by Ron Berger

I walked into Lori Andrusic's third-grade classroom at Capital City Charter School in Washington, D.C. and was approached right away by an eager student. "Are you our guest critiquer?" he asked.

"Yes, I guess I am."

"Would you want to read my story? Or is that cheating to show it to you first?"

I assured him it was not cheating and we sat down to read together. Soon Lori approached us and handed me a cut-and-paste stack of papers, each containing the opening line of every student's story.

"Here they are," she said, "everyone's first sentence. I was intrigued by your idea of running a gallery critique of story openings, and I wanted to see how it really worked. The students are all ready for you." The class quickly made a circle of chairs, and we distributed the sheets and introduced ourselves. They were bubbling with excitement. We set the ground rules for our critique session and dove in.

This year I have had the opportunity to work on critique with Expeditionary Learning schools across the country, while on leave from my fifth- and sixth-grade classroom in Shutesbury, Massachusetts. I have been looking at how schools are making good use of critique in classrooms, and I have been sharing a model of critique that is a bit different than the typical model of peer writing critique with a partner. Much of my work has been discussing with teachers how to build a classroom culture of critique: how to establish safe ground rules, how to choose evocative and useful pieces for formal critiques, how to run sessions effectively, and how to build the capacity and inclination for a class culture of informal critique. Sometimes my work has been with groups of teachers, critiquing student work together, and sometimes, as at Capital City, I have been asked to come into the classroom for a demonstration critique with students.

Critique Inspires

With Lori prepared to list our ideas on chart paper, we read aloud all the opening lines of the stories, and I asked the students if there was one that really stood out and grabbed their interest. A boy's hand shot up: "This one--written by Hector!" he said. "I love this one: 'The haunted car. It all started when...'"

"What is it about that opening line you like so much?" I asked.

"I don't know... I just do."

"Is it a particular word? The flow of the language? An idea?"

"I've got it!" he smiled. "It is a word - haunted. I love that word."

"Why do you think you love that word?"

"It's powerful!"

Lori turned to her chart paper list -- Strategies for Good Story Openings -- and wrote the first of our discoveries:

        Powerful Words

"Does anybody else see an opening with a powerful word?" I asked.

"I do!" exclaimed a girl. "Listen: 'Once there were some ninjas in China, they were magic ninjas.'"

"And what's the powerful word there?"

"Why magic, of course, what do you think? If they were just plain ninjas... Boring! (The class nodded their agreement). It's magic that makes you interested."

The boy who met me at the door with his story raised his hand with concern: "I don't think I used any powerful words in my opening," he said. "In fact, I don't think my story has anything interesting until halfway down the first page. I'm gonna do some rewriting."

Another girl raised her hand. "Can we go back to the haunted car for a minute? I think it's not just that haunted is a good word... it's also putting together haunted with car - that's unexpected. Haunted house, that's usual, but haunted car - that's weird, and interesting."

We had additions for our list:

        Combining Words in Unusual Ways
        Using the Unexpected

The class was squirming with ideas, hands shooting up around the circle. Our list grew longer. And then a quiet boy sitting next to me raised his hand tentatively.

"Can we go back to Hector's--the haunted car?" he asked. "I think it's more than just the word haunted. I think that story opening has music."

"What do you mean, music?" I asked. "Can you describe it?"

He sang the opening to Beethoven's Fifth Symphony with dramatic flourish: "Da-da-da- DUM!" The class squealed with delight and repeated his notes.

"Tell us more. Where do you see that?"

"'It all started when... da-da-da-DUM!' I can tell it's a mystery! It has that mystery opening. Like a fairy tale opens with 'Once upon a time' but a mystery opens like this."

This really got the class thinking. Are there standard openings for genres of stories? Do we want to use them? The discussion took off and we were gripped for half an hour. Eventually I had to say a regretful goodbye, but when I ran into these same students at lunch they gathered around quickly to resume the dialogue. "Hector isn't at lunch," they told me. "He's back in the room working on his story. He doesn't usually write so much but now he just can't stop!"

Integrating Critique Work

In my classroom, I use formal class critique as a group lesson, rather than using it primarily as an opportunity to help an author. (That happens more in one-to-one sessions). When I want to teach what makes good writing or good science, we critique student writing or science together--work from this year, past years, or even from another school. I think there is no better way to teach students how to write a strong essay or design a strong experiment than to analyze one of their attempts, as a group, and discover what works. Sometimes we use exemplars--pure models of excellent work--and sometimes we use work with points of excellence but also important flaws.

We do not use a particular protocol but we have strict rules: you must be kind, specific and helpful. Students and I are vigilant in maintaining a climate that is safe for sharing, free of sarcasm and hurtful words. General comments such as "I like it" or "It's good" provide no guidance and waste our time; students know they need to cite specific details and qualities in the work. And students know that the point of the critique is our group learning; to be helpful, comments must add something new and important to our understanding.

We have guidelines, too: we often give the author a chance to explain her work and her questions first; we critique the work, not the author; we use "I" statements and questions whenever possible ("I'm confused by that" rather than "That's confusing"); and, when possible, we begin our statements with something positive. In the heat of good critique, however, we don't worry about the guidelines. But we never forget the rules.

Critiques as lessons happen almost every day, sometimes for ten minutes and sometimes for forty. They are often planned in the schedule, but they also occur spontaneously as students or I see the need or opportunity.

We use two critique styles. In a gallery critique, we look at the work of every child at once and search for strengths and good ideas. In an in-depth critique, we take the work of a single student and critique it in detail, trying to discover the problems and the good techniques that all of us should be aware of in our work.

Though students soon become so capable that they run much of the sessions, I keep an active role in critiques. I keep lists of the vocabulary we are learning, the ideas and techniques that emerge. I push thinking, and draw out ideas. I often critique the critique, giving credit to students who exhibit great insight or sensitivity.

When we are lucky we have guest critiquers -- professionals to join us and critique our work -- and we have the opportunity to really build our technical vocabulary and understanding. When students know that on Friday a real architect, paleontologist or author is joining us to critique their work, the nervous excitement fuels intense investment in the work all week. Every student is hoping that his or her work will earn recognition. After these expert critiques, we reflect as a class on the words and concepts that we learned.

After formal sessions, students are usually primed to revise their work right away, or to critique each other's work with clear focus and purpose. And unstructured, informal critique begins to suffuse the classroom all day, every day.

Opportunities to Learn

Being a traveling critiquer has been a rare opportunity. The Expeditionary Learning network is filled with great teachers, and in every classroom I find students who amaze me with their insights. Last month I facilitated a long, wonderful critique in April Montaung's class at ConneXions Middle School in Baltimore. We took an in-depth look at a colonial slave journal entry. The author, Tanisha, had challenges with the conventions of written language but wrote with a beautiful lyric voice. The class was in awe. We filled a blackboard with techniques we wanted to borrow from her.

One boy, Deshawn, captured her style exquisitely: "She writes like it's a movie," he said. "She uses flashbacks, close-ups, and action scenes! I want to write like that!" His words defined a style of writing that took hold in the class and even spilled over into another classroom later in the day. Students could not wait to try out her style.

Deshawn met me in the hallway at the end of the day to thank me for my visit. "I learned a lot today," he said as he shook my hand. I told him the same was true for me.

Ron Berger teaches combined fifth- and sixth-grade at Shutesbury Elementary School in Shutesbury, Massachusetts. In the 2002-03 school year he served as a consulting school designer and program developer for Expeditionary Learning.

A Math Critique

So we did not critique for drawing ability or coloring or neatness. We only looked for one thing: good ideas. We hunted together for good ideas and the children were bursting with discoveries, pointing to this design and that one. We made a list of creative ideas--pirate ship, snack bar, giant bird's nest, roller coaster and more--ideas that might provide themes for the new playground. The class was proud!

by Jane Dunbar

Editor's Note: Teachers across the network have marveled at the bird note cards researched and drawn by kindergarten children at Anser Charter School in Boise, Idaho. Some have asked how kindergarteners can stick to such high standards for quality. We asked their teacher, Jane Dunbar, to explain the process. The detailed artwork comes from careful layering and classroom culture. "It's not magic!" Dunbar says.

The story begins the first week of kindergarten. To launch our yearlong science-based expedition on birds, my students travel in four-wheel-drive vehicles from Anser Charter School in Boise, up deeply rutted roads, and into the foothills to the Idaho Bird Observatory. There, at tree line, the children shadow researchers as they gently untangle songbirds from mist nets and place each bird in a soft little drawstring bag. Then, bird by bird, they proceed to weigh, measure, and check each bird for fat. Birds are banded and then placed in the outstretched hand of a kindergartner. Everyone holds a breath, then in a moment the bird flies free. In that instant, we all are hooked. Birds become our passion.

Even very young children have prior knowledge about birds, and most are immersed in a world where they can see birds every day. This accessibility makes birds a great tool to use while teaching children about the natural world, the fragile existence of wildlife, and the need to become caretakers of all living things. Through the fall and early winter we continue fieldwork, learn to use binoculars, and build a rich store of knowledge about bird behavior. Our culminating project, bird note cards, will raise money for bird conservation and rehabilitation.

While each kindergartner has the support of a fifth- or sixth-grade buddy for research, the drawings are all their own. Their exceptional drawings develop over time through carefully layered instructional practices and a classroom climate that makes all things seem possible to these young, impassioned learners. By building a classroom community that supports strong character development (courage, compassion, respect, discipline, and integrity), children learn to challenge themselves, to give and receive constructive criticism, and to risk as learners.

Steps to Final Product

Best Work -- Kindergartners know that they must attend to lessons, practice, reflect on their work, and have the courage to risk as learners and learn from their mistakes. I honor effort and intentions in this classroom each and every day. Kindergartners have been internalizing these behaviors since September.

A Culture of Quality -- My role is to provide quality materials (paper, colored drawing pencils of every shade), exemplary photographs to work from, modeling of how to visualize and then draw lines corresponding to the shape of a given bird.

Rubric -- Students look at an exemplary bird drawing done by a former kindergartner. Next to this drawing is the photograph that was used as a model. "What do you notice?" I ask. Children look closely at similarities and differences. I help them tease generic comments into specific, explicit descriptions. After this type of close examination of work, I asked students what is important to notice when drawing a bird. The children develop criteria for the rubric. I use their words and add icons for each characteristic. (See rubric on page 5.)

Collaborative Critique -- Children continue to look closely at each other's work. This time the rubric, the photo, and each draft of a peer's work is displayed. We focus our attention on the latest draft. I ask the children, "What do you notice?" I try to remind students that they only "notice" and that they do not make evaluative comments. I then ask the group, "What would you do on the next draft if this were yours?" And, "What would you change?" I challenge them for details. For example, "What about the eye?" and "What line/shape/color needs attention?" From this discussion the child whose work is displayed then makes his/her own decision on what will be the focus of the next draft and writes an intention on a sticky note (see below). The child has been given many suggestions but he/she has ownership of this next important decision of how to proceed. A collaborative critique of one child's work can take between 10-20 minutes.

Compliment Circle -- A compliment circle follows the critique session. The student who has shown work calls on his/her peers for compliments. With both the critique and compliment circle, I have found it important to be sure each featured student gets the same number of constructive comments and compliments. Attention to balance saves any unintentional negative comparison between students and their work.

Sticky Notes -- Each child, using the rubric as a guide, sets an intention for the focus of his/her efforts on the next draft. Writing the word or drawing the icon given on the rubric, the kindergartner focuses now on his/her own work and sets an intention. I place the sticky note above a new white piece of drawing paper, and this alerts teachers and other adults present as to what the child is attempting to accomplish with this next draft. Adults can then support the child's intentions.

Debriefing -- After a drawing session we gather in a circle to discuss what went well and what did not go well. This time is invaluable in that it tunes me in to children who need extra support. Sometimes a child needs a better photograph or a precise color of pencil. I also note the children needing additional instruction or emotional support. As we have no art teachers on our faculty, we do the best we can to help with drawing techniques and learn along with the children.

Support and Encouragement -- There are always those children who at times need the calm, focusing presence of an adult. I call on parent volunteers, interns, and crew members to sit and help a child to look closely at the details necessary to recreate what is seen. On scratch paper the adult and child might work on drawing a specific line or on testing colored pencils to create just the right shade needed. Support is present each and every step of the way. But the child must do the actual drawing.

Best Work

Most children do four to five drafts before marking the rubric and formally assessing their own work. Each draft will take 30 to 40 minutes. At this point in the process, children decide if they have accomplished "best work" or if they wish to try again. A surprising number will want to try again. They are hooked. This process has led them far beyond what they ever thought possible.

There is no magic -- just carefully scaffolded work, clear instructional practices, and the passion of children who want to help protect the birds they love.

P.S. (The Bird Expedition has become a powerful tradition at Anser Charter School. Our prekindergarten siblings are already choosing their research birds for the kindergarten year! )

Jane Dunbar teaches kindergarten at Anser Charter School in Boise, Idaho.

Children's Passion Stirs Spontaneous Service

My great tale for yesterday happened on the playground. I was out on the grass with my children when several ran up to me, explaining there was an injured bird on the ground. Sure enough, two children had seen this sea gull hit a power line and fall to the ground. It was immobile, but still breathing. We stood in a circle in awe for some time, then gently transferred it to a box. It died shortly later. One boy exclaimed, "This is the saddest day of our lives!"
-- Jane Dunbar

by Paula Creamer

During Metropolitan Learning Center's (MLC) first Expeditionary Learning Summer Institute four years ago, our presenter spent two hours modeling how to create a student-generated rubric with our small K-12 faculty. Many of us agreed that those two hours, though well spent in the summer, would be an impossible luxury during the school year. We all worried about having time to teach content, and we faced the dilemma of balancing content with taking time for multiple drafts in order to produce high quality work.

In the following three years, as I worked to create expeditions and reorganize my teaching, developing rubrics with my high school students was always on my list, but not quite at the top of it. I finally chose to take class time for student-generated rubrics in hopes of improving the quality of student work. At MLC, teachers often have difficulty encouraging students to complete multiple drafts of their assignments, and as a result students have not always produced high quality work. We do not have grades at our school, and the 120 high school students need extra incentive to produce high quality products. Those who care about excellence still always do good work, but even some of those students turn in sloppy products when pressed for time.

Diving In

One day last spring, as my students were dong oral presentations of their anatomy and physiology expert projects, I became frustrated with the quality of work and realized something had to change. I just stopped what we were doing in class and asked a basic question to get the rubric started: "What makes a good presentation?" I took notes on a grid on the overhead as students made suggestions and discussed wording. I realized that they really needed this time to figure out how to organize what they were learning in order to present it to others. Once I started this process, the students eagerly spent the time talking about what makes a quality product. The remaining students' presentations improved in the quality of their visual aids and in their ability to answer questions.

That positive experience convinced me to spend more class time on student-generated rubrics. This past fall I built rubrics with several different classes, which have many of the same students. We devised a "quick" rubric-making process, where we spend about 20 minutes just looking at what will make an "Accomplished" project, and we have a longer process where I take about an hour and write the whole rubric grid on the overhead as students converse about what it should contain.

Our catapult building project in my physics class used categories of Function and Durability, Aesthetics, Quality of Reflection, Design Plans, and Ease of Use. For the project, students designed large scale catapults that were judged not just for power but also for accuracy. They used mathematical formulas and collected and analyzed performance data to calibrate and revise their designs. We took the time to agree on all the levels of quality (Does Not Meet, Developing, Accomplished, Exemplary) because the students were actually interested in looking at what was not good enough. The students really enjoyed putting together the rubric when we used their own metaphors for some of the entries. For example, one of the qualities of exemplary function of a catapult was "operable by freshmen."

