Empty Shelves for Gifted Readers

Most parents wonder how to get their kids to read more.

In our house, we had to have a penalty for unbridled reading! We’d send our son to his room to get dressed, and twenty minutes later we’d find him on the floor, pants half on, reading. He’d read anything he could get his hands on. He’d probably have starved if I didn’t physically take his book away at lunchtime.

Green glass sea
This is a lovely book for aspiring girl scientists—or any girl who doesn’t fit in.

Though voracious readers like my son aren’t the majority, there are many. Enough, in fact, that their parents find each other online to ask the same question, over and over:

What should I do? My child has run out of books!

Specifically, at two points in these readers’ young lives, there is a dearth of books aimed at high reading capacity but lower social/emotional development. I’ll use my son as an example.

Most, though not all, gifted readers start young. My son didn’t start young; he started to read at the boringly average age of 6 3/4. But unlike the other kids in his first-grade class, he didn’t slowly progress from ABC books to early readers to chapter books. In October, he was still pronouncing “the” as “tuh-HUH.” In November, he was reading anything he got his hands on.

The problem was, he was still six, and an emotionally young six at that. He blew through all the classic children’s repertoire in about a year. I remember my gratitude upon finding that there were over 30 books in the Oz series.

The advice we got from other parents, teachers, librarians, and booksellers was almost always off. Sure, Dick King-Smith books are adorable, but a kid like this can eat one up in half an hour. Harry Potter started out a boy, and the early books were just on the edge of too scary, but as Harry ages, the books get more terrifying to a young psyche and further from her experiences.

What these kids need is good, thick books with compelling storylines, rich vocabulary, and little-to-no violence. Writers could look to the past for models: White, Baum, and Wilder got these kids.

Somehow, we got our son through this period. We thought it would be smooth sailing till one day in the library he said, “I’ve read everything here.”

It was true, sort of. He’d read every possible book that wasn’t aimed at young adults. He was now going on 11, and entering that period of human development when all kids become more sensitive. Correspondingly, highly sensitive kids experience a fearful change in themselves and in the world around them.

And so I turned to my friends online again, and found out that once again, our kids were in synch. Though some of their kids had graduated to YA fiction with no problem, many of them tried it and responded like my son, with nightmares, repulsion, or just plain boredom.

Once again, my son needed more depth, more breadth, bigger stories and bigger conundrums. But he did not need more things to make him feel fearful, awkward, and uncertain. As an adolescent, he had enough of that racing around with his hormones.

A great lover of kids’ fantasy, he couldn’t take YA fantasy with its violent imagery and scary plotlines. As an emotionally young 11-year-old, he had no interest in the teen emotional world. He had read all the older classics for middle grades years before.

Though some of these kids can just skip straight into adult classics, my son found them difficult. (Also, when I read Oliver Twist out loud to him, I remembered that even nineteenth-century writers can’t be trusted not to include a horrific, vividly described murder scene!)

Some books that we have found to work really well for him include the Mysterious Benedict Society series, Carl Hiaason’s books, and Diane Duane’s Young Wizards series (which is, like early Harry Potter, just on the edge of too much graphic violence).

Writers could fill this hole with more books that offer the exciting plots, highly imaginative worlds, and character complexity of the best YA fiction, combined with a slightly safer world view, less visually stimulating violence, and no need for teen-level understanding of interpersonal relationships.

One of the common reactions of writers and readers of fiction who read this request is, “Well, fiction is all about conflict, so you can’t ask us to take out conflict.” And of course, that’s not at all what’s being proposed.

Instead, I ask writers to reconsider how the recent acceptance in our culture of the violence in visual media has affected their writing, and more importantly, their perceptions of “what YA readers want.” I suspect that my gifted readers aren’t the only ones turned off by the, frankly, stomach-turning and heart-wrenching violence in many YA books.

Recently, my son, 7-year-old daughter, and I listened to the audiobook of Kenneth Oppel’s Airborn in our car. It was so gripping that when we got near the end of the book, we sat in the car for a while and then finally I said, “OK, I’ll pop the CD and play it inside.” We just couldn’t put that book down.

The book turned out to be a perfect example of what we’ve been looking for: Though there is plenty of sexual yearning and a good measure of violence in the book, it was written with the slower pacing and moral footing of the Victorian fiction it was modeling.

