Get Your Grammar On

This was one of my assignments in eighth grade English. It was for bonus points/extra credit and no one got it right. But we all tried ;).

I love grammar. I admit it.

I think I trace this love back to eighth grade. We read some stories and poems--I especially remember climbing down into the dark sub basement to listen to “The Tell Tale Heart” on a scratchy old record player in pitch black darkness—but mostly, we did grammar. Over and over and over . . . diagramming, exercises, sentence combining, labeling. And I loved it.

The only thing I didn’t love was our final project. We had to find examples off all kinds of sentences--ones with compound subjects, ones with three prepositional phrases, ones with two independent clauses and two dependent clauses . . . it was madness. I remember staying up way past my bedtime, paging through every magazine we owned, frustrated by the lack of complexity of the sentences. Finally, exhausted and frustrated, I turned to books and found almost every single one. What I didn’t find, I made up.

I never remember getting that project back or getting a grade for it.

I didn’t hate it—I was challenged by it. I remember being sad in high school that we wouldn’t get to study grammar anymore . . . my teacher’s told me I was expected to know it all and if I didn’t, check the textbook and figure it out. I was happy to find that in college, I could take a grammar course.

Maybe it’s something weird in my DNA, but I studying the language, taking the sentences apart, and diagramming them in my head (yes, I really do that). At the same time, I realize not everyone shares my love.

When I started teaching, the kids told me they hated grammar. They also weren’t very good at it . . . I had students who couldn’t identify the verb in a sentence. As I taught, I realized it was because many of them were taught in younger grades to look at WORDS to determine what part of speech they were. I struggled to show my students that often, you have to look at the whole sentence and see the words function instead.

Bored myself by the textbook, I rarely used it. I made up what I called “kinesthetic grammar” exercises and in class, I got the kids up and moving. They became the sentence, holding prepositional phrases and adverbs and moving themselves around with their friends to create sentences that spanned the front of the room. We talked about the sentences and what made them work, how all the parts functioned, and finally—how we could transfer that knowledge to our writing to revise and make better use of our words.

Though I tried to avoid the book, we did do exercises. I had kids find direct objects, prepositional phrases, and—much to the amazement of my colleagues—diagram sentences. I tried to mix up my instruction as much as I could so it was never rote or boring . . . though the students loved reciting the helping verbs as we memorized them. They loved writing huge sentences for me—I encouraged them to make them as complex as they could) and then timing me as I diagrammed them. As I diagrammed, I also verbalized what each part of the sentence was and how it related. We laughed at my misplaced modifiers lesson, and I hope students enjoyed the freedom they had as adverbs, who could walk around to different parts in the sentence moreso than adjectives.



(When I taught, we watched Grammar Rock for fun. I don't know that it actually taught the students anything, but it was very amusing to see them strutting down the hallway singing the songs.)

I will never forgot the day a student brought me a complex sentence and asked me if I could show her how they were diagrammed. Could I? (I could, and did. Could I know without review? No. But I could with some review ;)). I don’t know if I would teach diagramming to all my students in depth, but sometimes it’s helpful for students to look at sentences in a more graphic way (and I think diagramming challenging sentences is good enrichment for students who are interested).

As I read through the readings, I got a better picture of why so many people dislike grammar. It was interesting to see how for so many years now, grammar instruction has focused on error—finding what’s wrong and fixing it. Memorize those definitions. Circle and label the pronouns. I almost cried for the professors that had over 200 student each. I was overwhelmed grading the writing of 110 students at a time . . . it’s no wonder they tended to focus on correcting rather than responding. I also think that the traditional teaching of grammar was prominent for so long because it’s east to teach and score . . . much more so than assessing actual writing.

But the traditional manner of teaching (that I had and loved) just doesn’t do what it should. As Hartwell points out, research supports that having formal grammar instruction has no impact on the ability to write well. Much of the research I’ve been reading lately says the same thing . . . and it has for years. Grammar should be taught in context. Some think it shouldn’t be taught at all. To a degree, I agree. I think the task we have as teachers is figuring out a way to infuse the grammar in when it’s needed . . . teach it in context. Use students’ writing. Use authentic texts. Get the students up and moving. Reading Jeff Anderson’s book Mechanically Inclined shows how to get students involved in the discovering of grammar and mechanics and using skills to better their writing—in authentic ways that never need a textbook. I loved every page of his book, and he shows how to tie grammar into context in ways that work and encourage higher level discovery and thinking.

I still maintain that it’s important to have some basic understanding of how language works in order to effectively use it in your writing. It’s hard to tell students that their subject-verb agreement is incorrect and makes the writing hard to follow if they don’t know what a verb is or understand verb forms. But I think there are dynamic and vibrant ways to teach grammatical concepts that, mixed in with some rote memorization here and there when needed, give students tools they can use in their writing rather than 10 sentence homework assignments in the grammar book they refuse to do (and I’d like to think I can squeeze a little diagramming in here and there just for fun).

Rubrics--Friend or Foe?

I have rubrics on the brain.

I'm not sure why, but when reading through the essays this week, I kept thinking of rubrics--holistic or analytic . . . doesn't matter. When I taught, I most often used holistic rubrics. They helped me grade, and they gave the students an idea of what I was looking for. A win win.

Or so I thought. While taking Assessment last semester, I wrote some new rubrics, analytic ones, all neatly and succinctly aligned with the state standards. It was painful, but I think they turned out pretty good. While reading them over, I thought back to my vauge little holistic rubrics and thought I had made huge grading mistakes in using them.

But as I analyzed a couple of my old rubrics, I realized they were actually quite good. The aligned with the standards and the objectives of the assignment--though I didn't know it at the time. And they gave the students some idea of what they had to do, but they weren't prescriptive of what they needed to do for each level (grade). Now I'm thinking that was a good thing.

