“Education’s purpose is to replace an empty mind with an open one.” —Malcolm S. Forbes I’m big on student-centered learning. That’s why I’m such a strong proponent of using the workshop approach to help students develop their writing skills. (See my post “Writing Workshops: The Only Way to Go.”) This past week I read an encouraging post, “Teaching Without a Script,” from New York Times online.

Q. True or false: The primary theme of The Great Gatsby is the disintegration of the American Dream during the very height of material prosperity in the 1920’s. A. In the very act of asking that question, I have imposed two assumptions upon you. You ought to have read The Great Gatsby. The American Dream is related to an empty and unsatisfying material prosperity. Maybe you agree with both of those assumptions. That is not the point. I could as easily have asked the following. Q.

A recent PBS documentary about China began with these words boldly appearing on the screen: By three methods, we may learn wisdom: First, by reflection, which is noblest; Second, by imitation, which is easiest; And third, by experience, which is the bitterest. —Confucius The documentary focuses on the rapid modernization that China has experienced and will continue to pursue.

Over the course of several entries on this blog, I’ve called into question the value of traditional approaches to teaching literature. My objection has been two-fold: It’s a shame to ruin perfectly good literature by force-feeding it to students.

I remember very well a vocabulary unit I had planned. I had gathered all kinds of interesting information about words, including how words are added to the language, how their usage changes over time, and so on. I enjoyed every minute of my research and couldn’t wait to share my findings with the students. Unfortunately, they didn’t share in my enthusiasm, no matter what I tried. I might just as well have given them a list of ten words and told them to define each one and use it in a sentence. I was…just another textbook.… Why didn’t they share in my enthusiasm?

At first, humans just had speech. If you wanted to say "Ugh" to someone, you had to say it out loud. Sure, you could whisper or shout, add facial expressions and gestures, but your main communication option was speaking. In person. A few thousand years later, the clever folks of Ur developed cuneiform writing. Then people had two options: either say “Ugh” or write “Ugh.” You said it if the person was standing there, and you wrote it if the person wasn’t. The choice was clear. Now, after another few thousand years, the choices are anything but clear.

“Writing is learned by imitation. If anyone asked me how I learned to write, I’d say I learned by reading the men and women who were doing the kind of writing I wanted to do and trying to figure out how they did it.” —William Zinsser, author of On Writing Well Many of America’s best writers—from Mark Twain on—write in a relaxed, somewhat informal style.

At the beginning of Seeking Diversity, author Linda Rief recalls sharing an editorial with her students. One of her students wanted to know where he could send his response to the opinion piece. Rief had to tell the young man that he couldn’t send it because the editorial was several years old. As she states, “It was just an exercise to get you to write a persuasive piece.” The student replied that he had never heard of anything so stupid; he wanted the editor to read his response. From then on Rief “concentrated on making the writing [in her class] real—for genuine purposes.

“The universe of discourse is broad indeed and ranges from utilitarian and scientific uses of language to the most artful and playful literature. Likewise, it extends from public communication to private self-communication. Students need to learn how to compose and comprehend the spectrum.” —James Moffett, co-author of Student-Centered Language Arts, K-12 In earlier posts, I’ve discussed features of effective writing instruction. Three features stand out above all of the others: Students write about topics that truly interest them.

Recently one of my novelist friends and I were out to dinner, discussing writing. He happened to mention being stuck at a spot in his most recent story and having called another novelist to talk it through. My first reaction was surprise, to think that one professional novel writer needed to confer with another. It jarred with my image of both these people as masters of their craft, each sitting in a solitary tower, quietly capturing words on paper. I suspect you might have reacted the same, just now.