We are over at the Heinemann PLC Series this week chatting about mentor texts & discovery . Read — and watch — more here!
We are over at the Heinemann PLC Series this week chatting about mentor texts & discovery . Read — and watch — more here!
Hello, friends! Oh, how we have missed you!
Allison and I are still in the midst of finishing our new book on teaching analytical writing, but we couldn’t resist a quick check-in with you to share some of what we have been up to!
Yesterday we had the great fun of doing an hour of virtual professional development via Google Hangout with a department of teachers from Farmington High School who are searching for better, deeper, more meaningful ways to engage their students in writing literary analysis.
We all know that traditional, academic literary analysis — the kind of 5-paragraph themes you and I wrote in high school — don’t really work. Students hate writing them. We hate reading them. At best, students have successfully followed a formula that has allowed them to regurgitate what they have heard and discussed in class. At worst, students limp through the motions, inserting ideas pilfered from Spark Notes and badly-written Internet essays.
So, that doesn’t work. What does?
As in all writing, students’ process and writing products must be authentic if we are going to get buy in and engagement. Here are just three reasons that the literary analysis writing we teach and students create must be authentic: Continue reading
Maybe you’ve got the broad strokes of teaching with mentor texts — show students authentic examples of writing in a genre to guide and inspire their own writing.
But what does this look like in your plan book?
How do you move students from reading like readers to reading like writers?
How do you introduce mentor texts to your students?
And how do you plan for regular bursts of mentor-text-inspired writing and for entire units of writing study centered on mentor texts?
Join us for three-sessions that will help you build a mentor text foundation with your students and use that foundation to grow confident, inspired writers! With your registration, you get access to the recorded sessions for one year — so even if you can’t join us live, you won’t miss a second of the hands-on, mentor-text-centered work and collaborative learning!
Sign up here with Heinemann today! We can’t wait to learn with you & fill your plan book with inspiration for your students.
How do you begin to process the wonderfulness that is NCTE 2016? All the people you met, the sessions you attended, the Uber drivers you shared conversations with, the authors’ hands you shook?
In the past we’ve offered a top ten list, but this year we are going to share our NCTE heart maps. Underneath the NCTE’s first theme of advocacy was a second theme that emerged: bring love into the classroom. With the release of one of our mentors’ new books Heart Maps, we felt that heart mapping would be the most inspired and inspiring way to share what resonated most with us this past weekend.
In her presentation Leading to Raise the Level of Writing, Lucy Calkins said, “Reading and writing workshop exist so we can be there, in the moment, with students. So we can be people together.” I carried these words with me to every session, during every Uber ride, to every dinner with my colleagues. Teaching is about being together with people. November has been a rough month. I find myself thinking, “I just want this day to be over.” But teaching — and the reminder that teaching is about being together, in the moment — helps me slow down, stimulates my senses, and keeps me grounded in our humanity. The men’s names you see on the left of my heart — those are the Uber drivers who took us around Atlanta. The oval-shaped table surrounded by happy faces at the bottom — those are my students. Teaching is hard, busy, exhausting, overwhelming, disorientating. But it’s also as simple as taking the time to listen to someone’s story and sharing a piece of yours — of being together with one another.
At every turn, NCTE brought together two big ideas for me — being present and taking action. And maybe those two ideas are really the same. Because when we fully engage with the people who walk into our classroom each day, we ARE taking action in the world. To quote Kwame Alexander, “Teachers ARE the army — manufacturers and purveyors of hope every single day.” As I leave Atlanta and walk back into my classroom, I am full off fresh resolve to take a step back from my plans, my units of study, my to do lists. To look into my students and use the predictable structures of reading writing workshop to fully be there.
Kate Baker (@ktBkr4) tweeted this incredible sketch note of one of our sessions, I Kissed Grading Goodbye.
Like the heart map, sketch noting encourages the maker to distill an experience, a text, a presentation into its essential pieces — to identify the heart of the thing.
Can you imagine using heart mapping and sketching noting with your students? Could they create a heart map of their experiences in English this week? What truly resonated with them? What moved them in your class? Could they create sketch notes of the questions still bouncing around in the brain — the main takeaways they want to carry with them?
Before the craziness of Thanksgiving week picks up, we invite you to take a few moments to heart map or sketch note your NCTE experience, to remember the things that are most important to you — the reason you came to NCTE, which is quite possibly the same reason you teach.
