Timothy Rasinski, Ph.D.

In my previous blog posting for The Robb Review, I focused on what should be the real goal of phonics instruction – to get kids to the point where they don’t have to use phonics much in their reading.  We want students to be so proficient and efficient at word recognition that minimal attention is given to word decoding and maximum attention can be directed toward comprehension.   Staying with this theme of reading instruction goals, I’d like to focus on reading fluency and state right off the bat that the goal of fluency instruction should not be to make kids read fast.    It has been this incessant focus on increasing reading speed, I think, that has unfortunately given reading fluency a bad rep.

What is Reading Fluency?

Fluency has been called the neglected goal of the reading program (and it is) (Allington, 1983); it has also been called the bridge from word recognition to comprehension.     I like that bridge metaphor a lot. Fluency is the critical link to making meaning while reading. There are two components to fluency. The first is automaticity in word recognition – the ability to recognize words so effortlessly that most of a reader’s attention can be devoted to comprehension.   Automaticity is the part of the bridge that links to word recognition.

The other part of the fluency bridge is called prosody or reading with expression.  This is the link to comprehension. When a reader reads with appropriate expression that reflects the meaning of the text, she is striving to comprehend that text.    This is the part of fluency that is often neglected in instruction; yet it is critical for comprehension to occur, even when reading silently.

How Should We Teach Fluency?

As with anything we want to become fluent at (e.g., speaking, driving, golf, cooking), fluency is developed through practice.   In reading we have several forms of practice that can and should be employed. These forms of practice include wide reading, assisted reading where a reader reads while simultaneously hearing a fluent reading of the same text by a partner or recording, and repeated reading where a reader reads a text several times until she achieves fluency on that text (Rasinski, 2010).    In all these forms of practice the goal should be reading for meaning, and if reading orally, to read with appropriate expression that conveys meaning to anyone who may be listening.

How Does Reading Speed Fit into the Fluency Equation?

Reading speed (words read correctly per minute) is an indicator of word recognition automaticity and is often called the oral reading fluency (ORF) score.   The more automatic or effortless you are in recognizing words in text, the faster your reading becomes, AND the more attention you can devote to comprehending the text as opposed to analyzing the words in the text.    Reading speed is an indicator or consequence of the fluency component of automaticity, BUT it is not fluency. Our reading speed increases as our fluency improves, not the other way around. I often say that I want our children to become fast readers just the way I am and all of you reading this blog are reasonably fast readers;  but I want them to become fast the same way we all became fast readers – through lots and lots of authentic practice in reading.

So go ahead and use DIBELS and AimsWeb ORF scores, or Hasbrouck and Tindal’s norms (Words Correct per Minute) cautiously and sparingly as indicators of students’ growth in automaticity, but please please please do not let children think that you are trying to get them to read faster.   The increase in reading speed (as well as improvements in reading with expression) will happen with authentic reading practice, not with overt instruction or implied emphasis on reading fast.

Fluency is More than Automaticity

A few years ago I came across recordings of arguably two of the most fluently read speeches in American  history – Martin Luther King’s “I Have a Dream Speech” and John F. Kennedy’s inaugural address “Ask Not What Your Country…”     I subjected the oral readings of both of these speeches to an ORF (reading speed) assessment. In both cases, Dr. King and President Kennedy’s readings of their speeches may have landed them in a remedial reading class based on their very low ORF scores.     I am sure they were both automatic in their word recognition, and they could have read those speeches quickly. But doing so would have taken away from the meaning they were trying to convey. Because they were automatic in their recognition of the words in their speeches they were able to devote their attention to making and elaborating on the meaning they wished to share orally. They raised and lowered their voices, had dramatic pauses, changed volume and tone in order to more effectively to deliver their intended meanings to their audiences.   What truly made those speeches fluent was not the speed, but the expression (prosody) that they embedded in their readings.

For fluency instruction to truly work we need to see the goal of fluency as expressive oral (and silent) reading that reflects the meaning of the text.    When we make expressive and meaningful reading of texts the true goal of fluency (and avoid putting emphasis on fast reading) we will see significant improvements in reading comprehension (as well as reading speed).

You can find resources on teaching accurate and automatic word recognition and expressive prosodic reading (i.e. fluency) at Tim’s own website – www.timrasinski.com

Please see also my new book on reading fluency (written with Melissa Cheesman Smith) – The Megabook of Fluency published by Scholastic.

