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TOM SLisa Hughes
Driscoll – Chapter 1: Introduction to Theories of Learning and Instruction
According to Driscoll (2005), learning is synonymous with change. Without some kind of cognitive or behavioral change resulting from experience or interaction with the world, learning cannot occur. Interesting, I recently heard a similar sentiment issued by Albert Einstein: “Learning is experience. Everything else is just information” (“Quote by Albert Einstein”, 2013). For me, this nicely summed up what Driscoll was trying to explain. Yet, scholars still argue about what constitutes learning and knowledge. I, personally, haven’t yet settled on a single philosophy. On the one hand, I fully understand the behaviorist perspective, where learning is best observed through demonstrations and behaviors. After all, how can one truly know how to, say, tie a shoe, if one is unable to perform the action. On the other hand, isn’t some knowledge essentially cognitive. For example, I know that in Juarez, Mexico many individuals live in cardboard boxes and U-Hauls (I experienced this first hand in 1996 when I went there on a mission trip). How am I able to perform this knowledge? Is my writing it down what makes it valid, or does the mere existence of it in my mind deem it learned? This quandary leans me more toward cognitivism, which argues that learning is a function found within the learner and is therefore not necessarily observable through behavior. Instead, the learner’s thought process itself must be taken into consideration. More recently, a third perspective has begun to take root: social learning. Social psychologists feel that learning is a collaborative or social effort and is therefore reliant on interaction and the “sociocultural environment” (Driscoll, 2005, p. 6). I do see the value of collaboration, yet I’m not sure this is how or where learning actually occurs. Perhaps it is a concurrent option for learning, but not an exclusive one.
Learning theories, then, attempt to define how specific change (learning) occurs and what experiences bring about that change. Theory, in general, seeks to account for a particular incident, experience, or behavior in order to predict how to achieve the same results in the future. Specifically, learning theories consider how learning is achieved and influence, therefore, the selection of instructional strategies and curriculum, for example. Learning theories consider the result or changes that occur, the means or processes that deliver those results, and the triggers or inputs that start the learning process. However, theories are not a quick fix or a simple instruction manual for instructional design. Instead, numerous variables, such as learner characteristics and learning environment, influence the application of such learning theories. This also accounts for the various types of popular learning theories, each, in turn, building on the preceding findings.
Driscoll (2005) argues that a “consilience,” or common ground, is critical when considering learning theories; the real-world issues lie somewhere between biology, education, computer science, and psychology, for example, rather than one discipline or the other. But common ground is not easy to find. In the epistemology of learning, scholars argue about the sources and content of knowledge as well as the knowledge traditions. I tend to lean toward rationalism and pragmatism myself. First, I think it’s important to clarify that my understanding of pragmatism goes a bit beyond Driscoll’s explanation that it’s a combination of learning through experience and learning through reasoning. Dictionary.com defines pragmatism as “a philosophical movement or system having various forms, but generally stressing practical consequences as constituting the essential criterion in determining meaning, truth, or value” and also “character or conduct that emphasizes practicality” (“Pragmatism”, 2013). Therefore, I view pragmatism as a more practical approach that takes into account reality and multiple perspectives. For example, while I do feel that some knowledge is absolute, like the fact that two plus two is always four, there are other aspects that are fluid or interpreted, such as whether or not the sky is “pretty” during a storm. How can such strict perspectives on learning respect the diverse experiences and thought processes of the entire planet? This seems quite daunting to me, and would suggest that a combination of various learning theories might be the best approach… yet Driscoll explains that you cannot believe that learning is demonstrated through behavior and is represented through cognitive processes at the same time. I’m not sure what to believe at this point.
I feel almost arrogant when I read about learning theorists and disagree with their conclusions. Who am I to say that Ebbinghaus is wrong? My personal experiences surely aren’t strong enough to counter years of research. Yet, when Ebbinghaus claims “if ideas are connected by the frequency of their associations, then learning should be predictable based on the number of times a given association is repeatedly experienced” (Driscoll, 2005, p. 16), I immediately think about rebellious children who don’t always learn from repeated positive or negative reinforcement. My three-year-old, for example, doesn’t really respond well to sticker charts nor timeouts. We can’t find what works for him. Repeating the same associations over and over haven’t changed his behavior, which presumably means he hasn’t yet learned. This seems to counter Ebbinghaus’ findings. Of course, even Driscoll reminds us that Ebbinghaus’ experiments were focused on “verbal learning”, and therefore the findings may not transfer to other types of learning (p. 17). This also plays into Leahey and Harris’ (1997) claim that “if research programs are going well, then occasional challenging results are either quietly ignored, called interesting phenomena to be shelved for later study or explained away” (p. 44). I’ve seen this before in research I’ve studied. I’ve experienced it myself. When I conducted a case study last semester and the results were the opposite of what I had hoped for, I still presented them in my findings. I did explain that numerous variables could have influenced the results, and essentially still made the claim that further research was needed before any conclusions were drawn about the effectiveness of the innovation I was attempting. Does this make my practices unethical or impractical? I’m not sure.
Mayer, Chapter 1: Introduction to Learning and Instruction
In this chapter, Mayer (2008) seeks to define and defend educational psychology, which he labels as a science that explores instruction and learning. Like Driscoll (2005), Mayer believes that learning is demonstrated through changes “due to experience” (p. 7) and instruction is the intentional manipulation of the environment to bring about that change. Fortunately, unlike Driscoll, Mayer further explains that learning is “a cognitive change that is reflected in a behavioral change” (p. 8). This seems to counter Driscoll’s belief that you cannot believe in both cognitivism and behaviorism at the same time; however, it still doesn’t account for the various types of knowledge that may not be (or need to be) demonstrated through particular behaviors and only remain mental knowledge stored in the mind.
One of the most striking observations I made from this chapter is the sad fact that Dr. Itard was trying to implement learner-centered strategies in his quest to educate the “wild boy of Averyron” in 1800, yet we are still trying to promote this approach today and are still met with resistance (Mayer, 2008, p. 4). It’s difficult to imagine that after 200 years we are still challenged to convince some (or perhaps many) educators that prior knowledge, motivation, and needs must be taken into account when designing the learning experience. This seems so logical to me, with or without empirical evidence. I believe that the overwhelming workload that results when considering each individual student is one major deterrent to the learner-center approach. Earlier this week I watched a “TED Talks Education” (2013) video where a teacher was advocating unpaid long work hours and freely giving of personal time and property all in the name of education, but I find that mentality to be very short-sighted. It’s not that I don’t value each student, but rather, I am entitled to the same kind of life I am trying to give my students. I want them to be successful so that they can achieve their dreams, have families, explore the world, etc. Why should I sacrifice everything for them? Does that make me callous? I don’t think so. I do give of my time, just not always. I do care about students, but I don’t always let that dictate how I spend my evenings. I also believe that personal mental health is vital for effective teaching, so if I always give and I never relax, never spend time with my own children, aren’t I doing everyone a disservice? Yet, I’m still a believer in learner-centered education. How I resolve that conflict is where my personal and educational philosophies take root.
As Mayer (2008) asserts, “Because all learning involves connecting new information to existing knowledge, it is crucial to help students develop knowledge structures that can support the acquisition of useful new information” (p. 8). It is how we do that that determines our approach and application of learning theories and educational psychology. When I first started teaching in 2002, I was not a proponent of educational theories. Rather, I found them far removed from the actual occurrences in my classroom. Yet, as I continued to grow as an educator, I learned that there is a “place where psychology and education meet,” and one can definitely inform the other when “real people in real situations” are considered (p. 13).
Like Driscoll (2005) found, Mayer (2008) emphasizes that there is a place for all approaches to learning. In my current field of online learning, for example, automated feedback is a kind of reinforcement for “learning as response strengthening” (p. 14). Likewise, taking online tests over required textbook material supports “learning as knowledge acquisition” (p. 15). Finally, the use of blogs, wikis, and discussion boards encourage “learning as knowledge construction” (p. 15). Each of these instructional strategies may be valid and purposeful depending on the learning objectives and the learners themselves.
In the past year, while working at ISU, I’ve fostered an interest in brain development as it relates to learning. Mayer (2008) addresses some of the limitations and processes dictated by the human brain that should influence instructional choices, such as dual channels, capacity issues, and active processing related to sensory, working, and long-term memory. He goes on to define that various processes that are needed to digest and encode sensory inputs. In a webinar I attended, Willis (2012) explained that only so much information can be processed at a time, and that the most vital inputs are processed first. For example, a loud noise initiates a reflex that requires immediate attention. Which means, if a tornado alarm goes off in class, it’s going to disrupt other cognitive processes. Likewise, initiating a related loud noise, such as a bull horn when discussing civil rights, could lead to greater attention on the part of the learner. This kind of brain activity fascinates me, but it is also beyond my present knowledge. I’m not familiar enough with the brain to discuss this topic at depth, but I appreciate the overview and believe consideration of mental functioning is critical when designing courses, particularly regarding cognitive load.
Learning transfer, a crucial process for long-lasting impact, is also of interest to me. I was disappointed to learn that research shows little evidence for general transfer, where general skills could be applied to various disciplines or events. I wonder, however, if this also applies to music. For example, I was always told that being in orchestra can positively impact a child’s math scores. Is this also false? Or are they related enough that it’s actually more of a mixed transfer? I’m still not entirely clear on the difference.
References
Driscoll, M. P. (2005). Psychology of learning for instruction (3rd ed.). Boston, MA: Pearson.
Leahey, T. H., & Harris, R. J. (1997). Instructional development paradigms. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Educational Technology Publications.
Mayer, R. E. (2008). Learning and instruction (2nd ed.). Upper Saddle River, NJ: Pearson.
Pragmatism. (2013). Dictionary.com. Retrieved from http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/pragmatism?s=t
Quote by Albert Einstein. (2013). Goodreads. Retrieved from http://www.goodreads.com/quotes/133135-learning-is-experience-everything-else-is-just-information?auto_login_attempted=true
TED talks education. (2013). PBS Video. Retrieved from http://video.pbs.org/video/2365006219
Willis, J. (2012). The essential neuroscience of learning. [Webinar]. Retrieved from http://www.ascd.org/professional-development/webinars/judy-willis-brain-and-learning-webinars.aspx
Here I need first comment about what you read it above
Driscoll – Chapter 2: Radical Behaviorism
I personally found this chapter quite fascinating and relevant to my current life situation. As a foster parent to a three-, seven-, and ten-year-old, I do believe that many reinforcements can influence children’s behavior. However, as an educator, I’m still skeptical of its merits. I understand the importance of observable objectives, which support behaviorism, but I’m not convinced that just because it only exists in my student’s mind that it’s not yet been learned. Of course, as an evaluator, I need evidence of that learning, but just because I can’t see it doesn’t mean it’s not real. It almost seems like a cop-out when theorists such as Skinner explain that because it’s impossible to view the internal workings of the mind, they are irrelevant or at least “neither necessary nor desirable” (Driscoll, 2005, p. 33). Cognition definitely complicates the measurement of learning, which is much more cut-and-dry when measured with demonstrated behavior alone, but I don’t believe it’s “immaterial to understanding or describing it” (p. 33); instead, I maintain that the mind plays a large role in how, when, and why the observable behavior is displayed. As a self-proclaimed pragmatist, one would think that I adhere to the fixed nature of behaviorism, where empirical evidence rules, but I know that learning is much more complicated than that. My three-year-old, for example,knows that if he whines he will not get his way. He knows he will be in trouble and get in timeout and can vocalize these consequences (we prefer that term to punishments, as we associate it with the choiceseach person makes) with very little cues. Yet he continues to demonstrate the unwanted behavior. Why? Is it because he hasn’t learned the expectations? Or is it because greater internal forces are influencing his behavior? Cognition and behaviorism, then, seem to complement (or battle) each other. Admittedly, I am a bit lost or confused when the line between cognition and behavior seemed to blur. For example, Driscoll (2005) explores the role of internal triggers that serve as reinforcers. How is that different than a cognitive process? This is a complication that I’m still exploring.
While in theory the application of reinforcement should impact the repetition of a response, there seems to be many external and internal elements that influence its success. I return to my toddler, whohates being in timeout as demonstrated by his full-on tantrum and prolonged screaming. Yet, he continues the same unwanted behavior as before; clearly that particular strategy isn’t working for him. While I understand the concept of timeout and use it frequently, I’m having a difficult time understanding this practice as a reinforcement removal (rather than a punishment) as defined by Driscoll (2005). To me timeout seems a very aversive situation for my toddler, which implies a punishment, yet it’s also “removing the learner, for a limited time, from the circumstances reinforcing the undesired behavior” (p. 43). Can it be both depending on the perspective?
Consequences (a.k.a. punishments) for my foster son include not being able to do something that the rest of the family gets to, like swing at the playground or swim at the lake, depending on the severity of the misbehavior. Still, he continues to cry and scream and throw a fit (flailing his arms and legs) when he doesn’t get his way. Perhaps this is because, as Driscoll (2005) suggests, “the emotional side effects of punishment [are] painful” and can result in “fear,…aggression, anger, [and] physical or psychological harm” (p. 41). Recently I read Dr. Kevin Leman’s (2008) Have a New Kid by Friday: How to Change Your Child’s Attitude Behavior & Character in 5 Days, in which he advocates the absence of all parental yelling, which generally serves as a model for belligerence (both Dr. Leman and Driscoll are in agreement on this). Instead, Dr. Leman asserts parents should remain calm while administering a consequence, which will help generate a meaningful, productive relationship instead of a hostile, stressful environment. Unfortunately, we are on Day 4 of this plan, and while I have seen some minor improvements, mostly my toddler believes because I’m not “mad at him” he’s not in trouble and therefore does not need to alter his behavior. It’s a difficult situation, to be sure, but I will keep with the tactic for at least another week, to see if his unwanted behaviors continue to dissipate at a reduced rate. I haven’t had to implement these kids of techniques with my girls because the traditional positive reinforcements and consequences work quite well with them. This makes me curious about the successful application of behaviorism in a diverse classroom environment or at different ages. Is it more productive for older, more mature students, for example?
To further shape his behavior, we’ve also tried sticker charts with my foster son, or what Driscoll (2005) would identify as positive reinforcement, when he does demonstrate desired behavior, and while he loves stickers, the reinforcement isn’t strong enough for him to maintain good conduct. It could be that we are attempting “too large a step” and need to break down the expected into more manageable chunks (p. 46). For example, instead of requiring seven stickers until he earns a prize, we might only require three. Once he masters that then we could move onto four, and so on, until we build up to the expected behavior long-term. Or perhaps a more intermittent schedule would produce a greater effect, as Driscoll suggests is true for maintaining a desired behavior.
Another kind of reinforcement removal, our foster son may also get stickers or favorite toys taken away when he hits his sisters or throws a toy, for example; furthermore, as a result of reading Dr. Leman’s (2008) book, we are now applying what Driscoll (2005) labels extinction, where we completely ignore his screaming until it subsides and then calmly laud his acceptable behavior and talk about why his tantrum didn’t help him achieve what he wanted. This corresponds with an iPhone app I was recently made aware of, Behavior Breakthroughs. In this app, a scenario is presented where a young child screams in order to get candy and you have response options including giving him the sweets, telling him to keep quiet, or ignoring him. Your designated actions will then influence the child’s response. If you tell him to shut his mouth, for example, he will run around the room screaming even louder. Ultimately, ignoring the child until he quiets and then encouraging his positive behavior results in a peaceful, settled child who no longer demands candy. Of course, winning takes multiple times ignoring him, and in the real-world a parent’s or teacher’s patience might be worn out by then, but the concept does relate to the basic foundational elements of behaviorism as presented in this chapter.
My husband and I haven’t yet attempted negative reinforcement with our foster son (which I, like Driscoll (2005) suggests, was one who previously incorrectly assumed this was equivalent to a punishment), so maybe that is the next phase, though I’m not sure how that would practically play out for our foster son. The point is that despite the application of a variety of strategies, we haven’t yet found what works for him. This corresponds with Driscoll’s observation that “sometimes, what serves as a reinforcer is counterintuitive, as when a child keeps misbehaving despite the parent’s disapproving actions” (p. 36). I think there is much more going on here than just finding the right consequence or reinforcement. Driscoll notes that “sometimes, individuals simply are not aware that their behavior is unacceptable; it may be that the rules are different from what they have been accustomed to” (p. 42). This is definitely the case with our toddler. As a foster child, he has gone through much more than a typical three-year-old, and his upbringing was far different than where he currently resides in our home. However, I feel that it likely goes beyond even that. After all, he’s been in our home for six months, ample time to understand the expectations. Perhaps his internal cognitive processes may be influencing his behavior; his motivations and imprinting may have a louder voice than any reinforcement we can bring.
While I have obviously been focusing on my parenting experiences, because that’s where I have personally applied the concept of behaviorism, I wonder how this then translates into the classroom. How often do teachers use a simplistic reward system, such as a sticker chart or “token economy” (Driscoll, 2005, p. 57), and yet what works for 80% of the students doesn’t seem to jive with a select few due to unknown (or unidentified) reasons? That being said, I highly value feedback of various sorts and find it effective both as a student and as a teacher. As Driscoll points out, “feedback is one of several environmental factors that support or hinder exemplary performance” (p. 63). In my own teaching of high school and college composition, I’ve utilized a kind of fading, or what I call gradual release, where I begin the course heavy in feedback, both positive and negative, but then “gradual[ly] reduc[e] verbal cues,” theoretically encouraging students to determine the appropriate procedures and behaviors on their own (Driscoll, 2005, p. 48). However, there is still the ever-present issue of students who are not motivated by my style of feedback or who choose to ignore the feedback entirely. This brings us back to my original quandary: is this merely behaviorism at work, or could there be some cognitive processes, such as social learning theory and motivation, that are influencing learning, as Driscoll asserts at the end of this chapter?
Mayer – Chapter 4: Learning to Write
I was very hopeful with this chapter as it specifically relates to one of my greatest areas of interest – writing. As a high school Language Arts teacher for a decade and now a college composition instructor and instructional designer for online courses, I find the power of writing to be of exceptional import in all disciplines. I see writing as a necessary means of communication (not just composition), a way to influence an audience, particularly in this digital age, so the ideas Mayer (2008) presented in this chapter certainly corresponded with my personal and professional philosophies. However, I was somewhat disappointed by the lack of research that has been conducted or at least the variety of conclusions that have been drawn regarding the writing process itself. Even after over a quarter century of exploration of Hayes and Flower’s (1980) general model of writing, Graham (2006) felt it was “too early to tell [its] impact” (p. 461) and Mayer claims that “the study of writing is in its early stages of development” (p. 126). This is slightly unbelievable to me. How can so little be known about writing when it infiltrates and inspires all disciplines?
To begin, I agree with Mayer (2008), that one of the most vital aspects of writing is attention to audience and translating the ideas in a way that generates meaning and impact. However, according to him, adults are generally able to write with the audience in mind and adjust their prose accordingly. I disagree. Sure, they are certainly able to do that far more than children are, but in my experience, even adult college students struggle with selecting and using appropriate content and style in order to influence a particular audience. Mayer admits that “adult writing often shows some of the egocentric characteristics and disorganization” that flourishes in the compositions of youth (p. 124), but I would argue that it is not justsome of the same unfortunate traits, but many. For example, I teach a course in which students are asked to produce four argumentative papers. Rarely are students able to adjust their own ideas to better influence and persuade their designated audience. Usually tone, word choice, or even the kinds of support used are abrasive or, in the very least, confusing to readers. Knowledge of audience needs to go far beyond who an audience is and seep into what an audience believes and feels.
The writing process itself is one of the most vital procedures one can learn in order to become a more proficient and effective writing. According the Mayer (2008), experienced writers take more time to plan and revise than do weak writers. While Mayer suggests that few teachers actually require planning and instead focus on the product rather than the process of writing, I find that to be misleading, at least when it comes to teachers of composition and other humanities (and likely many more disciplines where writing is critical to communicating ideas). While the writing process is definitely time consuming and therefore is impractical for all writing tasks, many teachers do require a brainstorming or outline of sorts, targeting the generation and organization of ideas. However, I don’t think the concern should be whether students are obligated to produce such a plan but rather whether or not they have been instructed on how to do so. Too often, and I am guilty of this as well, teachers assign a task, such as writing an outline, without fully explaining its purpose, providing examples, and walking students through the process. As Mayer explains, “students need guidance and practice” (p. 133); just providing a structure or directions isn’t enough. I think with writing this is particularly challenging since it is such a personal journey and everyone is going to have their own spin on ideas and therefore writing. In fact, I’ve had students argue (unsuccessfully) with me that they should all get A’s on all aspects of writing since it’s such an individualized process. (I retort not every book is accepted for publication or makes the best seller list.) Even when the process is modeled for students, students usually have to translate the procedure to their own topic and often times the process is lost in the conversion.
Once students have a general plan, the next step is to translate those ideas into actual writing. Like with planning, teachers should actually instruct on how to do this. For example, an instructor might take a small section of an outline and then through verbal explanation and visual demonstration, write (and talk about their choices as they do) a paragraph that translates the outline ideas into a cohesive paragraph. Because of limited information processing capabilities, particularly in young writers, students who try to translate without having first planned usually produce less quality compositions. Furthermore, when mechanical issues are the focus, particularly in the first draft, learners may spend most of their energy on grammar and spelling, resulting in minimalized ideas and a lower overall performance, often more in the form of stream-of-consciousness, or what Mayer identifies as “associative writing” or “writer-based prose” (p. 138). As an English teacher, I feel compelled to uphold the value of mechanics, yet I also find myself agreeing with Mayer (2008) on this issue: focusing so much on grammar and spelling can often detract from the overall power of the composition. What I found most interesting is that in one study when a polished preliminary draft was required there were on average .43 mechanical errors per sentence, yet when an unpolished draft was required there were only .23 errors per sentence. This would seem to suggest that limiting the focus to ideas actually produces a better quality product all the way around. Of course, I’m not familiar with the particulars of Glynn, Britton, Muth, and Dogan’s study as identified in Mayer (2008), and I am curious if the two test group subjects are identical in abilities and other characteristics. Regardless, the findings are curious. Would this apply to all writing application or just those undergoing a formal writing process? For example, would discussion boards produce more meaningful discourse if students did not concern themselves with the avoidance of text speak or the application of “proper” English? Perhaps. I can see this to be true. I recall being told once that students are better off misspelling words on a standardized test essay than changing it to something more simplistic in order to avoid the error. But I’m still an English teacher, and I worry that students will become so accustomed to abbreviations and text lingo that they will find it difficult to code switch when it really does matter, like in a professional email response or website design.
