Craft in Kindergarten: An Example Mini-lesson

The Vimeo clip "Modeled Writing - Primary" does an excellent job highlighting the mini-lesson portion of Writing Workshop while illustrating the concepts of author study and craft as well. 

Jennifer Wisner, a teacher from Salem-Keizer Public Schools in Oregon, is using Eric Carle's books as the basis of an author study in her kindergarten class.  She and her students have read several of the author's works and are now creating a chart of the craft they have recognized in some of Carle's popular children's books, including The Very Hungry Caterpillar.  To end the mini-lesson and begin independent writing time, the teacher invites the young writers to try to use some of Carle's craft ideas in their own writing. 

When viewing this example mini-lesson on author study and craft, you can see it would be great for kindergarten or first grade students; additionally, the mini-lesson's overall structure, high level of student engagement, and use of mentor texts and author study are adaptable and appropriate for writers of any grade level.  Consider how mini-lessons and age-appropriate author studies can be used to explore craft and inspire the writers in your classroom.

Submitted by Shirley Thacker, TC '07

At Wes-Del Elementary, "Writing is..."

 
Here are beautifully reflective descriptions and analogies on what writing means to the campers, assistants, and facilitators of the summer 2012 Comp Camp at Wes-Del Elementary, which was led by TC Shirley Thacker ('07).  

"Writing is as fun as swimming." - Bray W. 

 

 "Writing is like a heart. . . both are beautiful." - Jaci K. 

"Writing is like the color to my artwork." - Brylee K.  

"Writing is. . . as fun as candy, but still being healthy." - Allen S. 

"Writing . . . like throwing a baseball. It's sometimes easy, 

and you always have a target." - AJ  N.
   

"Writing is wonderful . . . like sunshine." - Kylie A. 

  "Writing . . . like a fuzzy, furry rabbit. I like them both." - Alexandra R. 

 

"Writing is as fun as reading." - Chantel S.

 

"Writing is like being on an island resort. . . fun, fancy, and enjoyable." - Breanna C.

 "Writing is as fun as going on vacation." - Taylor B.

 

"Writing is like a quilt. . . it takes a long time to make." - Allie B.

 "Writing is like pizza. . . I love them both." - Gracie B.

 

"Writing is like making a hamburger. . . each step is like 

adding one of the toppings." - Jared D. 

"Writing feels as good as sinking a basketball in the hoop." - Joel D.

 "Writing is like being in a swimming pool. I love them both." - Lauren K.

 "Writing is like a seed . . . it sprouts and grows 

until it becomes something new." - Lauryn J.

"Writing is like dancing.  It's fun and I love doing it." - Mady J.

 "Writing is like opening presents at Christmas." - Natalie R.

"Writing is as fun as dance." - Paige T.

 "Writing is a precious gem beneath the earth.  You must search for it, dig it up, 

cut it, and polish it before it's complete." - Mr. Waylon Shaffer, student teacher

"Writing is a refuge when I'm weary. A quiet place to escape 

from all the outside noise." - Mrs. Monica Denney, 4th Grade Teacher

 "Writing is food for my soul, energy for my run-down battery." 

 - Mrs. Shirley Thacker, NBCT 

Submitted by Shirley Thacker, TC '07

Creating "The Typos": A Student Writing Club

Late this past fall, we started our first ever middle/high school writer’s club at Liberty Christian School. After returning from an IWP meeting energized with this new idea, I began to inquire with several of my students if they would be interested in being part of a writing club. After a week or so of asking about student interests, I realized there was a need, so I set the first date. Our first Writer’s Club date was Thursday, October 28.

With more than a little trepidation, I anticipated our first meeting. I had no idea how many

would attend or who. I wasn’t exactly sure of the flow and pace I wanted for the meetings. I spent a lot of time wondering how, what, who, etc… As the newbie’s began to file into the room, they seemed as unsure of the event as I was. Once we started, all was right. Stressing the need to connect our reading to our writing, we started off our first discussion with; what are we reading? This was a fun time for all of us to share and connect with each other’s reading habits. Now, we start every meeting with this question. Sometimes students bring the books they are reading with them and sometimes they don’t, but either way, they love hearing about each other’s reading interests, including my own.

