Curing niños' writer's block on standardized tests

by Rudy Garcia

Writer's Block! You think you've got troubles because your deadline's only days away, or your second installment on that trilogy is fast approaching and you already got an advance on it? At least your writer's block won't go on your permanent public-school record, maybe lead to your school being put on the dummies list and shut down, or land your favorite teacher in the unemployment line!

Here's something most teachers dread hearing: "I can't think of anything to write about," says the little girl who weighs less than half my dog. "No tengo ideas, Maestro," says another six-year-old who looks like the couch slept on him, instead of the other way around.

Writer's block, you see, doesn't just afflict the published and the renowned; it even infiltrates our public schools. [Of course this excludes charter school kids because they're the strongest writers who are creamed out of the public schools.]

Anyway, this isn't a how-to for adults to cure their writer's block; see your literary physician for that. But here I'll share how I inoculated a class of 3rd graders from this affliction so they could face the annual cruel and unusual standardized CSAP test in 2011 in Colo.

I'd heard that an entire class of 4th graders had turned in mostly blank sheets on the standardized writing test the previous year. Why? Because it asked about something they'd never experienced. They could only imagine answering truthfully, which meant they had no prior knowledge to work from, nor anything to write about. For that, they should have received high marks in honesty, or something else that standardized tests don't measure.

So, at their teacher's invitation, I taught them some of my "author's secrets" to help avoid making the same mistake as the 4th graders. One "secret" I shared was that the standardized test nazis don't care about the truth, honesty or any other ethical concerns, other than the obvious non-charter school cheating. All they care about is the writing.

My instructions to the students were: Invent. Lie. Borrow. Filch. Fabricate anything to answer the prompt and write it as well as possible.

The "secrets" involved several lessons that I might reveal another time, but the end result was that these 3rd graders scored high marks on the CSAP. According to their regular teacher, it worked.

Later, some kids bragged about how much they'd invented, how many lies they'd told, and how far from reality their compositions were. Of course, I felt half-traitorous for "teaching to the test," in asking them to subvert their character for the sake of scoring high, and for telling a BIG LIE. But my soul is safe because I wasn't their regular teacher who feels guilty enough for both of us.
At the start of this year, I shared some of my "secrets" with my 1st graders. Then I had them write a narrative of "When I went to China." Almost every one of them qualifies for free lunch and the most they'll experience anything of China anytime soon is one of those $1 scoops at an Asian-sounding restaurant. But that didn't stop my 1st graders.

What did they write? "I went to China and saw my teacher Maestro Garcia."--Invention. "Me and my three friends went to China and had a good time using chopsticks and eating sushi."--Lies. "I went to China and met a friend who taught me Chinese and I taught her Spanish."--Total Fabrication.

Luckily, my 1st graders have two more years before they'll have to suffer the new Colo. standardized test. And unless their present teacher has some I-should-prepare-them paranoia for breakfast, they won't have to undergo this rigmarole very often.

Is there a lesson here for curing adult writer's block? I doubt it. But the next time your non-charter school kids tells you, "I can't think of anything to write for homework," toss your moral baggage in the trash can and repeat to him/her/it ten times: Invent. Lie. Borrow. Filch. Fabricate.

And then, the next time you visit the classroom, stand back for his/her /its teacher to toss roses in your path.

Es todo, hoy,
RudyG

One Continuous Mistake

Gail Sher

In One Continuous Mistake, Gail Sher describes the four noble truths for writers, they being:

Writers write.
Writing is a process. You don’t know what your writing will be until the end of the process. If writing is your practice, the only way to fail is not to write.

She approaches writing as Zen practice by expressing the idea that having the “right” intention is the key to being a writer. By that she means having a regular practice of writing everyday and making a “single minded effort” to keep up the practice of writing. This single minded effort consists also of “plodding onward,” writing even when you don’t feel like it , are in a bad mood or outside distractions call you away from the practice.

Another reward of this effort is the deep satisfaction that comes from the regularity of the practice and the deep dissatisfaction that comes with abandoning it.

“I know a doctor who wishes he could teach literature. I know a lawyer who secretly writes children stories. I don’t know any writer, however, who hankers after an alternative profession. If you are a writer and you are writing, there may be problems but never doubt.”

Sher advocates that in order to be fully present during writing practice the peripheral aspects of the writer’s life must be managed properly so that there aren’t any distractions during the writing session. She explains that “right “ livelihood isn’t so much concerned with what a writer does for a living but what her “state of mind is able to cultivate while she does it.” A writer needs to find a job that supports her intention to write .

“While most writers understandably dream of making their living practicing their craft, there are advantages to making your living in other ways.” such as not be isolated and not being motivated by the money to get things completed but letting it find its own pace."

The bottom line to writing as practice is the ability to “be there, but out of the way”, to show up at the allotted time and allow the subconscious to flourish. The title of the book refers to the idea that writing, like life, is about learning from the inevitable mistakes and not allowing these mistakes to cause you to stop the practice. It's from these “mistakes” that the most exciting aspects and the richness of life emerge.

POST SCRIPT TO MAY'S PALABRA PURA

Once again, Palabra Pura brought Chicago audiences a vivid, sinuous, muscular night of compelling poetry in the forms of Adrian Castro and Febronio Zatarain. Starting with a lively pre-performance dinner at a local Cuban restaurant, the conversation ranged from Yoruba spiritual practice to Portuguese poets and literary cannon. Zatarain's opening set was a moving pastiche of musica romantica sung in a whiskey voice, bracketing a look back at love and loss.

The night's featured poet shared work that radiated a strong connection, to the divine, to a living and breathing Afro-Cuban sensibility. Adrian Castro was a consummate reader, commanding, yet conversational and compelling. His work, infused with imagery of the natural world and its healing properties reminds us of the gods in us and around us. Both readers brilliantly illustrated the poetry in music and the musicality of poetry.

Bravo, bravo!

Lisa Alvarado