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ABOUT THE COAUTHOR
Pat Daniel Jones

Pat Daniel Jones is delighted and honored to assist Gail Tompkins in revising this edition of
Teaching Writing. Pat’s and Gail’s lives intersected at the University of Oklahoma in 1988,
where Gail served as Pat’s major professor as she earned her PhD in language arts education
in 1991. Pat taught fifth through eighth graders for 12 years while she lived in Oklahoma.
Since earning her PhD, Pat has taught at the university level at the University of Houston-
Victoria, Western Kentucky University, and for over 20 years at the University of South
Florida, where she serves as the founding director of the Tampa Bay Area Writing Project.
She also spends many hours on school campuses working with teachers and their students.
Like her mentor, Gail Tompkins, Pat is a teacher’s teacher, serving as major professor to 13
doctoral students and as a committee member on 26 additional committees.
Pat has received numerous teaching awards, including Teacher of the Year at Bethel,
Oklahoma, Schools and Outstanding Undergraduate Teaching Award at the University of
South Florida three times.
Dr. Daniel Jones has written numerous articles for English Journal, Language Arts, The ALAN
Review, Equity and Excellence in Education, Teaching and Change, Teacher Education and Special
Education, and The Qualitative Report.
Married to Connie Jones, Pat enjoys spending time with their 12 grandchildren, 9 of
whom now live in Tampa. Pat and Connie also volunteer at their local community theater.
vii
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PREFACE
With a sharpened focus on differentiating instruction in writing workshop classrooms, the
seventh edition of Teaching Writing: Balancing Process and Product offers a comprehensive vision
of the strategies that writers use, the writing genres, and the writer’s craft with techniques for
improving the quality of students’ writing.
This text continues to thoroughly examine genres and instructional procedures with a
strong focus on scaffolding instruction to ensure success for all students, including English
learners and struggling writers. The text provides insights on differentiation, technology,
assessment, writing to demonstrate learning, and the six traits of writing along with its
long-standing focus on process and product to offer the best possible preparation for teaching
writing in K–8 classrooms.
NEW TO THIS EDITION!

• For the first time, Teaching Writing is being offered as an eText to provide interactive
opportunities for studying and reviewing what has been learned through online appli-
cations, including the ability to highlight information, navigate back and forth within
the text, watch videos chosen to exemplify or extend text content, and take online quiz-
zes that align to learning outcomes.
• An introduction to writing standards appears at the beginning of each chapter, and
appropriate standards are aligned to the minilessons offered within each chapter.
• New Part One, Chapters 1–6, has been carefully restructured to closely examine the
writing process, writing workshop, and specifics on how to develop writers in primary,
middle, and upper grade classrooms and to assess their progress.
• Reorganized and revised Chapter 6, Writing to Learn, addresses ways teachers can use
writing as a tool for learning through a wealth of activities that ask students to demon-
strate their learning through writing.
• Updated Mentor Texts features list time-honored and newer texts, broken down by
grade level or by topic. Mentor texts are used to teach the writer’s craft, specific genres,
and many instructional procedures, introducing and engaging students in concrete
writing strategies.
• The Digital Toolkit features present in-depth information about technological appli-
cations and new and reliable ways to use technology in writing workshop classrooms.
• Takeaway Checklists fall at the ends of chapters where users can download these prac-
tical instructional guidelines and keep them handy.
• Margin notes link users to videos that exemplify teaching or provide additional teach-
ing support.
• Self-assessment online quizzes end each chapter section. In addition, an end-of-chap-
ter quiz—From Textbook to Classroom—identifies choices for classroom projects
meant to deepen teacher knowledge and provide experiences to sharpen a teacher’s
focus on writing development. Rubrics to judge the quality of these projects can be
found online.
ix
x Preface
PROCESS AND PRODUCT

Teaching Writing addresses both the process of writing, the recursive stages of the writing pro-
cess and the strategies students use to draft and refine text, and the products of writing, the
compositions that students write. Each chapter in this edition builds from a writing workshop
foundation to clearly articulated instructional procedures, including minilessons, guided
practice activities, suggestions for incorporating technology, techniques for assisting English
learners and struggling writers, and linking assessment to instruction.
Part One: The Process

Early chapters walk you through the stages of the writing process—prewriting, drafting, revising,
editing, and publishing—and explain how to implement writing workshop in K–8 classrooms. In
Part One, you’ll also learn about writing strategies that students use to monitor their writing
and solve problems, the six traits of writing, and ways to assess students’ writing, including
implementing a portfolio program and preparing your students for district and state writing
assessments.
Chapter 6 is now a bridge chapter illustrating the process for using writing to learn and
then offering a plethora of activities for students to demonstrate that learning through writing
paragraphs, letters, compositions, essays, books, or multigenre projects.
These features will guide your learning about the process of writing:
• Minilessons demonstrate how to teach writing strategies and writer’s craft lessons in
writing workshop classrooms.
• Mentor Texts features list recommended books that teachers can use as models when
they’re teaching about each genre.
• Accommodating EL Writers sections provide insight into the most successful methods
for scaffolding the teaching of students who are learning English as they’re learning the
craft of writing.
Part Two: The Product

Part Two chapters focus on writing genres supported by standards and applications in literature,
social studies, science, and other content areas:
• Poetry writing
• Narrative writing
• Biographical writing
• Nonfiction writing
• Writing arguments
In Part Two, you’ll find practical strategies for teaching and assessing each genre of writing
accompanied by abundant illustrative student samples.
There are also special features to guide your learning:
• Step-by-Step features explain the procedures that writing teachers use every day,
including word walls, clusters, and KWL charts.
• Instructional Overview features set benchmarks for students’ achievement for each
genre.
Preface xi
• How to Solve Struggling Writers’ Problems features analyze a specific problem, its
causes, and solutions as well as ways to prevent the problem.
• Preparing for Writing Tests features help you prepare students for high-stakes testing
by clearly describing each writing genre, providing prompts to generate a writing sam-
ple, and outlining pitfalls writers may face when writing in specific genres.
AUTHENTIC CLASSROOMS
Nothing beats authentic examples of classroom practice when it comes to truly understanding
classroom application. For that reason, this text provides many opportunities for you to
examine writing workshop classrooms and consider questions that writing teachers often ask.
• Vignettes opening each chapter present an intimate look at teachers who use the spe-
cific instructional procedures described in this text and illustrate how these procedures
play out in the classroom, including the conversations teachers have with real students.
• Artifacts of actual student writing are displayed in each chapter and show how stu-
dents execute what they learn. These examples point out what students understand
and what additional teaching might need to take place.
• Answering Teachers’ Questions About . . . This popular feature poses several chapter-
related questions that teachers frequently ask, and then offers advice from the author.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Gail’s heartfelt thanks go to the many people who have encouraged her over the years and
provided valuable assistance through each edition of Teaching Writing: Balancing Process and
Product. This text is a reflection of what the teachers and students she worked with in Califor-
nia and across the United States taught her, and is testimony to their excellence. The teachers
and students who are featured in the vignettes at the beginning of each chapter deserve spe-
cial recognition; thank you for welcoming Gail into your classrooms and for permitting her to
share your stories. She especially wants to express her appreciation to the children whose
writing samples appear in the text and to the teachers, administrators, and parents who have
shared writing samples with her as well.
Gail also thanks her reviewers for their insightful comments: Corrine Hinton, Texas A & M,
Texarkana; Melanie Hundley, Vanderbilt University; Angela Kinney, Mount St. Joseph Univer-
sity; Linda Murphree, Wayland Baptist; Gwendolyn Thompson McMillon, Oakland University;
Wayne Slater, University of Maryland. You’ll notice that many of your suggestions are reflected
in this seventh edition.
And to Gail’s editors and the production team at Pearson, she offers her heartfelt thanks.
To Drew Bennett, her portfolio manager, and to Linda Bishop, her development editor, thanks
for your encouragement and support. Gail’s thanks also go to Joan Gill, who successfully
moved this text through the maze of production details, and to Melissa Gruzs, who has again
cleaned up her manuscript and paid unparalleled, careful attention to detail. Gail is grateful.
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CONTENTS
Minilessons 28
PART ONE
Check Your Understanding 31
The Process IMPLEMENTING WRITING WORKSHOP 31
Introduce the Writing Process 31
Arrange the Classroom 33
CHAPTER 1
Create a Community of Writers 35
Teaching Writing Today 1 Differentiate Instruction 36
Incorporate Technology 37
Vignette: Third Graders Talk About the Writing
Process 1 Accommodating EL Writers 38
Learning Outcomes 3 Monitor Progress 40
THE WRITING PROCESS 4
Stage 1: Prewriting 5 THE TAKEAWAY CHECKLIST: Writing
Workshop 42
Stage 2: Drafting 7
Stage 3: Revising 8 ASSESSMENT: From Textbook to Classroom 42
Stage 4: Editing 13 ANSWERING TEACHERS’ QUESTIONS
Stage 5: Publishing 15 ABOUT . . . Writing Workshop 43
WRITING STANDARDS 17
CHAPTER 3
The Writing Strand 18
Other Strands 19 Developing Strategic
Check Your Understanding 20 Writers 44
THE TAKEAWAY CHECKLIST: The Writing
Process 20 Vignette: A First Grader’s Thinking Cap 44
Learning Outcomes 46
ASSESSMENT: From Textbook to Classroom 20
WRITING STRATEGIES 46
ANSWERING TEACHERS’ QUESTIONS
ABOUT . . . The Writing Process 21 Elaborating 48
Evaluating 49
Formatting 49
CHAPTER 2 Generating 49
Writing Workshop 22 Monitoring 50
Narrowing 51
Vignette: Sixth Graders Participate in Writing Organizing 52
Workshop 22 Proofreading 53
Learning Outcomes 24 Questioning 55
COMPONENTS OF WRITING WORKSHOP 24 Rereading 55
Writing 25 Revising 55
Sharing 27 Setting Goals 56
Interactive Read-Alouds 27 Self-Regulation of Strategies 56
xiii
xiv Contents
Capable and Less Capable Writers 57

