In the Zone: Time for Independent Reading

By Lynne R Dorfman

There are many reasons why we should give our students daily time to read on their own. Daily independent reading time provides the opportunity for students to experiment with and develop the skills and strategies that teachers demonstrate during the minilesson. Try to block out twenty minutes of independent reading daily, especially for upper elementary grades. You can always start with a smaller amount of time or adjust the time according to grade level needs and what might be sustainable for your students. If you begin with ten minutes and everyone is still reading at the end of that time, try giving the class an additional five minutes. This block of time allows students to enter what Atwell calls “the reading zone” – that space in time when students get “lost in a book” and are not aware of the passing of time (The Reading Zone: How to Help Kids Become Skilled, Passionate, Habitual, Critical Readers, 2016). 

Establishing the Reading Habit

It is during daily independent reading time that students build stamina and endurance for reading. This is particularly important for our striving readers. Of course, opportunities to read across the day include guided reading lessons, science and social studies time and more. Many teachers assign some amount of independent reading as homework each night. Our challenged readers do not rush home from school to curl up with a good book. We cannot be sure they are actually doing any reading at home. It’s understandable that busy parents may sign reading logs without really checking in with their children. But if we build in time to read independently at school, we can help students find a good book (if they need that help) and observe readerly behaviors to help them become more skilled at being a proficient reader.  Independent reading block is a time for students to consciously and subconsciously practice the strategies and skills they’ve learned in minilessons, and it’s the time when teachers are differentiating instruction through roving conferences and small-group instruction. In Good Choice!: Supporting Independent Reading and Response K-6, author/educator Tony Stead reminds us that when we create “a time for independent reading from the onset of the school year, children not only build up stamina for reading, but also see it as an important and pleasurable component of their daily lives (2008, 5).”  In part, our students learn to read by reading. With access to a wonderful classroom and school library and daily time to read books they select to read, students will grow as readers and develop a lifelong reading habit.

 Anchor Charts for Reflection

Independent reading time is sacred time in the reader’s workshop. It is the specific time set aside for children to engage in reading books they have chosen for their own purpose. Setting this expectation is important. Taking the time in the beginning of the year to help children understand the work they will do during this time, and how, will help you accomplish your goals for this time and increase student independence in the workshop. You might consider bringing the class together to create an anchor chart that lists what the reading workshop looks like, sounds like, and feels like. For children who have had workshop experience, this exercise reminds them of reading habits that have been used successfully in previous classrooms. It becomes a place to begin and can be added to throughout the year. Children who are newer to a workshop format will need more time and teacher modeling to learn habits that increase reading stamina and reading focus. One strategy for grades 1 – 3 is to send them off to read independently for 15 minutes. After 15 minutes, the class can regroup on the floor or at their seats to create an anchor chart of actions that has helped their independent reading time and of actions that has hindered their reading time. This chart can be posted as a reminder of what they as a class have determined were the expectations for independent reading time. The children become the standard setters and have ownership of this time. 

Building Stamina is Key

Helping children read independently for extended periods of time is one goal for the workshop. Jennifer Serravallo reminds us in her book The Reading Strategies Book: Your Everything Guide to Developing Skilled Readers (Heinemann, 2015) if children are not reading during independent reading time they will not make the progress we are hoping for and working for. “Engagement is everything.” (pg. 44) Helping children increase their stamina – the amount of time children can sustain their reading – becomes part of the work done in independent reading time. Children need realistic time expectations and strategies to help them increase their reading stamina. These strategies become procedural mini-lessons, small group instruction opportunities, or individual conference focus points. 

Strategies to build stamina can range from finding a smart place to read in order to concentrate to figuring out your next steps. If you’re planning to read for research purposes, then you are thoughtfully gathering your tools and resources to sustain stamina for the work at hand. One strategy you might try is creating a class graph that shows the number of minutes the class read during independent reading time. Children will see the bars grow over time and feel their success as a community of readers. Older children are able to keep their own graphs. These children are often capable of noting specifically the number of minutes they were actually reading and when they were engaged in an activity that took their eyes off the text. (For example, when they were engaged in creating a written response, a book club discussion, or small group instruction.) Reading the graph and drawing conclusions from the data is important and could be used to set class goals as well as individual goals. Ask children to record the number of minutes they read at home. Setting a specific amount of time for your students is a way to start and be sure to tell them, “I expect you to read at home.” As the year progresses, remove the specific amount of time and just ask your students to record how many minutes of reading was done at home and the number of pages. This information is valuable and can be used to discuss stamina progress with students, book choices, and places to read. Keeping track of time and page numbers can help children see their stamina grow. 

One more thought about stamina. Not all kids can sit for extended periods of time — they need to move! We need to set reasonable and realistic goals for the group of children we are teaching. But there will always be the child who needs more specific strategies. Teaching students what to do when they lose focus is important to maintaining reading time. In a conference, establish a time frame for taking a break while reading independently. Giving students a set amount of time to read and establishing a signal system for movement helps you maintain your conferring schedule. It may also keep these need-to-stretch-and-move students reading for most of the allotted independent reading time. In the beginning a goal could be 10 minutes of reading with a quick standing stretch. Helping children recognize when they start to lose their reading focus, and giving them strategies to re-enter the text, is a way to increase their stamina as well as focus. Teach students to place sticky notes in the text to indicate where to stop reading and make a comment, ask a question, create a quick sketch, offer an opinion, or make a prediction. When students learn how to self-monitor, they can make good decisions. For example, some students may realize that their book choice often hinders their reading stamina and ability to focus on the text. These students should learn when to abandon a book in favor of another and how to choose books more appropriate for their interests and reading level. Examining a child’s reading habits; location, time, and book choice can help you and the child create goals that will increase stamina and bring greater joy to independent reading time. 

