J When
thinking about my beliefs related to teaching writing, I consider the damage
that was done to me as a developing writer. Reflected in the words of one of my
colleagues, was this wrongdoing. She shared the journey of her writing
experience, recounting that she feels she as though she never learned to write as a thinking process and, as an
adult – as a teacher – she is relearning, rising from the ashes of the phoenix
of her writer’s past. “The five paragraph essay,” she explained, “really made
me question everything I ever wrote.
I never felt like I could write anything
else once I learned it.” She was trapped by ghosts of writing teachers past.
Maya
Angelou’s memorable poem, “I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings,” compares the
attitudes and sentiments of two birds. The free bird that “leaps,” ”floats,”
and “dips his wings“ as he “dares to claim the sky.” Reveling in his freedom,
the bird exercises his option to choose, daring to achieve avian greatness. The
caged bird, by contrast, is not so lucky. He “stalks down his narrow cage” and
“can seldom see through his bars of rage” with his clipped wings and tied feet.
As a result, the bird can only sing – his lone form of self-expression. As a
writer, which bird are you? My colleague, I would argue, was certainly the
caged bird. We as teachers have the responsibility to empower students’ voices,
encouraging them to sing in a variety of voices, not as a response despair or
captivity. Analogously, student writing should be an expression of their
individual skill and creativity, a product of inquiry and experimentation, not
a regurgitation of a strict, cage-like structure.
If
the caged bird stops singing and a hush falls upon the classroom, you can
actually hear the sound as the papers graze the tables: the dreaded essay
assignment. Glancing at your students faces, the looks of consternation,
anxiety, and dread spread like wildfire from student to student. Like a well-choreographed
dance, a hand shoots up from the center of the room, eagerly waving, awaiting a
prompt response. Pouring forth comes the question you knew was coming: “How
long does it need to be?” This question is quite annoying to me, as a teacher
of English and writing, behind only a student asking if they can go to the
bathroom in the middle of some important conversation or teaching point. The
need for parameters when writing – how many paragraphs, words, or sentences –
the cage - comes from years of imposed standards, some teacher’s determination
of what “good writing is.” An imprisoning threat to a student’s understanding
of what good writing could be is the pesky hindrance of overly-formulaic prose,
with perhaps the biggest perpetrator of this unhealthy paradigm being the
often-taught five-paragraph essay – a proverbial quicksand to the developing
writer, sucking him or her in, and trapping them.
There is a relationship between
the caged bird, singing for freedom, and the student writer. Teachers are too
often the oppressors – the “cagers”; students are restricted to the
five-paragraph essay, either by teacher suggestion or through self-imposing, because
it is seen as an easy-to-master format. Teachers
hold their students captive and have too readily accepted a complacency when
teaching writing by insisting on the use of the five-paragraph tool which aims
to guide students through the purported structural perils of essay writing, but
rather stunts and hinders the “freedom” needed to demonstrate academic growth
and achievement. In fact, it is arguable that the five-paragraph essay (FPE)
reinforces mediocrity, a status quo for students to reach, but rarely surpass.
A go-to standard for essay assignments in the English classroom and across the
various content areas, the FPE fosters a flippant attitude from students who
become content with producing formulaic essays that require no critical,
innovative, or out-of-the-box thinking. In her article “The Ill Effects of the
Five Paragraph Theme,” Kimberly Wesley suggests that “the only kind of writing
considered ‘good.’ the only kind of essay that would earn an ‘A’ from the
teacher must have a thesis with
exactly three points, no more, no less,” (Wesley, 57). This cancerous way of
thinking boxes students into a category of essay-writing automatons playing the
game of school, aiming at doing the bare minimum to receive a desired grade
rather than learning. These caged birds refuse to fly the coop where they feel
safe behind the constraints of their FPE bars and do not explore the rhetorical
opportunities that exist beyond.