CHAPTER 5
INSTRUCTIONAL PROCEDURES 59 Assessing Writing 96
Teaching a Strategy 59
Vignette: Claire’s Writing Portfolio 96
Scaffolding Writers 61
Writing Workshop 63
CLASSROOM ASSESSMENT 98
Assessing Strategy Use 64
The Instruction–Assessment Cycle 99
Assessment Procedures 100
THE TAKEAWAY CHECKLIST: Developing Strategic
Writers 66 Accommodating EL Writers 107
WRITING PORTFOLIOS 109
ABOUT . . . Developing Strategic Writers 67 Collecting Writing Samples in Portfolios 109
Involving Students in Self-Assessment 110
Showcasing Students’ Portfolios 110
CHAPTER 4 Check Your Understanding 111
The Writer’s Craft 68 LARGE-SCALE WRITING TESTS 111
National Assessment of Educational Progress 112
Vignette: Noah’s “Wicked Cool” Writing 68 Preparing for Writing Tests 112
Learning Outcomes 70 Benefits of Testing 114
THE SIX TRAITS 70 Check Your Understanding 114
Ideas 70 THE TAKEAWAY CHECKLIST: Writing
Organization 73 Assessment 114
Voice 75 ASSESSMENT: From Textbook to Classroom 115
Word Choice 76 ANSWERING TEACHERS’ QUESTIONS
Sentence Fluency 79 ABOUT . . . Assessing Writing 115
Conventions 80
Presentation 81
Check Your Understanding 82 CHAPTER 6
INSTRUCTIONAL PROCEDURES 82 Writing to Learn 117
Introducing the Writer’s Craft 82
Teaching the Six Traits 84 Vignette: Fifth Graders Write Pioneer Guides 117
Writing Workshop 90 Learning Outcomes 119
Accommodating EL Writers 90 THE PROCESS: WRITING TO LEARN 119

Assessing the Writer’s Craft 92 Clustering 120
Check Your Understanding 94 Double-Entry Journals 120
KWL Charts 122
THE TAKEAWAY CHECKLIST: The Writer’s
Craft 94 Learning Logs 123
Semantic Feature Analysis 124
ABOUT . . . The Writer’s Craft 95 THE PRODUCT: WRITING TO DEMONSTRATE
LEARNING 125
Contents xv
Response to Literature Projects 125 ASSESSMENT: From Textbook to Classroom 167

Thematic Unit Projects 128 ANSWERING TEACHERS’ QUESTIONS
Multigenre Projects 134 ABOUT . . . Writing Poetry 168
INSTRUCTIONAL PROCEDURES 137
CHAPTER 8
Designing Writing Projects 137
Writing Workshop 137 Narrative Writing169
Accommodating EL Writers 140
Vignette: First Graders Write Stories 169
Assessing Writing in the Content Areas 142
THE GENRE: NARRATIVE WRITING 171
THE TAKEAWAY CHECKLIST: Writing to
Plot 172
Learn 142
Setting 174
ASSESSMENT: From Textbook to
Characters 175
Classroom 143
Theme 178
Point of View 179
ABOUT . . . Writing to Learn 144
Narrative Devices 179
PART TWO INSTRUCTIONAL PROCEDURES 181

Introducing the Genre 182
The Product Teaching an Element of Story Structure 182
Guided Practice Activities 182
Writing Workshop 184
CHAPTER 7
Writing Poetry145 Assessing Narrative Writing 188
Vignette: Sixth Grade Poetry Workshop 145
Learning Outcomes 147 THE TAKEAWAY CHECKLIST: Narrative
Writing 190
THE GENRE: POETRY 147
Formula Poems 148
Free Verse 152 ANSWERING TEACHERS’ QUESTIONS
ABOUT . . . Narrative Writing 191
Syllable- and Word-Count Poems 157
Model Poems 158
Poetic Devices 159 CHAPTER 9
Biographical Writing193
INSTRUCTIONAL PROCEDURES 161
Introducing Poetry Writing 162 Vignette: A Class Biography 193
Writing Workshop 162 Learning Outcomes 195
Accommodating EL Writers 166 THE GENRE: BIOGRAPHY 195
Assessing Poetry 166 Personal Narratives 196
Check Your Understanding 166 Memoirs 198
THE TAKEAWAY CHECKLIST: Writing Poems 167 Autobiographies 199
xvi Contents
Biographies 200 ASSESSMENT: From Textbook to Classroom 245

Check Your Understanding 208 ANSWERING TEACHERS’ QUESTIONS
INSTRUCTIONAL PROCEDURES 208 ABOUT . . . Nonfiction Writing 246
CHAPTER 11
Assessing Biographical Writing 213 Writing Arguments248
Vignette: Second Graders Write Mother’s Day
THE TAKEAWAY CHECKLIST: Biographical Cards 248
Writing 216 Learning Outcomes 250
ASSESSMENT: From Textbook to Classroom 216 THE GENRE: ARGUMENTATIVE WRITING 250
ANSWERING TEACHERS’ QUESTIONS Three Ways to Argue 251
ABOUT . . . Writing Biographies 217 Propaganda 251
Organization of an Argument 252
Types of Argumentative Writing 253
CHAPTER 10 Check Your Understanding 258
Nonfiction Writing218 INSTRUCTIONAL PROCEDURES 258
Vignette: Seventh Graders Study the Wild West 218 Writing Workshop 259
Learning Outcomes 220 Accommodating EL Writers 266
THE GENRE: NONFICTION WRITING 220 Assessing Argumentative Writing 267
Nonfiction Text Structures 221 Check Your Understanding 267
Nonfiction Features 223 THE TAKEAWAY CHECKLIST: Writing
Types of Nonfiction Writing 226 Arguments 268
Check Your Understanding 230 ASSESSMENT: From Textbook to Classroom 268
INSTRUCTIONAL PROCEDURES 231 ANSWERING TEACHERS’ QUESTIONS
Introducing the Genre 232 ABOUT . . . Argumentative Writing 269
Nonfiction Writing Techniques 235
References 271
Assessing Nonfiction Writing 243

