I don’t know how many times I’ve written some version of the comment: “Student X makes terrific contributions to classroom discussions, yet there is a bit of a disconnect between those conversations and what she’s able to get down onto the page.”
Similarly, in student writing conferences, I’ve often asked, “Can you tell me what you mean by this?” and their verbal answer is much clearer than what they put on paper. Many of my students can speak what they think more expertly than they can write what they think. But how can I help to bridge that gap?
Recently, I’ve been reflecting on a moment from my early teaching career. The students had everything they needed to start writing: We had read the book; I had delivered mini lessons on writing thesis statements and on how to select great quotes; we had reviewed topic sentences and gone over body paragraph structure; and we had read model essays. The essay wasn’t due for another week and a half, but I needed them to start writing. All they wanted to do was talk—to me, to each other, talk, talk, talk. So, why were so many students not able to turn their chatter into keyboard clatter?
I soon realized that the problem was the solution: They needed to talk about their writing.
A New Approach
I teach at Germantown Academy (PA), where the administration has a friendly attitude when teachers want to, pedagogically speaking, “get weird.” With this privilege, I decided to try something new two years ago.
In my junior and senior seminar class, Music in Literature, we had just finished reading Jennifer Egan’s A Visit from the Goon Squad. It was time to write an essay. They had the instructions. The rubric was ready. But instead of trying to get them to stop talking and start writing, I wanted them to start talking before writing.
I began with a question: “Does anybody ever talk to themselves?” I asked. A couple of nods. An embarrassed smile.
“I do it all the time,” I continued. “My husband thinks I’m bananas. I do it in the bathroom when I’m curling my hair. I do it in the car. Sometimes, when I get caught in the car, I try to play it off like I’m just having a phone call or singing along to the radio. Has anyone else been caught talking to themselves?” A couple of hands. A bit of silence. A hint of a smile. “Sean, I can tell you are thinking of something. Can I twist your arm to share? Where were you?”
“I was in my car, too,” he said.
“Did another driver catch you?”
“No.”
“Wait, then what happened?”
“I butt-dialed someone. And I was just, like, talking to myself in the car.” Sympathetic laughter filled the room.
It was time to move on to a writing exercise. On the board, I wrote a quote by author E.M. Forster: How do I know what I think, until I see what I say? I asked them to write down what they thought Forster meant, then chat about it with a partner. After a few shares, a simplified version emerged: “Talking helps us figure out what we think.”
Walking the Talk
At our next class, I explained that we would go for a “walk and talk,” where students would talk to themselves about what they wanted to say in their papers. After reading the assignment, we all stood up, phones in hand, and pushed play on our voice recorders. We did a 10-minute lap around campus, talking to ourselves like a flock of summer chickens. Yes, it was awkward. No, not all of the students got on board. Some walked silently. Some paired off, but I encouraged them to talk to each other—just about the paper.
When we got back to the room, I asked them to write in their notebooks. I encouraged them to take out earbuds, replay their recordings, and collect and synthesize their ideas into a “gist” that answered the prompt, “What do you want to write about in your paper? What do you want to try to prove? Which parts of the book do you think you’ll need to talk about in order to prove it?” They worked for about 10 minutes.
After students captured the ideas from their walk, they partnered up and had two minutes each to “elevator pitch” their paper.
“Ms. McPhillips, I didn’t have time to finish explaining my paper!” Will moaned.
“Distill, distill! Try to be more crisp with your next partner—conciseness is key!” I replied.
After practicing their paper’s “elevator pitch” three times, finessing and clarifying as they went, students would write again. They returned to their notebooks to capture how their gist had evolved.
Putting It on Paper
During the next class, I checked in to see how they felt about using talk as a tool for pre-writing. I asked if anyone’s gist evolved during this process, and if so, how. Coulten replied, “I got rid of fluff. I only got through one half of what I wanted to say with my first partner, and with my next partner, I had to shorten it. It helped me figure out what was most important.”
Next, I asked about the “walk and talk” to see if they found that useful. “The talking to myself worked for me,” Will said. “I was just thinking through my ideas, and I usually talk to myself anyway, naturally, so it was helpful to have time to think about what I want to write about and to record it so I don’t forget.”
Then I said, “It’s OK if this process didn’t work for you, too. We aren’t all alike as writers. Was that the case for anyone?”
Brett replied, “Sometimes I like to go right to writing and do a free write. We do that a lot in Ms. Evans’ class. And I’ve noticed that helps me best with the clarity of my argument.”
I was so happy he said that. Every writer is different, and students need to know that. I want students to leave my class with multiple ways to enter the writing process. In fact, I want them to understand there is no such thing as “the writing process.” Rather, there are processes, and the first step when writing is not always writing.
Building a Community of Writers
In the years since Brett’s class, I’ve continued to offer this exercise in various iterations. Sometimes crummy weather cancels our walk and talk, and we dive right into partner discussion. Sometimes I wonder how I might finesse the activity, such as different tracks for “out loud” versus “online” discussions.
Ultimately, I appreciate some version of this activity for two reasons. First, it helps my students slow down and clarify their ideas before putting them down on the page. But perhaps more significantly, it advances my efforts to create a community of writers. When we chat with one another about our writing, we see our peers as helpers—there to listen, bounce ideas, and offer support.