What the Teacher is Doing

Kid-watching or information gathering (Goodman and Owocki, 2002) can be about students’ progress, understanding, strengths and challenges, cooperation, reading habits, and attitude. Most of the time will be spent in observing students’ readerly behavior and noting it while you are clipboard cruising. During the first six to ten minutes of independent reading time, everyone is silent. As you circulate, you can observe students who are flipping back to reread or review information or the storyline events or who are staring at one page for a long period of time. Some readers may jot notes or write in their response journals. You may notice certain students who move quickly through their pile of selected books, from one to the other, without ever really reading any of them. Others will be deeply engrossed in one book and stay with it all week or even for a two-week period until it is finished.  You may start to understand that some students are engaged in “fake reading” – simply turning pages to be compliant. Others “read” the illustrations and text features. Jot important observations on sticky notes and transfer to an electronic file or notebook when you have a chance, preferably that same day.  Your notebook can have two columns – one for the sticky note(s) and date and the other column for you to translate into possible minilessons for the whole group, opportunities to extend learning through small group instruction, or future reading goals. Kid watching also leads to other work a teacher does to differentiate instruction during independent reading time – the work of conferring and feedback.

The Heart of Reading Workshop

We value reading. As readers ourselves we look for extended times to sit and read. This is something we strive to give our students in the workshop setting. Some of you will remember the Sustained Silent Reading practice (SSR) or Drop Everything and Read (DEAR time). You may have experienced this as a student or perhaps have taught using this practice. In a classroom that practices SSR, children read for extended periods of time from a book of their choice and so does the teacher. In a readers’ workshop, independent reading time offers more than just reading time. In a workshop approach, you will see teachers observing the readerly behavior of their students, conferring, and offering feedback. You may see a teacher interrupt her independent readers to deliver a mid-workshop teaching point or offer praise to spur them on.  Teachers will sometimes guide or model the book selection process (when it is necessary), monitor use of skills and strategies, teach small groups, hold roving conferences, and help their readers set goals. This work happens during independent reading time… the time every student can get “lost in the zone” reading something they love. Independent reading time. This is the heart of reading workshop.


Atwell, Nancie and Ann Atwell Merkel. 2016. The Reading Zone: How to Help Kids Become Skilled, Passionate, Habitual, Critical Readers. 2nd ed. Scholastic Professional Books.

Goodman, Yetta and Gretchen Owocki. 2001.  Kidwatching: Documenting Children’s Literacy Development 1st Ed. Heinemann. 

Serravallo, Jennifer. 2015. The Reading Strategies Book; Your Everything Guide to Developing Skilled Readers. Heinemann.

Stead, Tony. 2008. Good Choice!: Supporting Independent Reading and Response K-6. Stenhouse.

Lynne R. Dorfman is an independent literacy consultant and an adjunct professor for Arcadia University. She enjoys her role as a co-editor for PAReads: Journal of Keystone State Literacy Association. Lynne has co-authored many books for Stenhouse Publishers, including Welcome to Writing Workshop: Engaging Today’s Students with a Model That Works and Mentor Texts: Teaching Writing Through Children’s Literature, K-6. Her latest manuscript, Welcome to Reading Workshop with Brenda Krupp, will be published in 2022.  Lynne enjoys writing poetry, taking her Welsh Corgis for walks, and planting flowers. She often vacations on Long Beach Island and Niagara-on-the-Lake. Lynne is planning a trip to Boulder, Colorado in 2022 with her husband and dear friends. She cannot wait!

Share Small Moments: Priming Students to Tell Their Stories

By Nawal Qarooni Casiano

“What ARE you wearing?” Shayla said, pointing to my matching tank and shorts outfit in the school hallway, where I shoved binders into a backpack for class. “It’s SO ugly. It looks like someone threw up all over you. And it shows your hairy legs.” I remember my quivering lip. I remember trying hard not to cry. I remember looking around quickly to see who might have heard.  It was a top and bottom in dusty colors with squiggly lines and geometric shapes. My mother had bought the outfit for me after I told her everyone in sixth grade had getups in patterns. Theirs were from the GAP and the Limited Too. Mine were not. 

This is a story I often use when modeling small moments with students in elementary classrooms, and its result almost always leads to students writing about bullying, difference and identity. My vulnerable storytelling opens doors for students to share their emotional moments. Teacher vulnerability in writing workshop builds connections with students, generates trust that primes students to learn, and cultivates a learning stance in students that reaches beyond classroom walls.  

The power of storytelling exposes vulnerability for the most valuable learning: the kind of learning that lingers beyond a single conversation. When I was a newspaper reporter, my editor would say “ You’re the best street reporter we’ve got,” which he attributed to my delivery of personal anecdotes before interviewing others, leading to instant connections with strangers. My unintentional vulnerability  opened doors to discussion and aligned me with humanity, whether I realized what I was doing or not. 