Index 281
THE TAKEAWAY CHECKLIST: Nonfiction

Writing 245
SPECIAL FEATURES
Step-by-Step Digital Storytelling [[ch. 8]] 186
Multimedia Projects [[ch. 10]] 241
Revising Groups [[ch. 1]] 11
Interactive Read-Alouds [[ch. 2]] 29
Minilesson [[ch. 2]] 29 Assessment Tools
Think-Alouds [[ch. 3]] 61 A Third Grade Editing Checklist [[ch. 1]] 15
Interactive Writing [[ch. 3]] 62 Status of the Class Chart [[ch. 2]] 40
Word Walls [[ch. 4]] 87 A Writing Process Checklist [[ch. 2]] 41
Rubrics [[ch. 5]] 107 Fifth Grade Writing Strategies Checklist [[ch. 3]] 65
KWL Charts [[ch. 6]] 122 Checklist for Monitoring Writing Skills [[ch. 4]] 93
Semantic Feature Analysis [[ch. 6]] 124 A Self-Assessment Questionnaire [[ch. 5]] 101
Open-Mind Portraits [[ch. 6]] 126 State Report Checklist [[ch. 5]] 104
RAFT [[ch. 6]] 138 A Fifth Grade Rubric [[ch. 5]] 106
Hot Seat [[ch. 9]] 206 Rubric for Assessing Fifth Graders’ Oregon Trail Guides
Data Charts [[ch. 10]] 236 [[ch. 6]] 142
Venn Diagrams [[ch. 10]] 238 Third Graders’ Self-Assessment [[ch. 8]] 189
Second Grade Personal Narrative Checklist [[ch. 9]] 214
Minilesson A Multigenre Biography Rubric [[ch. 9]] 215
Two Assessment Checklists [[ch. 10]] 244
Four Types of Revisions [[ch. 1]] 10 A Writer’s Revision Checklist [[ch. 11] 264
Writing Summaries of Informational Articles [[ch. 2]] 30 A Reader’s Revision Checklist [[ch. 11]] 265
Questioning [[ch. 3]] 54
Word Choice [[ch. 4]] 91
Poetic Devices [[ch. 7]] 164 Accommodating EL Writers
Creating a Historically Accurate Setting [[ch. 8]] 185 How do teachers teach the writing process? [[ch. 2]] 38
Assessing Written Instructions [[ch. 10]] 240 How do teachers teach the writer’s craft? [[ch. 4]] 90
Persuasive Essays [[ch. 11]] 261 How do teachers assess writing achievement? [[ch. 5]] 107
How do teachers scaffold writing to learn? [[ch. 6]] 140
The Takeaway Checklist How do teachers teach poetry writing? [[ch. 7]] 166
How do teachers scaffold the teaching of narrative writing?
The Writing Process [[ch. 1]] 20 [[ch. 8]] 188
Writing Workshop [[ch. 2]] 42 How do teachers scaffold biographical
Developing Strategic Writers [[ch. 3]] 66 writing? [[ch. 9]] 212
The Writer’s Craft [[ch. 4]] 94 How do teachers scaffold the teaching of nonfiction
Writing Assessment [[ch. 5]] 114 writing? [[ch. 10]] 242
Writing to Learn [[ch. 6]] 142 How do teachers scaffold argumentative
Writing Poems [[ch. 7]] 167 writing? [[ch. 11]] 266
Narrative Writing [[ch. 8]] 190
Biographical Writing [[ch. 9]] 216
Nonfiction Writing [[ch. 10]] 245 How to Solve Struggling Writers’
Writing Arguments [[ch. 11]] 268 Problems
Students Don’t Make Substantive Revisions [[ch. 1]] 9
Digital Toolkit Ideas in the Composition Are Disorganized [[ch. 3]] 53
Laptops for Writing [[ch. 2]] 38 The Composition Has Weak Sentence Structure
Graphics Software [[ch. 3]] 52 [[ch. 4]] 79
Online Author Information [[ch. 4]] 77 The Composition Lacks an Exciting Lead [[ch. 8]] 174
Online Assessment Tools [[ch. 5]] 108 The Composition Lacks Focus [[ch. 9]] 197
WebQuests [[ch. 6]] 140 The Composition Is Plagiarized [[ch. 10]] 230
Online Poetry Generators [[ch. 7]] 165 Students Do the Bare Minimum [[ch. 11]] 253
xvii
xviii Special Features
Mentor Texts Preparing for Writing Tests

The Writing Process [[ch. 2]] 28 Large-Scale Writing Assessments [[ch. 5]] 113
Writing Strategies [[ch. 3]] 48 Summary [[ch. 6]] 141
Ideas [[ch. 4]] 72 Stories [[ch. 8]] 187
Organization [[ch. 4]] 74 Personal Narratives [[ch. 9]] 211
Voice [[ch. 4]] 76 Informative Writing [[ch. 10]] 242
Word Choice [[ch. 4]] 78 Argumentative Writing [[ch. 11]] 266
Sentence Fluency [[ch. 4]] 80
Presentation [[ch. 4]] 82
Multigenre Books [[ch. 6]] 136
Answering Teachers’ Questions
Poetic Forms [[ch. 7]] 148 About . . .
Verse Novels [[ch. 7]] 154 The Writing Process [[ch. 1]] 21
How to Write Poetry [[ch. 7]] 163 Writing Workshop [[ch. 2]] 43
Plot [[ch. 8]] 173 Developing Strategic Writers [[ch. 3]] 67
Setting [[ch. 8]] 176 The Writer’s Craft [[ch. 4]] 95
Characters [[ch. 8]] 177 Assessing Writing [[ch. 5]] 115
Theme [[ch. 8]] 178 Writing to Learn [[ch. 6]] 144
Point of View [[ch. 8]] 180 Writing Poetry [[ch. 7]] 168
Autobiographies [[ch. 9]] 198 Narrative Writing [[ch. 8]] 191
Biographies [[ch. 9]] 203 Writing Biographies [[ch. 9]] 217
Nonfiction Text Structures [[ch. 10]] 222 Nonfiction Writing [[ch. 10]] 246
Nonfiction [[ch. 10]] 233 Argumentative Writing [[ch. 11]] 269
Persuasive/Argumentative Writing [[ch. 11]] 260
CHAPTER
Teaching Writing
Today 1
Third Graders Talk About the Writing Process. The students in
Mrs. Nader’s third grade classroom write for 45 minutes each morning. Adam, Olivia,
Alex, and Taylor have just met with Mrs. Nader in a revising group to share their rough
drafts—new twists on familiar folktales—and receive revision suggestions. Alex explains his
story: “Well, I took the gingerbread man tale and set it in the future. We could change the
characters or the setting. My gingerbread man—I call him ‘G. M.’—takes off in a Tahoe that’s
equipped with jet propulsion. So in less than 9/10th of a second, he’s airborne, heading for the
stratosphere. The little old man and little old woman take off after him in a Toyota Prius that’s
great on gas mileage and quiet as a whisper but sadly can’t get more than 10,000 feet off the
ground. Next, G. M. runs up against some space robots who chase after him because they want
to check out his vehicle. That’s all I’ll tell you; you have to wait and read the book!”
The four writers agree to spend a few minutes talking to me about writing. They begin by
explaining the writing process: “It’s just the way writers work,” Olivia says. “It’s what kids do
at school and how grown-ups write.” Adam continues, “The most important thing to know
is that you don’t just sit down and write and then you’re done. That’s not good writing.”
“You have to keep working to make your writing better,” Alex adds. “By ‘better,’ I mean you
make it more interesting and you clean up your mistakes so it’s easy for people to read. You
always work on the ideas first and the spelling mistakes, capital letters, and punctuation
marks last.”
“You got to know that people do different things during the writing process,” Taylor
explains. “There are five steps.” Together, the four recite the stages: “prewriting, drafting,
revising, editing, and publishing”—and they point to the writing process charts the class
has made that are hanging over the windows on one wall of the classroom. Olivia explains
that “you always start with prewriting; that’s when you choose an idea and brainstorm
stuff to write. Next is drafting; that’s when you write the rough draft. You have to leave
plenty of space to make revisions later. The third step is revising, and that’s when you
make changes to make your ideas clearer. Next, you proofread to find your mistakes
and correct them; that’s the editing step. The last thing is publishing. It’s the funnest
part. You make your final copy and print it out and share it with everyone.” “Our
author’s chair is over here,” Adam explains. “It isn’t a real chair; it’s a stool that
Mrs. Nader painted orange and black, our school colors. We only sit on it when
we’re sharing our writing.”
When asked which stage is the most challenging, Adam answers that the revising
stage is hardest for him, and the others nod their heads in agreement. He continues:
“All of us are doing revising now because we just had a meeting with Mrs. Nader to
get suggestions about how to make our writing better. It’s the toughest step because
you already love what you’ve written and you really don’t want to change it.” “Think-
ing of better words to say something is really, really hard,” Taylor shares. “Some-
times I ask Joey or Alicia—they sit near me—how to fix something, if I can’t get
a good idea. But if they don’t know what to do, I just change a word or add a
word, but Mrs. Nader says we shouldn’t do that. She wants us to think harder.”
1
“Or, you can have another meeting with Mrs. Nader, and she’ll help you,” Adam suggests.
“Sometimes I don’t do enough prewriting,” Olivia explains; “That’s when I have trouble. Like
in my personal narrative book when I wrote about playing T-ball when I was 6 years old.
I thought I knew enough about it and could just sit down and write. I didn’t put very many
details in my draft, and I got so frustrated when my revising group didn’t understand and
kept asking questions.”
I ask the third graders to tell me about the community of writers they’ve developed in their
classroom, and Alex begins: “I guess you could say that it’s not like regular school. We work in
groups and get to pick our own topics. If you look around, you can see that everybody is writ-
ing and sharing their writing with each other, and Mrs. Nader is there to help us exactly when
we need the help.” Taylor adds, “A community of writers means we help each other and are
respectful. We act like writers because that’s what we are.” Olivia sums it up this way: “All I
can say is that it’s a lot better than doing workbooks. My mom says she’s absolutely amazed
at what we do, and she knows because she used to be a teacher.”
These third graders think of themselves as real writers. Taylor explains, “Sure, I’m a real
writer because I’ve met grown-up authors, and we’ve talked about our writing processes.”
“And I’m a writer because I’ve made about a million books,” Adam continues. “I started in
first grade. My first book was ‘Good Boy, Buddy.’ He was my dog, and we always played
together, but he got cancer and the vet had to put him down. I was crying and crying, but I got
a little better after I wrote a book about him. I’ll never forget that dog, but we do have another
dog now. She’s a girl dog, and her name is Roxy. I guess I should write a book about her
because she’s fun, too.”
“I’m a reader and a writer,” Olivia shares, “but I didn’t use to be. My nana always tells me
that I’m a good reader. This is kinda funny, but she calls me a ‘bookworm.’ My other teachers
told me I was a real reader, but no one ever said anything about my writing. I guess it used to
be boring, but now it isn’t because Mrs. Nader taught me how to write interesting stories—you
know, ones that everyone wants to read. You can’t be a writer if you’re not good. Now I am
because Mrs. Nader believed in me.”
What have these third graders learned about writing? “The most important thing I’ve
learned,” Adam explains, “is the writing process. After you learn to do the stages in order, you
figure out that you can go back and forth—like, I’m always revising, drafting, revising, and
drafting again. It takes a lot of work to get your writing good. Mrs. Nader told me that after
writers learn the regular writing process, they make their own special ways of using it. That’s
what I’m doing now.”
Olivia proudly shares that she’s learned how to word process. “I love computers!” she
says. “I use all my fingers for typing, and I’m getting faster because my dad lets me practice
on his laptop almost every night. And I know how to spell check and fix the mistakes. It’s
lots of fun, and when you print out the final copy, that’s really amazing! It looks just like a
real book.”
“I’ve learned all that stuff,” Alex shares, “but my answer is rubrics. In second grade I
didn’t know anything about them, but Mrs. Nader uses them. She passes them out before we
start writing, and I always use it to check my rough drafts when I’m revising and editing, and
Mrs. Nader will help you check your work, too. I also think rubrics are fairer because you know
what grade you’ll get. Some teachers put whatever grade they want on your writing, but Mrs.
Nader always uses one so you know how you can get better at writing.”
2
A
ll students, even kindergartners and
first graders, are writers. Notions that Writing Standards: Teaching Writing Today
they can’t write, that they have to
The Writing strand consists of 10 Standards that
become readers first, and that correct spelling address genres or text types, the production and distri-
and neat handwriting are the hallmarks of bution of writing, research to build and present knowl-
good writers are antiquated. Students learn edge, and range of writing. The fourth, fifth, and sixth
that writing is a powerful tool that they use to Standards focus on the writing process: Students are
record and organize information, communi- expected to produce clear and coherent writing in
which the development and organization are appropri-
cate with others, and demonstrate learning
ate to task, purpose, and audience. With support from
(Coker, 2013). Writing in 21st-century class- classmates and teachers, students develop and
rooms serves these purposes: strengthen writing by planning, revising, editing,
rewriting, or trying a new approach. They use technol-
Students Learn How to Write. Through ogy, including the Internet, to produce and publish
meaningful experiences with writing, stu- writing and present the relationships between informa-
dents become writers. Journal writing and tion and ideas clearly and efficiently. Even though the
other informal writing activities provide words writing process aren’t used, these Standards expect
students to participate in planning, revising, and other
opportunities to become fluent writers,
writing process activities. To learn more about the
and as they write personal narratives, infor- Writing Standards, go to http://www.corestandards
mational books, and essays, students apply .org/ELA-Literacy, or check your state’s educational
the writing process to gather and organize standards website.
ideas, write rough drafts, and refine and
polish their writing.
Students Learn About Written Language. As students write, they discover the
uniqueness of written language and the ways it differs from oral language and
drawing. They develop an appreciation for the interrelations of purpose, audi-
ence, and form in writing; they experiment with sentence types and word choices;
and they learn about writing conventions, including Standard English spelling,
grammar and usage, capitalization, and punctuation.
Students Learn Through Writing. Writing is a valuable learning tool with numer-
ous applications across the curriculum. Students write informally to analyze and
synthesize what they’re learning in literature and other curricular areas, and they
apply their knowledge when they write to share information, conduct research,
and present arguments (Halliday, 1980; Indrisano & Paratore, 2005).
Writing is a powerful tool for students, and it’s an essential component of the
language arts curriculum and Common Core State Standards for English Language
Arts.
LEARNING OUTCOMES
1.1 Describe the stages in the writing process.
1.2 Explain the Writing Standards.
3
4 PART ONE | The Process
THE WRITING PROCESS