The kids were fully able to ignore the romance, and the violence was never gratuitous. When one of the three main characters is killed, his death is properly mourned and relates to the theme of the novel. (Unfortunately, the second book in the series, with its creepier villains, frozen dead bodies, and weird flying squids, was way too much for my son and gave him nightmares.)

For both the age-groups I’m concerned with, modern fiction has done a great job of filling in the holes left in the classics for struggling readers: books that offer ease of reading and more excitement, books that take cues from visual media, books designed to tempt kids away from other pursuits.

But for the gifted reader, the library is shrinking. As the classics recede further into the past, and thus further from our kids’ experiences and language, very little is taking their place. The child who dashes through easy readers at the age of four can finish the whole of English language children’s literature by nine or ten. And the child who has done that might just have to skip to adult classics to fill the hours of reading she yearns for.

Gifted readers, especially adolescents, want to read current fiction just like their peers. Writers were often gifted readers themselves; perhaps they can channel that hunger they had for meaty, compelling, but not too scary books, and offer them up for their future biggest fans.


Visit my book lists for gifted readers:

The search for the girl scientist in literature

Note: This piece was published by a publishing industry blog a few years ago, but they have apparently reworked their site and I can’t find it anymore. So I am reposting it here. This is one of the pieces that I have written that people find over and over—we need to support our scientist/techy/mathy girls, and part of that is letting them know through literary role models that they aren’t alone. Unfortunately, I got some wonderful suggestions on that blog for other books, but they are now lost! If you have any other girl scientists up your sleeve, please do leave comments!

My eight-year-old daughter is a scientist. This isn’t a career choice. This is just a fact of her being.

When she was 18 months old, she accidentally pulled on her sensitive big brother’s hair.

He cried!

Green glass sea
This is a lovely book for aspiring girl scientists—or any girl who doesn’t fit in.

Another child might have felt guilty or might have been upset. Not my daughter. She had only one possible reaction:

I wonder what will happen when I do that again!

And again and again.

Fast forward seven years, and she’s a regular exhibitor at our county science fair. If I want her to practice her penmanship, we do science. If she learns new words, it’s through science.

In the midst of this we had an accidental book club. We’re homeschoolers, and we do a lot of driving. Those two combined mean that we love audiobooks. I balk at the high price tag, so we get most of our audiobooks from the library. This means that more often than not, we listen to whatever happens to be on the shelves.

Unintentionally, two of the books we listened to were about girls who love science.

The first was The Evolution of Calpurnia Tate. This lovely book by Jacqueline Kelly covers nearly a year in the life of a girl living in rural Texas at the turn of the 20th century. She forms an unexpected alliance with her grandfather, an amateur naturalist, and becomes entranced with science the way that some girls now become entranced with teen idols.

This positive portrayal of a girl scientist in a place where she is so completely out of place is riveting. Not only did it inspire more interest in evolution and botany in my already science-loving kids, but it presented the role model of a girl who is a scientist against all odds.

The second book, The Green Glass Sea by Ellen Klages, is also historical, set in Los Alamos as scientists work desperately to create the “gadget” that will end the war. Dewey is a born scientist also, in this case, an inventor. She loves to create her own gadgets, and largely ignores the taunting of the other kids. When she is unexpectedly required to spend a few weeks living with another family, she forms an alliance with another misfit girl, who is finding her calling as an artist.

Sea and Tate are very different books. In Tate, the negative pressure on the main character comes largely from adults. In Sea, however, adults are largely charmed by Dewey’s inventiveness, but the kids are just short of brutal to her.

In both books, however, today’s girl scientists can see girls sticking to science because it is what calls to them. Interestingly, both books almost ignore the girls’ schooling, which seems tangential to their real lives.

In the midst of this mini girl-scientist book festival, it occurred to me to look for more books. In my wanderings, I got a recommendation to ask Tanya Turek, who runs the blog books4yourkids.com. She mentioned that Sea has a sequel, White Sands, Red Menace, which I had found.  She also reminded me of A Wrinkle in Time, which fits closely enough to the theme I was looking for. But then she came up with a blank.

“I spent quite a bit of time on the internal book search system at the Barnes & Noble where I work as well as the internet and I could not come up with any more books that what I suggested already,” she e-mailed me. “I think that there really, truly are only a handful of books that have scientific themes AND female protagonists.”