Bring Authenticity: Connecting Through Story

When teachers make connections to students in little and large ways- from preferences in food to bigger reflections from their lives- students are more likely to feel comfortable, safe, and as a result, ready to learn. Teachers’ abilities to think back to their own childhood experiences and bring those moments alive in writing workshop paves the way for students to voice their own similar moments – from times they were bullied to when their behaviors were unkind; from when their pets died to when their birthday parties felt euphoric; from when they fell into a snowbank to when they broke a bone as a result of roughhousing. When teachers boldly brainstorm opinions they have, it gives students license to be equally assertive. Thinking across writing genres, teachers can pre-think their vulnerable moments, creating a bank of ideas that will feel useful in instruction and relationship-building.

“Psychologists have long known that self-disclosure is one of the hallmarks of intimate, trusting relationships,” writes Zaretta Hammond, author of Culturally Responsive Teaching and the Brain. She calls this move “selective vulnerability,” connected to “trust generators.” 

“Turns out storytelling is one of the universal ways people connect and get to know each other around the world. The human brain is hardwired for stories,” Hammond writes.

Bringing authenticity to teaching amplifies the content. Welcoming humanity in school spaces instead of relegating personhood to lives after the bell rings gives permission to students to bring their full personalities too.

“Neuroscience tells us the brain feels safest and relaxed when we are connected to others we trust to treat us well,” Hammond writes.

There is no need for perfection. There is a need for authenticity.  During the pandemic, when teachers and students are coping with the weight of multiple traumas, when educators feel pressure to combat false narratives of learning loss, it is even more imperative that we slow down and lay bare our humanity. 

Cultivate Idea Generation: Mining Your Stories

Oftentimes, teachers I coach say they’re not prepared with stories from their pasts, particularly from the age group they teach, that can be called to mind readily in front of children. Or, educators worry their ideas will run dry when modeling live writing during mini-lessons. In my work as a classroom teacher and literacy coach, I have thought about ways to pre-plan and think through purposeful moments of vulnerability. 

A colleague and accomplished public speaker recently shared that he has several stories from his life written out and depending on context, pieces are moved like Legos in an architectural feat. Like a puzzle, with pre-brainstormed ideas of meaningful moments, he is able to build a story of significance that stays in the minds of participants long after the speech has ended. 

This is why it’s useful for educators to brainstorm outside of the classroom moments, opinions and expertise from their lives they would be willing to share and write about in literacy instruction. Alongside teachers during planning sessions, we share stories and jot down our most hilarious or tear-jerking moments. This exercise strengthens my relationship as a coach to my teachers, and it also serves as a model for teachers connecting with students in instruction too. 

While I use this mapping template to guide our thinking and conversations, simple lists work just as well. The purpose is to isolate nuggets of color and interest from our pasts that make us the beautifully varied, unique individuals we are. We might even leave a brainstorming bubble blank, without a heading, and allow for free-flowing idea generation. You’ll see several examples from teachers in Illinois schools below.

We use a general list of guiding questions to support our thinking, and I am careful to nudge our story collection back to when we were students’ age as often as we can. Though valid and worthy wedding and baby delivery moments inevitably bubble up, I use those gems as opportunities to get to know my teachers better – not necessarily for writing instruction. When modeling vulnerability stories with students, they are able to better relate when our moments are not from our adult lives, so recollecting about the time I threw gum in Abby’s hair on a dare then felt deeply remorseful (still haunts me) and telling of the time my sister and I bathed our dolls in the toilet (big, big trouble) prove more valuable for students. 

  • When I was in the grade(s) I teach, what moments stood out to me? 
  • What moments do I seem to come back to over and over again?
  • When was a time as a child when I felt a strong emotion? 
  • What moments have felt hard for me, where I overcame a challenge or consistently struggled? 
  • What lessons did I learn about life when I was a child? 
  • Where in my life can I model for students my humanity and emotion? 
  • What opinions do I have that I want to share? 
  • What can I teach students about life – outside of curriculum- that I can weave into conversations? 
  • What hobbies or interests am I an expert in that I can share with my students? 
  • What places have I been that I want my students to learn about too?

When a teacher I coach knew two students in her class were coping with divorce, she purposefully modeled in writing workshop about the time when she, as a child, was forced to wear pants she hated because she lived between households. She not only built trust and connection between herself and her students, but made space for her students to share their own emotional moments connected to separating parents. 

Another teacher shared about the moment when her husband told her their dog couldn’t walk anymore because he was really sick, spurring students in her class to write with specificity about losing their own pets. Her modeling allowed for students to tell of their emotions with a level of detail and introspection she felt was attributed to her willingness to share so emotionally first as a model. 

It was in the texture of their storytelling that students were primed for learning and connected on a deep level to the instruction as a result. 

Model Perseverance: Highlight Moments of Challenge

One of the most vulnerable types of stories to share with students is when we  dealt with adversity and moments of challenge. In addition to building a more trusting classroom, opening a door for children to be vulnerable with their whole selves, stories of grit, in particular, have implications for the learning brain. Beyond strengthening writing instruction, powerful storytelling around struggles and mistakes enhances all areas of instruction by serving as a model of perseverance for students. Furthermore, there is research to show that students can grow the part of the brain that controls emotions, vulnerability, and fear if they venture into unfamiliar situations and push themselves to try.

