Kids often tell me they don’t like reading, except for things they like.

What the heck?  I can’t tell you how many zillions of times I’ve heard this.  Somehow we’re giving them the impression that  these People Who Like Reading that they’ve heard of and know about like reading everything.  When I encounter this, I assure whomever it is, up one side and down the other, that this is not the case. I know because I’d make a good Exhibit A.  I love reading things I like and want to read, and I detest reading anything I don’t like and don’t want to read.  It sounds ridiculous.

One way we could probably curb this confusion is to stop saying simply that we love to read.  It’s usually not true, anyway, without the rest of the sentence.  It’s like I was saying here about finishing the sentence to make it true.  Unless you really just plain love to read anything that’s put in front of you - love it for the reading of it and not anything to do with the content - you could do many kids a great service by saying something like “I love to read when the writing’s really good,” or “I love to read books that are about people like me,” or “I love to read road signs,” or “I love to read magazines.”  Then they’d start to get a more accurate picture of this reading world of ours, in which we all have taste and rarely read just because there are words in front of us and we want to spend time reading them because we don’t have anything better to do.

Let them know there’s something in it for you, and then they’ll have the freedom to find out whether or not there might be anything in it for them.

A popular way to teach vocabulary is to issue a list of words and then instruct kids to look them up, write them in a sentence, record the part of speech, and complete a variety of other related tasks.  Often we give them blanket tasks to perform for all the words even when the tasks can’t be applied to some of the words.  (Adjectives with very specific meanings like “indentured” that don’t really have antonyms, for example.  I heard a child suggest “someone who has to work for their own servant?”)

Kids mostly glaze over at this kind of assignment.  Particularly if it’s a regular part of their school or homework, they just slog through it.  Kids who can’t make sense of the definitions, and this is a lot of them, come away with at best a vague understanding of a few of the words, at worst thorough but inaccurate understandings.  Dictionary definitions are not written for people who have been reading for only a few years.  They’re written with great formality, and by formula, so as to be consistent.  Unfortunately the form renders them nearly unreadable to young readers.  (Not to mention that it exposes a great hypocrisy.  Kids are told not to use a word in its own definition, but the dictionary, it’s OK for the dictionary to do that (and don’t try to tell them that what we meant was they couldn’t use the exact form of the word in its definition; they know that’s not different).) The dictionary ends up feeling like just another club kids aren’t invited to be a part of.

But I digress.  I went looking for an online dictionary that might be written such that it conveyed for at least some words a degree of meaning that could be ascertained by a typical 10 year-old reader.  Here’s the best I found, Scholastic Word Wizard.  Pronunciations, definitions, synonyms, antonyms (where possible), and often a sample sentence.  The pages are mostly unencumbered by advertisements, which can’t be said for most online dictionaries I’ve found.  If you’ve found a better one, please let me know and I’ll pass it on.

A recent New York Times article apparently inspired some chatter about book choice for young people. Here’s Nancie Atwell’s clarification of her approach and her response to some of the criticism.

The Roscoe Riley series has recently lit up one of the reluctant readers I know, so I figured I better include a quick mention, though I’m sure it’s probably already popular with most library-frequenters.  My young reading friend shared a passage that had us both chuckling, in which Roscoe describes his fractured femur as a “busted leg.”  Roscoe’s narrative voice (thanks to author Katherine Applegate) feels spirited and authentic.  The stories seem to revolve primarily around school, where Roscoe finds himself to be something of a trouble magnet.  Each book in the series has as its subtitle the cautionary tale told inside: Never Swim in Applesauce, Never Swipe a Bully’s Bear, Don’t Tap Dance on Your Teacher, Don’t Swap Your Sweater for a Dog, Never Glue Your Friends to Chairs, and the latest Never Walk in Shoes that Talk.  The chapters are short, and there’s plenty of white space on the pages.

I often get requests for recommendations of good typing programs.  My first response is always that it depends heavily on the person who’s to be doing the typing, so if you can try things out before you buy them, you’re likely to get better results.  I am, however, a big fan of Ten Thumbs Typing Tutor, and I know more than one person under the age of 18 who’s enjoyed it as well.  It’s animated and has a sense of humor, but neither are done with condescension.  The program’s mascot is a cherubic-looking Viking.  There are speed tests, key-by-key lessons, and practice games.  You also have the option of linking up with iTunes to use song lyrics for practice.

The program is available for download or on compact disc and offers a free trial.  Let me know what you think…

Ten-Second Rainshowers: Poems by Young People is a great little book. The poems are useful not only for their potential to inspire other young poets but also for expanding the notion of what makes a poem a poem. Most are free verse, and many do not rhyme. One of the uses for the book that’s proved more popular than I expected was a little game of Guess the Age of the Poet. Each of the poems is listed with its author’s name and age.   The premis of the game is as it sounds - I’d read a poem, and then take guesses as to the author’s age. I didn’t expect it to be much fun, but the young people I tried it with seemed to enjoy thinking about what kind of frame of mind the author would have had to have been in to write each piece, and then what age person might have that frame.  It definitely got my young writers thinking about the act of writing, and realizing that there were actual people behind it. This book offers the opportunity for kids to relate a little bit more to published writers.

I know several school students who live in acute fear of plagiarizing.  They’re not sure what constitutes it, but they understand that it’s very very bad and can get them in lots of trouble.  Their uncertainty about the difference between plagiarizing and writing about something you’ve read somewhere is understandable - it’s a fine line and one that doesn’t… can’t, probably… get enough attention in their classrooms.  What’s worse is that I see many of them shying away from writing anything at all about what they’ve read because they’re so afraid that it’ll be or at least be considered cheating.  If you get the chance, this is a great conversation to have with young people, and I find that somewhere around the ages of 10 or 11 tends to work particularly well.  (Not only because this is a time when this kind of task may come up, particularly if they’re in school, but also because it’s a time when they’re likely to be particularly interested in fairness and issues of fair use.)  When I bring it up, I talk about how it’s tricky to find that line between copying and writing from your own mind about what you’ve learned.