So Much Potential: On New Writer's Notebooks

Over time, my life as a writer has changed me. For instance, I have a greater appreciation for the potential of a new notebook.

Every time I begin a new writer's notebook, I find myself swept into this ultra-reflective state of mind. Flipping through the pages of the previous, finished notebook, I make note of the things preserved there--large and small--that I captured and stored away. Brave moments, developing ideas, markings of wonder, complaints, and celebrations. And inevitably, I close that finished notebook and smile to myself about all that filled the pages knowing that most of what is there now, committed in imperfect scribble, I didn't anticipate when I was writing on the first page.

Similarly, I found myself in this position this week when I saw my fifteenth First Day of School. I was ready with a few minutes to spare, and I sat in my too-quiet, too-tidy, too-white classroom, noting the connection between my feelings this morning to those that stir when I open to that first page of a new notebook. "There--at those cleared tabletops, in those empty chairs, on those blank walls--rests so much potential," I thought.

Soon, the quiet was replaced with eager energy, excited students looking and behaving a whole year older. The once empty tables were cluttered again with toppling school supplies.

We went about the business of sorting and storing materials. When I asked the students to hold up their writer's notebooks, something surreal moved through the air. As I gathered the notebooks at each of their tables, I was struck with the assortment and imagined them in the back-to-school aisles of the stores, thoughtful and deliberate in picking their new writer's notebooks. I was overcome by what I know from experience: on this day, they could not know how those blank pages will be filled, what will happen in the days they live as writers, but later they will look back with wonderment of what is there.

And this became the basis of launching writers' workshop with my students, the heart of my impassioned words about the endless possibilities and potential a new notebook holds. I held their stack of brand-new notebooks and talked with unrestrained enthusiasm about how much I wonder about their blank notebooks, and how wonderful and exciting it is to dream of the growing and self-discovery that will fill their pages. I spoke to my writers about the gift of time to write, to wonder, to explore. I spoke of writing imperfectly, taking chances, and the opportunity to revisit and revise. And I spoke about the great privilege that I feel, because I get to journey beside them as a writer, too. Every day. This whole school year.

I told my writers about my ritual of reflecting at the end/start of each new notebook, and I flipped open to the first page of the very notebook I'm writing in now. I read this first page aloud:

It was quiet when I stopped. I had goosebumps. I looked around at their faces, reading the expressions. They were on the edge of their seats, their eyes sparkled, and they couldn't suppress their smiles. So, I did the very most perfect thing to do: I invited them to write, encouraging them to let their first, new, blank page to speak to them.

I returned their notebooks with great reverence, as best I could between uncoordinated attempts to brush away embarrassing tears. But always astute, they noticed, and I heard one student tell another, "This matters so much, she's crying!" The tears were entirely unplanned, but Yes, Dear Writer, your new beginning as a fifth grade writer very much matters.

Once all of the students had their notebooks again, I settled with my own and began drafting this post. Once or twice I made myself pause to observe their stamina and behaviors. Almost without exception, their pencils were moving fluidly.

Before I left for the day, I peeked inside their notebooks, curious what I would find there. Some students had launched into drafting stories, but some had listened for the voice of the blank page, and their voices caught my heart.  

"How can I become the most spectacular writer I can be?" 

Wow, kid. Keep asking. Please.

I love how creatively the blank page "spoke" for this writer.

Moving from grade 4 to grades 5/6 this year, I recognize the growth on these first pages, too. A year later, a year more of life as a writer, and the students aren't as afraid of the blank page. Maybe, just maybe, they see that blank page as limitless possibilities...so much potential.

The First Days

Last week I spent two days in district committee meetings preparing for the start of a new school year. When I heard a colleague describe her plans for the opening of school, I thought her objective to test all students' reading with an assessment in the first three days was hyperbolic. I was certain she was trying to be humorous, maybe poking fun at the way we sometimes are overzealous about collecting student data with many assessment measures. But this week I was chatting with her during our workshop days, and found that was precisely her intent for our first three days: Fountas & Pinnell Benchmark Assessments (FPBA) and writing prompts for all!

Granted her instructional context is slightly exceptional because she is looping with her class this year, but I found this goal to be absolutely startling! I was taken aback as my mind imagined the tone being set around students' performance levels and measurement from day one. Her rationale was to get to know the students and set goals for them. On the other side of those first three days and looking back now, I learned about my students, too, and not with an assessment.

My mindset going into the school year was to make my students my highest priority of study in these first few weeks. I have always felt strongly about building relationships with students, considering relationships to be critical to my success as a teacher. This guiding belief was reinforced for me in reflecting on sessions with Kathy Collins, Sara Ahmed, and Linda Rief at Heinemann's Teacher Tour. All three presenters promoted the importance of student-centered work in today's classrooms.

In the first three days, my students have created and started sharing identity maps (Thank you, Sara), played community building games, attempted the Marshmallow Tower challenge (we'll be trying again), prepared and presented skits, and discussed read alouds and what they mean to us.

I learned Alex's passion is rocks and I can connect with her by finding her real ways to learn more about rocks and purposes for sharing.
I learned Lissa likes to garden (something I cannot do!).
I learned Steph eats, sleeps, and breathes One Direction.
I learned my students can't get enough of Jerry Palotta's Who Would Win series. Cassie is hungry for more Babymouse, Lee is into Percy Jackson, and book orders make them all squeal.
I learned Luke has a leader growing inside of him, and Michelle has exceptional patience and tolerance.
I learned Brittany is artistic, Scott is athletic, and Alan is musical.
I learned my students are sponges when it comes to read aloud and they just can't get enough.
I learned they really want to learn and master that most tricky operation: division.
I learned they expect kindness and helpfulness from one another and want classmates who look out for each other.
I learned their stamina for independent work needs developing, their cooperative skills are reasonably strong, and--more than anything--they want to do well.

I learned countless things about my students--families, interests, likes and dislikes, traits--and none of those came from an FPBA. 

There will be a time and place to assess reading comprehension, evaluate their writing, and rank their computational fluency. Those are important informants to my instruction and tools for monitoring student progress. But those will be meaningless and lack student interest and investment without establishing a community for learning first. My students need to see that they are the reason I'm here. They need evidence that I'm interested in them, what they are about, the people they are. From day one, I want my words and actions to tell students

Hey, this place is YOURS.

This thing called learning is a shared responsibility.

You're important--I want to know about YOU.

My classroom is about more than attaining a score on a trimester rubric... My classroom is about growing and improving, helping students discovering who they are and becoming who they want to be. Assessments alone will not equip me for what I need to be their teacher.

At the onset of our new school year, I'm on the lookout for what makes them smile, laugh, grow excited, and feel tense. So for now, MY FPBA kit can collect a little more summer dust while I listen and observe and discover my students.