Puzzle Pieces

1
Puzzle Pieces Exploring Reconstruction of
Mentor Texts and Student Writing as a Method to
Facilitate Understanding of Purpose and Structure
2

• Dilemma
•  
• Many of my students are able to identify purpose
  and can generally articulate organizational
  patterns
• Narrative, persuasive, expository, Instructional
• Cause and effect, compare and contrast,
  chronological
• Many of my students are unable to write to
  specific purpose in an organized manner
• Mostly reflective or loosely narrative
• Ideas seemingly placed at random
• Evidence non-existent or disconnected from main
  idea

Is this a problem for anyone else?
3

• Prior Instructional Assumptions
• Reading and writing are intertwined skills one
  must always accompany the other.  
• Using published, exemplary texts, also known in
  as mentor texts, is a good way to improve
  anyones writing.
• The best way to use mentor texts is to have
  students analyze them through disassembly.
• The two best methods of disassembly are
  dialectical journaling and text annotation
• Once students have shown they can disassemble a
  text, they can move on to writing their own
  purposeful, well-organized pieces.

What was practical result of these assumptions?
Students dutifully produced façades. They found
It was not necessary to critically read the text
to meet the assignment requirements
4

• Whats the Problem?
• I reflected on my own assumptions and made the
  following observations
• My instruction is almost exclusively directive
• My assignments are prescriptive and focused
  entirely on production of a gradeable artifact
• My assignments are all isolated, individual
  activities
• I drive all group discussion

Take a few minutes to use Attachment 1
Instructional Obs Form, to comment on why these
might be potential areas to investigate.
5
Proposed Solution   There is a glaring lack of
student intellectual engagement outside the
narrow confines of the finished product. Even
though I might need to address the way I approach
journaling and annotation, I feel there is no
need to discard them. I do need to try some form
of facilitated, cooperative, self-directed
deconstruction of text. Paradoxically enough,
instead of disassembling textual puzzles,
students will put the puzzles together.
6

• Process Overview
•  
• Part 1 Using Mentor Texts
• The teacher locates and disassembles a range of
  mentor texts that exemplify various types and
  purposes for writing.
• Students receive only a portion of a piece of
  writing and are then required as a class to work
  together to reassemble the mentor texts in
  correct order
• Student groups then read their text as the rest
  of the class listens and writes their conclusions
  about the topic of the piece, purpose, and key
  details in order of presentation.
•  

We will accomplish Part 1 today.
7

• Process Overview
•  
• Part 2 Using Student Writing
• Students choose or be assigned a purpose for
  writing from among those reconstructed mentor
  pieces.
• The writing should be of similar length to the
  mentor text and the final draft must be
  electronically stored.
• Students disassemble their own writing and then
  (preferably) another class will run through the
  same reconstruction process as was accomplished
  with the mentor texts.

We will not accomplishPart 2, but will discuss
implications at the end of the demonstration.
8
Puzzle Pieces
You will each receive a portion of a larger,
complete text. It is a puzzle piece that fits
with other pieces to form a whole story or
article. You will find the matching pieces,
then put them in order as a group.
9
Puzzle Pieces Orient the Text (5 mins)

• When you get your piece, write your name on the
  sheet in the top left corner above the printed
  text.
• Read the text and annotate. What type of writing
  it? Where might it go in the story or article?
  What might its purpose be?

10
Puzzle Pieces Match and Build (15 mins)

• Move around the room to find other students who
  have the puzzle pieces that connect to yours.
• Form your team in one area of the room.
• As a team, put your entire puzzle in order.
• Give each sheet a number corresponding to its
  place in the larger written work.
• Write each sheet order number in the upper right
  corner across from your name.

11
Puzzle Pieces How Close Did We Get?

• Teams will read their completed puzzles
• Those who are listening will respond using A2
  Listener Response Form

12
Puzzle Pieces How Well Would This Work?

• How will students be able to use this in their
  own writing?
• Why is Part 2 necessary?
• What is the application potential at various
  grade levels?
• What is the application potential for various
  subject areas?
• In what ways can this idea be extended?
• What scaffolding might need to be considered?