Once we have shared our current reading territories, I usually lead the discussion into writer’s habits, writing habits, genre discussions, writing observations, etc… The discussion usually is determined by what I observe in a writing group or something I think about my own writing through the week. I usually start the discussion with an observation and a question. For example; I have heard that writer’s have what is called writing environments. I enjoy writing with soft music, a keyboard, and little distraction. What about you? This usually gets students started. But, if I am hearing crickets because they are not responding, I break it down further, like: “Do you like to write with or without noise?”

Our discussions are informal, noisy, fun and informative. We learn a lot about each other, about writing and writers in general. Some discussions are more colorful than others, but all seem to send us into thinking mode. After our discussions, we spend a chunk of time writing–30-50 minutes. The last 30 minutes of our time together, the students circle up the desks and we share. Sharing our pieces is voluntary. We do not usually critique, but I have thought about adding that component more recently.

Our average attendance is about 15 kids, ranging from 7^th-11^th grade. We were meeting every other week, but now we meet weekly. At first we were meeting from 2:45-4:00, but we kept running over, so now our meeting time is 2:45-4:30. About a month or so ago, we came up with our club’s official title, The Typos.

We have had an author, Deborah Zarka Miller, visit our group. She has written several books, but just recently published her first young adult book, A Star for Robbins Chapel. We asked her questions about publishing, writing as a career, her favorite writing environment, her favorite writing genre, etc… We have several in our club who are aspiring writers, so this was a lot of fun and very informative for them. Next week, the chief editor of The Herald Bulletin, Scott Underwood (husband of IWP TC ’07 Tammy Underwood) will be attending our writer’s club. We have already written our questions in anticipation of his appearance.

After attending our ISI 2010 Reunion meeting last week, I came back with several ideas to apply to our club and for its future. I will keep you posted on our club’s development and events. The Typos Writers’ Club was so easy to implement and is easily one of the highlights of my week. I highly encourage you to initiate your own writer’s club.

Submitted by Jeri Tarvin, TC ‘10

The Power of Writing: In Her Own Words

Drops by Peace

Chapter One: Goodbye

“I don’t understand why we have to go, I love it here. There’s everything we need here.” I said, but I knew that I didn’t have everything I needed, a mom.

“I know you don’t want to go, but we have to go because we don’t have enough money and I need more help on the farm.” Dad replied.

“I told you I can help.”

“Sam,” he said looking at me. I could see the sorrow in his eyes. I knew he didn’t want to leave either, but I knew we had to. I looked away because if I looked any longer I would cry. I turned around and headed up the stairs to finish packing. I found Mama’s favorite book that fell from my nightstand. She gave it to me two weeks before she died.

I finished cramming everything into my bag I started to go down stairs, but I had to look at the empty room one last time. It seemed so plain. I heard the truck start so I ran down the stairs and out the door. It slammed shut and I got into the truck.

Dad was waiting, I could tell he had been crying and I knew why, we had to leave all the memories of Mama behind. When we started to pull out of the driveway, he looked at me and said, “Would you like to say goodbye one last time? And don’t forget Mittens.”

“Okay, I’ll be back.” I got out of the truck and hurried through the rusty barn door. Mittens came running towards me as soon as I opened the door. I picked her up and kissed her on the back. She meowed. I looked at the barn, there was cobwebs everywhere and dirt all over the floor. I loved it in here, I always wrote poems sitting on hay bales. Then I would send them to Grandma, she loved reading my poems.

I walked out, shut the old door, and got into the truck. We started to drive and after hours and hours of driving, we reached a small white house behind tall, green trees.

Chapter Two: New Home

This was my new home. I might never be able to see the farm again. It made me sad to think about never being there and that the farm would never be my home again, now it was just a house in the middle of fields and trees.