References

Allington, R.L. (1983).  Fluency: The neglected reading goal.  The Reading Teacher, 36, 556-561.

Hasbrouck, J., & Tindal, G. A. (2006) Oral reading fluency norms: A valuable assessment tool for reading teachers. The Reading Teacher, 59(7), 636-644.

Rasinski, T. V. (2010).  The fluent reader:  Oral and silent reading strategies for building word recognition, fluency, and comprehension (2nd edition).  New York: Scholastic.

By: Jim Burke

At a certain point in our lives, it becomes difficult to remember how awful (and, if we stick with it, wonderful) it can feel to learn how to do anything that does not come naturally to us. I was reminded of the feelings that accompany such learning in an unexpected way and when I least expected it.

I was in Wyoming to work with teachers at a high school there over my spring break a couple years back. The teachers wanted to improve their instruction in the areas of reading and writing, a difficult conversation that not every teacher is eager to have in the presence of others. Colby and Carl, the two department heads who had invited me out, told me when I arrived that the workshop would not take place until after school the following day, then continuing on into the evening till about 8 o’clock. Before I could tell them what would happen to the three of us at my school if such demands and schedule were ever imposed, they said, “Since you don’t have to get to work till late afternoon, we thought we would take you fly fishing in the morning.”

“That is such a generous and interesting offer, guys, but I really need to spend the morning preparing for the workshop,” I told them with a smile that was meant to comfort them, assuage their disappointment.

But this was Wyoming. These two guys, who would have looked right at home in a fancy hipster juice bar sipping a wheatgrass latte back in my hometown San Francisco, were driving Ford F-250 trucks with gun racks in Caspar, Wyoming where they taught English and fed their families on the venison and fish they shot and caught throughout the year. They weren’t having my excuses.

“Just be ready when we pick you up at 7 tomorrow morning, Jim. The workshop will go fine. You know your stuff. And besides, we’ll have you back by lunch so you can have some prep time.”

The following day, Carl and Colby drove me out into the meadowlands that skirted the Platte River, a slender stream that snaked its way across the open prairie shimmering with spring green grasses. There, in the first light of the new day, Carl taught me a few quick basics about casting that were enough to allow me to flop a fly line onto the moving water. Then, having set me up, he walked up river to his own station and set to fishing his own water, leaving me to just enjoy the morning.

I caught nothing, of course. Not even a bite. But there was no shame, no embarrassment, no emotional upset. This is because I was not—yet!—trying to learn anything. Once we start down that road, we confront what Tom Newkirk, in his book Embarrassment, calls the “awkwardness principle”:

Any act of learning requires us to suspend a natural tendency to want to appear fully competent. We need to accept the fact that we will be awkward, that our first attempts at a new skill will, at best, be only partial successes. Moreover we need to allow this awkwardness to be viewed by some mentor who can offer feedback as we open ourselves up for instruction. (2017, 10)

There was no cause for embarrassment that fine Wyoming morning on that distant spring day because I was not trying to accomplish anything, did not really care whether I could do it or do it well. It was not even something I had chosen to do. Everything that would come to represent the difficulty of learning—the different knots, the types of line, the different styles of fly rods, the flies, types of water, psychology of the fish, all the different types of bugs they eat, the seasons in which they eat them—was handled by Carl and Colby that morning, thus protecting me from any feelings of incompetence, any aggravation, any anger, any shame.

Only when I returned home later that week did all those feelings begin, for while I may not have caught any fish that day, I did catch a sense of what standing in a river fishing for trout might offer me. Yet from the moment I decided to buy a fly rod, I felt overwhelmed, ignorant, stupid. Heading off to the casting ponds in Golden Gate Park with the new rod and reel I bought soon after at the local fly fishing shop, I felt ridiculous as I watched my bright line spill into a wet nest on cast after cast. What had seemed, in my head, so simple, so easy, so relaxing, so doable in Wyoming, now appeared to be impossible.

Over the course of the next year, however, after taking classes, making time to practice, reading books and watching all those YouTube videos that showed me how to cast, I improved. But it was incremental, the two-steps-forward-three-steps-back type of learning. I had to teach my wife to ask not “Did you catch any fish?” but “Did you enjoy yourself at the river?” It took me three months to catch my first fish, and even that seemed more an accident than an achievement. And when I caught that trout finally, it slipped the hook, thus leading to another lesson in the language of fishing: I had caught but not “landed” the fish as the men at the fly shop explained to me the following week when I went by to tell them of my progress.

