Use wordless picture books to teach reading and writing

Wordless picture books are just what they seem to be—beautifully illustrated picture books without any words.  Most tell stories with everything you’d expect from a story—a setting, characters, a plot, a crisis, and a resolution.  Wordless picture books are a great way to teach reading and writing.

How can you use them to teach?

For a nonverbal toddler, show the pictures and ask the child to show what is happening by acting out the story. Let the child linger over the pictures to gain as much meaning as possible.

For a verbal preschooler who cannot write, show the pictures one at a time, and ask the child to tell you what is happening. To round out the child’s observations, ask questions about emotions shown, relationships of people and animals, and predictions of what will happen next.  Ask if the story is scary or silly or serious.

For a child who can write a little, show the pictures and ask the child to write one sentence about each page. Focus on the content of the sentence.  Encourage the child to figure out the main idea of a page and write about that.  But remind about capital letters and punctuation.

For older elementary grade children, look at the pictures first. Discuss what happens at the beginning, middle and end.  Ask about the setting (time and place), what problem needs to be solved, who is the main character/s, who or what opposes that character, and how the character overcomes the problem.  Now ask the students to write an outline—not sentences, but words or phrases to remind the students what they want to include in the story.  You might share  a check list of elements to include.  Now have them write the story.

For middle school students, show the story to them once for them to get the gist of it. Then ask the students to write (one word/phrase to a line) the following situations:  exposition, inciting action, rising action, crisis, falling action, resolution.  Review these words if students seem forgetful.  Now show the pages of the book again, slowly, and ask the students to identify what happens in the book for each situation.  When done, discuss the student choices and help students match the scenes in the book with the six situations.  Now ask the students to write the story.

Where can you find wordless picture books?  Search online or, if you have a children’s librarian at your school or public library, ask the librarian.  Look for books with enticing illustrations that tell a story with a beginning, middle and end.  Two of my favorites are The Fisherman and the Whale  by Jessica Lanan and The Farmer and the Clown by Marla Frazee.

You can also use wordless films.  A favorite of mine is La Luna by Pixtar.

Here’s another dialog problem with three possible solutions. Which is best?

Check out these three examples of dialog to find the best one.

Example f

“What are you doing?” Mom asked.

“Playing marbles,” Joan said.

“And whose marbles are those?”

“Mine.”

“Are you sure?  They look like Michael’s—all cat’s eyes.”

“Well, they’re not.  They’re mine.”

 

Example g

“What are you doing?” Mom asked.

“Playing marbles,” Joan said.

“And whose marbles are those?” Mom asked.

“Mine,” Joan said.

“Are you sure?  They look like Michael’s—all cat’s eyes,” Mom said.

“Well, they’re not.  They’re mine,” Joan said.

 

Example h:

“What are you doing?” Mom asked.

“Playing marbles,” Joan mumbled.

“And whose marbles are those?” Mom demanded.

“Mine,” Joan uttered.

“Are you sure?  They look like Michael’s—all cat’s eyes,” Mom stated.

“Well, they’re not.  They’re mine,” Joan remarked.

 

In examples g and h, each bit of dialog is attached to the name of the speaker.  In example f, on the other hand, only the first two bits are attached to a name.  Yet, example f is just as clear as the other two examples.  If there are only two speakers, and from the dialog it’s clear who is speaking, it is not necessary to identify the speaker each time something is said.  So example f is the best of the three.

Example g is the second best because the speakers’ names are followed by “said,” a word which is almost invisible.  Rarely is there a reason to highlight how words are spoken.  “Said” is usually the best word to use.

Example h uses a different word to describe how each statement in the dialog is said:  asked, mumbled, demanded, uttered, stated, remarked.  By doing this, the writer is calling attention away from what is said—which is most important—to how it is said or more likely to how it isn’t said.  Asked, mumbled, demanded, uttered, stated and remarked seem to be used more for the sake of vocabulary variety than for the sake of informing the reader about the way the dialog is spoken.

Pick up a classic book and find a section of dialog.  Read it less for what the information is and more for the way the author puts it together—what bits of dialog are identified with a speaker’s name and what ones are not, and what vocabulary is used to identify how the words are spoken.  I think you’ll find that most dialog is not attributed when it is within a several-sentence section of dialog, and when it is attributed, the verb “said” is most often used.

Quiz yourself on how to write dialog

Is there a right way and a wrong way to write dialog?  Turns out, there is.  Take this quiz and see if you know which sentence is best.

1.  “My book contains an error,” said Scarlett O’Hara.

2. “My book contains an error,” Scarlett O’Hara  said.

3. Said Scarlett O’Hara, “My book contains an error.”

4. Scarlett O’Hara said, “My book contains an error.”

5. “My book,” said Scarlett O’Hara, “contains an error.”

Sentence 5 is the worst of the five.  In it, the spoken thought is interrupted with the name of the speaker.  A sentence should not be stopped to tell who is saying it and then resumed to finish it.  A sentence of dialog should be kept together.

Sentences 3 and 4 are next worst.  Almost always, spoken words are more important than the name of the person who speaks them.  Spoken words—the dialog—should go first.  “Said” is an almost invisible word in written dialog.  It should not be highlighted.  Rather, it should be tucked after the name of the person speaking.  So 4 is a better sentence than 3.

That leaves 1 and 2.  Which is more important—the name of the speaker or the word “said”?  The name of the speaker, of course.  So 2 is the better sentence in that pair, and is the best sentence of all the options.

You might say, but I’ve read great writers who interrupt quotations by identifying who is speaking or who put the name of the speaker after the word “said” or its equivalent.  I have too.  For example,

From The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald:  “And Daisy ought to have something in her life,” murmured Jordan to me.

From The Sun also Rises by Ernest Hemingway:  “One more,” Brett said, “and I must run.”

From To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee:  “Well I don’t,” said Uncle Jack, “not unless there’s extreme provocation connected with ‘em.”

I could say that if you become as famous as Fitzgerald, Hemingway and Lee, you can write any way you want.  But if you check carefully through their novels, you’ll find the authors follow the practice explained above far more often than not.

Encourage complex thinking in little kids’ writing

When children start to write sentences, teachers and workbooks encourage simple sentences (sentences with one complete subject and one complete predicate).  Such a sentence might be “I am seven years old” or “My dog had pups yesterday.”

As students progress, teachers encourage compound sentences (two simple sentences connected with a FANBOYS—for, and, nor, but, or, yet, so—conjunction).  Such sentences might be “I am seven years old but I can ride a bike” or “My dog had pups yesterday and I can name one.”

As students progress to a greater age, and in theory, to more complex thinking, teachers encourage complex sentences (two simple sentences connected in such a way that one sentence is clearly more important).  Such sentences could be “I am seven years old although I look older” or “My dog had pups yesterday while I slept.”

Teaching sentences this way presupposes that little children think in simple sentences, then gradually grow into thinking in compound sentences, and then as they mature more, think in complex sentences.

The problem is, this pairing of sentence types to maturity is a false correlation.  Have you ever listened to four- and five-year-olds speak?  “I want five candies because Johnny has five candies” (complex sentence).  “For Halloween, I want to be a princess with a long pink dress and a sparkly crown in my hair and maybe ballerina slippers” (simple sentence).  “She pushed me into the snow with a real hard push, the kind of push of a football player mad at the guy carrying the football.” (simple sentence)

These sentences in the previous paragraph contain complex thoughts (cause and effect, layered details, and a metaphor).  Yet only the first sentence is a complex sentence, and of the three, it is the least complex in thought.  The other two show far more complexity of thought, yet they are simple sentences.

The complexity of these sentences can be shown by boldfacing the simple subject and predicate, and by stacking the dependent ideas  above (if they are said first) and below (if they are said after the subject and predicate).  Notice how the two simple sentences show more layers (more complexity of thought) than the complex sentence.

I want five candies

because Johnny has five candies.