The writing process is a way of looking at what writers think and do as they write. James
Britton and Janet Emig were two of the first researchers to examine students’ writing pro-
cesses. In her seminal study, Emig (1971) interviewed 12th graders as they wrote, and she
carefully examined one teenager’s writing process. Several years later, Britton and his col-
leagues (1975) examined 2,000 essays written by high school students and found that their
writing processes differed according to genre. At the same time, Donald Graves (1975)
examined young children’s writing and documented that 7-year-olds, like high school stu-
dents, used a variety of writing strategies.
These early researchers generally divided the writing process into three stages. Britton
(1970b) labeled them conception, incubation, and production: In the conception stage, writers
choose topics; in the incubation stage, they develop the topic by gathering information; and
in the production stage, they write, revise, and edit their rough drafts. Graves (1975) described
a similar process of prewriting, composing, and postwriting: In prewriting, writers choose topics
and gather ideas for writing; in the composing stage, they write the composition; and in the
postwriting stage, they share their writing.
Linda Flower and John Hayes (1977, 1981; Hayes & Flower, 1986) studied college stu-
dents’ writing and asked students to talk about their thought processes while they composed;
they then analyzed students’ reflections to examine the strategies writers use and developed a
model that describes writing as a complex problem-solving process. According to the model,
the writing process involves three activities: planning, as writers set goals; translating, as writers
put the plans into writing; and reviewing, as writers evaluate and revise the writing. These activ-
ities aren’t linear steps, according to Flower and Hayes, because writers continually monitor
their writing and move back and forth among the activities; this monitoring might be consid-
ered a fourth component of the writing process. An important finding from their research is
that writing is recursive: Using this monitoring mechanism, writers jump back and forth from
one activity to another as they write.
Other researchers examined particular aspects of the writing process. Nancy Sommers
(1982, 1994) described writing as a revision process in which writers develop their ideas, not
just polish them. Less experienced writers, according to Sommers, focus on small, word-level
changes and error hunting; this emphasis on conventions rather than content may be due to
teachers’ behavior. Sondra Perl (1994) examined how the writing process is used in high
school and college classrooms and concluded that teachers place excessive importance on
mechanical correctness. Flower and Hayes found that less successful writers have a limited
repertoire of alternatives for solving problems as they write, and Bereiter and Scardamalia
(1982) found that even though children participated in writing process activities, they were
less capable of monitoring the need to move from one activity to another. Through both
expert teaching and extensive writing practice, students can improve their self-monitoring by
the time they reach high school.
The five-stage writing process presented in this chapter incorporates activities identified
through research. The stages are prewriting, drafting, revising, editing, and publishing, and the key
features of each stage are summarized in Figure 1–1. The numbering of the stages doesn’t
mean that this writing process is a linear series of discrete activities. Research shows that the
process involves recurring cycles; labeling is only an aid for identifying and discussing writing
activities because the stages merge and recur as students write (Barnes, Morgan, & Weinhold,
1997). In addition, writers personalize the process to meet their own needs and vary it accord-
ing to the writing assignment.
CHAPTER 1 | Teaching Writing Today 5
Figure 1–1 KEY FEATURES OF THE WRITING PROCESS
Stage 1: Prewriting
Choose a topic.
Gather and organize ideas.
Consider the potential audience.
Identify the purpose of the writing.
Choose an appropriate genre.
Stage 2: Drafting
Write a rough draft.
Craft leads to grab readers’ attention.
Emphasize content rather than conventions.
Stage 3: Revising
Share drafts in revising groups.
Participate constructively in discussions about classmates’ drafts.
Make changes to reflect the comments of classmates and the teacher.
Make substantive rather than only minor changes between the first and final drafts.
Stage 4: Editing
Set drafts aside for a few days.
Proofread compositions to locate errors.
Correct spelling, capitalization, punctuation, and grammar errors.
Stage 5: Publishing
Publish writing in an appropriate form.
Share completed writing with an appropriate audience.
Stage 1: Prewriting
Prewriting is the getting-ready-to-write stage. The traditional notion that writers have thought
out their topic completely is ridiculous: If writers wait for ideas to fully develop, they’ll wait
forever. Instead, writers begin tentatively, by talking, reading, and writing to see what they
know and what direction the writing will take. Pulitzer Prize–winning writer Donald Murray
(2004, 2005) calls this stage “discovery”: You begin writing to explore what you know and to
surprise yourself.
Prewriting has probably been the most neglected stage; it’s as crucial to writers, however,
as a warm-up is to athletes. Donald Murray (1982) believes that 70% or more of writing time
should be spent in prewriting. Writers participate in these activities during prewriting:
• Choosing a topic
• Considering purpose, audience, and form
• Generating and organizing ideas for writing
CHOOSING A TOPIC Sometimes students choose their own topics, and at other
times, teachers specify the topics, or students and teachers identify topics collaboratively
(Chandler-Olcott & Mahar, 2001). More than 40 years ago, Donald Graves (1976) argued
that students should choose their own topics; he described the traditional practice of teachers
specifying topics as “writing welfare.” When students choose topics, they become more moti-
vated—even passionate—writers. Students often keep a writer’s notebook (Fletcher, 1996)
with ideas, observations, quotations, and other writing topics.
6 PART ONE | The Process
It isn’t always possible, or even advisable, for students to choose their own topics.
Sometimes teachers specify writing topics so students will learn how to handle new writing
tasks, including those they might not choose for themselves. Also, with the current empha-
sis on assessment, it’s become increasingly important for students to be able to deal with
topics regardless of personal interest. Students also work with teachers and classmates to
choose writing topics collaboratively, which Chandler-Olcott and Mahar (2001) argue may
be the most important approach because students learn how to negotiate topics with other
writers. Most teachers incorporate all three approaches to topic selection in their instruc-
tional programs.
CONSIDERING PURPOSE Writers need to identify their purpose: Are they writing
to entertain? to inform? to persuade? This decision about purpose influences other decisions
they make about audience and form. M. A. K. Halliday (1975) identified seven oral language
functions that also apply to written language:
• Instrumental language to satisfy needs, as in business letters and emails
• Regulatory language to control the behavior of others, as in invitations, notes, and
how-to directions
• Interactional language to establish and maintain social relationships, as in email, post-
cards, and journals
• Personal language to express personal opinions, as in reading logs, persuasive letters,
and blogs
• Imaginative language to express imagination and creativity, as in stories and poems
• Heuristic language to seek information and to find out about things, such as in learn-
ing logs
• Informative language to convey information, such as in reports, PowerPoint presenta-
tions, and essays
Students write for all these purposes.
CONSIDERING AUDIENCE Sometimes students write primarily for themselves,

