Dakota Writing Project

The NWP Writing-and-Technology Writing Retreat in Nebraska

by Anne Moege (Mitchell Middle School), Jane Overmoe (Watertown High School), and Lindsay Sorben (Bennett County Public School)

Nebraska City’s Lied Lodge brought together an intelligent, talented and multi-faceted group of teacher-writers who integrate technology in their classes at the schools where they teach.

The group of organizers, facilitators, and participants arrived from ten different states on the afternoon of Wednesday, July 26. After icebreaking activities on Wednesday evening, the “real writing” began on Thursday during a writing marathon, where participants could meander around the Lied Lodge and Arbor Day Farm grounds, find a unique spot, and write.

Throughout the retreat, participants were given generous blocks of writing and response time. Other highlights included a technology smorgasbord, in which participants showcased past or current technology projects they and/or their students had developed; mini-sessions in which presenters addressed the topics of writing response, audience, and ethical issues in writing; and guest editors who spoke with us, including Robert Brooke, Director of the Nebraska Writing Project, and Grant Faulkner, an editor with the National Writing Project.

As the days and the group’s writing progressed, so did the comaraderie. Over wonderful meals in the Lied Lodge Timber Room, during writing response groups, and after each day’s events, participants were able to learn more about each other on a professional and personal level. By the end of the experience, retreat members took away not only ideas of using technology within their classrooms and on developing their own professional writing retreats locally, but also new friendships.

The WAT Lied Lodge Experience

By Lindsay Sorben

Four and a half days of intense writing. Four and a half days in the heat and humidity of Nebraska at Lied Lodge. The building itself was air conditioned, but like the heat outside, all of the participants were relentless in producing pieces for publication, or, at least, in pursuing the dream of having them published.

At the meet-and-greet online in Tapped In, we met each other’s “names” two weeks prior to attending the Technology and Writing Retreat sponsored by the National Writing Project. On Wednesday evening, July 26th, we were able to attach faces to those names while we learned a little more (some strange facts, some intriguing) about one another. Writing projects from across the nation were well-represented. Dakota Writing Project had three participants: Anne Moege of Mitchell Middle School, Jane Overmoe of Watertown High School, and Lindsay Sorben of Ellis Middle School in Austin, MN.

Each writer came with a particular writing topic in mind. Everyone had a different vision, but all came with the common theme of using technology to write and teach writing. In that first night, response groups were set up, consisting of three or four members that had some common thread of interest with their topic. And that’s where things took off.

In between the writing, we had the opportunity to receive feedback from actual editors of different publications. They told us about the publishing process and shared an editor’s perspective when they receive pieces of writing. One of NWP’s editors was in attendance for the entire retreat to assist with our writing questions and needs. What an opportunity!

Thursday night, we all took a break from the exercise of writing to show off a few of our uses of technology in our classrooms with a smorgasbord of showcases. The displays fueled the teacher-brains, gathering new ideas to take home. These progressions in technology and writing offer even more evidence for the case of the effectiveness of their uses for learning.

In our final night at Lied Lodge, each participant had the opportunity to share a portion, a three-minute reading, of the writing that they had been working on. Creatively enough, one of the facilitators created a timer that would “gong” the reader’s time limit. Intimidating! Each reading left everyone wanting to hear more. Powerful!

Writing, writing, and more writing—oh, and, dare I say, eating—were all a part of the experience. With so much focused time in this beautiful setting, one couldn’t help but be inspired to put words to paper. But, if any of the participants were like me, my piece took on a metamorphosis. I had a clear vision of what I wanted the focus of my article to be before arriving. By the end of the retreat, however, that focus took a slightly different direction.

This is writing, I suppose. It is a journey of thousands of words muddled together that either do or do not make sense. It’s the playing around of thoughts and questions and answering those uncertainties that leave holes in what we are trying to say. After this experience at the WAT Retreat, I’d have to say that writing is also a community. It is a community that is willing to share what they have (so far) and assist when those visions of the writing become blurred. To celebrate what is accomplished and to support those that need cheers from the sidelines. It is community that reminds us that we are indeed writers!

