Letting Go of Stories I Love So Students Can Find Stories They Love

As I have shifted to a readers-writers workshop approach and focused more on standards-based learning, I have had to change not just how I teach but what I teach. If students are working more in class (rather than on homework or writing outside of class), I cannot fill an 80-minute block with lecture or group reading. Comprehension questions are no longer necessary as students are working on a lot of independent reading or as they are writing paragraph-length analyses. This has caused me to “lose” some stories and lessons I have enjoyed in the past.

But that’s the catch. I enjoyed them. We all know we each appreciate different stories and different concepts. When I opened my class up to choice reading and having students analyze their own texts, I had to provide more class time for this. As others have said more eloquently than me, we must make time for what we value. I want my students to love what they are reading (and, by extension, I want them to love reading), and I want my students to fully engage with their writing.

That means, as I plan my twenty-minute mini-lessons throughout each unit, I have to cut out some of my previous practices. Comprehension questions were easy to cut. However, I also cut some short stories out of my first unit and some specific myths from my Greek mythology study. We no longer read “The Good Mother” (a futuristic retelling of “Little Red Cap” by Priscilla Galloway with giant clams and talking beasts) in full. “And Summer Is Gone” (by Susie Kretschmer from Bruce Emra’s Coming of Age, Volume 1: Fiction About Youth and Adolescence)—about two high school friends who part ways—didn’t make my unit at all this year, and it has often been a favorite for students (and me!).

Recently, I have begun realizing that I used to work really hard to make some stories relevant or engaging. There are plenty of stories that don’t need me to work miracles—they do it themselves. Now, I am not suggesting we do not provide challenging literature to our students: they need complexity and challenging texts. However, if I am doing most of the work, I have done most of the learning. In my current workshop approach, my students are reading independently and they are writing based off what they read rather than regurgitating what I have summarized or lectured on. Some high school freshmen are seeking books out and (too) many are finishing a novel for the first time in their life.

However, I miss some of my old lessons. Focusing on standards has allowed me to weed out unnecessary activities and center true learning experiences. There are moments where I can do a “fun” activity or lecture on a topic/story I am passionate about, but I need to make sure my lessons build on previous experiences and lead us to new learning. This is my first year transforming my Academic (college-prep) freshman class (last year, I focused on my Academic English 10 class and my Honors English 9 class), and I know I will probably hold onto more of my “old” lessons this year; it’s part of the process. Next semester, when I begin at the start again, I may feel more comfortable letting go of other lessons I’ve kept. Already, I’m couple weeks behind, which will give me fewer days at the end of the year to explore Romeo and Juliet (which I will still mostly read—as an abridged version—as a full class as an anchor text for us all as we study the structure of dramas and scripts). I am trusting the process because I can see how much my students are reading and writing compared to previous years.

These shifts in instruction challenge us as educators: I know The Odyssey and Greek mythology; Shakespeare is one of my specialties (in performance and analysis); I am very comfortable in knowing the texts I’ve taught for the past decade. Focusing instead on my students, I have to step away from my expertise. I have to become a literacy teacher more than a literature teacher. I cannot always teach stories I love; I have to allow students to find texts they love.