In the first decade of life the neuroplasticity of the brain allows for the most stretch and growth, says JoAnn Deak, a neuroscientist and author of the children’s book Your Fantastic Elastic Brain. When things are hard, our brains signal the part that needs more practice. In the book, she likens the growing brain to a rubber band; when an activity or emotion feels most difficult, that is precisely when we must work harder. Sharing this with students in the context of storytelling about challenges we faced helps students see that imperfection is ideal; hardship breeds growth; and continued practice cultivates strength. 

A classroom teacher I coach recently told me when he shared stories of dancing tap and jazz as a child, a student opened up about taking dance too. When he shared vulnerability about being a boy who loved musicals and dancing, so too did this  young writer in his classroom. Together, they talked about how they might avoid their fears, even if it felt uncomfortable.  “He opened up to me…even if he wasn’t comfortable opening up to classmates.”  These are the trust generators that cultivate spaces where students feel more comfortable expressing themselves, taking risks, and learning, particularly in instances of resilience.

As teachers, we must be willing to share what feels difficult for us, and tell students stories about times we overcame – or continued to struggle. This form of selective vulnerability breeds familiarity and connection but moreover, allows students to see teachers as human and imperfect. Vulnerability is necessary for deep learning to occur, as it breeds curiosity, relationship building, trust and understanding of our more complete humanity. 

Build Trust, Grow Minds

When I was young, in a desperate attempt to assimilate and be just like everyone else in my class, I ceaselessly begged my parents for a gerbil. After months of pleas, they finally relented, and when I was in Kindergarten, we brought home a dark brown, palm-sized gerbil. We named him Brownie. 

He would be dead less than 24-hours later, drowned in a too-big water bowl. My sister and I found him floating face down. When we discovered him, we woke the household up with our screams.

This is a story of sadness and quite frankly, of horror, as we went from elated and jubilant to devastated, sickened, and riddled with a heavy guilt- in such a short amount of time. We felt deeply irresponsible for having caused an end to Brownie’s short life. Even writing about it now makes my stomach roil. But I use it in the classroom to share with students why and how I grew from those feelings. I use it to connect, cry, and question. 

Oral storytelling traditions go back long before humans could read or write. Because the human brain is hardwired for stories, when teachers share personal anecdotes in the classroom, trusting bridges are built, and students are better positioned to learn. Being vulnerable spurs students to share more easily stories about themselves. Educators can pre-plan vulnerable moments to share outside of live classroom time, behind the scenes, as part of curricular planning. In fact, keeping a bank of anecdotes and opinions at the ready is useful to purposefully build community and classroom relationships. 

As teachers, our instincts might be to present ourselves to students as the all-knowing sages without flaw or fault. We often aim to show ourselves as perfect, maybe even without colorful histories and experiences. But unveiling our vulnerabilities, trials and travails through storytelling not only primes students for learning, it cultivates space for students to be unguarded too. And in that space, powerful learning happens.


Deak, JoAnn. Your Fantastic Elastic Brain. Little Pickle Press 2010.

Hammond, Zarretta. Culturally Responsive Teaching and the Brain. Corwin 2015. 

Nawal Qarooni Casiano is an award-winning journalist and educator with experience in New York City and Chicago schools. Forever passionate about growing readers, writers and thinkers, Nawal was a classroom teacher, curriculum developer and literacy coach before launching NQC Literacy in 2014. She and her team at NQC Literacy facilitate tailored professional development, coaching and staff learning experiences around literacy practices in schools and districts. You can find her in Chicago’s Logan Square or online at and on Twitter @NQCLiteracy

In the Spirit of Literacy

By Fran Haley

I am certain that after the dust of centuries has passed over our cities, we, too, will be remembered not for victories or defeats in battles or politics, but for our contribution to the human spirit. — John F. Kennedy

I’ve been thinking a lot about the human spirit and what it means to be a literacy educator. 

Sometimes the work can be spirit-crushing: Navigating the ever-changing tides of literacy instruction. Keeping a foothold while major pedagogical approaches fall in and out of vogue like flavors of the day. Straddling the continuously-shifting tectonic plates of standards and curriculums. Sustaining a vision for who your students are and all they can be, recognizing that data points on graphs can never tell the whole story of living, breathing, unique individuals. Surviving professional development that is often dictated rather than designed to meet your own needs or interests. Feeling like an island when opinions and methodologies clash. And all this before the advent of COVID-19, before the mad scramble to online teaching, before becoming a daily onscreen presence in student homes, before losing contact with students as families cope with shutdowns, before the still-escalating illness and loss of life, including that within one’s own circles of family, friends, and associates, before the devastating, divisive, demoralizing year that was 2020.

While this work is not without its own particular “battles or politics,” it is also a story of the triumph of the human spirit. When our times reinvented education, we educators reinvented teaching. As if by some magic (but I know better), teachers instantaneously produced magnificent digital resources, toolboxes, and tips that were shared freely. I have never been more grateful for my network of literacy colleagues close to home and across the globe, nor prouder to be numbered among you in this unfolding story. As teachers of reading and writing, we know the power of words. We know that as we shape the emerging readers and writers of our times, they shall shape those to come.

So, when I was asked recently what teachers are facing in regard to literacy and what is most needed, I responded: “A great lot of pressure at present. We have to able to relax some and find joy in our work.”

Today I am altering my answer a bit.

We need to make room for awe.

Let me explain.