13
CNN Blog Supreme Court rules for Wal-Mart in
massive job discrimination lawsuit The Supreme
Court put the brakes on a massive job
discrimination lawsuit against mega-retailer
Wal-Mart Stores, Inc., saying sweeping
class-action status that could potentially
involve hundreds of thousands of current and
former female workers was simply too large. The
ruling Monday was a big victory for the nation's
largest private employer, and the business
community at large. The high-profile case
perhaps the most closely watched of the high
court's term is among the most important dealing
with corporate versus worker rights that the
justices have ever heard, and could eventually
impact nearly every private employer, large and
small. Gisel Ruiz, Executive Vice President for
Wal-Mart U.S., said in a statement the company
was "pleased" with the court's ruling. "Walmart
has had strong policies against discrimination
for many years. The Court today unanimously
rejected class certification and, as the majority
made clear, the plaintiffs claims were worlds
away from showing a companywide discriminatory
pay and promotion policy," the statement said.
"By reversing the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals
decision, the majority effectively ends this
class action lawsuit. Walmart has a long
history of providing advancement opportunities
for our female associates and will continue its
efforts to build a robust pipeline of future
female leaders.
14
The Supreme Court put the brakes on a massive job
discrimination lawsuit against mega-retailer
Wal-Mart Stores, Inc., saying sweeping
class-action status that could potentially
involve hundreds of thousands of current and
former female workers was simply too large. The
ruling Monday was a big victory for the nation's
largest private employer, and the business
community at large.
15
The high-profile case perhaps the most closely
watched of the high court's term is among the
most important dealing with corporate versus
worker rights that the justices have ever heard,
and could eventually impact nearly every private
employer, large and small.
16
Gisel Ruiz, Executive Vice President for
Wal-Mart U.S., said in a statement the company
was "pleased" with the court's ruling.
17
"Walmart has had strong policies against
discrimination for many years. The Court today
unanimously rejected class certification and, as
the majority made clear, the plaintiffs claims
were worlds away from showing a companywide
discriminatory pay and promotion policy," the
statement said. "By reversing the Ninth Circuit
Court of Appeals decision, the majority
effectively ends this class action lawsuit.
18
Walmart has a long history of providing
advancement opportunities for our female
associates and will continue its efforts to build
a robust pipeline of future female leaders.
19
Dinner Out with Casualties By Kurt Rice She was
unremarkable here. Skin stretched tight over
sharp bones, cracked and rubbed shiny, like the
driver's seat of a 1989 Ford Taurus.She strolled
the 99-Cent store with a plastic shopping basket
hung casually over her forearm, her back
straight, her hand occasionally smoothing the
lapel of her corduroy paisley blouse, adjusting
the few grey strays that escaped from under a
knit cap embroidered with a sunburst and in a
vaguely '70s font, "Sunset Station.Louisiana
Gem Cajun sauceVienna sausagesHearts of
romaine It was to be a special night.She had
spent her day where the 95 falls onto Flamingo
and empties its load of avoiders. Eyes suddenly
interested in NPR's exact frequency, fingers
twiddling the tuner up a step, back a step. There
was rarely any action here, but she knew it was
only for a day or two Metro always moved her
along sooner than she liked in some places and
later than she liked in others.He had pulled up
short and groaned, not wanting risk a last minute
rush through yellow. The air conditioning wasn't
working all that well, but he couldn't afford to
get it fixed. His window was down and the heat
and diesel and grinding July sun assaulted him. A
familiar push pulsed behind his left eye. Damned
migraines.He glanced left but didn't get his
hand up in time to cover his eyes. The glare from
a passing car window slashed him. He grimaced and
cursed.She stepped from the glare, close and
redolent. Her eyes were bright green. The push
behind his eye faded."It's a shame about the air
conditioner," she said, her eyes embracing
his."Mhmm.The heat faded and something cool
that smelled like San Clemente took its place."I
can make your migraines go away.There were no
rings on any of his fingers. No pictures in his
wallet. A mixed set of silverware in his weekly
rental."Okay." He believed her."You have to
come to my place for dinner.That's obvious now,
he thought. Her green eyes were oceans.He parked
in the Central Christian parking lot, under
bright, hip Jesus slogans. Everyone is welcome.
He walked to the edge and down Pittman Wash's
steep concrete walls. Bones of the city with
marrow the color of a foreclosed swimming
pool.She had set two places and prepared the
meal. It was the best he had ever eaten. It was
the taste and smell and warmth of a forgotten
kitchen of a mother long lost to a disease he
could not remember.The migraine was gone. The
sun lay on its edge, orange and defiant and
leaving its heat for night.He stood and looked
across the battered cardboard box with its
pathetic remnants. The Jane Doe would be found by
skaters, who might dare each other to do things
to her or might not.He wasn't handsome, but he
was a man. It had been years since she had been a
man.
20
She was unremarkable here. Skin stretched tight
over sharp bones, cracked and rubbed shiny, like
the driver's seat of a 1989 Ford Taurus.She
strolled the 99-Cent store with a plastic
shopping basket hung casually over her forearm,
her back straight, her hand occasionally
smoothing the lapel of her corduroy paisley
blouse, adjusting the few grey strays that
escaped from under a knit cap embroidered with a
sunburst and in a vaguely '70s font, "Sunset
Station.Louisiana Gem Cajun sauceVienna
sausagesHearts of romaine It was to be a special
night.
21
She had spent her day where the 95 falls onto
Flamingo and empties its load of avoiders. Eyes
suddenly interested in NPR's exact frequency,
fingers twiddling the tuner up a step, back a
step. There was rarely any action here, but she
knew it was only for a day or two Metro always
moved her along sooner than she liked in some
places and later than she liked in others.
22
He had pulled up short and groaned, not wanting
risk a last minute rush through yellow. The air
conditioning wasn't working all that well, but he
couldn't afford to get it fixed. His window was
down and the heat and diesel and grinding July
sun assaulted him. A familiar push pulsed behind
his left eye. Damned migraines.He glanced left
but didn't get his hand up in time to cover his
eyes. The glare from a passing car window slashed
him. He grimaced and cursed.
23
She stepped from the glare, close and redolent.
Her eyes were bright green. The push behind his
eye faded."It's a shame about the air
conditioner," she said, her eyes embracing
his."Mhmm.The heat faded and something cool
that smelled like San Clemente took its place."I
can make your migraines go away.There were no
rings on any of his fingers. No pictures in his
wallet. A mixed set of silverware in his weekly
rental.
24
"Okay." He believed her."You have to come to my
place for dinner.That's obvious now, he
thought. Her green eyes were oceans.He parked in
the Central Christian parking lot, under bright,
hip Jesus slogans. Everyone is welcome. He walked
to the edge and down Pittman Wash's steep
concrete walls. Bones of the city with marrow the
color of a foreclosed swimming pool.
25
She had set two places and prepared the meal. It
was the best he had ever eaten. It was the taste
and smell and warmth of a forgotten kitchen of a
mother long lost to a disease he could not
remember.The migraine was gone. The sun lay on
its edge, orange and defiant and leaving its heat
for night.He stood and looked across the
battered cardboard box with its pathetic
remnants. The Jane Doe would be found by skaters,
who might dare each other to do things to her or
might not.He wasn't handsome, but he was a man.
It had been years since she had been a man.
26
A Legacy of War By Kurt Rice Mejra, a big,
shaggy, and affable Tornjak herding dog, waited
outside near a long wall of firewood. Inside, her
boy stuffed bare feet into rubber boots and
dragged a coat from the rack. Mama, Im going
out! the boy shouted behind him as he pulled
open and slipped through the back door in one
easy, familiar motion.Outside, he whistled one
long and one short and Mejra burst up from her
patient seat and bounded alongside, nearly
bowling the boy over in her exuberance. Hey
girl, today we go to the forest and find some
more helmets and maybe a knife. You mustnt tell
Mama, she is afraid of the forest, but we cannot
blame her, shes only a girl. He paused. Well,
youre a girl too, but thats different. Mejra
woofed low in approval and leapt over the split
rail fence along the road as the boy stopped,
straddled, and lifted his leg over. An older boy
in a pickup sped by, shouting a greeting and
throwing up a tri prsta, the ubiquitous thumb,
index, and middle finger salute of Serbian
solidarity. The boy grinned, shouted, and saluted
back. Further on, after slipping unnoticed past
his aunts house, the boy and his dog entered the
edge of the forest. We have to go deeper,
remember? The good stuff is going to be back past
the stream where the big kids go and drink and
mess around. Mejra bounded ahead along a track
beaten in the low brush and between the trees.
Soon they passed a clearing with the cold
remnants of a makeshift campfire surrounded by
sawn logs, broken bottles, crushed cans, and food
wrappers. A little deeper in they darted by and
left unnoticed crumpled bits of toilet paper and
a forgotten pair of underwear hung jauntily on
the outstretched arm of a small bush. A little
deeper still they came to the stream. The boy
tried to step across on the rocks his rubber
boots slipped on the mossy surface but saved his
feet from cold immersion while Mejra took the
stream in one casual leap.Stay Mejra, wait for
me. We must look first before we go.She held
and sat, her shaggy coat brushing against the
tangle of rusted barbed wire that laced the low
undergrowth on the far side of the stream.Do
you remember where we found the helmet last
time? the boy asked.Mejra woofed. Right he
replied, it was just over there. Today we will go
further. Uncle Djoka says there was a fight here
but most people dont know about it. We know
about it though, and we have proof. The big dog
looked up at the boy. Come on girl, you know
what Im talking about, the helmet. I just told
you. Youre so stupid sometimes.She gave her
tail a short wag and shifted impatiently.The boy
stopped and listened. He thought of his mother at
home, and how she was afraid and would be angry
if she found out he was here. He thought of his
father, lost in the west near Bihac while
fighting the Catholics. He thought of how he
should be a man and take care of his mother and
the house and maybe, just maybe, he should go
home and not cross over into the forest. But the
last thought was brief, and the lure of war
trophies was too strong. The boy peeled apart a
few strands of wire, let the dog squirm through,
and then limboed after. For awhile, the way
became a more difficult this part of the forest
was never traveled. Then Mejra stopped on a wide
path, devoid of significant vegetation. Wow!
This will help us get further in. Ill bet the
soldiers used this road. There should be great
stuff somewhere along here. The dog moved up the
path with her boy close behind. She took point
and sniffed ahead first one side, then the
other, her tail like a signalmans flag snapping
in a sharp breeze. There were so many smells here
and she was keen to pluck one from the
other.Suddenly, Mejra stopped her zig-zig
sniffing pattern and stood still, her tail
dropped and the fur along her spine began to
tremble and rise up. A low, rumbling growl rose
in her chest.The boy was in a hurry. Found a
rabbit, girl? Forget it, you can chase it later,
were looking for better stuff. He pushed past
his friend to make faster progress down the
path.Mejra barked, full, loud and strong, and
pushed her powerful body forward, passing the boy
on his left side her bulk and speed made him
stumble and drop to his knees. It takes a few
seconds for a soldiers hands to brush concealing
debris over a landmine.There were many who ran
to find him when they heard the pop. There were
many mothers whose hands tensed on broom handles,
and soapy plates, and the shirts of their sons.
There were many fathers, and uncles, and brothers
whose hands lifted up the boy and carried him out
of the forest. They brought him to a hospital in
the center of Brcko, a city along the Sava that
ties a narrow knot in the center of the bow-tie
halves of the half-born Republika Srpska.Mejra
had triggered the mine and was killed instantly.
The boy was only maimed. His left arm had to be
amputated and doctors spent hours pulling
shrapnel, rock, dirt, and dog bone from his side,
face, and head. The boy would live, but how would
he use his last hand?
27
Mejra, a big, shaggy, and affable Tornjak herding
dog, waited outside near a long wall of firewood.
Inside, her boy stuffed bare feet into rubber
boots and dragged a coat from the rack. Mama,
Im going out! the boy shouted behind him as he
pulled open and slipped through the back door in
one easy, familiar motion.Outside, he whistled
one long and one short and Mejra burst up from
her patient seat and bounded alongside, nearly
bowling the boy over in her exuberance. Hey
girl, today we go to the forest and find some
more helmets and maybe a knife. You mustnt tell
Mama, she is afraid of the forest, but we cannot
blame her, shes only a girl. He paused. Well,
youre a girl too, but thats different. Mejra
woofed low in approval and leapt over the split
rail fence along the road as the boy stopped,
straddled, and lifted his leg over. An older boy
in a pickup sped by, shouting a greeting and
throwing up a tri prsta, the ubiquitous thumb,
index, and middle finger salute of Serbian
solidarity. The boy grinned, shouted, and saluted
back.
28
Further on, after slipping unnoticed past his
aunts house, the boy and his dog entered the
edge of the forest. We have to go deeper,
remember? The good stuff is going to be back past
the stream where the big kids go and drink and
mess around. Mejra bounded ahead along a track
beaten in the low brush and between the trees.
Soon they passed a clearing with the cold
remnants of a makeshift campfire surrounded by
sawn logs, broken bottles, crushed cans, and food
wrappers. A little deeper in they darted by and
left unnoticed crumpled bits of toilet paper and
a forgotten pair of underwear hung jauntily on
the outstretched arm of a small bush. A little
deeper still they came to the stream. The boy
tried to step across on the rocks his rubber
boots slipped on the mossy surface but saved his
feet from cold immersion while Mejra took the
stream in one casual leap.Stay Mejra, wait for
me. We must look first before we go.She held
and sat, her shaggy coat brushing against the
tangle of rusted barbed wire that laced the low
undergrowth on the far side of the stream.Do
you remember where we found the helmet last
time? the boy asked.Mejra woofed.
29
Right he replied, it was just over there.
Today we will go further. Uncle Djoka says there
was a fight here but most people dont know about
it. We know about it though, and we have proof.
The big dog looked up at the boy. Come on girl,
you know what Im talking about, the helmet. I
just told you. Youre so stupid sometimes.She
gave her tail a short wag and shifted
impatiently.The boy stopped and listened. He
thought of his mother at home, and how she was
afraid and would be angry if she found out he was
here. He thought of his father, lost in the west
near Bihac while fighting the Catholics. He
thought of how he should be a man and take care
of his mother and the house and maybe, just
maybe, he should go home and not cross over into
the forest. But the last thought was brief, and
the lure of war trophies was too strong. The boy
peeled apart a few strands of wire, let the dog
squirm through, and then limboed after.
30
For awhile, the way became a more difficult
this part of the forest was never traveled. Then
Mejra stopped on a wide path, devoid of
significant vegetation. Wow! This will help us
get further in. Ill bet the soldiers used this
road. There should be great stuff somewhere along
here. The dog moved up the path with her boy
close behind. She took point and sniffed ahead
first one side, then the other, her tail like a
signalmans flag snapping in a sharp breeze.
There were so many smells here and she was keen
to pluck one from the other.Suddenly, Mejra
stopped her zig-zig sniffing pattern and stood
still, her tail dropped and the fur along her
spine began to tremble and rise up. A low,
rumbling growl rose in her chest.The boy was in
a hurry. Found a rabbit, girl? Forget it, you
can chase it later, were looking for better
stuff. He pushed past his friend to make faster
progress down the path.Mejra barked, full, loud
and strong, and pushed her powerful body forward,
passing the boy on his left side her bulk and
speed made him stumble and drop to his knees.
31
It takes a few seconds for a soldiers hands to
brush concealing debris over a landmine.There
were many who ran to find him when they heard the
pop. There were many mothers whose hands tensed
on broom handles, and soapy plates, and the
shirts of their sons. There were many fathers,
and uncles, and brothers whose hands lifted up
the boy and carried him out of the forest. They
brought him to a hospital in the center of Brcko,
a city along the Sava that ties a narrow knot in
