7 How writers write: testimony from authors
7.9 Reflections 15 years later
The contributions that follow show that, whilst there has been change in the predictable area of technology, the creative and cooperative aspects of materials writing appear timeless.
7.9.1 The influence of the market
An area not often mentioned in the reflections below is the influence of the market over the writing process. The original chapter noted as a relatively new development the fact that ‘For most UK publishers the influence of the marketing team over almost every aspect of materials production is now paramount’ (p. 161). This view is echoed by Mares (2003: 131) who begins: ‘When I first began to write commercial mat- erials I was subconsciously writing for clones of myself’ and concludes
‘When writing, do not write just for yourself. Remember you are writ- ing for a market. You need to know the market, which means getting as much information as you can about the market and writing for that market’ (2003: 139). As discussed in section 7.9.5 below, Harmer also emphasises the importance of not writing for yourself. From per- sonal experience I would emphasise the importance of market focus.
Coursebook projects I have been involved in have been researched in great depth with repeated visits to the market by authors and editors whilst a project is under development and during the writing proc- ess. These visits take many forms, always including a lot of classroom observation of lessons in a range of schools and locations, discussions with students about their interests, individual and focus group discus- sions with teachers, meetings with educational advisers and planners,
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167 and discussions with methodologists and teacher trainers working in the market. When syllabuses and sample materials are drafted, they are discussed with and reported on by focus groups of classroom teachers, sometimes remotely but often face to face with the authors.
Then as further materials are produced, the reporting and feedback meetings continue with further visits to the market. Finally, when the course is published, market visits continue for promotion but also to see the materials in action and gather feedback for further editions.
This market focus effectively nails the myth that coursebook mater- ials are essentially BANA (Britain, Australasia, America) and that they ignore the majority TESEP (Tertiary, Secondary, Primary) perspective (Holliday 1994).
7.9.2 The ELT writer and technology
Under the heading Technology, the original article focused on the tech- nical aspects of writing. Interestingly these aspects are not mentioned in any of the contributions that follow. The ubiquitous computer inter- face has become invisible, and Pete Sharma emphasises the use of tech- nology by writers to research the language itself and the content of mater ials. A direct implication of the ability of writers to use concord- ancers and the World Wide Web as a source for text is vastly improved access to authentic text. In reviewing the implications of SLA research for the use of authentic texts as a basis for language-learning materials, Mishan (2005: 41) concludes: ‘Authentic texts provide the best source of rich and varied comprehensible input for language learners’ (see also Gilmore 2007). The days of the files and boxes full of yellowing news- paper articles and magazines saved for future use are over in a world where ‘google’ has become an accepted verb.
The life of the ELT writer has been transformed due to advances in technology in general, and educational technology in particular.
Today’s author can look up thousands of words in context using a con- cordancer; he or she can tap into the vast source of knowledge on the World Wide Web, copy and paste text, refine and repurpose it. As a result of technology, the examples of language provided by coursebook material are more authentic, more realistic.
Before the revolution in corpus linguistics led by John Sinclair and the Collins COBUILD team, it was common for writers to invent sen- tences to exemplify a grammar point, or present a lexical item. The sen- tence: ‘I usually play Bach, but today I’m playing Mozart’ was clearly invented purely for language teaching purposes. Nowadays, such an artificial sentence would be ridiculed, since writers, through technol- ogy, can access real examples of how language works. The power of the
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computer has allowed us to see patterns which were previously invisible.
ELT writers can use a concordancer to find every occurrence of a word or phrase within a corpus. A corpus is a ‘collection of texts, written or spoken, stored on a computer’ (O’Keeffe et al. 2007). To study a word in context, the writer can simply go to a free web concordance, type in a word, hit ‘enter’ and then look at a resulting concordance line. The search result displays the ‘key word in context’ (KWIC) and use of con- cordancers has revealed information about areas such as collocation.
Coursebook writers tend to use more professional concordancing tools such as WordSmith and MonoConc or subscribe to programmes such as Sketch Engine which can provide detailed profiles of words.
ELT writers, as well as dictionary compilers, teachers and students, have gained new and vital insights into word frequency. This knowl- edge influences choices as to which words and expressions are worthy of inclusion in coursebooks, and at what level they could be dealt with.
Many current coursebook covers include a symbol stating which corpus they are based on, such as the CIC (Cambridge International Corpus).
7.9.3 Using the Internet
‘The World Wide Web is a rich source of knowledge for writers, as well as inspiration on every topic imaginable. Search engines such as Google make searches quick and painless. Sites such as Wikipedia can provide information instantly, and are largely accurate. Text from websites can be cut and pasted into a Word document. This opens up the possibility of re-purposing an original piece of writing, making it more accessible to lower levels by stripping out obscure language. Texts from different sources can be merged. Of course, it is much easier for any writer to plagiarise. On the other hand, it could be argued that it has always been possible to copy other people’s ideas and words; technology has just made it easier.’
(Pete Sharma)
7.9.4 Writing together
In these two contributions Sue Kay and Jeff Stranks reflect how co-authors work together, coming to differing conclusions about being in the same room. My own experience is that working face to face is essential for the initial planning, brainstorming, creative phases as well as for dis- cussion of material and reviewing. But new technology (and not so new, the telephone) can mean that authors can ‘virtually’ be in the same room whilst in different parts of the country or globe. Certainly instan- taneous exchanges of text and activities and hours spent in discussion
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169 on the phone can work for some as well as physical proximity. The key point is for both to be on the same wavelength.
‘Our writing partnership came about naturally, organically. We weren’t manufactured by a publisher. Less Girls Aloud, more Arctic Monkeys!
Some may say more Morecombe and Wise!
But it was our idea to write together, and like many good ideas, it started over a nice bottle of wine. Our starting point was finding that we both had the same ideas about what was missing in the market, and what sort of coursebook we would like to use with our students.
Thanks to our open-minded publishers, our unsolicited manuscript was accepted. Since then, with the help of some highly creative people, we have managed to remain loyal to our beliefs about language learning and write a course that stands up to the ‘litmus test’ we wrote down over ten years ago before we’d written a word: ‘Does it work in the classroom? Are the students having fun?’
When we started out, we had no idea how we were going to work together, but we quickly realised that there was no way a single word would be written with us in the same room. Possibly because through the writing partnership we’ve become very close friends and we love to chat, putting the world to rights, exchanging anecdotes about our children and so on.
But a way of working together emerged quite quickly – we’d brainstorm ideas together. Then I’d ‘dirty the page’. In other words, I’d type lots of ideas, from the sublime to the ridiculous, into a Word document and send them over to my writing partner for his reactions.
We’d choose the best topics and texts together and I’d work on the reading texts and audio content, while my writing partner would work on the language development aspect of the course, using these texts as a springboard.
Call us old-fashioned, but we can’t imagine writing a course with someone who lives on a different continent. We meet a lot – and not just to gossip. Regular editorial meetings have given impetus to the writing process and fortunately for us, we’ve worked with the best publishers, editors and project managers in the business.’
(Sue Kay)
‘I’ve worked with more than one co-author so things can vary a bit.
However there are a couple of constants.
The primary one is that of synergy – just being in the same room helps!
Writing is a creative process of course, but that also varies in degree. So when it’s the really creative stuff – topics, texts, speaking activities – then there’s nothing to beat thrashing it out with one or more co-authors. And that requires being in the same room – not always easy when you live
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continents apart, but if you have sympathetic publishers, as I always have had, then the distances can be regularly overcome.
But there are also the less creative moments – writing the grammar exercise, producing the questions for a text, checking and polishing a manuscript before delivery, etc. (This is not to diminish the importance of such undertakings – they need careful attention too, but just don’t require so much creative energy or synergy, I think.) Much of this can be done alone, but it’s far better if your colleague is in the room. Firstly, it’s just a matter of collegiality, a sense of working together. Secondly (and here I speak only for myself), the avoidance strategies are more easily diverted – the fourth cup of coffee can wait, the game of patience doesn’t get played, the swimming pool doesn’t get swum in (pool in the building, I hasten to add, not a private one). This won’t always mean that the phone doesn’t ring or other menial daily tasks disappear, but somehow more work gets done and hence (very importantly) deadlines get met or better still, beaten.
So work together whenever feasible – this seems to be what I’ve learned. Email, Skype and the like are great, but, as in any relationship, eventually a poor substitute for being there. And then there’s the glass of wine at the end of the day – tastes much better in company.’
(Jeff Stranks)
7.9.5 The creative process
Jeremy Harmer gives us an insight into how the creative process works for him. His account chimes with that recommended by Mishan (2005: 59): ‘What is suggested here is a text-driven approach, one that is … learner-centred and works in a converse fashion [to PPP], in that it starts with (authentic) texts, and derives the language features to be studied from these’. It differs significantly from the experienced task designer quoted in Johnson (2003: 93): ‘I guess I am going to try to put together ideas that I have already used in some new way or put together ideas that I have seen in books, in resources elsewhere, and combine them in my own way. That’s how I usually do these sort of things. And maybe something new and revolutionary will turn up in the process.’
Harmer’s interesting conclusion below compares writing to teaching, a suitable way to end this comparison of how writers write now and 15 years ago.
‘First of all I look for a topic or an approach that has a chance of engaging students and teachers. This is not, of course, as easy as it sounds since what interests one person may not interest another. But if teachers and students have some kind of interest in the world around
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171 them, then surely …? Well yes, but the danger is that I will fill the book with what interests me, and worse still, what interests people like me (if there are such people!) in the society and geographical reality that I inhabit – and taking into account that I, like many coursebook-writing colleagues, come from a ‘humanities’ background, rather than having maths and science as my benchmarks. So I
immediately start to question my choice to see if it has a chance of involving other ‘different’ people.
Now I have fixed on a topic – a story, a theme, an extract from somewhere – and so it is time for the ‘classroom-in-my-mind’. This is a kind of amalgam of classes I have taught in the UK or Mexico, or observed in countries around the world, films I have seen and endless (and fascinating) conversations about classroom incidents – successes and failures – that we teachers swap with each other (and should) whenever we meet. I’m trying, now, to think of how to bring my new topic or extract into that classroom (-in-my-mind). How will the students react? What kind of approach or activity will be most appropriate to get them going, to get them to ‘buy into’ what I have to offer? As I start to write I see this all playing out in my head. But who is the teacher? Me? The classroom-in-my-mind wobbles and blurs, light refracted by the many surfaces it is reflected on.
And then there’s the ‘language thing’! What language do I want the teacher and students to focus on? What words or grammar can I mine the text or situation for?
Writing coursebook material is like having all the resources in the world available for you but having to locate them without a map, wearing a blindfold, and having your hands tied behind your back.
You know what you are looking for – kind of – but it’s difficult to find, and even when you do it’s difficult to ‘knock it into shape’. At the back of your mind there is always the knowledge that, just as with student input and intake, there is no guarantee that other teachers and students will see things the way you do, or understand what you were hoping to achieve.
And then there’s the issue of how much you can expect students and teachers to ‘dialogue’ with each other if and when you offer them topics to explore or conversations to create; there are issues of how to make a book live in an age when YouTube and podcasts are there for everyone to use, and when the governor of California wants to cut costs by replacing textbooks with the Internet. Is a book the right kind of teaching aid anyway, and if so, for who? These are the thoughts that lurk at the back of consciousness ready to invade us with doubt and uncertainty whenever we have a moment to stop and think!
Coursebook writing has always been like this: a genuine wish to provide material that will brighten any class; a desire to offer reliable
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material for the most put-upon teacher; a matter of excitement and compromises; an act of creativity that all too often seems suffocating and doomed. But when, against all the odds, and in the light of linguistic and methodological constraints, you actually manage to make something that you know will work, the feeling is fantastic. It’s not actually that much different from teaching; we don’t always teach great classes, but when we do we want to shout it from the rooftops.
That’s what it’s like on the rare occasions when coursebook writers get it right.’
(Jeremy Harmer)
So, whilst much has changed in 15 years, the essential truth that course- book writing is a creative rather than a mechanical process remains.
The digital revolution may mean that in the future the ‘print’ course- book as we know it vanishes, and the electronic materials which replace it are multi-authored packages assembled to meet the requirements of particular groups of students. Coursebook writers may increasingly be paid fees for sets of materials rather than sharing the risk of cre- ating a whole book or series with the publisher by getting royalties.
Nevertheless, the act of writing will remain an art which can provide satisfaction for the author as well as contributing to the learner’s edu- cation. Publishing teaching materials will also remain a team effort involving people with a range of complementary skills, even if those team members may not be in the same room, or even continent. The rewards for writers will also continue to be the same: not pecuniary (except in a few lucky cases), but personal, as in watching a class use your material successfully or meeting a student who says with a big grin, ‘I learned English from your book!’
Further reading
Gilmore, A. 2007. ‘Authentic materials and authenticity in foreign language learning’. Language Teaching, 40: 97–118.
Harmer J. et al. 2004–2009. Just Right. London: Marshall Cavendish.
Hidalgo, A. C., D. Hall and G. M. Jacobs. 1995. Getting Started: Materials Writers on Materials Writing. Singapore: SEAMEO Regional Language Centre.
Holliday, A. R. 1994. Appropriate Methodology and Social Context.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Johnson, K. 2003. Designing Language Teaching Tasks. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan.
Kay, S. and V. Jones. Inside Out. 2001–2003. Oxford: Macmillan.
How writers write
173 Mares, C. 2003. ‘Writing a coursebook’. In B. Tomlinson (ed.), Developing
Materials for Language Teaching. London: Continuum.
Mishan, F. 2005. Designing Authenticity into Language Learning Materials.
Bristol: Intellect.
O’Keeffe, A., M. McCarthy, and R. Carter. 2007. From Corpus to Classroom.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Puchta H., J. Stranks, P. Lewis-Jones and R. Carter. 2004–2008. English in Mind. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Sharma P. and B. Barrett. 2007. Blended Learning. Oxford: Macmillan.
Stranks, J. 2009. ‘Co-authoring coursebooks’. Folio, 13(2): 18–19.
Tomlinson, B. (ed.). 2003 Developing Materials for Language Teaching.
London: Continuum.
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