildering and who don’t know what things mean’ (ibid. P. 4), suggesting that it is through writing that we might at least get closer to some understanding. Life is bewildering for most teenagers moving through secondary school, and writing offers a negotiating tool.

Once you have a certain amount of technique, Hugo argues, ‘you can forget it in the act of writing.’ This is the stage that we want our students to reach as writers: not to be stuck on the steps before, forcing a sentence to begin with a fronted adverbial, or including a simile because the teacher told them to. 

But, the idea that most resonated was this one: 

When we are told in dozens of insidious ways that our lives don’t matter, we may be forced to insist, often far too loudly, that they do. A creative-writing class may be one of the last places you can go where your life still matters. (Hugo, 1982, p. 65)

Writing matters, because the lives of our students matter.

References:

Hugo, R. (1982) The Triggering Town. New York: Norton.

A Writing Plea

Secondary English teacher Theresa Gooda makes a plea for greater opportunities for ‘low-stakes’ writing opportunities at KS4.

As a writing teacher, NWP member, and former head of English, I'm concerned about the decline in the amount, status, and scope of writing opportunities for KS4 students that I've witnessed over more than twenty five years in the profession; a devaluation that I think has been exacerbated in recent years by the removal of coursework and the 2015 English curriculum changes .

Teachers in my own school (and colleagues I know about elsewhere) deliver the GCSE Literature and Language curriculum simultaneously. The literature includes Shakespeare, poetry, modern prose or drama and a pre-1900 novel. As a result, far more than 50% of teaching time is taken up with ‘delivering’ these texts, simply because of the cognitive demands they make on students. 

Moreover, since the exam-required response to these texts is formal criticism, there are increasingly limited reasons for teachers to playful, creative responses to those texts as we once did routinely when there was a coursework element.

English Language should be split 50% reading and 50% writing. However, the demands of the different kinds of reading questions, and the complexity of the associated assessment, mean that a significantly greater amount of lesson time is dedicated to reading than writing. 

Anecdotally, only about 10% of classroom time is spent on narrative, exploratory or personal writing, when in fact, it commands half the language marks, and 25% of the overall marks across the two GCSEs. 

For the OCR GCSE Language papers, for example, students complete two writing questions; one is likely to be a story or non-fiction writing rooted in autobiography; the other is likely to be more 'transactional' writing to argue/persuade: a letter, blogpost, magazine article.  Perhaps this latter kind of writing is perceived by teachers to be somehow easier to 'teach'; at least some aspects are attainable in more formulaic ways. I don’t know, but it does seem as if more lesson time is devoted to it, and it is often taught through tick-box techniques. Story and personal writing are perceived as unimportant, and must happen by osmosis, or magic.

Thus, simply in terms of the amount of time that students spend on writing, it has become, in the years since 2015, the poor relation of reading and literature. 

The problem is not confined to GCSE and KS4, since, as Gabrielle Cliff-Hodges argues so eloquently, because KS3 is seen simply as a 'waiting room' for GCSE examinations (2017), lessons in Year 7-9 follow a similar pattern of practice.

Given the issues outlined above, by the time they reach Year11, many students not only have low confidence in their writing ability, but also see free and creative writing as unimportant. If it isn't prioritised in classrooms, then why would they view it any other way?

Yet personal writing is often a route to understanding, reflection and self-awareness, regardless of its percentage significance in examination terms. When last year's Year 11 class lost one of their number in tragic circumstances, I gave over longer than usual lesson time for free-writing, with no prompt. Weeks later, students explained how thankful they were for the time to begin to process in writing what had happened. One told how his emotions were complicated by not knowing this person well but watching others grieve. He claimed that he ‘didn't know how he was supposed to feel’ until he tried ‘talking privately to the page.’

Perhaps, as those senior secondary students navigate the pressures of that examination year in an emotionally-fragile post-pandemic world, opportunities to write in this way should be a bigger priority than ever.

References: Cliff Hodges, G. (2017). ‘The Value of Studying Young Adult Literature at Key Stage 3: Coram Boy by Jamila Gavin.’ The English Association Journal for Teachers of English Vol. 68, No3, Summer 2017.

Professional development? Or enrichment for the soul?

NWP Whodunnit, Russell Square, August 2022

Secondary English teacher Theresa Gooda embraces the return to ‘real-life’ writing meetings with other teachers after thirty months of online formats.

The pandemic has a lot to answer for, but one of its (admittedly more minor) effects has been to make me lazy about convening meetings.

When everything suddenly switched online in March 2020, there was something invitingly easy about not having to ever leave the house to attend a meeting. It took me a while to embrace Zoom for my group’s NWP meetings, but how much less effort to click on a link, than jump on a Thameslink train to somewhere?

I convene the South Downs NWP group and our members are dispersed across Sussex in towns and villages many miles apart: Billingshurst, Storrington, Steyning, Fittleworth, Southwater, Loxwood, Horsham, Crawley, Hove and Brighton.