Quite of its own accord, awe decided to be my defining word for this new year. When I turned the pages of my planner from December to January, I discovered a tiny subscript: Experiencing awe (the feeling of being in the presence of something bigger than you) can improve your physical health and make you feel more altruistic. There was another sentence about intentionally creating awe; I will get to that in a moment.

Those words speak to me on several levels. First of all, I’d never thought of awe as being beneficial to one’s health or as something that stirred a deeper concern for the well-being of others. I do know, however, that at the heart of teaching lies a recognition of being in the presence of something bigger than yourself. It shines from a kindergartener’s eyes; it is in the spontaneous song of the adolescent. It is also in the timbre of a voice of someone you love. It is the thing that makes any human strive to create something powerful, meaningful, and lasting, even in the crucible of chaos. Awe is the deep language of the human spirit. It is what we experienced when the world paused long enough to listen to the words of a young poet reciting for a new president. 

Have you noticed how many people—many students—have suddenly been enraptured by poetry after hearing Amanda Gorman? 

Have you heard anyone ask (because I have): “Why is this type of writing not valued in our schools?”

Maybe that question ought to have the word now tacked onto the end. When I’ve facilitated workshops for teachers as writers and we prepare to write around an object, artifact, emotion, or memory, faces suddenly light up. Teachers say: “I used to love this kind of writing!”

-Used to. 

Perhaps it is time to return. 

Think about intentionally creating awe. Writing tends to throw the awe-door wide open. For us as well as for the students.

Begin by carving out moments to experiment for yourself with language, ideas, creativity. Just play. See what happens. Here’s a few simple things to get going—you can make them as quick and easy or as intricate and consuming as you like.


  1. Dig with the Golden Shovel. Take a line from a poem or a favorite book, speech, or song that has special appeal to you and transform it into something of your own. Each word in that line becomes the ending word of a line of your own poem. It may reflect an aspect from the original work. It may not. A Golden Shovel poem can mean whatever you wish; it’s just inspired by the line you use to create it.


A line from Gorman’s “The Hill We Climb”: Even as we grieved, we grew.

Days roll on, even to odd, odd to even,

tossed dice, never quite landing, as

we wonder how that’s possible. Don’t we.

In the spinning we still loved as we grieved

and we’ll go on, won’t we, 

even as we did when odds against us grew.

From Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times by Katherine May: We do not fade so easily from this life.

Now, who are we

and what should we do,

here where the sun shines not

and Earth’s colors fade.

Even so

consider how easily

we glide from

that room to this,

enduring, rather than living, life

—You get the idea, now. 

You might give the Golden Shovel to students to dig something more out of whatever books they’re reading, songs they’re singing, famous speeches they’re studying—anything, really. 

Use it yourself first. Switch it up. Use your “golden line” as the first words of your own lines instead of the last. The Golden Shovel is a good tool for awe either way.

I promise.

  1. Revisit the acrostic. It is an ancient form. You remember, the first letter of each line spells a word vertically…see how creative you can be with the form now. I wrote this acrostic on social distance in the early days of the present COVID-19 pandemic while thinking of my granddaughter, a fan of the movie Frozen:

Soon the spell will be 
Over and we
Can be 
In the same bright kingdom together 
Let this virus go, let it go

Don’t come back any more.
It’s funny how 
Some distance makes everything seem like
Time is frozen
Although, little queen of my heart, we are one day 
Nearer to overthrowing this
Corona-nation separation to resume our happily
Ever after

Here’s an acrostic attempting to capture a feeling while contemplating the clouded, haloed moon:

Shrouded in clouds, the


Lifts a bit of veil in

Absolution, in

Consolation, for enlightening

Every skyward-turned eye on Earth

Did I mention you might use photos for inspiration? I do, all the time.

  1. Write around one word. You can probably guess mine. Here I combine it with quotations from Vincent van Gogh and his painting, The Starry Night, in addition to a new phrase I learned. When the sun is far enough below the horizon at dawn or dusk that its blue wavelengths paint the landscape, it’s known as “the blue hour” (isn’t the sound alone just so poetic?). The sky’s the limit, when playing with the possibilities of just one word:

Awe (The Blue Hour)


on the blue hour

at the falling away of day

and the coming of the night

with hope of stars

givers of dreams

singers of songs


that there is no blue

without yellow and orange

like the crackling fire

in our souls

beckoning one another

to stop, come and be warm

instead of passing by

in wisps of smoke

in tendrils of wrongs


in electric-blue currents of memory

love survives

by anchoring itself

to the last blade 

of living grass


the color of forgiveness

in the blue hour

A final plug for writing poetry: It’s freeing. It doesn’t have to be bound by capitals, punctuation, grammar constraints…it’s about words and rhythms and images and maybe a thesaurus. English Language Learners can excel at it. I once had an ELL student dictate a poem about his love of baseball to me. Then he owned it. It was his. He practiced reading it aloud with a smile that shines in my memory to this day.

Experiencing awe (the feeling of being in the presence of something bigger than you)…


One has to ask who’s making the greater contribution to the human spirit.

Then there are letters.


In professional development on the power of writing, I once encouraged staff to write letters to someone who’d had a big impact on their lives. The person could be living or dead. They were to explain the impact and thank the person for it. I asked for volunteers to read their letters aloud after the writing. One teacher offered; as she read, she began to cry. “I didn’t expect professional development to be so emotional,” she wept. 

It is exactly those moments that we remember most, psychologists tell us. Experiences around emotion. Being valued by others. Taking part of in a shared experience. They are brief but powerful, meaningful, and lasting. 