Thus opened the floodgates of student-generated rubrics. Student work has changed because it is easier for them to understand what they need to do next to improve their work. In a geologic timeline project for ninth and tenth graders, I can point to an element in the rubric to help the student understand why another draft is needed. In my physics class, the rubric for a lab report says that graphs need to be clear, and to accomplish that more easily, students are pushing themselves to use graphical analysis software for the first time. In an Intro to Astronomy class this fall, I have watched students learning about optics consult the rubric and constructively converse with each other about changes necessary to a ray diagram of light reflected in a convex mirror. Students also think more concretely about the elements of learning projects before they start them. "So I'll need poster paper, computer time, colored pencils, and a rough draft."

It was very difficult for me to invest the initial time in class to start developing student-generated rubrics. The more I use them, the easier it becomes to create them with students. As my students become accustomed to the presence of rubrics in the life of a project, they use them as markers of quality along the way. Handing students a pre-made rubric helps them understand what is expected. But when I asked them to design their own expectations, they clearly bought into the necessity for quality work. It was time well spent.

Dr. Paula Creamer is a high school science teacher at Metropolitan Learning Center, a K-12 school in Portland, Oregon.

by Gus Goodwin

What was once known as "shop" or industrial arts is now called technology education. The name changed as the factory model -- where students followed blueprints to build birdhouses that all looked the same -- gave way to more designing, inventing, and problem solving. We call my class "Tech Lab" because it is a lab where students design and build inventions of their own. I find this the perfect setting to teach students how to critique their own, and other people's work, through rubrics we develop together.

In Tech Lab there is no one right answer to any problem or project, students are encouraged to design and create their own solutions to problems I pose to them. The best way to set up young learners for success is to let them participate in developing criteria for a "4" (or an "A") and then guide them along the way. During our recent kick-off to our eighth-grade expedition Grease, Guts & Genius -- a study of forces and motion, problem solving, invention and teamwork -- the students built junk mobiles, made of recycled materials, to hang from our ceilings. Their artistic and mechanical efforts producing the mobiles will later serve as examples for their physics lessons on forces and motion.

After an art presentation on mobiles, the art teacher, Nisu Logan, and I immediately began probing the students about what makes a good mobile.

The students generated these criteria:

• Teamwork
• Balance (symmetrical/asymmetrical)
• Craftsmanship -- Quality of how well it's put together
• Movement -- Can your mobile move freely?
• Theme -- Items relate in some way
• Space -- Area within or around an object
• Inspiring -- Makes a person want to build a mobile of their own
• Aesthetics -- Your idea of what is beautiful

We then asked the students to use their own criteria to critique a mobile I made out of broken tools from the lab. For some items, such as theme and craftsmanship, my mobile was clearly a "4." On other items the students were either quiet or polite. I took the opportunity to say, "This is what rubrics are for, you look at the mobile and decide whether it meets the criteria or not. It has nothing to do with what you think of me."

I asked the class, "Does this move freely?"

Ms. Logan gently pushed the mobile. Then some students began speaking, "Well yes, but not exactly how we described it."

And then other students spoke up," You know, Mr. Goodwin, it's not perfectly balanced either."

I agreed with each statement. "Now that I have feedback from you, can I go back and make some changes to my mobile?"

We all thought that was a good idea.

Then, based on our discussion, I wrote a brief statement to describe a 4, 3, 2, and 1 for each of the criteria. For example, the criteria for movement are:

• 4 Objects move freely and independently
• 3 Most objects move freely and independently
• 2 Objects move freely, but most move all together, not independently
• 1 Excuse me, you were suppose to make a mobile, not a statue

Designing criteria and creating rubrics are all about setting students up for success. Allowing students to play a role in the assessment process helps them become more responsible for their own learning and take more ownership in projects because they are meeting standards that they set for themselves.

Gus Goodwin teaches technology education at King Middle School in Portland, Maine.