Tag Archive: writing guides


My first suggestion for you is to make sure you’ve read Vicki Spandel’s post from late January, “Rubrics Revisited.” I’ve lifted the title of my post directly from Vicki’s piece, because it resonated so strongly to me. So feel free to take a few moments to check it out!

Vicki’s latest post, “Rubrics Revisited,” has been rolling around inside my head since I first read it, so much so that I’d like to briefly revisit her revisiting. I’ve been doing some substitute teaching this school year, mostly with fifth grade students at the elementary school four blocks from my house but including a few days here and there at middle and high school. Recently, I’ve also been helping the high school son of a good friend–I’ll refer to him as Student K–with some of his writing for his senior Lit and Comp class. Vicki’s spot-on comments about rubrics, or writing guides (as we prefer to call them), rang so many bells with my recent classroom experiences, and especially my work with Student K, that I felt the need to toss out my own thoughts and reflections. I want to focus my comments on one particular statement Vicki makes early in her post (the underlining is mine): “My position is that we need both personal comments and rubrics to provide a full and satisfying response to student writing. Together, they form a very solid basis for quality writing assessment. And shouldn’t that be the goal?” And, of course, it should be the goal and the foundation of powerful writing instruction in the classroom.

Before I get going, I want to make sure one thing is clear. When I substitute or work with individual students, I don’t judge the teachers I’m filling in for or those who have assigned the writing I’m helping a student work through. Seriously—that’s not my job. Neither Vicki nor I have ever suggested that there’s only one way to teach writing. We’ve focused our efforts on identifying the philosophies, the strategies, and the practices that work (and have worked over time)—across all grade levels—to develop confident, accomplished young writers. However, I do notice things—classroom routines, a room’s physical set up, instructional practices, the way students respond to directions, and the way students react to and approach writing in the classroom. I do encounter amazing teachers and classrooms all the time, and I don’t call them amazing because they do things exactly as I would. But I also find and am frustrated by, truth be told, missed opportunities in many classrooms especially when it comes to using “rubrics” and personal comments to communicate with student writers as part of writing instruction. (I’m pretty sure that sounds judgmental even if that’s not my intention.)

What follows are a few of my takeaways from Vicki’s post filtered through years in my own classroom, my work with teachers as a professional development presenter, my current work as a substitute teacher, and focused on several of these instructional missed opportunities uncovered during my very recent work with a senior in high school, Student K.

Student K’s Story—Instructional “Missed Opportunities”

Student K came to me wanting some help on an end-of-semester writing assignment for his grade 12 Lit and Comp class. His task was to fictionalize an actual crime story—factual reportage—similar to the style of Truman Capote’s In Cold Blood. He could not exceed a thousand words and would be assessed with a 4-point, 4-part task-specific rubric. (I’ve included a photo later.) This rubric was handed out at the onset of the assignment. The descriptors broke down levels of performance across four learning targets:

1—I can select and apply effective words and syntax.

2—I can use correct conventions (spelling, punctuation, and grammar) in my writing.

3—I can write narrative pieces.

4—I can use the writing process to improve my writing.

Student K based his writing on a pair of robberies at a local convenience store committed by two high school age boys. (The boys robbed the same store, with the same clerk at the register, within a two-week span.) He had an initial outline, notes from research, two rough drafts—one with “comments” from the teacher, and a copy of the rubric. I would describe my work with Student K as an extended revision conference—we met three days in a row after school for about 90 minutes each visit. (NoteI am absolutely aware that this kind of one-on-one time with a student writer is a luxury and impossible to have during school hours with a classroom full of students regardless of the grade level.) We started with a look at his second rough draft to see what kind of feedback his teacher had provided. What we discovered was, in my mind, a missed opportunity.

Missed Opportunity—As Vicki emphasized in her post, “…a writing rubric can serve as a guide to revision…” Student K’s rough draft did not contain any formative feedback from the rubric. None! The only feedback to Student K were comments related to the paper’s formatting—the word “header” had been written at the top of each page and “works cited/word count” was written on the last page. This is not the kind of specific feedback that opens the to door to meaningful revision. From teacher feedback like this, Student K (or any student) could make the assumption that everything else about the piece was at least “OK—good to go.”