to express and clarify their own ideas and feelings, or they write for others. Possible audi-
ences include classmates, parents, grandparents, and pen pals. Other audiences are more
distant; for example, students may write letters to businesses to request information or
submit stories and poems to online literary magazines. Students demonstrate their rela-
tionship with the audience in a variety of ways, often by adding parenthetical information
or asides. For example, a seventh grader begins “George Mudlumpus and the Mystery of
the Sumo Wrestlers,” his ninth mystery featuring George Mudlumpus, “the detective with
the outrageous rates,” this way: “The Emperor of Japan had hired me to solve a hideous
crime at the palace, as you already know from the last book. So, I bought a set of Learn
to Speak Japanese While You Sleep language CDs for the 14-hour airplane flight, packed
my clothes and a few essentials like PB & J crackers, got an airplane ticket and reserved a
rental car at Narita International Airport, and I was off to Tokyo!” This student feels a
close relationship with his unknown audience. He often includes asides in his stories, and
George sometimes comments to his readers, “I know! You think I should have recognized
that clue!”
When students write for others, teachers are the most common audience. Teachers can
be a trusted adult, a partner in dialogue, or a judge (Britton et al., 1975)—and how writers
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“Here with us, in the drawing-room,” Pelleas explained. “Why not?
There were fifty in the room for that Lenten morning musicale.
There’s the piano for the music. And the lilies—the lilies—”
“Of course we will,” I cried. “But, O, will they come? Do you think
they will come?”
I turned to our little friend, and she had risen and was waiting with
shining eyes.
“O, ma’am,” she said, trembling, “why, ma’am! O, yes’m, they’ll
come. I’ll get ’em here myself. O, Mr. Lovelow, he’ll be so glad....”
She flew to her bright hat and worn coat and crimson muffler.
“Mr. Lovelow says,” she cried, “that a shabby church is just as much
a holy temple as the ark of the gover’ment—but he was so glad
when we dyed the spread for the orgin—O, ma’am,” she broke off,
knotting the crimson scarf about her throat, “do you really want ’em?
They ain’t—you know they don’t look—”
“Hurry, child,” said Pelleas, “and mind you don’t let one of them
escape!”
When she was gone we looked at each other in panic.
“Pelleas,” I cried, trembling, “think of all there is to be done in ten
minutes.”
Pelleas brushed this aside as a mere straw in the wind.
“Think of Nichola,” he portentously amended.
In all our flurry we could not help laughing at the frenzy of our old
servant when we told her. Old Nichola was born upon the other side
of every argument. In her we can see the history of all the world
working out in a miniature of wrinkles. For Nichola would have cut off
her gray hair with Sparta, hurled herself fanatically abroad on St.
Bartholomew’s day, borne a pike before the Bastile, broken and
burned the first threshing-machine in England, stoned Luther, and
helped to sew the stars upon striped cloth in the kitchen of Betsy
Ross.
“For the love of heaven,” cried Nichola, “church in the best room! It is
not holy. Whoever heard o’ church in a private house, like a
spiritualist seeonce or whatever they are. An’ me with a sponge-cake
in the oven,” she concluded fervently. “Heaven be helpful, mem, I
wish’t you’d ’a’ went to church yourselves.”
Chairs were drawn from the library and dining-room and from above-
stairs, and frantically dusted with Nichola’s apron. The lilies were
turned from the windows to look inward on the room and a little table
for the Bible was laid with a white cloth and set with a vase of lilies.
And in spite of Nichola, who every moment scolded and prophesied
and nodded her head in the certainty that all the thunders of the
church would descend upon us, we were ready when the door-bell
rang. I peeped from the drawing-room window and saw that our
steps were filled!
“Nichola,” said I, trembling, “you will come up to the service, will you
not?”
Nichola shook her old gray head.
“It’s a nonsense,” she shrilly proclaimed. “It will not be civilized. It will
not be religious. I’ll open the door on ’em, but I won’t do nothink elst,
mem.”
When we heard their garments in the hall and the voice of Little
Friend, Pelleas pushed back the curtains and there was our Easter,
come to us upon the threshold.
I shall not soon forget the fragile, gentle figure who led them. The
Reverend Stephen Lovelow came in with outstretched hand, and I
have forgotten what he said or indeed whether he spoke at all. But
he took our hands and greeted us as the disciple must have greeted
the host of that House of the Upper Room. We led the way to the
table where he laid his worn Bible and he stood in silence while the
others found their places, marshaled briskly by Little Friend who as
captain was no less efficient than as deliverer. There were chairs to
spare, and when every one was seated, in perfect quiet, the young
clergyman bowed his head:—
“Lord, thou hast made thy face to shine upon us—” he prayed, and it
seemed to me that our shabby drawing-room was suddenly quick
with a presence more intimate than that of the lilies.
When the hymn was given out and there was a fluttering of leaves of
the hymn-books they had brought, five of our guests at a nod from
Mr. Lovelow made their way forward. One was a young woman with
a ruddy face, but ruddy with that strange, wrinkled ruddiness of age
rather than youth, who wore a huge felt hat laden with flaming roses
evidently added expressly for Easter day. She had on a thin waist of
flimsy pink with a collar of beads and silver braid, and there were
stones of all colours in a half-dozen rings on her hands. She took her
place at the piano with an ease almost defiant and she played the
hymn not badly, I must admit, and sang in a full riotous soprano.
Meanwhile, at her side was ranged the choir. There were four—a
great watch-dog of a bass with swelling veins upon his forehead and
erect reddish hair; a little round contralto in a plush cap and a dress
trimmed with the appliquéd flowers cut from a lace curtain; a tall, shy
soprano who looked from one to another through the hymn as if she
were in personal exhortation; and a pleasant-faced tenor who sang
with a will that was good to hear and was evidently the choir leader,
for he beat time with a stumpy, cracked hand set with a huge black
ring on its middle finger. The little woman next me offered her book
and I had a glimpse of a pinched side-face, with a displaced strand
of gray hair and a loose linen collar with no cravat, but I have seldom
heard a sweeter voice than that which up-trembled beside me—
although, poor little woman! she was sadly ill at ease because the
thumb which rested on the book next me was thrust in a glove fully
an inch too long. As for Pelleas, he was sharing a book with a
youngish man, stooped, long-armed, with a mane of black hair,
whom Mr. Lovelow afterward told me had lost his position in a sweat-
shop through drawing some excellent cartoons on the box of his
machine. Mr. Lovelow himself was “looking over” with a mother and
daughter who were later presented to us, and who embarrassed any
listener by persistently talking in concert, each repeating a few words
of what the other had just said, quite in the fashion of the most gently
bred talkers bent upon assuring each other of their spontaneous
sympathy and response.
And what a hymn it was! After the first stanza they gained in
confidence, and a volume of sound filled the low room—ay, and a
world of spirit, too. “Christ the Lord is risen to-day, Hallelu—jah! ...”
they caroled, and Pelleas, who never can sing a tune aloud although
he declares indignantly that in his head he keeps it perfectly, and I,
who do not sing at all, both joined perforce in the triumphant chorus.
Ah, I dare say that farther down the avenue were sweet-voiced
choirs that sang music long rehearsed, golden, flowing, and yet I
think there was no more fervent Easter music than that in which we
joined. It was as if the other music were the censer-smoke, and we
were its shadow on the ground, but a proof of the sun for all that.
I cannot now remember all that simple service, perhaps because I so
well remember the glory of the hour. I sat where I could see the park
stretching away, black upon silver and silver upon black, over the
Ascension lilies. The face of the young minister was illumined as he