My point in telling this story is as simple as it is important: Nothing has taught me more about learning than experiencing all over the sustained feeling of incompetence that accompanied me through my first year of fly fishing. Whether it is fly fishing or writing an academic essay, the experience made me realize that we must learn the vocabulary (of flies, lines, reels, water, and so on); develop the background knowledge (about water, insects, about  various fly fishing techniques, the fish themselves—who knew fish were so smart!?); acquire the skills themselves, typically with the guidance of someone we have been willing to be vulnerable with as they guide us through that process; and, finally, maintain the patience and persistence needed to learn to do anything of any complexity with some skill.

Even now, after two years of fairly disciplined effort in all these areas, I remain a novice at best—and I love it. There will be time enough to master the craft, but in the meantime, I am learning to be a better teacher of students, of how to read, write, and learn because fly fishing constantly reminds me how hard it is to learn anything—and how good it feels when we eventually do.

Learn more about Jim at The New English Companion Website!

Connect with Jim on Twitter @englishcomp

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By Todd Nesloney

I’m sure you’ve all heard that phrase in one variation or another. But when you genuinely take the time to pause and reflect on the idea, ask yourself, How often do you truly make every moment count?

Sometimes those moments may exist within your personal lives. Making sure you take time for yourself means: slowing down long enough to plant a flower garden; create a piece of artwork; indulge in a Netflix binge; or even just walk through the local park.  When you set aside moments to slow down and spend time with yourself, you’re making moments count.  You’re acknowledging that personal moments can fuel you with energy, creativity, and a desire to reflect.

So many of us, especially educators, find ourselves spinning our wheels constantly trying be better, working harder, taking on more projects.  And in doing that, we often allow special, quiet moments slip right by us. Unnoticed.

Taking time to nurture yourself is not a bad thing. It doesn’t mean you’re lazy, blase, self-obsessed, or unattached.  Instead, it shows how much you value your personal health and knowing that to be your best you need to be mindful of three elements: your mental, spiritual, and physical health. You will never be able to do what you’re meant to do unless you cultivate and maintain the creative fire within you.

Making every moment count also includes the students and adults you come in contact with every day. You can quickly allow the to-do list, constant stream of interruptions, and your own emotional reaction to events to distract you. Being engulfed by work can push aside those moments that fall right in front of you, waiting to be noticed–moments such as:

• That moment where the teacher across the hall is suffering through a recent cancer diagnosis. She longs for someone on her team to ask, “How are you doing?” so she feels she isn’t walking this road alone.  

• That moment where a child walks in with his head down, hating who he is, because that morning his father beat him again and spewed hateful untruths about the boy he raised.

• The single mother, who works three jobs to give her children the life she never had.  She struggles to get her kids to school on time and every morning keeps from making eye contact with the school staff fearing they’ll label her a “bad mother.”

• The high school senior who just learned of his acceptance into the college of his dreams but has no one to share the good news with.

• Or even something as simple as the little girl who passed her first test of the year and wants someone to tell her, “I’m proud of you.”

Moments like those I described exist, and they’re there for the taking.  The question though is Will you see them? There is scientific research that proves when you show gratitude to others, it increases your positive mood, more than it increases theirs. But will you understand the power of a single moment? Will you make it a priority to find ways to make moments matter for others?

“Make every moment count!”

You and I have heard it before. So today, let’s pay attention to the silent whispers of moments that are calling you to action:  moments when you reserve time to care for your mental, spiritual, and physical well being; moments when you reach out to support others crying for help. Grab and hold those moments close to your heart.  Take a deep breath and find the time to make every moment matter more than it ever has before.

Get connected with Todd Nesloney!

• Twitter @TechNinjaTodd
• YouTube!
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• Todd’s Website for speaking engagements- his books and more!