A challenge to all who read this: set your sights on an NWP retreat! Every teacher’s experiences are worth hearing about and worth writing about. Before the school year begins, find a focus for the year. What do you want to improve? What is something new that you’re going to try with your students? Journal about it and document your experience. Then . . . write about it. Even without the intention of publication, you’ll learn more about your teaching and ways to improve student learning.

by DWP Director Nancy Zuercher, University of South Dakota

Ten DWP teachers participated in the three-day Writing to Win Workshop in Mitchell in June. Earning certification as Writing to Win Phase 1 coaches were Melissa Dyson, Lil Manthei, Dixie Lynn Norberg, Tammy Maeschen, Jeannette Jennings, Teresa Berndt, Jon Huber, Debbie Harrison, Lori Hawley, and Nancy Zuercher. Each one can now lead workshops for the program’s Phase 1, Journal Writing.

Writing to Win is based on NWP principles, including teachers modeling their writing for students. Writing to Win also stresses writing often, writing in every class, and self-assessment. On the “Research Base” section of the Writing to Win website, it states, “Writing to Win is a compilation of instructional tools and strategies collected by a group of classroom teachers with whom Dr. Combs worked in the early 1980’s. As he led the creation of the resources guides, the best practice of current research was his guide. Publications of the National Council of Teachers of English, The National Writing Project, The National Curriculum Report, The Center on Education and the Economy and The Assessment Training Institute contributed to the process.”

South Dakota’s DOE has purchased the program and is now in its third year of implementing it, at first through School to Work. Cindy Heckenlaible and Karen Rahn are also certified Phase 1 coaches.

Participation in the workshop is part of DWP’s strategy to place our teachers where they can support and influence state programs with their writing project experiences.

by Catherine Carlson

My husband looks for trends,
An agricultural researcher,
And when he sees a pattern,
Knows that it’s nature and not nurture.

So when education law
Demanded more accountability,
I knew that I could trust him
For statistical agility.

We look at tables, charts and graphs;
Our table talk is vigorous.
Reliability’s our game;
Our scrutiny is rigorous.

I look at kids; he looks at corn.
Our cash crops are divergent.
But when it comes to steady gains,
We’re uniformly urgent.

And so in passing talk one day,
I asked about the model.
The scientific standard
Sets researchers’ hearts a-throttle.

I asked about control groups,
And the standard deviation,
Replicative research
To move the learners of our nation.

He gazed at me with level eye;
His brow was staunch and stern.
He told me what the research in his field
Had helped him learn.

“Statistics can be great,” he said.
“They help you see the trend.
But, when it comes to growing corn,
They’re not the living end.

“If I want my plants to grow well
—My corn to stand apart—
I look at tables, charts, and graphs,
Then grow it from the heart.”

I thought about his message,
How science breaks the rules.
I thought if hunches work with corn,
What does that mean for schools?

Will testing kids like corn plants
Really help them learn and grow?
And when will they have learned enough?
How will we ever know?

by Krista Bruggeman, Lennox Public School

I’m driving along my usual route to my summer class at the University. The routine I follow every morning at 7:30 sharp is set; after all, we are creatures of habit. Eagerly, I set out on my way: alone time. I can be who I want to be, do what I want to do, all without judgment or interruptions. No, I’m not going to pick my nose or belch the ABC’s, just enjoy myself. This is livin’!

Cracking open a fresh Diet Coke, I turn on the radio for a little morning entertainment. Breaking news: Big time banker in an East Coast town jumps out from the bushes naked wearing only a condom in a local park to chase female jogger. Unfortunately for the bare banker, she’s an undercover policewoman. That’s a little bit more exposure to the morning news than I am looking for today.

Time for a musical selection to get the blood pumping. I’m going to go with Queen’s Greatest Hits. I gargle with a swish of Diet Coke to prep the pipes. Although many people have discovered this phenomenon in their shower, I’ve discovered that alone in my Pontiac, I am the princess of pop, the maiden of metal, the duchess of do-rae-me. In perfect harmony I belt out “We Will Rock You.” God I sound great. The song finishes, and I’m warmed up. Time for the melodic “We Are The Champions.” Oh no, my first interruption. I have to break for a gopher skittering across the highway. My husband is always amazed that I’ll stop for any animal crossing the road, risking myself and other drives to do so, but I cannot tolerate an octogenarian driving with a blinker on for ten miles at the break neck speed of 28 mph.

I resume my ballad. Suddenly I notice a road sign: Slow Church. Is the spirit just not quick to move them, or do they have pictures in the hymnals to help them along? I guess we’ll never know for sure. Refocus. “Another One Bites the Dust” is pumping through the stereo with its heavy bass. Not only have I mastered the art of car karaoke, but I am the queen of performing driver seat disco while mimicking all instrumentation. While the seat belt inhibits a bit of my hip gyrations, I am still able to snap, shake and shimmy while maintaining the steering wheel drums and the air guitar. No need to panic—I learned from a close call a few years ago to set the cruise control to avoid the sporadic pumping of the gas pedal.

