MY JOURNEY WITH WRITING

How I was taught writing

As a child, my mother purchased books which allowed me to trace letters, numbers and pictures with crayons. I really enjoy colours, thus, the different colours motivated me to trace and scribe more. I believe that I had a wonderful experience doing this, as my mother showed me the multiple books and activities which I completed. This allowed me to better my ‘scribing’ skills at such a tender age, consequently contributing to my superb penmanship. J

During my primary school years, writing was taught more systematically. My classmates and I were exposed to pictures, where we expressed what we thought was happening. This method fostered creative thinking and writing.  As a result, my transition from the primary to the secondary environment was a smooth one, since the teacher used multiple resources like pictures and music to aid in my writing. This method was used in the teaching of narrative, expository and poetry.  However, in the teaching of argumentative writing we mimicked the work from other writers. 

Up to this present day, I have difficulty creating an original argumentative piece, since I was taught to imitate work from other writers, as their writing were seen as the ‘ideal thing.’ With these sources, I was taught to restructure, rephrase, omit and include terms and expressions which reflect my feelings.

During my tertiary level education, instruction focused heavily on composing. Writing was taught more abstract and this made my learning more difficult. As a result, I searched for additional help from other language arts teachers. Fortunately, I found a teacher who used a more concrete approach. She was aware of my love and desire for mathematics, and through this, taught writing. Using graphs, pictures and other diagrams, she was better able to aid me in self expression and idea coherency. She then allowed me to express myself both verbally and in writing. Constant exposure to this approach made me feel more comfortable with my ideas, which made me more competent in this area.

How I taught writing

As a novice teacher, my lack of exposure to the teaching of the language arts made this process a very difficult to overcome. However, with much reading and conversation with other experienced teachers in my department, I got a better understanding of how to approach the teaching of writing.

 I taught students between the ages of eleven to fourteen years old. At this stage, language developing is significantly crucial. Thus, I gave students a diagnostic test, which I then used to inform my instruction. Majority of the students had problems with phonetics and syntax. As a result, I engaged students in activities which focused on this area. Also, I had students create a checklist, which they used when they write a piece to ensure that they are going on the right track. This allowed them to assess and rate their writing before sharing it with the class.

Additionally, I had students share their writing with their peers so they can get feedback. Some students were a bit reluctant to share during the early stages, but later down the line the students got more comfortable with this exercise. I also allowed students to write narratives about pictures or scenarios which enlightened me on student level of creativity.

I can recall a class where I had to engage students in dramatizations and presentations to have them better understand the different genres of writing; similar to "reader's theater."  The students felt more comfortable and relaxed when I used this approach. Their eagerness and interest were highly apparent, and through this approach I taught students’ writing.

Applying my new knowledge in my writing classes

My exposure to writing as a diverse and dynamic language art has truly enlightened me on the varying approaches I should adopt in my instruction. My readings of NCTE documents have truly contributed to my understanding of the teaching of writing. One of my previous posts highlights all the issues which NCTE highlighted in their document and how it has contributed to my learning on the multiple dimensions of writing. One of the main propositions highlighted by NCTE is that writing is a process which may seem easier for some than others. Students gradually improve their writing when they are continuously exposed to it. Thus, when a teacher gradually takes the necessary steps with students through the writing process, students become more competent at the different stages, which will highly motivate them. This sentiment has significantly contributed to my appreciation of writing.

Additionally, writing has countless benefits. My classes have enlightened me on the primary benefits of writing, including:

Ø  Writing aids retention.

Ø  Writing is a powerful cognitive process

Ø  Writing fosters creativity/ originality

Ø  Writing is a process, etc

I once read a  quote which struck me as it focuses on the use and place of writing in everyone’s life.

“If you do not breathe through writing, if you do not cry out in writing, or sing in writing, then do not write because our culture has no use for it (Anais Nin, 1900s). "

This quote truly captures the purpose and importance of writing in everyday life. This truly shows the depth and layers of writing in our society and culture. Whenever one writes, there should be an underlying purpose. It may be to inform or persuade a specific audience. But what worth is a piece of writing which has no message for an audience? Nothing.

Consequently, this should be reflected in the classroom. I will surely allow students to write for a given purpose, which in turn will make their learning more relevant and authentic. By allowing my students to write in the differing genres, on different topics of interest, intrinsically motivates them (as Nin highlights). We all want this in our classrooms; not only in the English classroom, but in all other subject areas.

During my secondary school years, I can recall writing countless stories about “my summer vacation” or “a day at the beach.” This was so vague. Why do teachers believe that this exercise is intriguing? Anyways, due to this unpleasant experience I will allow my students to write about anything that they believe is worth writing about. Students realize that their choices and decisions are significant to the teacher. I want my students to know that I do appreciate their choices in the issues they want to talk about and the format in which they seek to present it. It could be in a form of a poem, short story or any other genres.