I grabbed my suitcase and Mittens, then I heard a screech. I looked up and saw the screen door opening. “You’re here!” yelled Grandma. Dad went over to her and gave her a hug. She squeezed him hard. I could tell because he had an awful look on his face, but he smiled. I laughed a little.
I picked up my bags and started for the door, but Grandma gave me a big hug. She does squeeze hard, but I felt safe in her arms. But there was one thing that wasn’t good about the hug, she smelled like Mama. It reminded me of that horrible night. The night Mama died. I hated that April night, it was raining hard. It was very dark outside. Only a few stars shined, the moon was covered by the clouds, and you could barely see anything through the rain. We were heading home from the doctor, but Mama never made it home because of that big truck. Mama and I were talking about the baby. I was hoping for a girl, but I’ll never know because Dad and I lost two people that night, Mama and Anna is what I wanted to name her.

When Grandma let go, I almost fell over. “Sammy, George! I thought you would never make it. I wanted to see my little Sammy for so long. I’ve been waiting for years, ten years ago since I’ve seen you two, it seems. Grandma said with a huge smile on her face.

“Oh Rosie, it’s only been a few months.” Dad said smiling, too. He laughed. He hadn’t laughed since Mama died. Four months ago Mama died, Grandma went to the funeral.

“Well, it has seemed like forever. Now let’s get inside before the storm hits.” I’ve hated storms after Mama died.

Chapter Three: Rain

It only drizzled after we went inside. There was nothing to do, so I watched it drop. It was coming down fast now. It made everything look different and blurry, and then it started to thunder and lightning.

Grandma came in and watched it with me for a few minutes, then she handed me a couple pieces of paper and a pencil. “ Write a poem for me.” I smiled and went onto the porch to write.
There were two rocking chairs, one for Grandma and one for Grandpa, but now it was only Grandma, with a small table in between. A few drops of rain hit me on my shirt. I could hear the rain pounding on the awning. I thought a little while about what to write about. Then I looked up at the rain, it was calm. There were puddles everywhere, it reminded me of Mama. She was calm.

Chapter Four: Mama

Mama loved it outside, the birds chirping and the bees buzzing. She loved painting, too. I’d never be as good as her. She liked to paint the outdoors most of all. I started out like this;

‘I’m writing this poem
Far away from home
Because my mama died’
I crossed that part out and put,
‘I’m writing this poem
Far away from home
I wish my mama didn’t die
Because I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye
I miss her so much’

I crossed all it out and then a drop of water hit the paper. I realized it was my tear. I tried to think of something else. I crumbled up the paper and went inside.

“School is about to start,” Grandma said as I threw the paper away.

“I know.”

“Well, you better get ready for it.”

“I will.” I felt sad thinking of Mama and the rain. Rain always made me feel gloomy, like I was tired of life, but I wasn’t. I love life and try to cherish every moment because I could die tomorrow. I might never see my family again. I went to my new room and shut the door.

Chapter Five: School

It was time for school tomorrow and it was already late. I made sure I had everything for school and went to bed.

In the morning I woke up early to feed Mittens, but of course Dad was already up drinking coffee at the small table. I got some cereal and milk, got dressed, brushed my teeth, and did my hair.
The bus was coming down the road when I got to the end of the driveway. My heart had butterflies in it. I was going to be the new kid.

The bus ride wasn’t bad and then when I got in Miss Daniels class, I was introduced to her class and everyone went around and said their name. There was another new kid in her class, his name was Alex. He was bald. He was also very shy and he didn’t say much.

“Hello,” I said as he sat in the empty seat next to me. He smiled, but didn’t say anything back.
School didn’t seem very long and when I got home Dad was at the store and Grandma was picking vegetables in the garden. I went to my room and did my homework. I only had to read a few chapters in our new book and a little bit of math.

When I finished, I remembered I had to write a poem, so I went outside, walked through the woods, and found a tree to sit in to write. Soon the leaves would change color and fall to the ground. I didn’t like fall or winter because I think it’s too cold and you always get sick. And you never feel good.

I decided to write about summer. How everything shines and seems happy. And how everything seems to be okay in the summer. I drew a small apple at the end, it wasn’t very good, but it was best. Mama was the best at drawing things.

Chapter Six: Cancer

Miss Daniels said she loved my poem and hung it on the bulletin board. Alex’s was the best poem though, it was about having chemo. I felt bad for him, he must hurt every day. Grandpa had cancer, that’s how he died. I couldn’t imagine having cancer.

When he came to the back of the room to sit down, I saw a small tear drop from his eye. I tried to make him feel better, “I’m so sorry. I couldn’t imagine-“ then I realized it made him feel worse because I saw more tears drip from his eye.

That night when I went home I told Dad all about it, he didn’t say anything back, but I could tell he cared and was listening.

Chapter Seven: Dream

Every night I pray for Mama, Grandpa and, Alex. I thought about all of them while I lay in bed. I had a little trouble sleeping, but sometime in the night I fell asleep. I had a dream about the night Mama died. It wasn’t raining, it was snowing and we slid off of the road and ran into a tree. I only remember part of it, but I woke up at the end of the dream right before Mama died in the hospital bed. It was sort of like what really happened, Mama lying in the hospital bed that she loved me right before I heard a loud beep. A million tears were running down my face. I couldn’t stand thinking about that.

That day at school Alex and I talked and I guess we became friends. He is really nice. His chemo has gotten worse. He told me that he didn’t feel good. He went home early that day.
When I got home I did my usual routine. For dinner we had green beans from Grandma’s garden, corn bread, chicken and ice tea. The cornbread was chewy, but the green beans were delicious.

I played with Mittens for a while, watching a movie. He fell asleep in my arms. I fell asleep, too because I woke up the next morning lying in my bed.

Chapter Eight: Alex

Alex came back a week after he missed school. He said, “I’m not doing so good, but I wanted to come to school.” Below his eyes he had dark circles and he was pale.

He came to school for a few more weeks, but Miss Daniels told the class that Alex has moved to find a place with a better hospital. I couldn’t help but cry, Alex had been my only friend. I hope he would get better, but what if he didn’t. I was thinking the worst things, but then I realized that things just happen for a reason, like how Mama and Grandpa died. Maybe Alex would get better and live life to the fullest or go to a better place, but I didn’t know what would happen because I can’t make things happen. Everything just has to go along, you can’t control life and if it’s not good you’ll be hurt, sad, and you’d miss what you had, but you would always have the memory and the love. That’s why you need to cherish every moment of your life because your life could end tomorrow or someone you know. Remember every little, happy moment of your life because you could lose all of it in a second. Your tears will drop, the rain will fall, and things might not turn out to be good, but live life and be thankful to have it.

About the Author - In Her Own Words

My name is Peace and I'm 11 years old. I live in Gaston, Indiana and born on February 3rd, 1999. I go to Wes-Del Elementary and I’m in fifth grade. I have two brothers, a sister, and my mom and dad. I have two cats, two dogs, and 3 horses. I love to write poems and stories, I love to be outside, taking pictures, and I love animals. My favorite colors are light blue, lime green, orange and yellow. I also like summer and spring, to draw and paint, do crafts, play volleyball, and read books. I’m inspired to write from reading. I love to write!

About the Author - In Her Mom's Words

I did tell Peace that she should put in her "All about the author" that she has an anxiety disorder called Selective Mutism (SM), but she didn't want to. But, when I asked her if you could write anything you wanted about the author, she said, "Sure." I didn't specifically ask about the SM, but she's a smart girl so I think she knew what I meant by the expression on my face. Maybe this is her way of it not being her, but somebody else to tell her story.

She only uses her voice around us....nobody else. No friends even if they are here (at our home). She has been this way since she was three years old. It seems sad to me, but she seems extremely happy. I know it bothers her because she cries and wants to be normal (like “the other kids” is how she puts it). My heart goes out to her and it is hard to be her mother and watch this daily. My hope is that someday she will be able to use her voice to just have a normal day.....to interact with the kids at school, to voice her opinion, to ask the teacher a question.....it has to be so hard being her. I could not imagine how hard it must be to have not talked to any of my friends at all since the age of 3 and now she is 11...... eight years of being silent. When will the silence end? That is all I really want to know. - Angie, Peace’s mom

Submitted by Shirley Thacker, TC 2007