Damn it! Those irritating ruts in the pavement indicating that a stop sign is imminent are signaling me to pay attention. There’s a car to the right of me at the four-way stop. I put on a perfectly cool facade, glance nonchalantly at the driver, and continue on my way.

Here’s a house that has 32% of its original white paint from 1947 clinging for dear life to the crumbling exterior. The good news is that there’s a satellite dish larger than the front porch. Although the roof may cave in at any moment and the termites are going to evict the rightful owners, the occupants of the house can watch the second installment of Blue Collar Comedy Tour in perfect clarity.

The song “Killer Queen” floods the car. Obliging my legion of imaginary adoring fans, I show up Freddy Mercury with my own rendition. Hmm, another church, with a cemetery conveniently located off to the side. Reminds me of the joke always a pall bearer, never a corpse.

Another temporary impediment comes into view: a female jogger. She’s young, and her blonde ponytail swings back and forth to the cadence of her athletic shoes, long, lean muscular legs pumping furiously. She’s brave—I know if I jogged out here on this deserted highway, set in at the 200 meter mark—luckily my built-in inner tube would soften the blow.

As I drive by, I realize someone who weighs 110 pounds has no such worries. Momentary fantasy indulgence: I nick the back of the jogger’s leg with the bumper of my Pontiac. Due to her non-existent bulk, she flies through the air like a rickety lawn chair, Barbie leg snapping like a dry twig. Back to reality. “Fat-Bottomed Girls” is rocking through the speakers and I can’t disappoint the masses.

Road sign up ahead that reads: Warning. Low Maintenance road ahead. Drive at own risk.

Great. Now I’ll have to explore that road soon. I can see a house down the path- great building site. My favorite part of the road is approaching: two hair-pin curves. Like James Dean in Rebel Without a Cause, I tip the speedometer to 61 mph and let my machine hug the turns. I used to open the windows, but a quarter-sized welt I received from a collision between a hard-shelled insect and my forehead killed that aspect of the joy ride permanently.

The remaining mile of the trip I soothe my inner–beast with “Play the Game.” I reach my destination, all in one piece. I wonder what I’ll listen to for the ride home.

(the pretentious suitor)

by Michelle Rogge Gannon, University of South Dakota

He asked, “Do you
Think that I—that I—
Would have artificial flowers?”
She was silent. Then:
“My mistake. They seemed—
Too lovely to be real.”
She added, “But everything
Else I’ve said holds true.”
She collected her beaded purse,
Along with the white lace shawl
From the hall closet (both
Gifts from him). Then:
One last look at the fifth
Course of a six-course
Meal on fine porcelain
Plates with chargers, at the elegant
Man who might have offered the final
Course. Even as she
Thought of it, her stomach
Expanded, as if to insist that she
Still had room. Then:
“Wait, he said. He plucked
Just the right orchid, positioning the bloom,
Pale cream against her coffee curls.
“Perfectly delectable,” he said.

At home, later, in the boarding
House where she lived, the pestering
Child in the room next door was inventing
Waltzes, wearing a whitish shawl-dress,
Beaded bag swinging (some beads gone now),
Wilted orchid flopping in her tangled
Little-girl locks.

Note: The inspiration for this poem was a painting by Leah Drews, Orchids in Glass Bowl. The artist is the poet’s sister.

by Stacy Hawkins, Sioux Falls Roosevelt High School

As I entered Laura’s apartment with an armful of empty boxes, an odor just bordering on foul greeted me. I quickly locked the door behind me and peered around the corner into the kitchen to search for the offensive culprit. A weak smile graced my lips as I observed the half-eaten soy patty collecting a week’s worth of growth on the counter next to the sink. Holding my breath, I shoved the soy patty down the garbage disposal and placed the dish in the dishwasher. Laura’s collection of refrigerator magnets caught my eye, and I left the door to the dishwasher open as I carefully smoothed out a clipping from the comics. Two women were staring at a dog’s water and food dishes on the floor. The blonde woman stated, “Shirley, I didn’t know you had a dog.” A spirited Shirley replied, “Oh, I don’t. Those are my boyfriend’s.” The magnet holding the clipping indignantly announced, “Who needs men when you have martinis?”

I chuckled grimly, grabbed the magnet and clipping, and placed them carefully in my purse. I took a deep breath and made my way to her bedroom, even though it was the last place in the world I wanted to go. Light poured in the window, struggling against the partially closed blinds.