Furthermore, these approaches have also enlightened me on the effectiveness of writing in my mathematics classroom. Mathematics is a language itself. Thus, students must be able to effectively use the language both verbally and in writing. By using the above strategies, I believe that my students will be competent enough to use the jargon in mathematics. I will start off by having students craft sentences showing relationships or discoveries in their mathematics learning, then gradually have them write a paragraph or two on a certain concept taught.

Overall, I believe that the knowledge I have been exposed to thus far, has tremendously informed my colleagues and I on the approaches used in the teaching of writing not only in the English classroom, but all other subject areas. 

MY SHORT STORY

THE SWITCH 

This wrecked figure stares at me with her piercing eyes. Her frail body struggles to stand still as she walks towards me. That self loathe and despair grew stronger and stronger in her, every step she takes towards me. The closer we got together, the more unbearable was the sight of her. She bore the scars from her suicide attempts on her wrists and the tears which she cried from sixteen years ago. She gently embraces herself, as to comfort the pain and suffering she endures and hid from her neighbours. About five centimeters away from me now, I saw the burden she bore just to protect the people she loves. She was beautiful, but at that moment her ugliness and disgust sprung out as she knocked her head directly into the mirror.  She wanted this to stop; she wanted to go into the light where she knew she would finally rest. Staring at my reflection in this mirror, I crave to tell my story about my inner despise.

I am the product of my mother’s rape, which has haunted me from conception.  My grandmother always told me stories about the love which my mother, her daughter had for me before her despise. My mother committed suicide when I was only five years old. I can still remember that day when I found her lifeless body in the shower. I could remember the pool of blood and water running down the stairs, which lead me to such an unbearable and unforgettable trail.  I have always loved my mother. She was so beautiful, kind and loving, all the wonderful words one could say about someone.

However, according to ‘dem’ church people ‘she possess.’ I can recall the day my mother, grandmother and I went to church. My mother had a major breakdown. She started running and screaming around the entire church. I was so embarrassed and tried to focus more on my other surroundings. Thus, I focused on the beauty of the church. I have always felt safe there.  I have always loved art and the church’s rich depiction of art all over the walls were breath taking.  I was so astonished by the church’s beauty. The church design was rich with pictures of Jesus’ life, death and resurrection.  

I wonder if Jesus saw what was happening. He was so perfect, yet God brought me out of such a forced brutal act.

Anyways, my grandmother was one of these ‘churchy churchy’ people.  She always saw the good in people, especially her daughter, my mother. Even after her near death by the hands of  her daughter. She truly loved that girl. I think I understood the reason for that.  Her only daughter, her only gem, her only diamond. 

When I was thirteen years old, I wanted to party so badly. My grandmother always warned me about the company I moved with, but I disregarded everything she said. But now I regret it. I can recall 13^th December 2008, that night when my whole life changed.   

Whilst walking to my house, I felt the cold touch of the man I long to forget. He’s piercing dark eyes scared me, yet it felt a bit welcoming. He grabbed my hands as to pull me closer to him.

“Get away old man!” I shouted.  That didn’t stop him from pulling my body towards his.

“You are a beautiful child,” he would say.

That was the last thing I remembered that night. When I woke up the following day, I felt paralyzed and weak from my waist down. The sheets were dirty and smelled like a decomposing body. That was a nasty smell.  I then realized that I was in an old abandoned house. I slightly turned over to my side to get out of this nest of pain. Unfortunately I saw the corpse of the man I met last night. He looked so pale and dreary. 

I usually saw in movies, persons touching the neck of a lifeless body to find out whether that person was alive.  I tried exactly what I saw in the movies, but I felt nothing. However, his body was so cold. I then ran outside screaming for help. I brought whoever I could to the scene. The police men finally came, and asked me a few questions. I could not remember anything from the time he held on to me tightly, so I could hardly answer the questions.

Later on, I got to know that the man’s name was Mr. Gerald Ficter. Ficter was a well known and well respected man in my community. When word got around that I found his lifeless body, all “dem” church people start spreading propaganda. I was the talk of the town.

One month later, I realized that I was getting fatter. People started saying that the “devil growing bigger and bigger in me.” Everyone thought that I was a true reflection of my mother; physically, emotionally and psychologically.  Eight months later, I had a beautiful daughter at age fourteen.  

When this happened, I was considered the black sheep among everyone else.  However, my princess brought joy and laughter in my life. I have always wondered whether she will relive the legacy of my mother and I. I hoped and prayed she did not. My prayers were truly answered, but not in the manner I expected. When my princess was two years old, she passed away. The doctor said that they were surprised to see her live for such a long time.

Despite feeling sad for some time I was happy. I knew she would never get the opportunity to experience what my mother and I lived through. I needed to stop this family legacy. So there was only one thing to do; and I am going to deal with it now.

Now I face myself once more; going through the scenes of my life, which I now share.  I held unto these images so tightly, crying and praying to God to save my soul.  That moment was so near, I could have seen the darkness from setting in.

Laying on my bed, sweating endlessly, reality finally struck me. I opened my eyes, only to realize that I was dreaming about the life I never had.