To answer the first: I write to express, to explore, to create, and to understand what I think. To work things out. I’ve had stellar vicarious conversations for years, ones that are incredibly articulate and make me sound really smart. They usually happen in the car hours after an event that left me tongue tied or speechless. Writing has helped me move from living largely in the land of vicarious conversations to solid ground in the land of actual ones in real time. And reflecting on my reasons for writing helped me feel better. Writing yesterday's post helped me explore some thinking. So it did what I needed it to do.
To answer the second: My students need feedback that makes them feel heard.
The ones I see over zoom, the ones I see in person two times a week, and the lucky few who’ve been granted access to in-person learning four days a week, they all crave connection that transcends the mask. We all do. And this year, as in none before, I see my students’ faces on line scanning their work, looking for my written cheerleading bites. I’ve never before received so many ‘Thank you:)!!!’ replies to a simple message I’ve sent.
It’s easy to get lost in the weeds here. If this short foray into slicing has taught me anything (and it has - another post) it’s that feedback doesn’t need to be much, and that it becomes easier the more we give it. We just need to say something. As someone who’s always relied on sitting beside a child, pointing out what’s strong and offering a place to grow, and chatting about the work, the importance of giving my students some kind of feedback on their work is not in question for me. I don’t, and certainly don’t, need to say a lot. I just need to say something that connects with what they wrote and what they’re trying to do. Something that makes them feel heard and valued. Something that lets them know they’re not alone in the swampland of drafts. Sometimes it’s a line I highlight that I love. Sometimes it’s sharing the way their writing made me feel. Sometimes, it’s a question that’s really an invitation to a deeper conversation. Sometimes, it’s simply me giving a heartfelt ‘thank you’ for bravely putting their voice out into the world.
I long ago moved past the “Good job” type of comment on student writing to more specific “I love how you…” I know that when I point out a craft move or a line that worked, students are more likely to replicate it. A few years ago at a TCRWP coaching institute, I was impressed by a teacher in a classroom in Queens, who made excellent use of Glow and Grow as a feedback tool. The idea is this: notice what glows in the students’ work, and offer a suggestion for a place to grow. It’s helped my own students tremendously. That simple working has made such a difference for me, and the teachers in my school who’ve also adopted it. It’s supportive and gives students focus for their revision efforts.
In these pandemic times, I focus way more on the Glow, offering gentle Grows when ready. It matters most that my students know that I’m listening to them and am having a conversation with them. Not a vicarious one, but one rooted in the here and now. My students want my feedback. They want connection. They want to feel heard.