Our staff spent some time writing letters of encouragement to one another that year. We kept encouragement folders containing these letters, to reread when our spirits needed a lift.

I know that some teachers are currently writing letters of encouragement to students. I have found myself thinking: What would happen if we wrote letters to parents, thanking them for enduring our online presence in their homes? What if we told them that we admire their strength, their perseverance? What if we read these letters aloud to them? 

Such things might transform a culture.

Speaking of which…

Don’t Forget the Read Aloud

It’s magical. For all ages, nothing promotes the love of language like hearing words read aloud by someone who understands that it’s a performance. One of the greatest things I’ve seen this year is an online poetry slam in which students shared their original work; some even had videos of themselves acting out the poetic images and scenes they crafted (some impressive videography at the elementary level!). 

Whether letters, poems, or books, reading aloud is an invitation for awe. Consider Gorman again: in listening you actually lose sense of yourself for a moment; you feel part of something larger, vibrant, transcendent. That’s the awesome power of language. Even when I work with small groups, with limited time, in person or online, I read aloud to them for a few minutes. A current favorite book with conveniently short chapters: Peter Brown’s The Wild Robot. It has a theme of overcoming, of survival, of redefining home. Who’d have thought that artificial life would stir the human spirit so.

For it is one thing to be literate, and another to be life-literate.

If we have learned anything this past year, it is that we have only so many moments before the final chapter of our times is done and the dust settles over our cities. Life may be in charge of the story, but we are responsible for the craftsmanship. 

And our contribution.


Fran Haley is a K-12 English Language Arts educator currently serving as an elementary literacy coach. Writing is her favorite thing to do and to teach; she finds awe in helping people of all ages discover the power of their own writing and fall in love with the craft. That’s her primary goal when facilitating professional development in writing for teachers. She authors the blog Lit Bits and Pieces: Snippets of Learning and Life. As a member of several online writing communities, she interacts with educators around the globe. Connect with her on Twitter: @fahaley. 

Humanizing the Teaching of Reading: Toward More Transformational and Humane Practices

By Vicki Vinton and Maria Nichols

Like many of you, we began hearing rumors last March that schools might shut down because of a virus sweeping over the country. At that point we couldn’t begin to imagine the full scope of the disruption, devastation and death the pandemic would bring, but we each did begin to find emails in our inboxes postponing or cancelling work we had scheduled—and at some point, in an attempt to make sense of what was happening and to know that we weren’t alone, we reached out to each other and began a journey of thought that continues to this day.

In those first early days, huddled together on Zoom, we talked about supporting teachers and schools as they moved to virtual learning. But we’d scarcely settled on meeting dates and tentative questions to explore when our world errupted again with the murder of George Floyd, which shook us out of our “how do we support literacy as we know it,” focus and led us instead to listen to voices like Bettina Love, who talked about abolitionist teaching, and Sonja Cherry-Paul who challenged us to be “the new architects of school.”

All of this convinced us that a return to normal could no longer be our goal. Instead, we wanted to be voices for transformative change, which, in the words of David Kirkland, recognizes that “Teachers are human rights workers, and our classrooms are progressive vineyards thirsty for liberation’s laborers.”

This wasn’t a difficult shift for us to make, as we’d both been questioning many commonly accepted literacy practices for years. We’d also both been advocating for change, as we believed that the goal of literacy instruction should not just be ensuring students’ mastery of skills, as demonstrated through test scores, but should tap into the deeper, more meaningful aspects of reading and being a reader, which we found was best articulated by writers. 

Ursula LeGuin, for example, believed that “We read books to find out who we are. What other people, real or imaginary, do and think and feel is an essential guide to our understanding of what we ourselves are and may become.” And, the poet Percy Bysshe Shelley advocated for what he called a “moral imagination,” which we see as a capacity to occupy another mind and feel the emotional pulse of another heart, which reading can support. And that led us to think about whether we had experienced that, ourselves, as children.

I, Vicki, keenly remember reading The Phantom Tollbooth, a book that was given to me by friends of my parents, which I’ve kept all these years. I remember being put off by Milo at first. But as I kept reading about Milo’s adventures in the strange, confusing world he found himself in, I began to realize that he was changing – that indeed, humans could change. They could become kinder, braver, and more helpful, as they started doing things they never thought they could, which I found enormously comforting. And it made me want to become a kinder, braver and more helpful person.

As for me, Maria, the Betsy series by Carolyn Haywood was an early childhood favorite. Oddly, I had all but forgotten that little girl with the brown pigtails until a random day in the school library with my first graders.  I was pursuing shelves, hunting for an unexpected literary gem, when a very worn red spine caught my attention: a copy of B is For Betsy!  As I thumbed through the musty, fragile pages, memories of Saturday trips to the library with my mom, long afternoons with nothing to do but read, and nights under the covers with books and a flashlight came flooding back. Through this favored series, I had bonded with Betsy, learning to face childhood fears through the comfort of family, true friends, contagious kindness, and the superpower of red ribbons and plaid bookbags. Truly, Betsy helped me construct ways of being as I went out into the world.