You made your bed.

I traced the mauve, circular pattern on the quilt and breathed in the remaining smells of my best friend. A mixture of detergent, youthful exuberance, and that inexplicably spicy yet floral scent that always followed her covered me like warm embrace.

Fighting an urge to escape to my car, I willed myself to look at her favorite picture of us. It was a picture of us from my wedding a few years earlier. She looked so vibrant in the apple-colored bridesmaid dress, and I grudgingly admitted that I paled in comparison even in my immaculate white satin gown. I frowned as I noticed the gaping bodice of the dress that draped loosely from her brown skin. Only I knew about the hidden safety pin vainly trying to hold the folds of excess fabric to create a semblance of a fitted top.

Why didn’t she listen to me?

Shaking my head in an attempt at clarity, I grabbed the picture and placed it in one of the empty boxes. I scanned the room for more pictures and noticed a peculiar void. The only pictures prominently displayed were ones taken within the last two years. Reaching for Laura at last year’s New Year’s Eve party, I flipped the picture over and scraped at the stubborn prongs holding the back of the frame in place. Finally succeeding, I popped a photo out — Smiling Laura in her New Year’s dress had caused quite a stir at the party. Her angular shoulder blades looked ready to cut through the spaghetti straps of the dress she so proudly wore. Another photo, one placed carefully behind what Laura had become, fluttered halfheartedly to the floor. I picked up the photo, and with a turn of my wrist, came face to face with a more curvaceous Lisa holding out her high school diploma for the camera. A despondent grin tugged at her full lips, and I recall her reluctance to pose for the picture.

The camera adds ten pounds, you know.

I slumped to the floor with an overwhelming sense of helplessness. Lisa’s life swirled around me and enveloped my body with a nauseous cumbersome grief. I realized all too late that I couldn’t do this. I had been kidding myself with the notion I could pack up Lisa’s life in cardboard boxes and somehow bring her home again. Where could I begin when every photo, every bottle of perfume pointed an accusatory finger? I tried to help her. Was I supposed to watch her every minute of the day? I had a life, too.

Had a life.

A tentative knock at the door whipped me back to harsh reality. Taking a deep breath, I hoisted myself up to a standing position and tucked a rogue strand of hair behind my ear. In a daze, I numbly floated to the door. Unlock. Turn. Open.

An older vision of Lisa, eyes rimmed with an angry pink, stood like a lonely statue watching over a tomb. Her face bore a hardened resolve, one that had accepted a terrible truth about her daughter.

She cleared her throat. “I thought you might want some help.” She looked at my progress sympathetically. “This isn’t a job to do alone.”

Grateful, I looked at the ceiling to suppress my guilt and gnawing sorrow. I didn’t know what to say. I wondered if she hated herself as much as I hated my own role in this all too common modern tragedy. I ached to wake up from this hideous nightmare, but every new morning brought the same reality.

“I miss her so much,” I whispered.

“I miss her, too.”

(Aubade)

by Connie Jensen, Gayville-Volin Public School

Refreshing rain. Much needed
break from empty skies,
thirsty dandelions
reaching high, parched
roads wanting relief,
cattle calling, farmers and ranchers
crying. Thunder and lightning,
a welcome change, raindrops
tripping across the window panes, soggy
wash upon the line, night-crawlers emerge
and life returns.

by Carmen Graber, DWP 2006 SI participant

Have you ever walked down the hallways of a high school while classes are being taught? The doors are closed, and if you peer inside, the activity does not invite you to interrupt. Think for a moment what impact an isolated setting like this has on a new teacher.

Typical teacher education programs provide four years of instruction in content area, teaching methods and, maybe, technology. Most provide three classroom experiences: the first being a time of observation, the second more observation with some participation, and finally student teaching. The student teaching phase varies with each school, but most require only a minimum of two weeks where the student teacher is in full charge of all of the classes. Next come a test for content knowledge and an application for certification. And the student becomes a teacher.

With the first teaching assignment, an administrator shows the new teacher to her/his room and then walks out of the room, closing the door behind her/him, and leaving the teacher to sink or swim. The only persons who come through that door after that are the students. The new teacher is adrift, alone in the world, with seemingly no one to turn to for help. And even if there were someone willing to help, new teachers are ingrained with the idea that they should not need any help; after all, they have just finished four years of training. However, what other profession expects a transition from student to professional to occur without any guidance or wisdom from someone experienced in the profession? Perhaps, this is why the teaching profession loses many of its professionals within the first year of practice.