Student writers need to know both what they’re doing well and what they might need to work on to improve their piece. I like to use a feedback term/practice borrowed from a colleague—Stars and a Staircase. Star comments let the student writer know what’s really working in their piece, reinforcing their strengths, while Staircase comments hone in on specific areas where the reader is experiencing confusion or needing to ask questions. These comments help guide the writer’s revision, moving their piece up the “staircase.” As Vicki states in her post, “Just saying ‘Good job!’ or ‘ I loved this piece!’ isn’t enough. Positive shout-outs are heartwarming—for a moment. But like cotton candy, such content-free fluff is here and gone, leaving the writer with a sweet memory and no idea what to do. The best comments not only boost a writer’s courage, but also give her direction for revision or for the next piece…” Feedback, in the form of “scores” or descriptors from a writing guide or written comments from the reader/teacher, is not only about addressing the current piece or assignment, it’s about arming student writers with the tools, confidence, and independence for “the next piece.”

So, in an attempt to nurture the independence that meaningful, specific feedback is able to provide a student writer, the first thing I asked Student K to do was to read his piece out loud with a pen in his hand. While reading his own work aloud, he is both “reader” and “writer.” If he stumbles over something, it’s more than likely that any other reader would as well. The pen was for marking anything he was confused by or didn’t like and for making quick changes/corrections—spelling, missing words, punctuation, sequencing, etc. He was well over his word limit (let the record show that I’m not a fan of “word counts”), so he was also on the lookout for words/phrases/sentences he could eliminate. The pen was also for him to notice and highlight what he felt (as the reader) was working well. We didn’t total up the number of times his pen hit his paper, but it was well over twenty. We did, however, categorize the things he noticed in his own work—here are a few:

*Repetitive word choices

            *Moments of confusion

            *Repetitive transitional language—lots of “and thens”

            *Missing transitions between paragraphs

            *Repeated sentence beginnings—He, The, They, etc.

            *Confusing conclusion—(confused by his own conclusion!)

            *Inconsistent verb tense

            *Figurative language     

I asked him to reflect on this, and the first thing he said was, “I noticed a lot!” Absolutely—imagine that! I asked him to describe a highlight (a Star) and a work-light (a Staircase-something to work on) from his read-through. Student K gave himself a Star for two examples of figurative language he used while describing the two young men featured in his piece:

Example #1“He once was a nice young boy, the type of kid that your parents would want you to hang out with and have as a friend. However, after he took advantage of a female classmate while she was intoxicated at a party, everything changed. Everything. Now people hesitated to make eye contact with him, as if he was Medusa.”

Example #2—“Harris looked older than most of the kids in his grade because he actually was. Being held back two years gives you that certain look. Even in kindergarten, the teachers used to shake their heads, almost as if they could already see the path he was headed towards. Timothy was not the traveler that Robert Frost wrote about. No matter what two roads diverged in front of him, he always took the wrong path. At 2:30 in the morning, when most people are sleeping, the wrong path led Timothy, with his partner in tow, to the Plaid Pantry convenience store.”

Neither of these examples attracted any attention from Student K’s teacher even though the rubric for this task emphasizes the use of figurative language in learning target #3—I can write narrative pieces. Student K’s Staircase comments for himself focused on eliminating/replacing repetitive word choices and sentence beginnings, and on the clarity of his conclusion—he didn’t like the way his piece ended.

At this point, I wanted him to “assess” (not score, not grade) his own writing again, this time using the rubric he had been given. I suggested he look for descriptors—not worrying about the “score”—that he felt matched his writing. He found at least one in each of the four categories, but it was not easy for two reasons.

Missed Opportunity—First, he told me that in this class, he had not used a rubric to “assess” his own writing in this way before. He had also not experienced the practice of using a rubric to “assess” anyone else’s writing. (Deep—possibly judgmental—sigh!) Borrowing words from Vicki’s post again, I (we) believe students need to have “…regular and repeated practice in assessing, discussing, and revising…” both the writing of others, “…students and professionals…” and their own writing. This practice develops independence in student writers who, over time, begin to take charge of their own writing process. In a classroom setting, the discourse (discussion) between students (and the teacher) as they “assess” writing samples, clarifies exactly how a rubric will be used when their own writing is being “assessed” by the teacher using the same rubric. Student K experienced a second problem as he attempted to use the rubric himself. The descriptors in the task-specific rubric he had were really more of a checklist of all the things the teacher would be looking for—“There is correct use of dialogue…,” “There is some use of imagery that appeals to the senses…,” “There are 2 + rough drafts included…,” “Story opens with complete background information…” The reality was that his personal assessment became a process of going through the rubric in a “Got-it, Got-it, Need-it…” manner. For me, that’s one of the problems with many task-specific rubrics. It’s possible to say ”Check!” to each of listed items—Task completed!—and still end up with a piece of writing that is missing something important to the overall quality of the writing—the experience of the reader/audience, the reason for writing in the first place.