read and talked to his people. I think that I have never known such
gentleness, never such yearning and tenderness as were his with
that handful of crude and careless and devout. And though he spoke
passionately and convincingly I could not but think that he was like
some dumb thing striving for the utterance of the secret fire within—
striving to “burn aloud,” as a violin beseeches understanding.
Perhaps there is no other way to tell the story of that first day of the
week—“early, when it was yet dark.”
“They had brought sweet spices,” he said, “with which to anoint Him.
Where are the spices that we have brought to-day? Have we aught
of sacrifice, of charity, of zeal, of adoration—let us lay them at His
feet, an offering acceptable unto the Lord, a token of our presence at
the door of the sepulcher from which the stone was rolled away.
Where are the sweet spices of our hands, where the pound of
ointment of spikenard wherewith we shall anoint the feet of our living
Lord? For if we bring of our spiritual possession, the Christ will suffer
us, even as He suffered Mary; and the house shall be filled with the
odour of the ointment.”
“And the house shall be filled with the odour of the ointment,” I said
over to myself. Is it not strange how a phrase, a vista, a bar of song,
a thought beneath the open stars, will almost pierce the veil?
“And the house shall be filled with the odour of the ointment,” I said
silently all through the last prayer and the last hymn and the
benediction of “The Lord make his face to shine upon you, the Lord
give you peace.” And some way, with our rising, the abashment
which is an integral part of all such gatherings as we had convoked
was not to be reckoned with, and straightway the presentations and
the words of gratitude and even the pretty anxiety of Little Friend
fluttering among us were spontaneous and unconstrained. It was
quite as if, Pelleas said afterward, we had been reduced to a
common denominator. Indeed, it seems to me in remembering the
day as if half the principles of Christian sociology were illustrated
there in our shabby drawing-room; but for that matter I would like to
ask what complexities of political science, what profound bases of
solidarité, are not on the way to be solved in the presence of Easter
lilies? I am in all these matters most stupid and simple, but at all
events I am not blameful enough to believe that they are exhausted
by the theories.
Every one lingered for a little, in proof of the success of our venture.
Pelleas and I talked with the choir and with the pianiste, and this lady
informed us that our old rosewood piano, which we apologetically
explained to have been ours for fifty years, was every bit as good
and every bit as loud as a new golden-oak “instrument” belonging to
her sister. The tall, shy soprano told us haltingly how much she had
enjoyed the hour and her words conveyed sincerity in spite of her
strange system of overemphasis of everything she said, and of
carrying down the corners of her mouth as if in deprecation. The
plump little contralto thanked us, too, with a most winning smile—
such round open eyes she had, immovably fixed on the object of her
attention, and as Pelleas said such evident eyes.
“Her eyes looked so amazingly like eyes,” he afterward commented
whimsically.
We talked too with the little woman of the long-thumbed gloves who
had the extraordinary habit of smiling faintly and turning away her
head whenever she detected any one looking at her. And the sweat-
shop cartoonist proved to be an engaging young giant with the figure
of a Greek god, classic features, a manner of gravity amounting
almost to hauteur, and as pronounced an East Side dialect as I have
ever heard.
“Will you not let us,” I said to him, after Mr. Lovelow’s word about his
talent, “see your drawings sometime? It would give us great
pleasure.”
Whereupon, “Sure. Me, I’ll toin de whol’ of ’em over to youse,” said
the Greek god, thumbs out and shoulders flickering.
But back of these glimpses of reality among them there was
something still more real; and though I dare say there will be some
who will smile at the affair and call that interest curiosity and those
awkward thanks mere aping of convention, yet Pelleas and I who
have a modest degree of intelligence and who had the advantage of
being present do affirm that on that Easter morning countless little
doors were opened in the air to admit a throng of presences. We
cannot tell how it may have been, and we are helpless before all
argument and incredulity, but we know that a certain stone was
rolled away from the door of the hearts of us all, and there were with
us those in shining garments.
In the midst of all I turned to ask our Little Friend some trivial thing
and I saw that which made my old heart leap. Little Friend stood
before a table of the lilies and with her was young Mr. Lovelow. And
something—I cannot tell what it may have been, but in these matters
I am rarely mistaken; and something—as she looked up and he
looked down—made me know past all doubting how it was with
them. And this open secret of their love was akin to the mysteries of
the day itself. The gentle, sad young clergyman and our Little Friend
of the crimson muffler had suddenly opened to us another door and
admitted another joyous presence. I cannot tell how it may be with
every one else but for Pelleas and me one such glimpse—a glimpse
of two faces alight with happiness on the street, in a car, or wherever
they may be—is enough to make glad a whole gray week. Though to
be sure no week is ever wholly gray.
I was still busy with the sweet surprise of this and longing for
opportunity to tell Pelleas, when they all moved toward the door and
with good-byes filed into the hall. And there in the anteroom stood
Nichola, our old servant, who brushed my elbow and said in my ear:
—
“Mem, every one of ’em looks starvin’. I’ve a kettle of hot coffee on
the back of the range an’ there’s fresh sponge-cake in plenty. I’ve put
cups on the dinin’-room table, an’ I thought—”
“Nichola!” said I, in a low and I must believe ecstatic tone.
“An’ no end o’ work it’s made me, too,” added our old servant sourly,
and not to be thought in the least gracious.
It was a very practical ending to that radiant Easter morning but I
dare say we could have devised none better. Moreover Nichola had
ready sandwiches and a fresh cheese of her own making, and a
great bowl of some simple salad dressed as only her Italian hands
can dress it. I wondered as I sat in the circle of our guests, a vase of
Easter lilies on the table, whether Nichola, that grim old woman who
scorned to come to our service, had yet not brought her pound of
ointment of spikenard, very precious.
“You and Mr. Lovelow are to spend the afternoon and have tea with
us,” I whispered Little Friend, and had the joy of seeing the tell-tale
colour leap gloriously to her cheek and a tell-tale happiness kindle in
his eyes. I am never free from amazement that a mere word or so
humble a plan for another’s pleasure can give such joy. Verily, one
would suppose that we would all be so busy at this pastime that we
would almost neglect our duties.
So when the others were gone these two lingered. All through the
long Spring afternoon they sat with us beside our crackling fire of
bavin-sticks, telling us of this and that homely interest, of some one’s
timid hope and another’s sacrifice, in the life of the little mission. Ah,
I dare say that Carlyle and Hugo have the master’s hand for
touching open a casement here and there and letting one look in
upon an isolated life, and sympathizing for one passionate moment
turn away before the space is closed again with darkness; but these
two were destined that day to give us glimpses not less poignant, to
open to us so many unknown hearts that we would be justified in
never again being occupied with our own concerns. And when after
tea they stood in the dusk of the hall-way trying to say good-bye, I
think that their secret must have shone in our faces too; and, as the
children say, “we all knew that we all knew,” and life was a thing of
heavenly blessedness.
Young Mr. Lovelow took the hand of Pelleas, and mine he kissed.
“The Lord bless you, the Lord make his face to shine upon you, the
Lord give you peace,” was in his eyes as he went away.
“And, O, sir,” Little Friend said shyly to Pelleas as she stood at the
top of the steps, knotting her crimson muffler, “ain’t it good, after all,
that Easter was all over ice?”
That night Pelleas carried upstairs a great armful of the Ascension