The National Education Association recently published results from research stating that twenty percent of new teachers leave the profession after the first year of teaching. Nearly half of all teachers leave the profession within five years of joining the profession; thus, the average age of the public school teacher (grades K-12) is age 43. We could be headed toward a time when there are teacher shortages due to retirement of those teachers who are currently in the profession. How can schools retain new teachers and, perhaps, renew experienced teachers? One way is to open the door of the classroom: eliminate the feelings of isolation and begin practicing what we preach, that learning is a life-long process and we can all learn from each other.

While it is not a new idea, many states are offering mentors for new teachers. But just what should a new teacher/mentor program look like? There are many models that can be used, but having completed such a program, I feel I can offer some insights as to what elements are necessary to make a new teacher/mentor program successful.

New teacher/mentor programs are always built on relationships. Trust must be built for a successful program. This means that the mentor should not be in a position of evaluating the new teacher, but instead should be a guide. Both the new teacher and the mentor must commit to the process and must be willing to put time and thought into the process. In many situations, time is the most difficult part of these programs. Participants are encouraged to set aside a specific time each week to get together, go over the past week, and talk about the coming week. While this is fine in theory, the reality is another story altogether. In his book Letters to a New Teacher: A Month-by-Month Guide to the Year Ahead, Jim Burke shares letters he wrote to a first-year teacher in his school, a teacher whom he had volunteered to mentor. This was not part of a structured program, but simply something Burke felt compelled to do. Burke’s mentoring strategy consisted of the new teacher writing questions to him on an index card and leaving the card in his mailbox. He in turn, wrote letters, pages long, in response.

Burke refers to becoming an educator: “The Latin word educare means to draw out, which is what you continually do to yourself when posing questions to me and, through your letter, to yourself” (17). The heart of Burke’s advice is based in writing. Burke admits that he probably would have spent less time answering the new teacher’s questions if they were asked face to face; however, he points out how much he learned by reflecting and writing out the answers. Burke also feels the new teacher put more thought and reflection into her questions when she put them in writing. Writing thoughts and feelings on paper adds permanence to them. It is an indication of caring, quality and worth.

An advantage of writing out questions and responses rather than having face-to-face meetings is that writing allows both the new teacher and the mentor the flexibility of time. The new teacher is able to write down questions as they come up during a class, either at the moment or between classes. This ensures that the question is not lost or forgotten. When the new teacher has a few minutes at the end of the day, at school or at home, she/he can review the questions and decide which ones truly need an answer from the mentor. If the questions do not require answers from the mentor, the new teacher could use them for personal written reflection.

From a mentor’s standpoint, I will rely on Burke’s comments about his own learning during the process of writing letters to a new teacher. Speaking of the questions he received, Burke writes: “They became assignments to go off into the hills and think about the work I love so much” (3). Many mentoring programs stress face-to-face meetings between the new teacher and the mentor on a weekly basis. I experienced benefits from these meetings; however, following Burke’s lead to write letters can add depth that cannot happen during a weekly meeting. Burke refers to the letters he wrote to the new teacher “as a form of personal professional development, as part of an ongoing conversation between us that became, through these letters, a very rich personal meditation on our work as teachers” (2). How often do new teachers and mentors have the luxury of time to maintain an ongoing conversation? When the conversation is in writing, nothing will be lost or forgotten.

Even though Burke does not speak of written reflection for the new teacher, I found this is a good practice. During the program I participated in, new teachers were required to complete a minimum of three reflections each week. These reflections were about the triumphs, the failures, and the questions in our classrooms. These reflections were turned in to the program director at our monthly meeting and were used as an assessment tool to chart our progress as teachers. I believe the role of these reflections could be expanded to provide even greater learning. Writing takes on new meaning when it is shared with others and when others are given the opportunity to respond to what is written. New teachers could choose one reflection to share with other new teachers each month at the meeting. This could spark discussions about issues that are specific to new teachers but that do not require the expertise of the mentor. Sharing with other new teachers who are experiencing similar situations can eliminate some of the feelings of isolation. Since the mentors in the program were also required to write personal reflections, they, too, could share one each month with the other mentors. All of the reflections would still be submitted to the program director.

Writing provides connections between people. It also provides the opportunity for honest reflection. Connections and reflections are two things that can open the door for new teachers. Perhaps, writing letters and reflections are one way to retain teachers and ensure the quality of educators for years to come.

Burke, Jim, and Krajicek, Joy. Letters to a New Teacher: A Month-By-Month Guide to the Year Ahead. Portsmouth: Heinemann, 2006.