Now that NCTE has passed, and we’re rapidly hurdling towards 2017, Rebekah and I are going to be signing off from the blog for a little while. We need to finish writing our book! But fear not, we’ll be around, and our amazing team of bloggers will continue to churn out brilliance for you to take into your classroom tomorrow.
We wish everyone a wonderful thanksgiving!
Allison & Rebekah
Carl Anderson taught me to begin every writing conference with the simple question, “How’s it going?”
I love this question for two reasons: it’s a question we ask our colleagues, our friends, and our family members when we want to know how they are doing. In other words, it’s an authentic question that shows we care. Secondly, it puts the onus on students to determine the focus of the writing conference. There is no hidden agenda behind the question, “How’s it going?” It simply means, “How are things going for you in your writing?”
I typically ask this question at the beginning of a writing conference. I pull my stool up to the writer’s desk and lean in: How’s it going?
It can also be useful on mid-process writing reflections. Sometimes, in the middle of a study, I ask my students to spend a few minutes telling me about their writing. I want them to share what they are currently working on in their notebooks, what their next steps are, and in general, how their writing is going. This question invites them to say anything – anything – about their writing. What a student chooses to talk or write about can be very telling.
Recently I have been thinking about the other questions I ask my student writers and which ones are the most fruitful. Here they are:
Why it’s a great question:
I use this question all the time. From writing conferences to Socratic Seminars, this is the best way to help students elaborate. For example:
Teacher: How’s it going?
Teacher: Can you say more about that?
Student: I’m working on my ending.
Teacher: How’s the ending going?
Student: It’s okay.
Teacher: Can you say more about that?
Student: It’s not very strong right now. I don’t know how to end it.
Teacher: Can you read a little of your ending out loud…?
This question is like a gentle prod in the writer’s mind. It’s much gentler than, “Can you elaborate?” but more effective than accepting a writer’s one-word response (Good.) and moving on. It invites the writer to step back from his work and reflect on what he’s doing.
When to use it:
What it can do for students:
Why it’s a great question:
I’m not sure where I picked up this question stem, but in my experience, it’s the nicest way to suggest to a writer that she try something in her writing. It’s the way I teach my students to give each other feedback on their writing.
Teacher to student, it’s much better than:
With these questions, the teacher has an idea about the student’s writing, and s/he would like him to try it. The student doesn’t really have a choice. The teacher has the power. Is this how it should be?
When to use it:
What it can do for students:
When we ask a student to consider trying something, we are giving that student a concrete strategy, but the student holds the power. The feedback is framed as a choice, and sometimes students are more willing to try something in their writing when given a choice. When forced to try something, students tend to push back. It’s important to remember that the writing belongs to the student – he ultimately decides what happens to it.
The word “trying” is important too — it suggests that writer sometimes make revisions that don’t work. In other words, the writer can try something, but if it doesn’t work — if the writer isn’t happy with how it affects his piece — he can go back to a previous version.
Why it’s a great question:
I came across this question while reading Carl Anderson’s book on assessing writing. I instantly wrote it in my notebook and pledged to use it during conferences the next day. It made what used to be an awkward moment for me (the goodbye at the end of the conference) fruitful and positive.
When you ask this question, the answer will reveal two things to you: 1) If the writer was listening during the conference and 2) If the writer is ready to try the work you discussed during the conference.
1. If the writer wasn’t listening, she’ll say, “Try what?” And you’ll know that you have more work to do. That the conference isn’t over.
2.If the writer was listening, and is ready to try the work you discussed during the conference, she’ll say “Yes.” And if you coach her a little more, she will often follow up with a specific step, as in, “Yes, I am going to do a little writing in my notebook to find an image I can put at the end of my poem.”
If the writer says, “No,” you have more work to do. The conference isn’t over.
There are myriad questions writing teachers can ask their students to learn more about their process. Rebekah wrote an incredible post a while back about the power of the question, “What did you discover today in your writing?”
But it seems that most questions lead back to one of the main four.
And some day, with enough practice under their belts, our students will only need one question: How’s it going?
Because this question seeks everything we need to know about our students as writers — and as human beings.
What questions help you communicate with your writers? What questions shut them down and what questions open them out? Please leave a comment or connect with me on Twitter @allisonmarchett.