Following Student K’s two rounds of personal “assessment,” I did offer some of my own feedback but focused my comments/help on a few of the items he had noticed himself, particularly his conclusion. I left Student K loaded down with a pile of his own revision suggestions, sprinkled with a few of my own.

Just last week, Student K let me know he had received his writing back with a rubric score and a grade, and of course, I was anxious to hear about it.

photo 1

photo 2

photo 3

Missed Opportunity—The pictures I’ve included here show the rubric as it was returned to Student K. Based on the X marks, we determined that his rubric scores on the four learning targets were 2, 3, 3, 3. I asked him what the scores meant to him and he replied, “That means I got a B.” We then looked at the paper to review the written comments. (By this point I’m admitting that the judgmental gloves are off!) Student K decided he had found a tiny Star at the end of the comment: “A long falling action but fitting resolution.” Reacting to the handful of Staircase comments—“Use better description,” “Be specific,” “What neighborhood?” “You need much more on this climax! “—Student K said (exactly what I was thinking), “Why didn’t he say something about these on my rough draft?” What really baffled me was that the rubric scores and the written comments, whether taken separately or in combination, had not communicated a clear message to the writer. Quality writing assessment had not been achieved! If Student K’s only takeaway was that he had received a “B,” the teacher could have saved time by not using the rubric or writing even limited comments. Just slap a “B” at the top and move on to the next assignment. (Now that’s judgmental!) Many teachers will say that it takes too much time to use rubrics and personal comments. I contend that by nurturing the independence of student writers—arming them with writing guides and training them to be self-assessors first—actually saves assessment time for teachers.

Knock—Knock! Bang—Bang! Ding—Dong!

Who’s at the door? It’s Opportunity! That’s one of the things you can count on as a teacher—lots of opportunities for taking advantage of instructional opportunities! If your goal as a writing teacher is developing confident, capable student writers, then for me, the path is quality instruction informed by quality assessment. As Vicki urged at the end of her post, “It all comes back to concepts.” And to teach the concepts of good writing, it takes specific practices: First, it takes examples that show students what writers really do. Those examples might come in the form of student writing, novels, nonfiction, picture books, essays, reviews—or samples of our own work. Second, it takes opportunities to discuss these samples as a group, and when that discussion is enhanced with rubrics, you add the power of writers’ language to help students figure out what concepts like organization or fluency are about. And third, it takes extremely well crafted oral and written comments, comments both encouraging and provocative enough to take writers to the next level of performance.”

Opening clear, purposeful lines of communication between you and your student writers is what is most important in helping them know where they stand as writers today and where they could be standing tomorrow.

Reading Recommendations

As a reminder, these are books we recommend for your reading pleasure. We are not planning to review them, and they are not suggested as books for students. We think they are worth your time, but we urge you to look them up online for summary information or to see what other reviewers have had to say. Here are our four picks for this post:

  • My Name is Lucy Barton by Elizabeth Strout
  • Soul Serenade: Rhythm and Blues & Coming of Age Through Vinyl by Rashod Ollison
  • Lean on Pete by Willy Vlautin


Coming Up on Gurus . . .

I have been binge-reading the YA books of author Andrew Smith and want to share some thoughts about this powerful writer. His books are definitely for the grade 9+ crowd, dealing with sensitive, timely, and important issues. His characters and storylines are brutally honest, frequently strange, and often laugh-out-loud.

Thank you for joining our discussion once again—and for recommending our site to friends. We are so pleased to have so many new visitors, and thanks for your comments and questions.  Remember, for the BEST workshops or innovative classroom demonstration lessons combining traits, workshop, process and literature, please phone Jeff at 503-579-3034. Give every child a voice.

Rubrics, posters, and kits are not essential to teaching writing–even trait-based writing. You can teach writing with nothing more than blank paper and a few pencils if you’re inventive and brave enough. On the other hand, it’s convenient to point to a poster or reach for a rubric. The problem is, these tools of writing can be misused–especially when we begin to see them as “the truth.” Here are a few suggestions for using these now familiar tools of the writing trade wisely and well (with thanks to teacher friends Judy, Ronda, and Barbara, from whom we borrowed some ideas to share with you).

Rubrics (aka Writing Guides)

Of all the trait-connected instructional tools, rubrics are the most misunderstood (and consequently, the most maligned). They’re often viewed as sets of rules that cannot be violated if you want your writing to be any good. Nothing could be further from the truth. Here’s a tip: Don’t call them rubrics. Call them writing guides. This will help you keep them in their place–as guides to revision, or guides to assessment. They’re not rigid rules–and they don’t hold all the answers because no writing guide can capture every nuance of good writing. You still have to use judgment, perception, and imagination. Writing guides are reflections of what we value at a given time, nothing more. And that is subject to change . . .

. . . which means that writing guides are never finished. Never. Even the very best among them are in-process drafts. That’s because (unless we purposely shut down our minds: “No Longer Accepting Ideas”), our view of what makes writing work evolves continually, mostly as a result of what we read. We read something that speaks to us, enlightens us, or startles us into a new consciousness and there’s an “aha” moment that translates into a new “rubric in the mind.” I defy anyone to read Jonathan Safran Foer’s Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close and not think in new, revolutionary ways about conventions, presentation, organization–and obviously, sentences. If we’re quick enough, and articulate enough, we can capture some of those “aha” moments on paper–not to create new rule systems (how tedious that would be), but to open new pathways for thought. Here’s the trick, though . . .

Let students revise the writing guides they use–or create them in the first place. It’s in making the guide–not using the guide–where the real magic lies. We (here at Gurus) are constantly asked to develop a persuasive writing rubric to reflect the Common Core Standards. We’re resisting. Not because we’re curmudgeons. But because actually, that is a perfect task for students. Try it in your own classroom. Here’s how . . .

Begin by collecting writing samples that show varying degrees of success in crafting an argument (think speeches, editorials, reviews, political position papers, legal arguments). Rank them with students’ help, and then discuss them with your students. Together, identify the qualities (clear position, strong evidence, logical reasoning) that mark a successful argument–and the pitfalls to avoid. What makes one argument compelling? What’s missing from another? Write down what you find. Then check yur perspective against the essentials outlined in the Common Core. Think what your students will learn by doing this–and how much more they will value their own writing guide over anything you could hand them.

Writing guides make an excellent basis for discussion in one-on-one conferences, too. Try this strategy from my middle school teacher friend, Barbara, who uses student writing guides from Creating Writers (Vicki Spandel, Pearson Education). Focusing on just one trait (perhaps ideas), she and a student each highlight phrases from the writing guide (using their own, individual copies) that seem to match what they see or hear in the student’s paper. Then they meet at the conference to compare their “highlights.” Matches and differences make for a spirited and productive discussion about what’s working and what still needs to happen. Trust us, this approach will transform the way you think about conferences.

How about grades? If you use writing guides (rubrics) for grading, take some advice from my mentor teacher Ronda. She literally chopped the 1 and 2 levels right off her writing guide, so students (and their parents) saw only descriptors for level 3 on up. What a difference this made! No more fear of the quagmire. Everything was about aiming for the stars. Students whose writing did not seem to yet merit a score of 3 were asked to revise. Their writing wasn’t a failure; it was simply considered “not yet ready for assessment.” Very respectful. Respect and assessment aren’t often words used in the same sentence–but they should be.


Of all the things developed for use in teaching the six traits, none has ever been more popular than posters. Go figure. It’s the easiest thing to make for yourself, and yet . . . teachers LOVE them! There’s something downright irresistible about summarizing something as elusive and complex as voice in a nutshell. They’re handy in another way, too: The things noted on a good poster can often be turned into specific lessons. For example, a poster for organization usually features such things as a strong, inviting lead, natural and logical transitions, and a satisfying ending that leaves you thinking. Each of those can become the focus of a lesson–or a series of lessons.

As with writing guides, however, we have to be careful not to let posters start bossing us around. You put it on the wall, and suddenly it morphs into a set of rules, such as you might see at the local swimming pool. Don’t let that happen. Open your mind and see that poster more as creative graffiti (the artistic sort, not the kind slap-dashed on the wall by vandals). The poster captures first thoughts in a nutshell–but in the classroom, you can help those first thoughts blossom.

My teacher friend Judy (who taught third grade, and now teaches fifth) starts out her year with six trait posters. But instead of posting them all the first day, she puts them up one at a time, as she and her writers move from one trait to the next. Her students never memorize what the poster says. They look on it as one person’s view, a starting point. They fully expect to add their own thoughts. Each time a student comes up with a personal response to a trait–say, voice–Judy grabs a marker and a sentence strip. “Please repeat the thought you shared with us just now,” she says, writing the student’s words down verbatim. The strip is then tacked to the poster–which very literally “flowers” as weeks go on. Students love seeing their thinking captured in print, and best of all, the posters now belong to them.

