Are Readers from Venus and Writers from Mars?

As a teacher of future secondary English teachers, I am always struck by the many  future teachers who proclaim themselves readers, but not writers, especially writing they call “creative.”  It is just this distinction that has inspired many reform documents, such as The Neglected R, to recommend that “Statewide policy and standards should require that teacher preparation programs provide all prospective teachers with exposure to writing theory and practice” and to “provide support for multiple workshops and other opportunities that encourage teachers already in the classroom to upgrade their writing skills and competence as writing teachers” (26).

Considering that English Language Arts is defined as the integration of reading, writing, speaking, listening and viewing, it is surprising how many English teachers identify themselves as readers, but not writers.  Writing teachers should be writers, just as reading and literature teachers are readers, but in reality, not so much. Why should this be? I would  venture an explanation with the analogy of competitive and non-competitive sports.

First, obviously competition is a function of individuals, more than sports. There are some who could make a competition out of coin flipping (you know who you are) and some who can play basketball without keeping score (not even in your head).  So, these are admittedly crude analogies.

Reading is like a non-competitive sport, such as jogging or biking or swimming. There are many readers who receive intrinsic pleasure from the act itself and enjoy sharing their experiences with a few trusted friends, especially readers of the same genres, such as mystery, romance, sports, or political expose.  We can choose to count the books we have read and choose to share with opinionated types, but we could be content just to read and not expose ourselves to the competition.  This is not to say there aren’t plenty of competitive readers, but we don’t have to talk to them.

Writing is like a competitive sport, such as soccer, basketball, or tennis. You play to keep score and you declare winners and losers.  The competition arises from committing your own words to print and allowing indiscriminate readers to review them.  You can protect your privacy and receive personal satisfaction like Emily Dickinson, but generally writers like to be read. If no one is reading them, their motivation wanes. Yet if critical readers vivisect their writing, it can be just as destructive to their motivation, and reading writing reflexively calls for criticism.

You might think, when I say “critical readers,” I am alluding to professional critics of writing (teachers, editors, reviewers); they are indeed a fearsome audience for a writer. But the imminent danger for writers comes from friends, family and fellow students, people we thought we could trust.  Those we trust with our writing can be most critical, merely because they have been raised in a culture where writing is described by its deficiencies.  (Q. What do you think of this poem, Mom?  A. Very nice, but did you know you misspelled “sincere”?) Writing is perceived as a competitive sport and to excel, we must constantly be reminded of our weaknesses. When we remind writers of their weaknesses, we also exert some temporary power over them.

Reading, therefore attracts both the competitive and non-competitive in the realm of literacy, but writing tends to attract those who believe they have a competitive advantage and can escape the most scathing criticism.  The upshot is that most of my pre-service English teachers declare themselves readers, while many declare themselves writers of only the most formulaic texts. Everything else they label “creative writing,” as if outlining the perimeter of an abyss.

So our history records that all literacy is divided into two parts: reading teachers and writing teachers.  Research continues to report this as a tragic mistake for teaching and learning. Most recently a report from the Carnegie Corporation “Writing to Read: Evidence for How Writing Can Improve Reading” (Steve Graham and Michael Hebert, 2010) validates ways in which writing about a text could increase comprehension gains on standardized tests.

So all evidence indicates that reading and writing should be intimate partners, in spite of the incompatibilities of their proponents.  Like all marriages, this one can be saved only if the spouses learn to respect the virtues of the other partner.  And like most marriages, it may thrive more without intense competition. Writing, in particular, needs to appropriate the non-competitive culture of reading.

What will this mean for our conversations about writing and how we treat writers? Stay tuned.