“Would you rather teach only writing or only reading?”
The question my husband asked me during a marathon session of Would You Rather (we were driving from Virginia to Maine).
“Writing. Hands down.”
From the time I was a little girl, I’ve kept diaries, written letters to friends near and far, submitted poems to contests. In high school my mom made spiral-bound books of my writing, distributing copies to grandparents. In college, I majored in English with a concentration in poetry writing. I went to used bookstores and church books sales on the weekends, filling my backpack with the words of writers I’d read over and over again so I could become more like them. Today I teach writing to high schoolers and have written a book about writing instruction for secondary teachers.
Most of my English teacher friends decided to become English teachers because of a love affair with reading. I followed my passion for writing all the way to the classroom.
Although my love for writing and teaching writing is steadfast, answering that question – would I like to teach only writing or only reading – brings with it some discomfort and guilt. Shouldn’t I want to teach both equally? Shouldn’t I BE teaching both equally?
It’s not that I don’t like to teach reading. For one thing, I know that “writing comes from reading, and reading is the finest teacher of writing” (Annie Proulx). I also know that reading in and of itself is important (and I looooove to read…it’s what lead me to writing).
When I trace my predilection for teaching writing back to its roots, here’s what I find:
I see my students 3-4 times a week for 46 minutes. There are not enough days in the year, hours in the day, minutes in the hour to explore the incredible worlds of writing and reading fully – to teach both writing and reading well. So I would choose writing. I have the motivation and the resources and the education to teach reading and writing well. But I don’t have the time. And time is everything.
Enter reader mail from Dan Harris in Peabody, Massachusetts who shares the same frustration as I do:
How do you handle reading (i.e. independent, whole-class novel, etc.) in your classroom? Do you do a reading workshop during your writing workshop? I’m finding myself loving the writing workshop that I believe I am neglecting a bit the reading aspect. My students are doing a lot of self-selected independent reading. How are you able to find a balance?
So what are we to do? We have to teach writing. We have to teach reading. We have a very limited amount of time.
This question has two answers:
I want to circle back to the Annie Proulx quote: Writing comes from reading, and reading is the finest teacher of writing.
Teachers who use mentor texts to guide and inspire student writers know this to be true.
In a classroom that puts mentor texts at the center, students read all the time. In the immersion phase, students are introduced to professional, current, relevant pieces of writing in the genre in which they are about to write. They read these pieces like writers, noticing what they look and sound like, and how they are put together. During this phrase, writers may also glean ideas for their own writing.
As writers move from the immersion phase to planning and writing, they read the mentor texts again, this time with a more focused purpose. In this phrase, students read to learn how:
Then, as students continue to write and revise and write and revise as they work towards publication, they return to the mentor texts yet again, reading to learn how to:
In every phase of the writing process, students are reading. Closely. Repeatedly. For different purposes. They are never not reading.
The second way to think about the writing-reading balance:
When teachers ask about how we balance reading and writing instruction, they’re usually referring to a different kind of reading – not the reading our students do in service of their writing – but reading for reading’s sake. Reading as literature study. Teaching novels.
And for me, this is where the guilt sets in. Because while I know I’m doing a lot of reading instruction with my students in writing workshop, it’s this kind of reading instruction that sometimes gets sacrificed in my classroom because of time constraints.
Over the years, in an attempt to strike the perfect reading-writing instruction balance, I have tried many different approaches. Here are approaches I’ve tried and the pros and cons of each.
In this approach, students write in multiple genres (and read copious pieces in those genres) in the fall. In the spring, students study novels/whole books, and possibly write about them, too.
|– No more decision fatigue — instead of “What in the whole universe should I teach tomorrow?” the question is smaller for a whole semester: “What writing lesson should I teach tomorrow? What reading lesson should I teach tomorrow?”
– You can devote all your time and energy to teaching one thing and one thing only each semester
– Students find a rhythm quickly when the flow of the class is predictable and consistent (all writing all the time, or all reading all the time)
– The other subject can be used to support/extend the primary subject (if you teach writing with mentor texts, students are getting reading instruction as well; students can write about their reading in the reading semester)
|– In a writing study, students aren’t reading literature (and vice versa)
– In a reading study, students are producing full pieces of writing
– In my experience, students have produced fewer published pieces of writing (5-6 instead of 7-8 when writing happens throughout the year)
– If you start with a semester of reading, students wont’ have the writing skills to write smartly about what they’re reading
– If you start with a semester of writing, a whole semester will pass before students are really digging into literature…
In this approach, students write on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays; they study literature on Tuesdays and Thursdays.
|– No more decision fatigue!