Getting everyone together, even in ‘olden times’ was tricky; NWP meetings for our group have always been moveable feasts; trying to accommodate clashes with parents’ evenings, open evenings, zumba classes, football matches and the rest means that we’ve always played around with different times and different days of the week, as well as meeting up in different places. How much easier, then, to keep it going online?

But we finally gook the plunge and met at a members’ house in Hove last week, for the first time since pre-pandemic days.

And I’m so glad we did.

We need this more than ever.

We had a new member joining us, so we went for a variation on an old, trusted NWP favourite, the floorplan exercise. As ever, it invited a great deal of raw memoir writing. There were tales of a teenage accident with hair-removal cream, a feminist twist on a game of hide and seek, memories of being served alcohol under-age in a local bar, a last phonecall with a loved relative.

But how much richer that writing was for the luxury of writing together.

The hair-removal memory, for example, was triggered, not by the act of drawing a floorplan, but because someone else shared a memory of another kind of hairloss. The incidental sharing offered as many ‘ingredients’ and stimulus for writing as the initial prompt.

Conversational turn-taking operates differently when you are in the room together. Pedagogic discussion is organic. Responses to writing are tangible in laughter, shock, shared understanding: communicated in myriad ways that simply don’t translate when one is ‘muted’ in order to listen in an online meeting.

And, dare I say that the writing itself proved somehow richer?

I love hearing that barely perceptible scratch of pen on the page, or a sigh as someone grapples with a thought or image. The tilt of the head as someone looks towards the window for inspiration. The best sort of pressure arises from that undisturbed, collective enterprise and endeavour.

I also tag along with the London-based Whodunnit NWP group, who got their act together far sooner than I did and started meeting in person back in the summer with a wonderful Mrs Dalloway-inspired session in Russell Square.

On both occasions I have been overwhelmed by the power of what happens when teachers write together, reminding me of why this is one of the central tenets of our National Writing Project.

One of the writers at our South Downs meeting got in touch the next day to say that they felt as if their ‘soul had been enriched’.

I can’t think of a better reason for joining a meeting.

Creative Mediation in the Teaching of Writing

Secondary English teacher Theresa Gooda reflects on negotiating some of the challenges of writing at KS3.

Once a fortnight, all KS3 students at my school (about 600 of them) are required to undertake a ‘200-word writing challenge’ as part of their English timetable.

They are given the following instructions:

• There is a new topic to write about every time. You must not go over 200 words and you only have 25 minutes to write!

• You are given a list of new words and techniques to get into your writing: that’s the challenge!

• You will have time to think and plan out ideas before the 25 minutes starts.

• Then, a partner will check your word count and ingredients. You will have extra time to improve your work.

Next, they are offered a centrally-generated prompt of some sort: perhaps to write in response to an image, or with a first or last line provided.

The task is well-intentioned: to invite regular, independent writing in a variety of genres and voices, and to encourage students to be experimental. I bridle a little at the notion of the ‘challenges’, however, not to mention the ‘checking’ of ‘ingredients’ and the restrictions which are imposed through such a rigid structure. Here is a typical example:

I know that as a writer I might not want to write ‘from the perspective of one of the moon’s on the floor’. I certainly don’t imagine that I would be happy thinking that my fifth sentence ‘must begin wtih a present participle verb.’ That’s just not how writers operate.

But, with a little creative mediation of the task and a tinkering with department slides, it’s easy to represent this in more permissive and genuninely exploratory ways.

I first came across the phrase ‘creative mediation’ a few years ago, and although Jeffrey’s (2003) research was in a primary context, I have found it a useful one in thinking about my interpretation of policy and curriculum demands.

So, in creatively mediating these particular lessons I tend to:

• invite students to create lists and wordhoards at the prompt stage, then encourage discussion, sharing and freewriting bursts before the main writing phase

• ignore the word count, reminding students that it’s a guiderope not a tightrope

• change the modality of all the challenges from ‘you must’ to ‘you might like to’, with the final challenge being that we (because I write with the students, of course) might like to ignore everything that’s on the slide

• answer any questions that begin, ‘Can I…?’ or, ‘Am I allowed to…?’ with my own question of, ‘Who is the author…?’ or ‘Who’s decision is that to make…?’

• read and respond to everything that students write, and invite small numbers to share at our next session, rather than having students ‘check’ each other’s writing. It doesn’t take long, and it is enormously appreciated.

Educational reforms in recent years have tended towards an emphasis on raising achievement levels. This emphasis can mean that teachers become increasingly restricted in the approaches that they are able to take; there is a danger of ‘de-professionalisation’ as opportunities to make judgments about individual classrooms are removed in the drive for homogeneity. Creative mediation of policy and curriculum occurs with teachers’ iterative synthesis of knowledge, in knowing what’s best for their students. In the current climate, perhaps we could all do with more permissions and some creative mediation.

References:

Jeffrey, Bob (2003). Countering student ’instrumentalism’ through creative mediation. British Educational Research Journal, 29(4) pp. 489–503.