As we reflected on these memories, we found ourselves thinking about something else Bettina Love had said: “Why,” she asked, “had it taken a pandemic to see the humanity of all children?” This opened our eyes to the humanity in our own process.  We recognized that we had been privileged to have access to texts that helped us see ourselves and create a vision of the people we wanted to be. But, we were also aware that we were able to do that without having been taught to “read closely to determine what the text says explicitly and to make logical inferences from it,” or to “determine central ideas of themes of text.” Instead, we  did these things by connecting with and being moved by the humanity of a character in a book, in a way that helped us become more humane, too. And believing that every child is capable of being moved and thinking deeply, just as we had been, we found ourselves thinking that the transformative change we longed for was a shift from a system based on standardization to one focused on humanization. But what would humanizing the teaching and learning of reading look like?

Before the pandemic, we’d already been asking educators to consider making some key shifts in their practice, which we realized, as we kept talking on Zoom, served the purpose of humanizing classrooms. For instance, 

  • Shifting from what we saw as a pedagogy of right-answerism to inviting students to think, explore and develop their own ideas.
  • Shifting from being a deliverer of content (like comprehension strategies, standards and skills) to becoming a facilitator of student thinking.
  • Shifting from seeing confusion as something to be fixed to seeing it as the place where learning and thinking often starts.
  • Shifting from seeing learning as something that can be achieved in a single period to seeing it as a much more complex and messy process.
  • And, shifting from listening to students in order to assess them to listening in order to better understand their thinking.

These shifts all supported our shared belief that, given the gift of time for students to engage in that messy process, they not only have the ability to intellectually grapple with complexity—they crave it. And to see the effects of these humanizing shifts in action, here’s a conference Vicki had with a seventh grader named Yusef whose class was reading “The Lottery,” Shirley Jackson’s short story about village that, for reasons none of the villagers remember, holds a lottery every year and stones the winner to death.

Yusef had been labeled as a struggling reader, and while many of his classmates jumped into “The Lottery,” Yusef was having a hard time just getting to the third paragraph. When Vicki sat next to him, he pushed the text as far away on his desk as he could, and when she asked if he was wondering anything, he simply said, “This story’s too weird.” 

Vicki could have responded in any number of ways, but committed to listening to understand, she leaned into his reaction and asked if he could give her an example of the story’s weirdness, and with that he pulled the story back and accusingly pointed to the second line of the story’s second paragraph: 

“The children assembled first, of course. School was recently over for the summer, and the feeling of liberty sat uneasily on most of them; they tended to gather together quietly for a while before they broke into boisterous play, and their talk was still of the classroom and the teacher, of books and reprimands. Bobby Martin had already stuffed his pockets full of stones, and the other boys soon followed his example, selecting the smoothest and roundest stones [to make] a great pile of stones in one corner of the square and guarded it against the raids of the other boys.”

“Right there,” Yusef said. “That’s weird. They just got out of school and it’s like they don’t like it. Man, when I get out of school for the summer, the last thing I want to do is talk about it.”

Here again, listening to understand—and probing student’s thinking without judgment—can reveal surprises. Vicki learned that Yusef’s disengagement with the text wasn’t because it was too hard for him. He just didn’t know how to use his response to engage with the text. And so the first thing she did was validate his response by acknowledging that that was pretty weird. Then she asked if he’d noticed anything else that seemed weird, and he answered, “Yeah, what’s with the stones?”

If you know “The Lottery,” you may be thinking just what Vicki thought: that despite being labeled as struggling, Yusef actually was quite an astute reader who was unaware of that. But noticing and naming could help him begin to see that, so she told Yusef what he’d done: He’d noticed what seems to be a pattern of weirdness, with kids not doing what they usually do, and another pattern around the stones. Then she connected that to the larger work of reading and writing: Writers often use patterns to try to show us something they don’t want to come right out and say, and I think it’s possible that the writer actually wants you to pick up all this weirdness and is inviting you to figure out why she put it there. “Hmm. . .,” Yusef muttered, as Vicki gathered her things. Just before she left the classroom, she turned to look back and saw Yusef reading.

As we began sharing stories from our work with students in conferences, small groups and read alouds, we began to brainstorm what we started calling humanizing strategies. Unlike comprehension strategies, these weren’t meant to be explicitly taught to students. Rather they were strategies for helping teachers create more humane and equitable cultures in their classrooms. We broke them into categories, like these examples:

Strategies that can help students take risks with their thinking:

  • Unless it’s clearly needed, model who to be vs. what to do, like being someone who’s curious and sometimes confused but who notices things and wonders about them.
  • Trust and don’t rush the process of meaning-making—or, as Walt Whitman said, “Be curious, not judgmental.
  • Use conditional language, like what might or could something mean vs. does.

Strategies that can help teachers facilitate the often messy process of meaning making through talk:

  • Be invitational by asking questions like, “What are you thinking?” or “Is anyone wondering something?”
  • Encourage multiple voices by asking questions like “Does anyone have a different idea?”
  • Normalize confusion as something every reader experiences and invite students to share what’s confusing them.
  • Help students develop a sense of agency by asking how they figured out something that had confused them or that the writer hadn’t explicitly stated.
  • Honor students’ tentative thinking, even if you suspect that what they said won’t pan out.
  • Help students see that readers revise, just as writers do, by asking if they noticed anything that gave them a new idea or changed their thinking
  • Pay attention to students’ expressions and body language, as often there’s thinking behind smirks, grimacing or laughter.