– Students know what to expect when they come to class – it’s a writing day or a reading day
– Adds variety to the week – you’re not doing the same thing every day
– You get to teach writing and reading evenly throughout the year
– If a student is out sick two days in a row, he will not miss more than 1 day of instruction in either subject
|– If you don’t finish a writing lesson, you have to wait two days to complete it
– If you’re teaching writing MWF, and Monday is a holiday, five days will pass before you can teach writing again
– Switching back and forth between subjects can be exhausting
– One subject gets more time and energy (whichever one you teach MWF)
– Students don’t get consistent daily practice in genre writing or literature study
When you alternate writing cycles, you teach one writing study over 3-4 weeks, followed by a reading study of 2-3 weeks. Then you teach another writing study. Then you teach another reading study. And you move through the year in this way, alternating writing and reading cycles.
|· No more decision fatigue!
· You can focus on one subject, and put all your energy into it, for 2-4 weeks at a time
· Students quickly develop a writing or reading rhythm
· You devote equal-ish time to both subjects by year’s end
|· During a writing cycle, students aren’t reading any literature (unless they are choosing to read outside of class, which some do)
· During a reading cycle, students aren’t doing any longer pieces of writing
No matter the approach you choose, you’ll want to find small ways to tap into both subjects – and it’s not hard to do since the two are so closely linked:
In a reading day/semester/cycle:
In a writing day/semester/cycle:
|· Begin class with Notebook Time – daily opportunities for students to play with ideas
· Invite students to work in their notebook for homework
· Close the reading cycle by asking students to write about what they have read
· Have students produce short reflective responses about their reading
|· Begin class with 10 minutes of independent reading (s
· Keep homework simple: assign 10-15 minutes of reading each night
· Focus on the skills of close reading during mentor text immersion
In a perfect world, students would take two year-long English classes: one literature course (in which they write about what they are reading) and one writing course (in which they read copiously in the genres in which they are writing). But until this dream situation becomes a reality, we need to be creative and flexible in our approach.
While none of the above scenarios is perfect, they all strive for balance in teaching the language arts, and they honor the ways in which reading and writing feed one another – and how they feed us.
We spend a lot of time touting the benefits of mentor texts for students for obvious reasons! Mentor texts — professional pieces of writing that are current and relevant to this year’s students — can guide and inspire their writing in ways that we alone can’t. Additionally mentor texts:
In short, mentor texts do everything for our students.
But perhaps one of the best kept secrets of mentor texts is that they help teachers. They can make our teaching lives easier and richer in myriad ways. One of the main reasons I am so grateful to have discovered the power of mentor texts in my teaching is because they streamline my writing lessons and provide a natural rhythm my students and I can follow in every class period.
The graphic shows that mentor texts help guide the flow of every writing lesson in class and make the format of the class predictable. We know from Katie Wood Ray that predictability in a writing classroom frees our students up to do the most important thing — to write — rather than worry about what’s happening in class and if they’re going to think it’s fun. That same predictability also helps the teacher. No more late nights figuring out what activities to do with students tomorrow. I know what my lesson is going to look like before I even write it, and I have mentor texts to thank for that.
The framework is simple. You begin by introducing the big idea of the lesson in very simple terms. For example, last week I taught a lesson about endings in poetry. At the beginning of the lesson, I said, “Today you will learn how end your poems strongly — to end them with a click.” (The click part comes from poet Maxine Kumin who argues that the end of a poem should mimic the sound of a closing door: “if not the slam..then at least the click of the bolt in the jamb”.)
Then I projected five techniques writers use to bring their poems to a close (see below). Many teachers enjoy creating posters on giant-sized post it notes to display the writing lesson. Google Presentations is my preferred method, as you’ll see below, because I am not confident in my poster-making skills 😉
This lesson fell at the end of a three-week study of poetry, so my writers were very familiar with rhyme, line breaks, and repetition. The techniques I revealed in this lesson weren’t new to them — but the way in which the techniques could be leveraged to bring their poems to a close were.
