Submitted by Anne Andersen, a Minnesota Writing Project charter member, who has been an educator in rural, suburban and urban schools in Washington, Minnesota and Norway. She shares that she is still learning about writing and teaching! http://www.methowarts.org/art-videos-writing-lessons/
Asking elementary students, even those who are participating in a good writing workshop experience, to revise a piece of writing, is difficult. We want to give them the message that their writing is their own, that they have control over what happens with it. Usually when they finish a piece of writing, they want to be done! I have had the best luck “tricking” them into looking at their writing in a different way. This seems less judgmental to them, and they are often able to refocus and to see it as a new challenge. One way that I have used often is to get them to take a piece of prose writing and to change it into poetry.
Recently, I created a video for homeschooled students using Faith Ringgold’s book Tar Beach as a prompt. In the book, the main character can fly over her city and see things from a different perspective. I have students listen to the book and then imagine that they can fly for a day. Where would they go? What would they see? At first, they write this as a paragraph of prose, with as much sensory detail as possible. Then I ask them to “chunk” the writing and separate it into shorter lines, leaving out words that are unnecessary for the meaning to come through. I give them an example of my own writing both in prose and poetry. Most 3rd through 6th graders can be successful with this, given modeling and practice. Then I ask them to choose the version they prefer and to reflect on why they prefer it. In the past I have also asked them to change from prose to dialogue, play-script, post-it notes, and many other genres. They seem to like this and don’t realize that what they are doing is really a form of revision!
Here is the example of the prose that I wrote in response toTar Beach and the poem that followed. I like the poem well enough to think about working on it more in the future … always a good thing in writing! I hope my virtual students have the same experience!
I Can Fly Over the River (prose version)
I can fly… for one day. And the first thing I want to fly over is the river. My flight starts at the beginning, where the river is just a tiny line from my vantage point high above. With my body stretched out and my eyes looking down, I follow the line, as it grows wider, flowing through a patchwork of farm lands, carving through rocky banks, splitting thick forest groves, winding and curving, growing wider and wider. As I fly along, I notice birds flying along beside me: an eagle with majestic and powerful wings, weaving and diving to catch a trout in the river, then veering away to feed her eaglets; a heron flies along with me for a while too, stretching out a long neck and legs, always aware of the rookery full of nests below. I weave through cottony clouds, blocking my view, but finally dissolving away. All of a sudden, I look down and I am over my town. The river is wider, with ripples and waves showing the current under the surface. There are sand bars sticking up from the water and colorful red and yellow kayaks stretched across, resting before heading down the river again. Sailboats and pontoon boats float lazily back and forth, in no hurry. Tiny swimmers lie on the shore on postage stamp towels, soaking up the warmth. My journey continues and soon the calm, soothing scene is replaced by more and bigger houses, first spread out a few at a time, then closer and closer together. Finally, a city, tall crowded buildings, smoke, noise, work boats, barges. The earlier line of river has ballooned to a highway through the city, finally slamming into the bigger river and then blending in as they both flow together out of the city, back to the farmland.
A Ribbon of River (poem version)
I can fly… for one day.
the first thing I want to fly over is the river
My flight starts
at the beginning
where the river is just a tiny ribbon
from my vantage point high above.
My body stretched out and my eyes looking down,
I follow the line.
It grows wider,
flowing through a patchwork of farm lands,
carving through rocky banks,
splitting thick forest groves,
winding and curving.
As I fly along
I notice
birds flying beside me.
An eagle with majestic and powerful wings
weaving and diving to catch a trout beneath the water’s surface,
then veering away to feed her eaglets.
A heron flies along with me for a while too,
stretching out a long neck and legs,
always aware of the rookery of nests below.
I weave through cottony clouds
blocking my view.
Then finally fading away.
All of a sudden,
I look down to see the town where I lived.
The river is wider, with ripples and waves,
the current under the surface.
There are sand bars sticking up from the water
With colorful red and yellow kayaks stretched across,
resting before heading down the river again.
Sailboats and pontoon boats float lazily back and forth
in no hurry.
Tiny swimmers lie on the shore
on postage stamp towels
soaking up the warmth.
My journey continues.
The calm, soothing scene is replaced by more and bigger houses
first spread out a few at a time
then closer and closer together.
Finally, a city,
tall crowded buildings
Smoke
Noise
work boats
barges.
The earlier line of river has ballooned
to a highway through the city
finally slamming into the bigger river
and then blending as they both flow together out of the city
back to the farmland.
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