Suggestion: Take Judy’s approach a step further, and create your own in-class posters for the big three umbrella genres of the Common Core: narrative writing, informational writing, and argument. And don’t be surprised that the more you read (and the better the literature), the more your posters “flower,” just like those of Judy’s students.


I’ve heard people say you cannot find writing in a kit. (Several of those people have gone on to create kits of their own, which is both ironic and amusing.) They’re right, though–well, sort of. But not exactly in the way they intended. The thing is, it’s probably more accurate to say that writing cannot be contained in a kit. It can’t be contained in a classroom, either. The only place writing lives and thrives is in the mind of the writer. But it’s still up to us as teachers to be the catalyst, to light the spark of excitement and get those mental gears turning–and kits (the good ones, not the evil ones) are chock full of suggestions for doing just that. But . . . big caution: The kits do have to be good. Really good. for one thing, they have a bad rap to overcome.

Writing kits have a reputation for housing worksheets posing as lessons. And that reputation is all too well-earned in many cases. It isn’t hard, after all, to come up with ten or twenty nifty and all-but-mindless “activities” tangentially connected to various traits. Anyone can do it. But random lessons stuffed into a box get us nowhere–and eat up valuable writing time. Worse yet, mindless “lessons” often advocate a formulaic approach (because formulas are so simple to write): a main idea with three supporting details, or sentence and story starters to “prompt” (read anesthetize) students.

By contrast . . . a well-conceived writing kit offers students opportunities to come up with their own topics, to do extended writing in multiple genres, to explore a wide range of outstanding literature in search of passages worth sharing, saving and emulating, and to work with partners in planning, writing, revising, publishing, and evaluating. In place of random lesson detritus, expect to find a thoughtfully designed series, in which every lesson builds on previously learned skills–and everything works together to build young writers’ confidence and help them meet the requirements of the Common Core.

Kits aren’t for everyone. Let’s face it: Some teachers feel using a kit is equivalent to wearing a life vest at the swim meet. If you need it, what the heck are you doing there? These people are dynamos who live to create their own writing world. They read several books a week (more on weekends), keep elaborate journals, write novels and poetry on the side, and would no more think of borrowing a lesson than cooking a frozen dinner. (They probably don’t hire landscapers or interior decorators, either. Most cut their own hair.) We need to wish them well and step out of their way before they run us over.

For many, many other people, though . . . a kit can be a Godsend. That’s because it’s full of STUFF. And teachers, most of them, like stuff. For years, teachers implored us, “Please–could you just share your lessons, your list of literature, your sets of student papers . . . ” These people don’t lack confidence–or creativity. They lack time. If you’ve been there, you know what we’re talking about.

We (Vicki Spandel & Jeff Hicks, via Great Source Education) designed our Write Traits Kits just for these people. Inside, we put the best lessons we’d taught, developed or adapted, the best literature we could find, the student papers that generate the most interesting class discussions, and lessons designed to make students think. No rules. No formulas. No kidding. But stuff? Oh, yes, stuff to the max . . . passages to revise, edit, discuss, assess, or read aloud. Book recommendations galore. Opportunities for students to be writers, reviewers, editors, and document designers. All right there at your fingertips. You can use as much or as little as you like–and nothing is scripted.

A well-designed kit will give you something to reach for when you need it, but it will let you be you. Because in the end, you are the ultimate catalyst.

If you love to read and write, if you are constantly learning new strategies for doing both well, if you cannot wait to see the next thing your students produce, then posters or kits or writing guides are simply tools to help you do what you were born to do–and what you will do brilliantly with or without them. If you do not love writing instruction to the very core of your being, however, then no poster or kit will help–because the one thing none of them can do ever, ever, ever is take your place.

Coming up on Gurus . . .

Later this week, we’ll take a quick look at a book recommended by a friend and colleague, Fred Wolff. It’s The River of Doubt by Candice Millard. The book is a masterpiece of informational writing, and if you’re a fan of biography or historic narrative, you won’t want to miss this one. Next week, we’ll review the inimitable Joyce Sidman’s new nonfiction book for young readers, Swirl by Swirl. For the best six trait professional development, please contact us: 503-579-3034. And remember . . . Give every child a voice.