Then I said, “Please take out your mentor texts if they’re not already on your desk, so we can take a look at how some of our mentors use these techniques.”
It’s important to mention that, even though my students didn’t pull out their mentor texts until we were a few minutes into the lesson, mentor texts had entirely guided us to that point. The big idea — that writers use repetition, images, and line breaks to end their poems strongly — came from the mentor texts. Because the mentor texts always tell us what to teach. Always. (Click here for Rebekah’s post on where writing lessons come from and how we plan writing studies.)
At this point in a writing lesson — after you’ve introduced the big idea and various techniques for achieving the effect in your writing — there are several ways to directly infuse the lesson with mentor texts:
This is my go-to method of inviting students to examine the techniques being used by our beloved mentors. Students simply take out their packets, and as you explain each technique in more depth, students underline, highlight, or use colored pencils to mark the examples in their texts.
I know we’ve had a great writing study if, at the end, my students’ mentor text packets are worn and dog-eared — maybe even falling apart and in need of a new staple. That’s because we’re digging into these packets on a daily basis, reading each mentor text closely dozens and dozens of time, sucking every last drop of inspiration and guidance out of them.
Sometimes having the students directly annotate their packet can feel stale or rote — like you need something to shake up the routine. Invite students to create a visual of the lesson, including excerpts of the mentor texts. To assist them in doing this, consider printing out and cutting up a few excerpts from the mentor texts — excerpts that highlight that lesson’s techniques — so students don’t have to spend any time printing and cutting — they can simply read and think and find a good home for their mini mentor texts in their writer’s notebook.
At the beginning of a study, as a way to get the beautiful language of their mentors into their heads and hearts, I invite my students to copy a full-length mentor or a favorite excerpt from a mentor text into their notebooks for safekeeping. A third option for infusing your lesson with mentor texts is to ask your students to return to this mentor text (or excerpt) and annotate it with the lesson’s techniques. Anything done in the writer’s notebook tends to feel more personalized and lasts longer because students are far less likely to lose their notebooks than their packets. Below you’ll see a four page spread of the poem Shelter that Dylan D. diligently copied into his notebook and annotated over the course of a few class lessons:
Once students have had an opportunity to think about the new skill or technique introduced and see their mentors using it, it’s time to invite them to consider their own writing and how this technique might amplify what they are currently working on them.
It’s my favorite part of the lesson — asking, “Can you find a strategic place in your writing for this technique?”
As my students boot up their laptops and turn the pages of their notebook, as they gather highlighters and colored pencils to mark their writing, as they discuss amongst themselves what they’re working on and what they think of the lesson and how it might help their writing, I always take a mindful minute to soak it in — to stand there thankful for the mentors that gave me a good lesson and the writers who will grow because of it.
How do you infuse your lessons with mentor texts? What is the flow of your writing lessons? I would love to hear from you on Twitter @allisonmarchett — or feel free to comment below!
We were so excited to chat with Brian on an episode of one of our favorite education podcasts, Talks With Teachers!
Listen to us talk all things mentor texts here!
Imagine you’re eating at your favorite go-to restaurant, that small table for two in the back corner by the window. You place an order for dinner without the menu. You have been here more times than you care to count. You don’t need a menu!
Now imagine that the head chef at this restaurant has invited you to cook alongside him in the kitchen. You’ve been eating at this restaurant for years — you know the menu like the back of your hand, but as you enter the steaming kitchen, your body seizes up. You know the food by heart, but you don’t know the first thing about making it. “Just watch,” the chef says to you, pushing you into a row of line cooks. He smiles, assuming you’ll be fine since you frequent this restaurant so often. But eating the food and cooking the food are two very different things, and the cooks are moving so quickly. Even though this restaurant has always been dependable in the past, suddenly you find yourself wishing you hadn’t come here tonight.
This analogy is my best attempt to describe how our students might feel when we first introduce the idea of reading like writers. As in the scenario above, our students have been eating at the same restaurant for years: they are experienced readers, and they have been “eating” books and texts like readers for a while. But for these same readers, the concept of reading like writers–or reading to identify writing techniques–is brand new. It’s hard to “cook up” techniques when you don’t know what to look for.
To grow, young writers must be able to recognize craft in professional writing and bring it back to their own work. But this kind of reading does not come easily. At the end of a year, we still have students who struggle to read a text in this way.