By definition, the FPE format is
predictable, providing a false sense of security for blossoming writers soon
the fly the nest. A common understanding of what the FPE format requires is:
(1) an introductory paragraph moving from a
generality to an explicit thesis statement and announcement of three points in support
of that thesis, (2) three middle paragraphs, each of which begins with a topic
sentence restating one of the major ideas supporting the thesis statement, then
develops the topic sentence, and (3) a concluding paragraph restating the
thesis and points. (Nunnally, 67)
There is security in the inherent
predictability of the FPE. Like a pair of smelly, worn shoes we refuse to throw
out, we continue to use the format because it is comfortable, even if it lacks
proper support and we know they reek. We have all seen the hamburger model,
either as teachers or as students. Heck, I even used it at one point in my
career. Arguably, it may still have its place in a younger setting. It is a
familiar image, and we know what the bun, meat, and toppings all represent. The
problem is that this “hamburger” is too simple to deal with subjects that
require deeper thought and investigation, the FPE inevitably hinders students
as they advance beyond compulsory education to universities. Furthermore, some
people just do not like hamburgers! Wesley notes, “The five-paragraph essay
theme actually dissuades students from practicing rhetorical analysis necessary
for them to be critical thinkers,” (58). A checklist approach to writing leads
students to accomplish tasks, one at a time, constructing knowledge from a
writing rule book rather than through thinking critically. Understanding the
dramatic changes demanded by the implementation of Common Core Standards, it is
crucial that a paradigm shift takes place, one that supports student
development of strong rhetorical approaches to writing, and detaches them from
dependence on cognitively-undemanding approaches. Katie Ray Wood notes:
When children are given a graphic organizer
and a few simple guidelines to follow, they sometimes produce tighter, more
polished-looking products… but when this happens, the very nature of what is
being taught has fundamentally changed because writing doesn’t exist like that
in the world outside school … When teachers give students a simple way to write
something, not only are they not true to the product, they aren’t true to the
process either. (Ray, 243)
What Ray implies is that writing is not arithmetic and no formula
truly applies in every scenario. In other words, one size does not fit all and the application
of the formulaic approach to writing does not directly correspond to a
student’s writing achievement and creates birds that will never fly beyond
their cages.
Teachers do stand to benefit from
the enforcement of such rigidity. Five-paragraph essays are easier to grade.
Arguably, this is because of their predictable format that allow for check-list
rubrics that promote completion of tasks, an end-run around analysis and
critical thinking. Essays are flavorless and lack student voice or creativity –
they distort the view of what good writing can
be. Although the grading of such essays may be simpler, “The emphasis on
organization over content squelches complex ideas that do not fit neatly into
three boxes. Students’ mere awareness that they must mold a topic to the
five-paragraph theme style inhibits their learning,” (Wesley 59). Overuse of
patterned writing limits the intellectual risk-taking that encourages growth as
writers. In fact, it may stifle students who arrive in our classrooms with
prerequisite skills, but from other cultural backgrounds. In some cultures,
students organize their paragraphs to build toward the main idea at the end of
the paper. This does not mean an essay is not logically or efficiently
organized, but it would not fit the typical prescriptive writing patters of the
five-paragraph essay whose stringent arrangement leaves no room for diverse
learning experiences.
From my own curiosity, I decided
to survey my little writers at the end of the school year. The topic: none
other than the FPE. By June, my students understood my contempt for the
structure, the sanitary pre-scripted form, the bane of my teacher existence.
The survey was composed of short questions related to the FPE, two of which
were: Have you ever been asked to write a FPE? When did you learn to write the
FPE? As I would have assumed, every student answered yes to the first
questions, and about 75% percent of my 143 students learned to write the essay
in fourth grade. Now I know who to blame! Actually, I applaud them – it’s the
fifth, or sixth, or seventh grade teachers – with whom I should pick a bone.
Moving students away from this structure still hadn’t occurred – until they
came to me, but this only comes after years of forming a habit.
Perhaps
the most telling responses came from a question that I thought would produce a
different snapshot of my students as learners. The prompt read: When asked to
write an essay, I: A) Have no idea what to do, B) Immediately try to write five
paragraphs, or C) Consider my purpose and audience and go from there. The
results? Painfully, over half of the responses were B) Immediately try to write
five paragraphs. I died a little inside. Maybe my students were trying to
ruffle my already ruffled feathers. Perhaps they were responding in a way they
thought I wanted them to respond. Is
it possible that my students were admitting to taking (what I think is) the
easy way out? Either way, I felt that much of what I had been working against
that year was shattered in that moment of reflection and analysis. What
continues to perpetuate the need for the FPE if I crusade so passionately
against it? Let me point fingers (or hypothesize) for a moment.
At my school site, the majority
of the content area teachers bury their fingers very deep in their ears and
chant “I can’t hear you!” when it comes to teaching literacy – especially
writing. Rather than get in the mud with me and do the dirty work, those same
teachers give a very formulaic FPE at some point during the year. One history
teacher makes an FPE, complete with plug-and-play graphic organizer, the final
assignment of the school year. I die - again. Students that we share come
bouncing into my classroom, taunting me with this, in my mind, sacrilegious,
assignment. In my fury, I burn red. Then it hits me – it’s not his fault for “teaching” this way. As a
teacher, he may not have had the mentorship or development in the teaching of
writing. The new standards demand “content” teachers become literacy teachers,
but do not offer support. This is another issue for another time, but it brings
clarity to my students’ responses.
If not the FPE, than what should
be taught instead? Students need to develop voice and a clear understanding of
who they are as writers and can do so only in environments that create safety
to learn and take risks, opportunities and time to write, and teachers who
serve not only as motivators, but also mentors through the writing process. A
prescriptive approach to writing, one that focuses on rules and structures
rather than process and choice, should be replaced by a descriptive approach.
In this approach, students will generate writing from an authentic place,
considering how writing actually functions: with a clearly defined purpose and
with respect to a targeted audience.
A logical place to begin “reprogramming”
our students, to open their cages, is by locating texts that make clear
decisions for a clear purpose – in more or fewer than five paragraphs. An
understanding must be formed: not everything can be accomplished in five,
seemingly-neat, forcibly-organized paragraphs. Organizing points should be
played with, and students must demonstrate flexibility. Realizing the various
rhetorical patters in these mentor texts, students should consider where each
pattern has its place within their writing. Whether it be narration,
problem/solution, exemplification, cause and effect, compare and contrast, or
one of the other rhetorical patterns, students need to be taught how making
writer decisions leads to quality writing. Dispensing writing formats like
candy does nothing to encourage students to live as writers – it creates
students who play the game of writing. Seeing real world examples that directly
contradict this “standard” of five paragraphs is a good starting line. Katie
Ray elaborates:
When teachers give students a simple way to
write something, not only are they not true to the product, they aren’t true to
the process either. Outside of school, when faced with tasks that require
composition, writers have to figure out how to write things. No one gives them
a formula, and the struggle to organize and make everything work together is
there anew every time. It is an essential part of the writing process. (Ray,
243)
Writing is an art form, or at least it can
be, but removing the artist’s choice from the process leads us to a world of
boring, sanitized writing. It becomes literary white bread – devoid of flavor. When
students see examples of writings as part of their process, they may begin to
move away from the idea that a simplified structure to writing is the only way
to proceed. It is my job as a teacher to encourage children to play with
writing.
Regardless
of the “other” teaching my students receive, the discomfort with making “writer
decisions” comes from this purported indoctrination of formulaic writing. Take, for instance, the student perception of
school uniforms. They are often rejected by students because, as many are prone
to arguing, uniforms “limit self-expression.” Who wants a plaid skirt “box” in
which to live her fashion-conscious life? Analogous is the FPE, the polo shirt
and khakis of academic writing. Teaching students to see writing as an
authentic product of choice and self-expression, not a predetermined, uniform
structure, gives them ownership over the writing task and the ability to
self-express. This is not the easy way – we can expect rejection and eye
rolling, sighs of disbelief and grumbles – any time we make something more
difficult creates this natural reaction for students. The more opportunity to become accustomed to
this freedom, this liberation from the proverbial academic cage, will allow
students to experience a shift and thinking. This discomfort creates a space
for growth and learning.
Growth and learning, the goal of
a teacher diving into the deep waters of inquiry, making students think rather
than regurgitate or forcibly connect to a format that is not one-size-fits-all.
I have found that students have become so attached to the FPE as a standard for
writing that they are unable to truly feel comfortable even imagining another
way to write until it is suggested. Likewise, they need opportunities to
experiment and ask questions about their own writing process, in order to
understand that they do bring
something to the tables as writers. Students can still have authorial control without giving way to predetermined
structure, thus engineering their own product. When given choice and adequate
support, the ability to collaborate and interact with writing as a social
experience, my students have begun to show signs of developing as
writers as they simultaneously mature as people. Let the liberation begin!
Rather than think of the end
product of an essay, let’s start smaller, build from there, think about and
honor the process. Instead of asking for traditional essays, we can incorporate
music, art, poetry, narrative – virtually any form of expression, as part of
the process. We should coach students to be comfortable with discomfort as they
vacillate from thinking to drafting, revising, to drafting more. Be the teacher
who leads students and share your process. Celebrate victories and mistakes. Let’s build
communities of writers who want to share, connect, and eventually, celebrate
writing. Let’s write a lot, and often, bending and breaking the rules – once we
learn them, of course. Give students opportunities to practice with writing and
revising in all subject areas, not just English. Remember, most of all, that we
don’t teach five-paragraph essays, we teach students, and more importantly in
this context, blossoming writers, with pens in hands, thoughts in heads. Let’s
lay the five-paragraph essay aside, open our tool boxes, and build something
different, together. Let’s open the cages and let our students soar to newer and
greater heights.