lilies to stand in the moonlight of our window. We took lilies to the
mantel, and set stalks of bloom on the table, with their trumpets
turned within upon the room. And when the lower lights had been
extinguished and Nichola had bidden us her grumbling good-night,
we opened the door of that upper room where the moon was
silvering the lilies; and we stood still, smitten with a common
surprise.
“Pelleas,” I said, uncertainly, “O, Pelleas. I thought—”
“So did I,” said Pelleas, with a deep breath.
We bent above the lilies that looked so sweet-scented and yet had
been barren of fragrance because, we had told ourselves, they
seemed flowers of symbol without mission or message beyond the
symbol, without hue or passion, or, so to say, experience. (“Perhaps
if one were to make some one happy with them or to put them in a
bride’s bouquet they would no longer be scentless,” Pelleas had
quaintly said.) And now we were certain, as we stood hushed beside
them, that our Easter lilies were giving out a faint, delicious
fragrance.
I looked up at Pelleas almost fearfully in the flood of Spring
moonlight. The radiance was full on his white hair and tranquil face,
and he met my eyes with the knowledge that we were suddenly
become the custodians of an exquisite secret. The words of the
young servant of God came to me understandingly.
“‘And the house shall be filled with the odour of the ointment,’” I said
over. “O, Pelleas,” I added, tremulously, “do you think....”
Pelleas lifted his face and I thought that it shone in the dimness.
“Ah, well,” he answered, “we must believe all the beautiful things we
can.”
II
THE MATINÉE
Somewhat later in the Spring Pelleas was obliged to spend one
whole day out of town. He was vastly important over the
circumstance and packed his bag two days before, which alone
proves his advancing years. For formerly his way had been to
complete his packing in the cab on his way to the train at that
moment pulling from the station. Now he gave himself an hour to
reach the ferry to allow for being blocked.
“Yes, that alone would prove that we are seventy,” I said sadly as I
stood at the window watching him drive away.
Yet if ever a good fairy grants you one wish I advise your wishing
that when you are seventy your heart and some one else’s heart will
be as heavy at a separation as are ours.
“Pelleas,” I had said to him that morning, “I wish that every one in the
world could love some one as much as I love you.”
And Pelleas had answered seriously:—
“Remember, Etarre, that every one in the world who is worth
anything either loves as we do or expects to do so, or else is
unhappy because he doesn’t.”
“Not every one?” I remonstrated.
“Every one,” Pelleas repeated firmly.
I wondered about that after he went away. Not every one, surely.
There was, for exception, dear Hobart Eddy who walked the world
alone, loving every one exactly alike; and there was, for the other
extreme, Nichola, our old servant. She was worth a very great deal
but she loved nobody, not even us; and I was sure that she prided
herself on it. I could not argue with Pelleas on the eve of a journey
but I harboured the matter against his return.
I was lonely when Pelleas was gone. I was sitting by the fire with
Semiramis on my knee—an Angora cannot wholly sympathize with
you but her aloofness can persuade you into peace of mind—when
the telephone bell rang. We are so seldom wanted that the mere
ringing of the bell is an event even, as usually happens, if we are
called in mistake. This time, however, old Nichola, whose tone over
the telephone is like that of all three voices of Cerberus saying “No
admission,” came in to announce that I was wanted by Miss
Wilhelmina Lillieblade. I hurried excitedly out, for when Miss “Willie”
Lillieblade telephones she has usually either heard some interesting
news or longs to invent some. She is almost seventy as well as I. As
a girl she was not very interesting, but I sometimes think that like
many other inanimate objects she has improved with age until now
she is delightful and reminds me of spiced cordials. I never see a
stupid young person without applying the inanimate object rule and
longing to comfort him with it.
“Etarre,” Miss Willie said, “you and Pelleas come over for tea this
afternoon. I am alone and I have a lame shoulder.”
“I’ll come with pleasure,” said I readily, “but Pelleas is away.”
“O,” Miss Willie said without proper regret, “Pelleas is away.”
For a moment she thought.
“Etarre,” she said, “let’s lunch downtown together and go to a
matinée.”
I could hardly believe my old ears.
“W—we two?” I quavered.
“Certainly!” she confirmed it, “I’ll come in the coupé at noon.”
I made a faint show of resistance. “What about your lame shoulder?”
I wanted to know.
“Pooh!” said Miss Willie, “that will be dead in a minute and then I
won’t know whether it’s lame or not.”
The next moment she had left the telephone and I had promised!
I went upstairs in a delicious flutter of excitement. When our niece
Lisa is with us I watch her go breezily off to matinées with her young
friends, but “matinée” is to me one of the words that one says often
though they mean very little to one, like “ant-arctic.” I protest that I
felt myself to be as intimate with the appearance of the New
Hebrides as with the ways of a matinée. I fancy that it was twenty
years since I had seen one. Say what you will, evening theater-going
is far more commonplace; for in the evening one is frivolous by
profession but afternoon frivolity is stolen fruit. And being a very
frivolous old woman I find that a nibble or so of stolen fruit leavens
the toast and tea. Innocent stolen fruit, mind you, for heaven forbid
that I should prescribe a diet of dust and ashes.
I had taken from its tissues my lace waist and was making it splendid
with a scrap of lavender velvet when our old servant brought in fresh
candles. She looked with suspicion on the garment.
“Nichola,” I said guiltily, “I’m going to a matinée. And you’ll need get
no luncheon,” I hastened to add, “because I’m lunching with Miss
Lillieblade.”
“Yah!” said Nichola, “going to a matinée?”
Nichola says “matiknee,” and she regards a theater box as among all
self-indulgences the unpardonable sin.
“You’ll have no luncheon to get, Nichola,” I persuasively reminded
her.
Old Nichola clicked the wax candles.
“Me, I’d rather get up lunch for a fambly o’ shepherds,” she grimly
assured me, “than to hev you lose your immortal soul at this late
day.”
She went back to the kitchen and I was minded to take off the
lavender velvet; but I did not do so, my religion being independent of
the spectrum.
At noon Nichola was in the drawing-room fastening my gaiters when
Miss Lillieblade came in, erect as a little brown and white toy with a
chocolate cloak and a frosting hood.
“We are going to see ‘The End of the World,’” said Miss Willie
blithely,—“I knew you haven’t seen it, Etarre.”
Old Nichola, who is so privileged that she will expect polite attention
even on her death-bed, listened eagerly.
“Is it somethin’ of a religious play, mem?” she hopefully inquired.
“I dare say, Nichola,” replied Miss Willie kindly; and afterward, to me:
“But I hope not. Religious plays are so ungodly.”
Her footman helped us down the steps, not by any means that we
required it but for what does one pay a footman I would like to ask?
And we drove away to a little place which I cannot call a café. I
would as readily lunch at a ribbon-counter as in a café. But this was
a little place where Pelleas and I often had our tea, a place that was
all of old rugs and old brasses in front, and in secret was set with
tête-à-tête tables having each one rose and one shaded candle. The
linen was what a café would call lace and the china may have been
china or it may have been garlands and love-knots. From where I sat
I could see shelves filled with home-made jam, labeled, like library-
books, and looking far more attractive than some peoples’ libraries.
We ordered tea and chicken-broth and toast and a salad and,
because we had both been forbidden, a sweet. I am bound to say
that neither of us ate the sweet but we pretended not to notice.
We talked about the old days—this is no sign of old age but rather of
a good memory; and presently I was reminded of what Pelleas had
assured me that morning about love.
“Where did you go to school?” Miss Willie had been asking me.
“At Miss Mink’s and Miss Burdick’s,” I answered, “and I was counting
up the other day that if either of them is alive now she is about one
hundred and five years old and in the newspapers on her birthday.”
“Miss Mink and Miss Burdick alive now,” Miss Willie repeated. “No,
indeed. They would rather die than be alive now. They would call it
proof of ill-breeding not to die at threescore and ten each according
to rule. I went to Miss Trelawney’s. I had an old aunt who had
brought me up to say ‘Ma’am?’ when I failed to understand; but if I
said ‘Ma’am?’ in school, Miss Trelawney made me learn twenty lines
of Dante; and if I didn’t say it at home I was not allowed to have
dessert. Between the two I loved poetry and had a good digestion
and my education extended no farther.”
“That is quite far enough,” I said. “I don’t know a better preparation
for life than love of poetry and a good digestion.”
If I could have but one—and yet why should I take sides and
prejudice anybody? Still, Pelleas had a frightful dyspepsia one winter
and it would have taken forty poets armed to the teeth—but I really
refuse to prejudice anybody.
Then I told Miss Willie how at Miss Mink’s and Miss Burdick’s I had
had my first note from a boy; I slept with it under my pillow and I
forgot it and the maid carried it to Miss Mink, and I blush to recall that
I appeared before that lady with the defense that according to poetry
my note was worth more than her entire curriculum, and triumphantly
referred her to “Summum Bonum.” She sent me home, I recall. And
then Miss Willie told how having successfully evaded chapel one
winter evening at Miss Trelawney’s she had waked in the night with
the certainty that she had lost her soul in consequence and, unable
to rid herself of the conviction, she had risen and gone barefoot
through the icy halls to the chapel and there had been horrified to
find old Miss Trelawney kneeling with a man’s photograph in her
hands.
“Isn’t it strange, Etarre,” said Miss Willie, “how the little mysteries and
surprises of loving some one are everywhere, from one’s first note
from a boy to the Miss Trelawneys whom every one knows?”
Sometimes I think that it is almost impudent to wonder about one’s
friends when one is certain beyond wondering that they all have
secret places in their hearts filled with delight and tears. But
remembering what Pelleas had said that morning I did wonder about
Miss Willie, since I knew that for all her air of spiced cordial she was
lonely; and yet mentally I placed Miss Willie beside old Nichola and
Hobart Eddy, intending to use all three as instances to crush the
argument of Pelleas. Surely of all the world, I decided, those three
loved nobody.
At last we left the pleasant table, nodding good-afternoon to the Cap
and Ribbons who had been cut from a coloured print to serve us. We
lingered among the brasses and the casts, feeling very humble
before the proprietor who looked like a duchess cut from another
coloured print. I envied her that library of jelly.
On the street Miss Willie bought us each a rose for company and
then bade the coachman drive slowly so that we entered the theater
with the orchestra, which is the only proper moment. If one is earlier
one feels as if one looked ridiculously expectant; if one is later one
misses the pleasure of being expectant at all. We were in a lower