In addition to notebook time invitations, and inviting your students as often as possible to notice craft in a text, here are three simple things you can do in your classroom this week to help your students read like writers and start them on their writing journey:
At the beginning of a new writing study, in our classrooms, students spend time reading a cluster of mentor texts as writers to get a sense of what the genre looks and sounds like, and to begin making a list of craft moves they can take back to their own writing. One of the benefits of doing this activity on large post-its notes (see below), is that you can invite students to do a Gallery Walk of all the posters. Giant post-its also let teachers see clearly when students (or an individual) are still reading like readers.In the example above, one student wrote “the girl is fire and a happy part of a tough life.” After talking to him, I discovered that he meant, “The girl is a symbol of fire — the happy part of a tough life.” While this observation is interesting and grounded in the fire imagery of the poem “Oranges” by Gary Soto, it’s a r-e-a-d-e-r-l-y noticing. So I used the magical phrase to redirect him.
“Can you rephrase your noticing by completing this phrase: Writers of poetry…?” I asked.
He thought for a minute, then scribbled what you see in yellow at the top of the poster: use people as metaphor…
Writers of poetry use people as metaphors. YES!
A different student in this same group observed that the writer was using “lots of words like ‘bright’ and ‘light’ and other happy words.” Since the goal of reading like a writer is to create a list of craft moves that can be taken back to the writer’s work, the observations must be general enough to describe craft in a handful of poems. I asked this student to “think bigger” and complete the magical phrase. His revision can be seen in yellow marker: use similar words for emphasis.
Poets use similar words for emphasis. YES!
These are just two quick examples that illustrate the power of the magical phrase. Because we have had so much success helping our students read like writers with this phrase, Rebekah and I have started to head all of our noticings materials with it.
A few weeks ago, I wrote about my goal of helping writers discover possibility in their own writing by spending more time reading like READERS. In this post, I confessed to getting carried away by mentor texts — to skipping ahead to the what-do-you-notice part of reading without appreciating the ideas of the text first. So I vowed to spend more time lingering on a piece as readers first.
While I knew it would be good for my students’ writing to spend more time discussing the ideas of a piece, I didn’t expect it to simultaneously lift their ability to read like WRITERS. My theory is that when we spend more time reading like readers, we make clear the difference between these two types of reading, strengthening the students’ ability to do both. We clarify and validate the different ways of thinking about a text when we give them equal time.
One day my lack of preparedness lead to an amazing discovery: the inquiry lesson as a way to help writers read like writers.
I had planned to teach a lesson about repetition in poetry, but had failed to complete my presentation in time. As my students entered the classroom, I panicked and did the only thing I could do: throw something together quickly that I hoped would work (ever done that before??).
I chomped on my finger nails as I walked around the room, nervous to see the results. Since it was only September, I was very worried that my students wouldn’t have had enough practice looking for craft to successfully complete the task…
But then something wonderful happened. A student said, “Can we put our notebooks under the document camera and talk about what we found?”
The first student brought this:One representative from each table presented their notebook page to discuss the groups’ noticings about repetition. I took notes on their findings and promised the students I would compile them into a mini handout they could glue into their notebooks the next day.
When the class was over, I took a few minutes to reflect on why the lesson had gone well (so much better than I had expected!). My theory is that because I had directed their attention to a specific craft move, and provided questions to frame their inquiry, they were able to tune out the other craft features in the poems and focus their attention on one technique. This scaffolding, coupled with the copious practice they have had in noticing craft in the past month, lead to an important aha moment for them and for me: When given the opportunity, and scaffolding to lean on, students can read like writers as early as September.
(As a side note, wouldn’t this kind of notebook work be helpful as an assingnment prior to teaching a craft lesson?)
As I write this, I wonder if my students are aware of what they were able to do… Since they can read like writers in September, is it possible that they might even see themselves as writers, too?
How do you teach reading like a writer, and how do you help students develop this skill over time? I would love to hear from you @allisonmarchett!
This was us one year ago, celebrating Writing With Mentor‘s publication in the world.
It’s been a wonderful year as we watched this book work its way into your hands, spoke to teachers across the country, and led workshops on how mentor texts can change your students’ writing. And it’s been an exhilarating fall as we watch mentor texts work their way into your classrooms.
Thank you for reading – what an honor it is to share with you as we do this work together!