I can imagine the reasons for this: Few women are scientists, and scientists in general are unlikely also to be fiction writers, so when you look for the cross-section of those two small groups, you apparently only come up with two current writers amongst our many writers of fiction for children.

To explain the lack of these books, however, does not excuse it! We need more books about girls who love science. Girl scientists, even in the 21st century, meet with a good measure of what met Calpurnia in 1899 and Dewey in 1945: misunderstanding, social pressure, and disappointment. Books are where misfit kids can find themselves, and where they find out they aren’t misfits after all.

When my daughter was three, she was nearly impossible to have in a preschool room. All order would be upset; all expectations would be stymied. Forget learning outcomes, her teachers just wanted her to stop experimenting!

I finally found the right teacher for her. One day when I went to pick her up, Cari said, “I have realized what is going on here. Your daughter is a scientist. She must find out how everything works, and the laws behind everything the classroom.”

As soon as Cari understood my daughter, things went much more smoothly.

Books like Calpurnia Tate and Green Glass Sea will hopefully help my daughter understand herself.

Birthing a book

People compare writing a book to having a baby, and in many ways its the same. You pour a huge amount of yourself into a book, whether it’s an autobiography or an academic treatise on a rare insect from Guatemala.

But for me, the process of publishing my book, From School to Homeschool, has been in some ways uncomfortably unlike birth.

Suki and book
Me with my little newborn baby!

When you have a baby – those of you who are parents will remember – your body is flooded with happy hormones and despite the fact that your body may hurt and you’re getting very little sleep, you feel elated. You know that your baby is the most beautiful, wonderful baby ever birthed. And people stop you on the street to tell  you how beautiful and wonderful your baby is.

Between the heady days of writing a book and sending it out into the world, however, you lose any hormonal help you may have gotten. The editing process drags on and then you have to start marketing something you can’t even hold in your hands yet. You start to think:

“Is my baby really that beautiful, or did I somehow mislead my publisher?”

“Oh, I really should have given my baby brown eyes instead of blue!”

“Did I forget to give my baby a pleasant smile?”

“Why would anybody like a baby of mine, anyway?”

“How could I have thought that I’d be a good mommy to this baby?” (OK, I think I did think that one once or twice over the last 13 years of parenting, as well!)

The first thing that happened as the paper copies rolled off the press was contacting reviewers. My publisher’s publicity person rightly pointed out to me that they get a better response rate when the writer approaches reviewers she knows or has some sort of relationship with, so I started sending out e-mails. I suspect they were more professionally worded than this, but I remember these e-mails going something like this, “Please like my baby, please don’t treat her badly, please notice her friendly smile and not the big wart on her nose!”

Last week, I awoke with a start in the middle of the night. I realized with great certainty that I had forgotten to mention the website of one of the wonderful movers and shakers of the homeschooling world who agreed to review my book!

What is going to happen when she reads the book and sees that her wonderful website and her wonderful books aren’t mentioned? I thought, my heart pounding. I mentally composed an apologetic e-mail — “I can’t believe we got through the entire editing process without my realizing that I’d forgotten your website!” — and somehow got myself back to sleep.

Days later I remembered that midnight terror, and went to check my electronic copy of the book. There the website was, with appropriately encouraging words about the author’s contributions to the craft of homeschooling.

OK, so my baby is slightly less imperfect than I thought.

Of course, there will be people who don’t like my book, and I’m prepared for that. And there are people who for whatever reason don’t like me, and thus won’t like my book. I suppose I’m a little less prepared for that because I know that I’m way too concerned with whether people like me than I should be. And of course I’m completely prepared for the fact that my book isn’t for everyone: When people whose children are grown or gone, or people who never had any in the first place and are not into gifted education, say that they’re going to buy my book, I’m happy to say, “Only if you want to.” (I personally have a “thing” for owning books by people I know, but what started as one shelf of people that I know has overflown to books stashed all over the house, so perhaps that’s a “thing” I need to give up!)

So yes, publishing a book is like birthing a baby. I am terribly fond of my little orange-and-blue progeny and it was such a thrill to see her (why is she a she? I can’t answer that) after all those months of imagining what she’d look like.

But it’s also a period of growth for me, and growth, as any rapidly stretching teen can tell you, is not always comfortable.

Here’s to books, babies, and personal growth. None of the three is always a welcome force at any given time of a given day, but all are necessary for the continuation of intelligent life in our little corner of the universe.