By: Linda Rief

In my latest book The Quickwrite Handbook (Heinemann, 2018) I described how I came to do what I called “quickwrites.” Year after year I noticed several kids, frequently boys, staring into space more often than they were putting words on paper. Talking to them, trying to help them with their ideas was not a big help. I read Don Murray’s work about writing fast to outrun the censor in all of us. Sounded good. But for those kids that continued staring into space, telling them to write fast didn’t help if they still couldn’t think of anything to write. That’s when I thought, if I put a short, compelling piece of writing in front of them to show them what someone else did, and encourage them to “borrow a line” and write as fast as they can for two to three minutes off that line, that might give them something to hold onto, something from which to build their own ideas. Write fast, I told them. Don’t think too hard. Don’t plan what comes next. You are writing to find writing—the words you didn’t know you were going to write until you wrote them.

And it worked, and has continued to work, for most of my kids.

Holding on to someone else’s line has been magical in helping my students find their own words. More often than not they can get rid of that line as they continue to draft their thinking in their words.

Maybe it was the notion of holding on to someone else’s line that led me to Nikki Grimes’ book One Last Word. In this book Grimes has found inspiration from many of the poets of the Harlem Renaissance to write her own poems. The poetry she is writing takes the form of what is called the Golden Shovel. In her words “The idea of a Golden Shovel poem is to take a short poem in its entirety, or a line from that poem (called a striking line), and create a new poem, using the words from the original. Say you decide to use a single line: you would arrange that line, word by word (one word under another), in the right margin. Then you would write a new poem, each line ending in one of those words.”

This is the first year I have tried this form with my students. We had just finished reading Refugee by Alan Gratz. As we read the book I asked them to collect lines that resonated with them from the three families’ stories. I asked them to write down questions that came to mind as we read, and to look up articles and pictures that might help them answer the questions. When we were done with the book I encouraged them to share response or reaction in any form they chose. But, I did show them One Last Word as a possibility.

Although this worked especially well after reading the book Refugee, because of its emotional topic, I imagine these examples could be used at any time for any kind of writing. These were the instructions and examples I gave my students, adapted from Nikki Grimes.

Write a poem by

• using the line/s from a poem, each word of the line becomes the last word in each line of your poem, or
• using a favorite quote from Refugee or any author or book you love, each word of the quote becomes the last word in each line of your poem, or
• using a newspaper headline with a compelling lead or poignant photo attached, each word in the headline becomes the last word in each line of your poem

I gave the students several examples from Nikki Grimes book One Last Word. I showed them how she took the poem “Hope” by Georgia Johnson and used the first line of that poem to shape her poem “On Bully Patrol.” Then I showed them what I wrote.

I used the last line from Mary Oliver’s poem “The Summer Day” because it is a line I use as a mantra in working with eighth graders: “Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?

This is what I wrote, using that line:

Sometimes, in their writer-reader notebooks students tell

Truths that they are admitting to me

And so often I don’t know what

it is

That would help them cope with it

                        Whether the “it” is hunger or homelessness, self-doubt

         or bullying or even dysphoria. As a teacher you

Try your best to plan

A strategy to

Help each child do

What they need to do, with

Compassion and sensitivity. Your

Concern and helplessness make you worry that one

Day this wild

Child, who is only defending herself and

Trying to make the world work for her, will know what to do with her one precious

life.

Linda Rief

Many students found poetry by crafting their poems in this form. Sophie asked, “Do we have to stick with that form, one last word?”

“Absolutely not,” I told her. “Form should never drive what you have to say. It is only a suggestion. Let your words take the form that best fits what you want to say.”

Sophie wrote:

Tallying the Daily Dead

Line from Refugee by Alan Gratz, p.195

When you were in kindergarten

you learned how to tally.

You thought nothing of it,

nor should you have.

It was just a way

to count the numbers

that were put in front of you by a teacher.

You were always told

tallying should not be used for big numbers,

like 65.6 million people displaced at the end of 2016 or,

the 40.3 million displaced

within their own country or

perhaps not

the 22.5 million forced to flee

to another country.

In kindergarten,

you tallied numbers.

Now,

we tally lives.

Sophie M. 8^th grade

I am always looking for a variety of ways to help students get words on paper. No matter what way that might be, we need to remember: try the idea ourselves, give the students examples (ours, professionals, other students), give them choices within the framework, and let the framework go if they have other ideas. The bottom line in writing: finding every, and any way we can, to help students communicate their thinking in order to grow their voices.

References:

Gratz, Alan. 2017. Refugee. NY. Scholastic.

Grimes, Nikki. 2017. One Last Word. NY: Bloomsbury Children’s Books.

Rief, Linda. 2018. The Quickwrite Handbook. Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann.