“Good morning, ” I say. “I have some ideas for writing today. A word: assiduous. My husband is concerned that I may be too assiduous — but in the wrong areas of my life. I work really hard at reading and writing but not really hard on keep up our apartment. I leave dishes in the sink. Are you assiduous? In what areas of your life? Art. Art is another idea for today. I notice some students doodling during class, but sometimes that doodling is pretty amazing. What do you think? Is doodling art? You may have a story on your mind already, but if you’re in the mood for story-writing, how about this first line to start a story? A pram is like a baby-carriage. And I know you are studying the Indian Removal Act in history class. Do you want to try writing about this painting? Okay, those are a few things on my mind today. Maybe you’d like to write on these or maybe you have something on your mind you just have to get out — these next seven minutes are yours to write. Just remember, during this time: no walk, no talk. Let’s begin in five, four, three, two, one.”
I begin each class this way. As students write, I write. Then about four minutes in, I walk around. If a student hasn’t started, I kneel down and talk through some ideas until they go. I also watch for students who are finding the flow — getting into their writing — and students who are doing a combination of imagining on the page and in their minds. For those students, I can see in their eyes that they are working through a plot or argument. I see them going between these two worlds as they “compose for seven” (that’s what we call the first ten minutes of class). 
By far, this time has proven to be the most effective and efficient way that I have “not-taught” writing this year. I offer ideas to nudge students into to different places for ideas. I offer ideas to encourage students to stretch into new genres. I offer ideas to challenge students to take risks. Is this teaching or being a writer?
“Do we have to write about one of those?” one student asks.
“No, write about anything you want. These are just suggestions,” another students calls out.
“Right,” I say.
Teacherless Writing
I started this blog because I wanted a place to regularly think about the ethics of my practice, the ethics of how we teach reading and writing. The more I think about the positions of “teacher” and “student,” the closer I get to admitting that these labels/positions create repression in the classroom: “the action or process of suppressing a thought or desire in oneself so that it remains unconscious.” As long as students see me as “the teacher,” they will ask me permission to write. And this worries me.
Peter Elbow in Writing Without Teachers writes:
The teacherless writing class is a place where there is learning but no teaching. It is possible to learn something and not be taught. It is possible to be a student and not have a teacher. If the student’s function is to learn and the teacher’s to teach, then the student can function without the teacher, but the teacher cannot function without the student…I think teachers learn to be more useful when it is clearer that they are not necessary. The teacherless class has helped me as a teacher because it is an ideal laboratory for learning along with the students and being useful to them in that way. (viii)
By starting class with the “compose for seven,” I’ve tried to undo the history of repression in student writing by making conscious the thoughts and desires I have and by trying to make conscious in students their thoughts and desires. In the forty minutes we have together each day, I am actually trying to repress the teacher in me and make alive the writer in me — to be useful to the students and not necessary. And the truth is that once they learn to listen to their own interests and desires to know, they don’t really need me to be a teacher; they just need me to be a writer talking about how I come up with ideas, take risks, solve problems, and write to both express and learn. The writing is almost free.
The Flow Chart
When the seven minutes are up, I ask students to add their writing to their flow charts, a spot in the back of the notebook where they document the date, topic, and experiences. Most students use smiley faces to indicate they found the flow or got into their writing, a straight mouth to indicate it was an “okay” writing experience, and a frown to indicate that writing was tough today.
This student found some inspiration in the “words.” On January 27th, she wrote about being “clairvoyant,” and on the 28th, she found the flow with “deleterious.” She did not have a good time on February 25th with “assiduous.” Notice the sad face? As you look through her flowchart, you can see that she has made choices to write about her life on some days and to try out new topics on other days. Her notebook is hers. I’ve never read it, and this photo is the first time I’ve see her flow chart.
The Standards
The other thirty minutes of class, the writers move from the compose for seven into process pieces. Students choose which pieces from their notebook they want to work through to publish or if they want to write something new for the process piece. I do this, too — writing along side them. We write narrative, informational, and argument pieces, but mostly the published pieces have bits of each of these forms. When I teach a form like a news article or a how-to or a comparison, I am the “teacher.” I know I am deliberately pushing students into a form, but I try to make them conscious of how the form works rhetorically on the audience and how writers can make it their own with word choice, stories, examples, and tone. I usually fail at the free here. I’m working on how to not force form.
The Sharing
On Fridays, we don’t write at all. We listen. Students choose what they’d like to share — something from their notebook, something they are working on (that they’d like to try out on an audience), or something published. One girl wrote a rather formal argument piece on GMO’s and is anxious for her next sharing day because “this is something everyone should know.” A few weeks ago, one student shared a stand-up comedy piece. It bombed, and she reworked it this week — ready to try out her new material.
On Fridays, the audience listens for techniques to celebrate and keep notes so that they can compliment their fellow writers. Below is one student’s notebook on writing features she hopes to hear from her fellow writers: something fresh or unexpected, evidence, sensory language, personal stories, taking risks, and parts that are moving/emotional.
After students share, we hold a celebration forum where students compliment each other’s work and practice accepting praise.
“I would like to celebrate Jennifer’s evidence when she said Americans each a bathtub full of sugar each year. This is a powerful image, too,” says Julie looking at Jennifer across the room.
“Thank you,” says Jennifer.
This is our positive publication.
The Teacher Without Students
I admit that I need to be needed. Without students, I am not sure I’d have a reason to get out of bed each day. (A little part of me is worried that I may fall into a minor depression this summer — my first summer without students or classes or a book to write.) That said, I know the point of a writing class is so that students learn to write. And learning to write means recognizing the value of other writers in your writing life. I hope the value me. I value them. I learned to write from, with, and alongside these writers.