On Moral Fiction

I have a book, pages yellowed and stiff as if I’d been born much earlier than I was actually born, that my brother gave me when I graduated from college. He inscribed the front page, which is why I know when he gave it to me. Otherwise, I’d have to depend on my memory, which is a bit stiff and yellow about the edges, too.

The book is John Gardner’s On Moral Fiction. I don’t know if anyone reads Gardner much anymore. I know that men of a certain age, who were already stiff and yellow about the edges when they were my writing professors, loved John Gardner. I never had much use for his fiction, which seemed to be speaking to an audience much older and male than I was, but I did like this book. And I was touched that my brother would give it to me as I finished school and was about to embark on my life of art.

Fast-forward a few years, and my brother is in advertising, and I’m a homeschooling mom, but the book hasn’t lost its relevance. I skimmed it and found that my young self had helpfully underlined all sorts of important bits. Amazingly, they sound just as important to me now as they did then.

Gardner wrote, “Nothing could be more obvious, it seems to me, than that art should be moral and that the first business of criticism, at least some of the time, should be to judge works of literature (or painting or even music) on grounds of the production’s moral worth.”

He goes on to say a lot of things, but the main point I took from his argument, and have held onto ever since, is that whether you try to or not, any time you create a work of art you are making a moral statement. So since it’s unavoidable, you might as well think about what moral statement you’re making, just in case it turns out you’re making a statement that you don’t really want to stand behind.

This comes up now because my kids and I have spent the last two years – the time in which both kids have been homeschooling – listening to lots of audiobooks together in the car. When my son was in school, it was too hard to share books because his sister and I would want to listen while he was in school. But then our lives coincided a bit more and it became a project of sorts. We have listened to three series that I think Gardner would have had strong opinions about, had he lived to read them.

First, we listened to all of Harry Potter in the space of a few months. It was an interesting exercise – HP started to invade my thoughts about everything. It is clearly a series that has a lot of compelling content. But in the end, after all that build-up, I felt like we experienced an enormous group shrug. OK, well, good thing it’s over now so we can listen to something else.

It’s not that we didn’t enjoy it – we all did. But in the end, it seemed like there was so little to sink our teeth into. Harry, as a friend of mine pointed out, really didn’t “grow” that much as a character. He started out pretty good, he stayed pretty good, then in the end his goodness triumphed over evil, just as predicted.

It wasn’t an immoral tale, certainly. But I was left wondering, Does HP give us anything to aspire to? Have we learned anything? Do we feel better equipped to face the challenges of our lives? The answer was that resounding group shrug. It was a good tale, worth listening to, and I don’t think it damaged us to listen to it. But if Gardner is right, HP’s ambivalence is a statement in itself, a message where one was not really defined.

The second series we got into started simply because we found out that the author had published the first novel as a homeschooled teen. That sounded interesting, so we decided to check it out. The series, Inheritance, is all the rage with young teens I know. It certainly was a gripping tale, full of swashbuckling fighters, glorious dragons, lithe elves, and Icelandic-style scenery as a backdrop. Our hero, Eragon, is a farmboy who becomes a sort of accidental hero after he finds a dragon egg. Eragon has to grow immensely into this role. Nothing is ever easy for him. (Believe me – by the 50th time you read that Eragon felt some part of his body give way as he did some amazing deed… you get the point that he’s suffering!)

We were stymied in finishing the series, however, because I refused to buy the audiobook and the last book had a long waiting list at the library. So while we waited, we started on our third series, which we’re just finishing. This series, Tiffany Aching by Terry Pratchett, has a lot of surface similarities to Inheritance: made-up land, lots of magic, fairy folk. There the similarities end, however. Pratchett is a master writer with a slew of adult novels under his belt. His books not only feature a sly, intelligent humor that makes you sure this man knows what he’s doing—they are also firmly grounded in a moral universe of Pratchett’s making.

We finished Inheritance because we’d come so far and we needed to know how it ended. By the end, we were referring to it as “Blood and Guts” due to the enormous amount of violent imagery. The author would often pause to have his hero bemoan the amount of violence he was required to engage in—a nod toward morality—but then again he would rise up to drive his sword through an endless parade of bodies, telling us in gory detail about the sinews snapping, the fluids draining, the surprised looks on the doomed faces.