Finally, after drafting, strong writers spend time reviewing, reading, revising, and editing the manuscript. But Mayer (2008) admits that “revision is almost totally absent from adult writing” (p, 143). This pains me. As previously explained, I often provide detailed feedback to students in the midst of the writing process, yet many ignore my comments and very few partake in any substantial revision. Instead, superficial errors are repaired and the paper is submitted as “final.” This process step, too, needs to be taught, not just assumed. I’d like to investigate more ways to do this in a time-efficient manner. Though I’ve been teaching composition for over a decade, I still haven’t been able to address this need sufficiently. Perhaps opting for the error-highlighting strategy suggested by McCutchen, Francis, and Kerr (1997) would not only reduce the time I spend providing feedback but would also increase students’ ability to repair those problems, but I still worry that students will continue to opt to avoid the extra work that they see as pointless or not worthy of their time. Ultimately, I do agree with Hayes and Flower (1986) who profess, “the more expert the writer, the greater the proportion of writing time the writer will spend in revision” (p. 145), yet how often is revision crammed into just a day or so before a final draft is due in any given course schedule? Instead, a mantra of all writers should be as Mayer (2008) asserts: “The difference between a good writer and a poor writer is often not in the quality of the first draft but in the number of drafts generated” (p. 148).
While this process of planning, translating, and reviewing seems quite linear, as Mayer (2008) points out, it is actually cyclical, with each phase interacting with the rest. For example, while Mayer argues that strong writers spend time planning, I personally very rarely do this. As an experienced, advanced writer, I do engage with a text as a read it, so while I’m familiarizing myself with the content or topic, I try to mentally make connections between the new ideas and my existing knowledge, much like Matsuhashi (1982, 1987) proposes some writers do in the pauses between words and sentences. Then when I go back through my annotations, as I’m doing at this moment writing this particular reading response, I plan and organize as I go, inserting ideas into the order that I see fit as I write. Theoretically this should mean that my performance suffers as a result of my lack of global planning and increased cognitive load as I simultaneously try to plan and translate. Yet, I nearly always do quite well with my writing and even have a few pieces professionally published. Still, I acknowledge that many novice writers are unable to multitask as I do, and I do require my students to complete some kind of invention, whether it’s brainstorming, outlining, freewriting, clustering, or a related strategy, prior to their first draft. After intentional instruction and practice at such planning strategies, however, I find that once you have mastered the process of planning that some of that can be internalized as an advanced writer and the planning step becomes more parallel with the translating stage. However, the question remains, how does one teach students to develop as strong writers when usually the steps in the writing process are taught as separate and distinct rather than fluid and related as advanced writers demonstrate?
Here I need 2ed comment about what you read it above
References
Driscoll, M. P. (2005). Psychology of learning for instruction (3rd ed.). Boston, MA: Pearson.
Graham, S. (2006). Writing. In P. A. Alexander & P. H. Winne (Eds.), Handbook of educational psychology. Mahwah, NJ: Erlbaum.
Hayes, J. R., & Flower, L. S. (1980). Identifying the organization of writing processes. In L. W. Gregg & E. R. Steinberg (Eds.), Cognitive processes in writing (pp. 3-30). Hillsdale, NJ: Erlbaum.
Leman, K. (2008). Have a new kid by Friday: How to change your child’s attitude, behavior & character in 5 days. Grand Rapids, MI: Revell.
Matsuhashi, A. (1982). Explorations in the real-time production of written discourse. In M. Nystrand (Ed.),What writers know. New York, NY: Academic Press.
Matsuhashi, A. (Ed.) (1987). Writing in real time: Modeling production processes. Norwood, NJ: Ablex.
Mayer, R. E. (2008). Learning and instruction (2nd ed.). Upper Saddle River, NJ: Pearson.
McCutchen, D., Francis, M., & Kerr, S. (1997). Revising for meaning: Effects of knowledge and strategy.Journal of Educational Psychology, 89, 667-676.