Finally, as we reflect on the whole of this journey, we recognize that all the shifts and strategies we so strongly believe in had the same intention: They were meant to respect and honor students’ intellectual capacities, feelings, and humanity.  Perhaps a critical part of transformative change is recognizing that we all want to be seen, heard, and respected – as readers, as thinkers, as human beings.    

Maria Nichols is a literacy consultant and author working internationally with teachers, districts and industry consortiums. Her work includes 33 years with the San Diego Unified School District, where she served as a classroom and demonstration teacher, literacy coach, and the Director of School Innovation. Maria is the author of Comprehension Through Conversation (Heinemann 2006), Talking About Texts (Shell 2008), Expanding Comprehension with Multigenre Text Sets (Scholastic 2009), and Building Bigger Ideas: A Process For Teaching Purposeful Talk (Heinemann, 2019). Her frequent presentations at conferences convey her belief in agentive, engaging learning
for adults and children alike.

Vicki Vinton is a literacy consultant and award-winning writer who works with teachers, schools and districts across the country and around the world.  She is the author of Dynamic Teaching for Deeper Reading: Shifting to a Problem-Based Approach (Heinemann, 2017) and the co-author of What Readers Really Do: Teaching the Process of Meaning Making (Heinemann, 2012) and The Power of Grammar: Unconventional Approaches to the Conventions of Language (Heinemann, 2015). As a frequent presenter at state, national and international events, Vicki brings a passion for thinking and learning and a love of language and books to every setting she works in. 

A Reflection on Cultivating Genius

By Vince Puzick

Note: I emailed Hollyanne Bates (CCIRA’s blog curator) on January 1, 2021 to ask if I could submit a blog about our current “book study.” Like many of you, I have read and re-read Gholdy Muhammad’s Cultivating Genius: An Equity Framework for Culturally and Historically Responsive Literacy over the past several months. I envisioned writing a blog focused on identity and equity and to invite CCIRA members to email me with your reflections in May for a blog to close out the book study. Then, January 6, 2021 happened.

Gholdy Muhammad writes, “I define text as anything that can be read – both print texts and nonprint texts. Society members were reading print texts but they were also reading the world as texts (Freire and Macedo, 1987). They read images and the social times as texts” (emphasis mine, 33). 

And, oh my. We have been handed a lot to read when we consider the current images and the present social times as texts. 

We are inundated with competing voices, multiple perspectives, hostile rhetoric, and (occasionally?) reasoned argument. Our screens load visual images that have us questioning, and maybe leave us anxious and unnerved. 

I have immersed myself these past few days in considering Muhammad’s concept of criticality: “Criticality enables us to question both the world and the texts within it to better understand the truth in history, power, and equity” (117).  We must interrogate the world and its texts. Passive, disengaged consumption of texts is not enough. It has never been enough. But today, students must “interrogate the world not only to make sense of injustice but also to work toward social transformation” (120).

It’s a tall order.  

Gholdy Muhammad’s definition offered at the beginning of her book stayed with me each time I re-read:  “Literacy is not just about reading words on the page… Reading and writing are transformative acts that improve self and society” (emphasis mine, page 9).

When I embrace the idea that literacy is a “transformative act,” and when I broaden the definition of text to include “anything that can be read,” her Framework rises to a whole new level of importance beyond another “literacy framework” focused on decoding and comprehension of complex texts.

If I truly believe – and I do – that authentic literacy empowers students, then in what ways will I think and act as an educator? I hold Muhammad’s statement to be true:  “Teachers must ask if they will be transformed by the learning as they expect and want students to be transformed” (emphasis mine, 78). 

The classroom must be a transactional environment as well as a transformative one: “Criticality does not believe in hierarchies in teaching and learning” (122). What instructional decisions do I make to disrupt that hierarchy? What does classroom discussion look and sound like? What texts are students reading – and who is making the decision for those texts? And what criteria drive those decisions? 

I am a learner within a community of learners as I work with students in the interrogation of the texts in front of them – print, nonprint, visual, oral, and digital. Further, I learn the identities of my students: identities as readers, identities in cultural contexts, in historical contexts, and in the context of an educational system that has not served all of our students in equitable and meaningful ways. 

Ultimately, at this moment in time marked by anxiety, uncertainty, and fear, I understand Gholdy Muhammad’s declaration that “Who we are is connected to historical, institutional, political, and sociocultural factors” (69). 

If teachers are to be “transformed by the learning,” then we must center student voices; we must honor and value all that they bring to the classroom. We must read and listen closely to learn “the realities and lived experiences of persons experiencing the moment, which equally contribute to the same narrative” (120). 

We are, all of us, connected to, and can be connected through, this moment in time.

I invite you to share your reflections and responses to Gholdy Muhammad’s Cultivating Genius: An Equity Framework for Culturally and Historically Responsive Literacy.  My goal is to gather many (if not all?) of your responses in a blog later in the spring. Email your thoughts to and please, for ease in gathering, use “Cultivating Genius” in the subject line.  

Vince Puzick served in public education for over 32 years as a college composition instructor, high school English teacher, and K-12 content specialist in literacy and language arts. He now provides professional development in standards-based curriculum design and instructional practice.  When the weather is nice (which is every day), he is fly fishing on one of Colorado’s rivers and probably daydreaming. He is working on a series of literary nonfiction pieces tentatively titled Americana.  Vince lives in Colorado Springs with his wife, Jannetta, his daughter, two stepdaughters, a dog, and a cat named Trout.