The other thing that hit me wrong about the series was indicated by the name: This series of books is all about how you can’t change your destiny. You are who you are, you are fated to be swordsman or victim, and you play your part no matter what. In the end, Eragon has learned many things, but the biggest lesson he’s learned is that none of his struggles changed anything. He’s on the white ship sailing off to his destiny.

I have to say that I found this a repugnant message to give young readers. As Gardner said, whether you mean to teach a lesson or not, what you choose to put into your fiction teaches a lesson. And the lesson learned from Eragon’s travails is that some of us are just born with great drama, and it doesn’t matter what we do to the little people on our rampage across history.

It’s so interesting that the end of Inheritance was sandwiched in between visits with Tiffany Aching. Tiffany is also a farm girl who gets caught up in something much bigger. But on every step of her journey, Tiffany pauses to think. She notices how her actions affect people. She makes decisions, and she takes responsibility for her decisions when they hurt other people.

The first three books are largely free of any gross violence. The fourth, I Shall Wear Midnight, starts with a shocking scene. A 13-year-old girl is beaten so viciously by her father that she loses the baby she’s carrying. Plenty for me to cringe at as the book opened and we listened in the car. However, by then I trusted Terry Pratchett, and he has not violated that trust. He is a writer who wields his pen with great assurance. There is no ambivalence about right and wrong, no sense that there’s no reason to fight, never a suggestion that someone can’t grow into being something more than they are today.

My kids had probably never heard anything so personally, horribly violent as they did at the beginning of Pratchett’s final book in the series. Nothing in HP or Inheritance was so personal and true to life. I wasn’t sure I wanted to get into discussions about just how and why a 13-year-old gets pregnant! But I don’t regret letting them listen to it. By the end of the book, Tiffany has unraveled the mess, not to make it perfect, but to make it as good as she can.

And that’s why she’s good, and why she’s moral, and why, if I wanted my kids to emulate any of the many people we’ve gotten to know in the last year—Harry, Ron, Hermione, Eragon, Arya, Roran, Rob Anything, or even Slightly Bigger Than Wee Jock Jock (gotta read Pratchett to understand!)—my vote is for Tiffany. She’s a hardworking, imperfect, thoughtful person. She’s not always nice, because she knows that nice is not always the most important thing.

But she is moral, as are her books.

Teaching writing in the elementary years

This is a transcript of a talk that I gave at the recent HSC Conference in Sacramento. Thanks to my great audience, I have edited the content so hopefully now it’s even more helpful. This talk was written with homeschoolers in mind. If your children are in school or will be in school, you’ll find that schools have a very different approach to writing. Somewhere along the way, they forgot to observe children who eventually became good writers and analyze what helped them get there. You’re not going to be able to change the way your child’s teachers do things, but perhaps if you have a child who has been deemed unsatisfactory in the writing department, you can follow some of my suggestions at home. You might also even consider making suggestions to the teacher, if you think s/he is receptive.

*

I graduated from University of Michigan with a Master’s in Creative Writing. Somehow, this made me eligible to teach expository writing at the college level. I remember when I got my first job, my elation and then my dismay: How do you teach expository writing? Nobody had ever taught me much of anything. I read the textbook before walking in the first day. And I got one valuable piece of advice: Another teacher told me that the best way to get to know my students was to have them write their first essay on the topic, “How my family eats dinner.”

I followed his advice. The results were fascinating. The worst-written essays came from 18-year-olds who wrote things like, “I grab a TV dinner and eat in front of the TV.” One of the best essays, however, was from a young man who happened to be a preacher’s son. His essay revealed how every evening of his childhood, his father had sat the family at the table and grilled them on topics of his choice. At any given moment, they were supposed to be able to expound on questions concerning morality or rights.

This young man also revealed to me that he’d gone to an abysmal California high school that seemed bent on preparing its low-income students for prison. He’d never written an essay before, but because of his father’s training, he intrinsically knew what it was.

He got an A.

In order to get you into the mind and body of an elementary-age kid who has assigned writing, I’d like you to do the following exercise: Choose a profession you are not interested in pursuing. Write three paragraphs about the best things about practicing this profession. Do it with your non-dominant hand. Consider how that feels, and how your eight-year-old might feel when given an assigned writing topic.

I want to go back to my own writing training. My school system was pretty old-fashioned. None of this new-fangled “writing across the curriculum.” We studied grammar, we studied spelling, we had to write reports in middle school, and papers in high school. Also in high school we were given the opportunity, occasionally, to write creatively. There are obvious drawbacks to this approach: It’s uninspired and ignores creativity and the joy of writing.

