Journaling

Engage your students as future historians of our present times

By David Nurenberg

Samuel Pepys lived through the Great Plague of London, a 1665 pandemic where bubonic plague killed a quarter of London’s population in just 18 months, during which time the Great Fire of London also robbed twice that many Londoners of their homes. Anne Frank spent the last four years of her young life hiding in a concealed room behind a bookcase in Nazi-occupied Amsterdam in the 1940s. Throughout the 2000s, missionary nurse Kelly Suter treated victims of the East Timor genocide, the Haitian earthquake and the Ebola epidemic in Liberia.

What do these three people have in common? They all kept meticulous journals of the troubling times they lived through (or, in the case of Frank, didn’t live to see the end of). Keeping a journal as a means of coping with and processing adversity is almost as old as the invention of writing itself; the Book of Merer, an ancient Egyptian journal dating back 4500 years, is the oldest surviving work written on papyrus.

Using Journal Writing with English Learners (and Other Students)

By Katharine Davies Samway

Journal writing provides an opportunity for students to reflect upon their lives and learning. This type of writing can enhance the language, literacy, and content learning of English learners (ELs) (e.g., Peyton & Reed, 1990; Taylor, 1990; Samway & Taylor, 1993), as well as non-ELs. While I have found that this type of reflective writing can be a powerful learning tool in good times, it can be particularly relevant and helpful during difficult times, such as now with schools closed due to the coronavirus pandemic and teaching/learning moved to online. However, keep in mind that online journal writing requires access to the Internet and a computer or cell phone—see my earlier K-12Talk post for solutions to these equity issues: What About Students Who Do Not Have Access to the Tools that Are Needed for Online Learning?

Journaling: Creating the Feel of School Virtually

By Christa Forster

I miss the physicality of school. By “physicality,” I do not mean physical education, nor do I mean movement exactly. I mean all the ephemera we leave in our wakes as we sail—smoothly or tempest-tossed—through our daily schedules, together yet apart. Heads tilted toward one another, whispering or chatting, sighing or groaning; nods and waves and smiles during passing period; laughter in the halls during quiet moments in class; the pods of bodies in the cafeteria or library; the forlorn study guides, spiral notebooks, binders, water bottles, hoodies on the floors; lockers slamming shut; empty candy and cough drop wrappers littering the spaces. All of this “stuff” contributes to the feel of school and therefore to the feel of learning.