 

For Halloween

I want to be a princess

with a long pink dress

and a sparkly crown

in my hair

and maybe ballerina slippers

 

She pushed me

into the snow

with a real hard push

the kind of push

of a football player

mad

at the guy

carrying the football

 

My point:  Little children speak with complex ideas.  Encourage them to write with complex ideas too.

How to introduce a character, part 2

Where a character is introduced in a story—the location—is important.  Either the character can be introduced in a familiar place—home, classroom, school bus, soccer field—or in an unfamiliar place.  Each has its advantages.

Consider ways to help readers remember characters’ names.

Today let’s look at situations where the character is introduced in an unfamiliar setting—as a fish out of water.  How does a rural Minnesotan behave in tony Long Island in the Jazz Age?  How does a wealthy aristocratic landowner behave in the presence of a quick-witted, irreverent young woman?  Are they exhilarated?  Panicky?  Do they accept the values of their new locations?  Or do they find those values and those who live by them repugnant?

In The Great Gatsby, by F. Scott Fitzgerald, the narrator, Nick, has grown up in Minnesota, but he has decided to work in Manhattan.  He has dinner with an old classmate and a distant cousin, thinking he will feel at home with them on Long Island, but he doesn’t.  They have changed.  The man has become a racist, controlling aristocrat, and the woman an empty-headed little fool.  They introduce Nick to a beautiful athlete.  He learns she cheats.  For a while they date and he accepts her morality, but ultimately, he can’t stomach it.  Nick meets a gambler who offers him a job.  Nick turns it down.  By the novel’s end, Nick realizes he doesn’t belong in New York, and he returns to the Midwest and its values.

What is the advantage of having Nick, the newcomer, narrate Gatsby?  Nick is seeing 1920s Long Island and Manhattan society for the first time.  We are right there with him, piggybacked on Nick’s shoulders, experiencing his raw reactions.  Like Nick, we are shocked by the behavior of Tom, Daisy, Jordan and Gatsby.  Nick can’t accept “this is just the way things are.”  He wants a world of clear morality where people are responsible for their actions, not careless.  Because we are in Nick’s head, so do we.

Another fish-out-of-water character is Fitzwilliam Darcy when he meets Lizzy Bennet early in Pride and Prejudice.  At the village assembly, Darcy dances with none of the local girls, including Lizzy.  He says they are unfamiliar.  As the book progresses, Darcy, an extremely wealthy man, is teased by Lizzy when he is used to being deferred to.   He doesn’t know how to respond.  When he can no longer ignore his attraction to Lizzy and he proposes, he is bewildered and angered when she says no.  Who is she—a poor man’s daughter—to turn down one of the wealthiest men in Britain?  Gradually, Darcy and Lizzy reconcile, and at novel’s end, marry.  Darcy accepts Lizzy’s family and their baggage, but at a distance, as he heads to his estate with his bride, where, presumably, Lizzy will be the fish-out-of-water.

Why does Jane Austen make Darcy the outsider?  Pride and Prejudice is a satire.  Many of those being ridiculed in the book are from the landowning class (Darcy), the aristocracy (Darcy’s aunt), and the clergy.  The observer of the satire is Lizzy, the character with the keenest sense of humor. Darcy is arrogant, so we, who identify with Lizzy, chuckle when Darcy’s hot air is pricked.  Many early scenes set up for later ironic ones:  Darcy, who won’t dance with Lizzy, is later turned down by Lizzy as a dance partner; Darcy, who insults Lizzy’s family while proposing, is himself insulted by Lizzy’s in her refusal; Darcy, who is able to protect his younger sister from an imprudent elopement—and to protect himself, too, from scandal—cannot protect Lizzy’s younger sister from an elopement with the same scoundrel, and cannot protect Lizzy from the tawdry association.

Usually, when we start to read a novel, we are outsiders to the world of the novelist.  We haven’t lived in F. Scott Fitzgerald’s 1920s Long Island nor in Jane Austen’s early 19th century Britain.  But that is one of the attractions of novels.  We can immerse ourselves in an unfamiliar time and place, know it well, and then leave—like Nick does in Gatsby—or commit—like Darcy does in Pride and Prejudice.