But the good thing about this approach was that I was never, as a young child, expected to want to write or to have opinions on things adults thought were important. By contrast, when my son was in public school, his math book had problems where he was supposed to write narrative answers. I’m sure the committee that thought this up had good intentions, but really, who wants to write about math? Even the people I know who are good at it have little interest in writing about it. And if a kid isn’t good at it, forcing him/her to write about it instills more resentment…against both math and writing!

So I actually don’t know that our school-y approach to writing has improved all that much. It’s replaced a system that expected little from kids and did little to inspire them with a system that expects way too much from kids and turns inspiration into force-feeding.

Let’s talk about what writing is:

  • Expression
  • Ideas
  • Argument
  • Self-awareness
  • Flow
  • Creativity
  • Communication
  • Being part of a community of readers/writers
  • Permanence

Writing is more than just learning a skill. It’s about expressing yourself and your ideas, being able to bring your ideas out of your head and give them a form where you can consider them, edit them, change them, and refine them. It is the process of revealing what’s in your brain in a sort of real-world, permanent way. It’s a really BIG thing, especially to a kid. Writing is power.

So what stifles writing?

  • The wrong tool (scratchy pen, dull pencil, broken keyboard)
  • The wrong environment (too noisy, too quiet, wrong kind of music, bad smell)
  • Too high expectations from someone else or yourself
  • Having to write about something you don’t care about
  • A physical problem (carpal tunnel syndrome, young hands with very little fine motor control)
  • The editor on your shoulder (that voice in your head that keeps criticizing what you’re writing, often even before it makes it to the page)

Taking all of this into account, I believe that enforcing a general rule that all kids must “work on” writing before they are, at minimum, in late elementary school is unwise. Now, notice that I said “a general rule.” As a child, I was a clear exception to this. In the third grade, I wrote an entire post-apocalyptic novel on purple notebook paper. It was, if I remember correctly, about a girl who has lived through a nuclear disaster and is left to fend for herself in a poisoned world. (Unfortunately, it was lost in a flood at my parents’ house. I’d love to read it now for a good chuckle!) So there I was, an 8-year-old, definitely not a kid who was afraid of writing or unable to express myself. But there were two other extenuating circumstances: First, no one had ever told me I had to write or had edited my writing. They had edited my spelling, punctuation, and grammar on exercises, but no one had ever asked me to produce writing I cared about and then proceeded to tell me what was wrong with it. Second, I was unusually drawn to writing at a young age, and no one was expecting me to write novels, or even essays.

Parents homeschooling their kids need to have a stern talk with themselves about interfering in their young children’s writing. Here are some rules I suggest you follow:

  1. Never, ever correct your child’s spelling on a piece of spontaneous writing unless you are asked to
  2. Never, ever correct your child’s grammar on a piece of spontaneous writing unless you are asked to
  3. Do notice the errors your child is making and gently point them out in circumstances completely separated from creative writing, if you feel you need to
  4. Do nothing but praise what your child produces, and make your praise “functional,” e.g. “Wow,  you worked hard on that!” or “It is fun that your story has a surprise ending!” (Not, “That’s brilliant and should be published!” because that’s a lie.)

So now you’re thinking, Wait, are you telling me that I shouldn’t have my younger elementary child work on writing at all? Yes, indeed, that is what I’m saying. However, I’m not saying you shouldn’t interfere, but rather, I’m suggesting that you should do it in a stealthy way that looks nothing like a “writing exercise.”

Here is what you should do to stimulate your child’s writing:

  • Read. Then read. Oh, and also read. Read some more. Read all the time. Enjoy reading. If your child enjoys reading aloud, ask him/her to read to you.
    Reading constantly and enjoyably is the number one way for your child to learn how to write. When I teach writing, the worst writers are the ones who never read for enjoyment. How can they write well? They haven’t seen any examples! We don’t expect kids to do much of anything else well without millions of examples, so why do we expect that of writing?
  • Talk, talk, talk, talk, talk!
    Talking about things cogently is how your child is preparing to be a writer. Our first babysitter was from Colombia, and she viewed part of her job as learning American culture. She was amazed that I talked to my kids “like they are people.” She said that no one she knew in Colombia ever talked to kids in anything but babytalk. I had to break it to her that this is probably true of most Americans, too. But at our house, we knew we wanted our kids to be able to talk well, so we talked to them like they were smart, interesting people with fascinating opinions. This is how you make a writer.
  • Let them see you write – the actual physical process of it.
    This is where some parents are going to groan. Oh, I hate writing. I have hated writing ever since third grade when Mrs. Evans… Exactly. And you don’t want that to happen to  your child. So get out your notebook and write. Write bad nature poetry, and read it to them. Write a letter or e-mail and read it to them. Read them something in the newspaper that really makes you angry, write a letter to the editor, and read it to them. You can even let them see you edit. My kids were fascinated when I read them the first draft of a book I’m working on with pen in hand, and kept making marks. “What’s wrong with that paragraph?” they asked excitedly.
  • Make writing physically easy for your kids.
    Let them dictate while you type/write
    Make a recording device available to them to dictate into
    Incorporate writing into things they love
    Don’t ever criticize anything about their writing
    Keep homemade blank books around
    If your child’s brain has developed ahead of his/her hands, get them voice recognition software or teach them to touch type
    If your child has a disability, work around it
  • Any writing is good writing: signs, comics, tracing. My daughter loves to make signs and for years that was her biggest writing output.
  • Don’t push good penmanship until they are clearly ready to improve, and don’t comment on penmanship when they write for pleasure. Ditto spelling.
  • Never, ever edit things they write for pleasure. (Unless they ask you to, and then make them beg till you do it.)
  • Never, ever assign them topics. (Unless they ask you to do it.)
  • Incorporate writing into project-based learning.
    This is a big one. A kid who is reluctant to sit down and write a book report may be very willing, even eager, to write up the results of a cool science experiment. (Who the heck ever thought up book reports anyway—that’s enough to ruin any good book!)
  • Create actual products that contain writing. Lots of kids are very inspired by this. Actual products can be:
    Letters to Grandma
    Newsletters for their friends or neighbors
    Reports that they present at their homeschool program
    Copied poems with drawings to hang on the wall

Relax! Remember that as long as they are reading and having interesting conversations, your kids are preparing to become good writers.

Here’s a self-assessment you can take if you want to think about what you’re doing to inspire your child’s inner writer:

  • How often do you read to your child aloud, even after s/he can read alone?
  • How often to you ask your child’s opinion about something you’re reading together?
  • How often do you read to your child from something you’re reading for yourself or something you are writing?
  • Do you ask your child questions about the things she is interested in?
  • Have you offered to type/write as your child dictates?

For most kids, creative writing is going to come first. They may incorporate words into their art from a young age. They will usually start producing creative pieces if they see it modeled for them. They can be very inspired to write if you write down the stories they tell and then read them back.

When kids are producing creative work spontaneously, that’s when you know that they are developing a healthy attitude toward writing. You might actually see them gravitating toward things that you could have “assigned” to them. When my daughter was in first grade, she decided to write a “report” about squid, since we were studying the ocean. She did it, then presented it to her teacher at her homeschool program to be put into her portfolio. She did this all on her own. And she, by the way, is a kid who swears she “hates” writing! (What else would you expect the rebellious daughter of a professional writer to say?)

Finally, we do have to address the obvious question: When is a child ready to do assigned writing? If your child is homeschooled and is not required by a charter to take writing tests (something I abhor about one of our local charters), remember that writing on a prompt is only a skill they will need on tests for admission to programs, high school or community college classes they take, and on their college applications. If you’ve already nurtured a happy writer, learning to do this will not be hard. This skill is best developed by: a) reading a lot, and b) not being forced to learn it till they actually need it.

Most homeschooled kids–assuming you’ve been following the advice above–probably don’t need to practice writing from prompts before middle school. Of course, you are going to have kids who want to attain this skill earlier on their own, or perhaps who are so academically advanced that they will have to learn this skill in order to take the classes they want to take. But they are the exceptions. This isn’t a skill that needs to be forced on younger kids, who will only learn to dislike writing if it is “taught” too early.

If you have kids in school, you’re going to see that the educational establishment doesn’t agree with me at all. And, well, good luck with that. I hope that your child has understanding teachers who figure out how to meet the standards while still keeping creativity and ideas distinct from editing and correcting. Otherwise, they’re just going to be feeding that editor sitting on your child’s shoulder and it’s going to be that much harder for your child to find pleasure and learning in writing.

And that, really, is all it takes to become a good writer.

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