Britton et. al. writes

to put it simply, if rather crudely, I see the developed writing process as one of hearing an inner voice dictating forms of the written language appropriate to the task at hand. (465)

Flower and Hayes write

A writer in the act of discovery is hard at work searching memory, forming concepts, and forging a new structure of ideas, while at the same time trying to juggle all the constraints imposed by his or her purpose, audience, and language itself. (467)

I'm wondering what they effect of an analytic rubric, handed out before the assignment, has on Britton's "inner voice" and Flower and Hayes' "juggling of purpose, audience, and language." Do the imposed constraints of such a rubric hinder the student's voice? If the rubric already sets up (and gives value to) purpose, audience, and language, does that affect the student's juggling and take away from the process of discovery while writing?

Brands writes that

writing, too, is an exercise in inclusion and exclusion, a lesson in decision making and choice. It is the basis on which we make these selections that determine cognitive style and writing. (707)

Again, I wonder if the parameters set up by a rubric, while on the one hand helpful to students in making the types of decisions Brand is writing about, are actually not helpful at all? If the decisions are already made for the student in the rubric, then what role does the student play? And how can they find ownership and invention in what they are writing when they are merely following of checklist of what needs to be included? Britton writes that effective writing is spontaneous (463). Does the rubric remove the spontaneity? At what cost?

I'm not saying that rubrics are evil or bad (at least, not all of them). A rubric can be helpful to me as a teacher as well as to the students. Practically speaking, however, I wonder if there is a way to blur the rubric lines a little. Maybe give the students an assignment with one of the vague, holistic rubrics I used to use. The students would have an idea of what I'm going to be grading or commenting on as well as how much each part will be worth (if they are not equal).

Then, after writing, I can grade with the analytic rubric (though I'm still not convinced that's the best way to "grade" writing, but it is the current reality). When the students get their writing back, they can see where they stand and be given the choice to revise or a higher or different grade. That obviously puts a huge responsibility on the shoulders of the student . . . where it should be. Students then have some basic guidelines but can use more detailed ones for revision. Maybe it all boils down to freedom--for each student to write in a way that suits him or her . . . and maybe that means a rubric and maybe it doesn't (though I lean toward the non-rubric school I think).



I don't know. And I'm not sure anyone else knows either. But I do know how I think of writing as a process and how crucial it is for students to be engaged and empowered with their writing. And I wonder what role the rubric plays in that--a double edged sword at times, that's for sure.

The Red Pen, Revisited

In the past few months, as I’ve read about curriculum and instruction, I’ve had some “eureka” moments. I’ve had some of my own small paradigm shifts in the way I view teaching and curriculum, and I’ve looked at my past practices in new ways. These readings brought out another one.

Rose writes that writing is judged by the presence of error, and Mutrick writes that that absence of error doesn’t guarantee good writing—a couple of the writing samples from Bartholomae’s show that. Countless essays and papers and other writings being graded, and it never really occurred to me that what I was doing was focusing on what students did wrong to judge their writing. That’s not to say I ignored what they did right—I tried to give at least two positive comments for every correction or suggestion—but that still doesn’t mask the fact that I was marking errors.

Too often I assumed the errors came from lack of attention to detail, apathy, or not trying. While sometimes that was the case, after reading Shaughnessy’s thoughts on error, I realize there’s another way I can look at it. I can see their errors as attempts to write more complex sentences or vivid detail. Trying to improve their writing and experiment and move out of their comfort zones.

Shaughnessy suggests viewing errors as those efforts to branch out and do more. That errors can show me what I need to do and teach rather than what the student has failed to do. I never really looked at it that way.

You could say it’s semantics. But I think that Shaughnessy’s way of looking at error is inherently more positive and helpful to the student—and me in deciding how to guide that student in his or her writing. Basic writers often face enough frustration in their writing. I’ve always felt in my heart that constant grading and corrections don’t necessarily help them increase their comfort levels, but the reality in the system in which we work is that work must eventually be judged and graded.

Maybe looking at the nature of error and changing the way I view it will make that process easier—and more enriching—for all involved.

NOTE:
I do think, practically and realistically speaking, that there needs to be some kind of judgment when looking at the errors students are making. As a teacher who knows them and their abilities, I think there’s a difference in a student who is not trying to improve his or her writing and therefore makes basic mistakes and one whose mistakes come from that desire to try to improve their writing and write in new and complex ways. Not as easy task, that’s for sure. But there does need to be some level of accountability for students . . . I find the errors and help them discover how to correct and improve them, but they need to make the effort to follow through and do so.

Balance

Did anyone else feel slightly overwhelmed with this weeks' readings? I haven't read as much about classical rhetoric and logic since undergrad . . . and I admit my mind felt a bit mushy and rusty!

The basic theme that I came away with is the importance of balance between exposing students to multiple samples and formulas to create a good store of knowledge and allowing them opportunities to freewrite and explore. It's important, also, I think to be aware of context, purpose, and audience, but not get too caught up in the "modes" of writing types. I think that often they are intertwined. My seventh graders, when writing their personal narratives, used to ask me if they had to do a descriptive piece too because their narratives had description in them.

While most of them just wanted to get out of another assignment, I was thrilled that they could see how closely related different types of writing could be. I never liked the grammar and composition text that my school used, and I often didn't use it. Instead, I wrote many of my own units, trying to tie together the actual writing with grammar and mechanics taught in context. It just made more sense to me to do it that way, and I think it was more natural for my students too.

I'm not discounting structure by any stretch--for some students, more stringent guidelines and classifications can be helpful. I agree with Lynn when he points out that students can write to learn and informed writers make better use of the process (100). As in all things, balance is key--give students freedom to create and explore and structure as it's needed.