stage box and all the other boxes were filled with bouquets of young
people, with a dry stalk or two magnificently bonneted set stiffly
among them. I hope that we did not seem too absurd, Miss Willie
and I with our bobbing white curls all alone in that plump crimson
box.
“The End of the World” proved to be a fresh, happy play, fragrant of
lavender and sweet air. The play was about a man and a woman
who loved each other very much with no analyses or confessions to
disturb any one. The blinds were open and the sun streamed in
through four acts of pleasant humour and quick action among well-
bred people who manifestly had been brought up to marry and give
in marriage without trying to compete with a state where neither is
done. In the fourth act the moon shone on a little châlet in the leaves
and one saw that there are love and sacrifice and good will enough
to carry on the world in spite of its other connections. It was a play
which made me thankful that Pelleas and I have clung to each other
through society and poverty and dyspepsia and never have allied
ourselves with the other side. And if any one thinks that there is a
middle ground I, who am seventy, know far better.
Now in the third act it chanced that the mother of the play, so to
speak, at the height of her ambition that her daughter marry a
fortune as she herself had done, opened an old desk and came upon
a photograph of the love of her own youth, whom she had not
married. That was a sufficiently hackneyed situation, and the
question that smote the mother must be one that is beating in very
many hearts that give no sign; for she had truly loved this boy and he
had died constant to her. And the woman prayed that when she died
she might “go back and be with him.” Personally, being a very hard
and unforgiving old woman, I had little patience with her; and
besides I think better of heaven than to believe in any such
necessity. Still this may be because Pelleas and I are certain that we
will belong to each other when we die. Perhaps if I had not married
him—but then I did.
Hardly had the curtain fallen when to my amazement Miss Willie
Lillieblade leaned forward with this:—
“Etarre, do you believe that those who truly love each other here are
going to know each other when they die?”
“Certainly!” I cried, fearing the very box would crumble at the heresy
of that doubt.
“No matter how long after ...” she said wistfully.
“Not a bit of difference,” I returned positively.
“You and Pelleas can be surer than most,” Miss Willie said
reflectively, “but suppose one of you had died fifty years ago. Would
you be so sure?”
“Why, of course,” I replied, “Pelleas was always Pelleas.”
“So he was,” Miss Willie assented and was silent for a little; and
then, without warning:—
“Etarre, I mean this,” she said, speaking rapidly and not meeting my
eyes. “When I was twenty I met a boy a little older than I, and I had
known him only a few months when he went abroad to join his father.
Before he went—he told me that he loved me—” it was like seeing
jonquils bloom in snow to hear Miss Willie say this—“and I know that
I loved him. But I did not go with him—he wanted me to go and I did
not go with him—for stupid reasons. He was killed on a mountain in
Switzerland. And I wonder and wonder—you see that was fifty years
ago,” said Miss Willie, “but I wonder....”
I sat up very straight, hardly daring to look at her. All you young
people who talk with such pretty concern of love, do you know what
it will be when you are seventy to come suddenly on one of these
flowers, still fresh, which you toss about you now?
“Since he died loving you and you have loved him all these years,” I
said, trying to keep my voice steady, “never tell me that you will not
be each other’s—afterward.”
And at least no one need gainsay this who is not prepared to prove
the contrary.
“But where—where?” cried Miss Willie, poor little Miss Willie,
echoing the cry of every one in the world. It was very strange to see
this little vial of spiced cordial wondering about the immortality of
love.
“I don’t know where or how,” I said, “but believe it and you’ll see.”
Ah, how I reproached myself later to think that I could have said no
more than that. Many a fine response that I might have made I
compounded afterward, all about love that is infinite and eternal so
that it fills the universe and one cannot get beyond it, and so on, in
long phrases; but there in that box not one other word could I say.
And yet when one thinks of it what is there to say when one is asked
about this save simply: “I don’t know how or where, but believe it and
you’ll see.”
We said little else, and I sat there with all that company of blue and
pink waists dancing about me through a mist in a fashion that would
have astonished them. So much for Miss Willie as an instance in my
forthcoming argument with Pelleas about every one in the world
loving some one. Miss Willie had gone over to his side of the case
outright. I began to doubt that there would be an argument. Still,
there would always be Hobart Eddy, inalienably on my side and
serenely loving every one alike. And there would always be Nichola,
loving nobody. If all the world fell in love and went quite mad, there
would yet be Nichola fluting her “Yah!” to any such fancy.
I dare say that neither Miss Willie nor I heard very much of that last
act in spite of its moonlit châlet among the leaves. But one picture I
carried away with me and the sound of one voice. They were those
of a girl, a very happy girl, waiting at the door of the châlet.
“Dear,” she said to her sweetheart, “if we had never met, if we had
never seen each other, it seems as if my love for you would have
followed you without my knowing. Maybe some day you would have
heard it knocking at your heart, and you would have called it a wish
or a dream.”
Afterward I recalled that I was saying over those words as we made
our way up the aisle.
We were almost the last to leave the theater. I like that final glimpse
of a place where happy people have just been. We found the coupé
and a frantic carriageman put us in, very gently, though he banged
the door in that fashion which seems to be the only outlet to a
carriageman’s emotions.
“Good-night,” said Miss Willie Lillieblade at my door, and gave my
hand an unwonted lingering touch. I knew why. Dear, starved heart,
she must have longed for years to talk about that boy. I watched her
coupé roll toward the great lonely house. Never tell me that the boy
who died in Switzerland was not beside her hearth waiting her
coming.
Our drawing-room was dimly lighted. I took off my bonnet there and
found myself longing for my tea. I am wont to ring for Nichola only
upon stately occasions and certainly not at times when in her eyes I
tremble on the brink of “losing my immortal soul at this late day.”
Accordingly I went down to the kitchen.
I cautiously pushed open the door, for I am frankly afraid of Nichola
who is in everything a frightful non-conformist. There was no fire on
the hearth, but the bracket lamp was lighted and on a chair lay
Nichola’s best shawl. Nichola, in her best black frock and wearing
her best bonnet, was just arranging the tea-things on a tray.
“I’m glad that you’ve been out, Nichola,” said I gently—as gently as a
truant child, I fancy!—“It is such a beautiful day.”
“Who,” Nichola said grimly without looking at me, “said I’d been out?”
“Why, I saw you—” I began.
“Where was I?” Nichola demanded shrilly, whirling about.
“I saw you with your bonnet on,” said I, and added with dignity, “You
may bring the tea up at once, and mind that there is plenty of hot
water.”
Then I scurried upstairs, my heart beating at my daring. I had
actually ordered Nichola about. I half expected that in consequence
she would bring me cold water, but she came up quietly enough with
some delicious tea and sandwiches. At the door, with unwonted
meekness, she asked me if everything was right; and I, not abating
one jot of my majesty, told her that there might be a bit more cream.
She even brought that and left me marveling. I could as easily
imagine the kitchen range with an emotion as Nichola with a guilty
conscience, and yet sometimes I have a guilty conscience myself
and I always act first very self-sufficient and then very humble, just
like Nichola.
When she was handing the dessert that night at my solitary dinner,
she spoke; and if the kitchen range had kissed a hand at me I should
not have been more amazed.
“Every one took their parts very well this afternoon, I thought,” she
stiffly volunteered.
I looked at her blankly. Then slowly it dawned for me: The best
shawl, the guilty conscience—Nichola had been to the matinée!
“Nichola!” I said unguardedly. “Were you—”
“Certain,” she said curtly, “I ain’t no call to be no more careful o’ my
soul than what you are.”
I, the keeper of Nichola, who has bullied Pelleas and me about for
years!
“Did—did you like it, Nichola?” I asked doubtfully, a little unaware
how to treat a discussion of original sin like this.
“Yes, I did,” she replied unexpectedly. “But—do you believe all of it?”
“Believe that it really happened?” I asked in bewilderment.
“No,” said Nichola, catching up a corner of the table-cloth in her
brown fingers; “believe what she said—in the door there?”
It came to me then dimly, but before I could tell or remember....
“That about ‘If we hadn’t never met,’” Nichola quoted; “‘it sorter
seems as though my love would ’a’ followed you up even if I didn’t
know about it an’ mebbe you’d ’a’ heard it somewheres an’ ’a’
thought you was a-wishin’ or a-dreamin’—’ that part,” said Nichola.
And then I understood—I understood.
“Nichola,” I said, “yes. I believe it with all my heart. I know it is so!”
Nichola looked at me wistfully.
“But wishin’ may be just wishin’,” she said, “an’ dreamin’ nights may
be just dreamin’ nights—”
“Never,” I cried positively. “Most of the time these are voices of the
people who would have loved us if we had ever met.”
Old Nichola’s face, with its little unremembering eyes beneath her
gray moss hair, seldom changes expression save to look angry. I
think that Nichola, like the carriageman slamming the doors, relieves
all emotion by anger. When I die I expect that in proof of her grief
she will drive every one out of the house with the broom. Therefore I
was not surprised to see her look at me now with a sudden frown
and flush that should have terrorized me.
“Heaven over us!” she said, turning abruptly. “The silly folks that
dream. I never dreamed a thing in my life. Do you want more
pudding-sauce?”
“No,” I said gently, “no, Nichola.”
I was not deceived. Nichola knew it, and went in the pantry,
muttering. But I was not deceived. I knew what she had meant.
Nichola, that old woman whose life had some way been cast up on
this barren coast near the citadel of the love of Pelleas and me;
Nichola, who had lived lonely in the grim company of the duties of a
household not her own; Nichola, at more than sixty, was welcoming

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PROCESS AND PRODUCT

Part One: The Process

Part Two: The Product

Capable and Less Capable Writers 57

Accommodating EL Writers 90 THE PROCESS: WRITING TO LEARN 119

Response to Literature Projects 125 ASSESSMENT: From Textbook to Classroom 167

PART TWO INSTRUCTIONAL PROCEDURES 181

Biographies 200 ASSESSMENT: From Textbook to Classroom 245

Assessing Nonfiction Writing 243

THE TAKEAWAY CHECKLIST: Nonfiction

Mentor Texts Preparing for Writing Tests

THE WRITING PROCESS

Figure 1–1 KEY FEATURES OF THE WRITING PROCESS

CONSIDERING AUDIENCE Sometimes students write primarily for themselves,

That night Pelleas carried upstairs a great armful of the Ascension

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