the center of the bow-tie halves of the half-born
Republika Srpska.Mejra had triggered the mine
and was killed instantly. The boy was only
maimed. His left arm had to be amputated and
doctors spent hours pulling shrapnel, rock, dirt,
and dog bone from his side, face, and head. The
boy would live, but how would he use his last
hand?
32
A teen's thank-you to her military father By
Sophie Roth-Douque This Father's Day, I imagine
I'll pile store-bought food on paper plates and
serve it to my Dad on a big cardboard moving box.
That's because we've just arrived in Germany, in
the latest of seven moves we've had since I was
born. This makeshift Father's Day is still better
than last year, when my Dad and I celebrated via
Skype. He was on the other side of the globe,
deployed to Afghanistan. That was the fourth
Father's Day I've celebrated without him. So I
have to ask What kind of a father is a man who
chooses to be in the military? I'm a 13-year-old
girl. My father is in the Marine Corps, and so
I've gone to eight schools since kindergarten.
This past move has been especially hard because I
had to leave behind such good friends in South
Carolina. My Dad chose to live this life moving
every other year and getting deployed every three
years. This is a great choice for him he's an
amazing Marine but what about his family? Is it
a good choice for us? I've had to make new
friends every one to three years. Sometimes I
don't even make friends for the first six months,
and then much of my time in the new location is
already gone by then. I have to adjust to new
school systems, sometimes even having to learn a
new language. I have to live without my father
for months, or even a year at a time. I worry
whether he's safe. There are easier lives. Ours
is challenging. Is it right to choose to raise
your child this way? Another question Is it a
parent's job to make their child's life as easy
as possible, or do other lessons matter, too? As
I sit here typing, the idea of an easy life
sounds good. On the other hand, as science
fiction writer Robert Heinlein advised, "Don't
handicap your children by making their lives
easy. I can see Heinlein's point. Have I been
handicapped by ease? No. But I haven't been
handicapped by military life either, if I reflect
on the entire experience. I've gotten to live all
over the world. I've lived on three different
continents North America, Europe and Asia. I've
learned new languages, which I'll carry with me
for the rest of my life. I have friends around
the world. I've gone to a bunch of schools and
learned that there are different ways to teach,
and to learn. All in all, I've been opened up to
the world. My Dad's work and encouragement has
made it impossible for me to be close-minded.
I've lived in places with people of every color
under the sun and millions of different ideas in
their heads. I've also lived in places with
single-minded people and little ethnic
diversity. I've had richer experiences than most
adults, and I still have my whole life ahead of
me. But most importantly, I feel that I help
people through my Dad's service. Sure I
sacrifice, but I get the sense that Americans
appreciate the sacrifices of military families
like mine. I like that feeling. I understand that
when things are tough, my family is struggling
for something greater than ourselves. Finally, my
Dad has helped me grow and given me plenty of
reasons to be proud. And with that, Happy
Father's Day, Dad!
33
This Father's Day, I imagine I'll pile
store-bought food on paper plates and serve it to
my Dad on a big cardboard moving box. That's
because we've just arrived in Germany, in the
latest of seven moves we've had since I was
born. This makeshift Father's Day is still better
than last year, when my Dad and I celebrated via
Skype. He was on the other side of the globe,
deployed to Afghanistan. That was the fourth
Father's Day I've celebrated without him. So I
have to ask What kind of a father is a man who
chooses to be in the military?
34
I'm a 13-year-old girl. My father is in
the Marine Corps, and so I've gone to eight
schools since kindergarten. This past move has
been especially hard because I had to leave
behind such good friends in South Carolina. My
Dad chose to live this life moving every other
year and getting deployed every three years. This
is a great choice for him he's an amazing
Marine but what about his family? Is it a good
choice for us?
35
I've had to make new friends every one to three
years. Sometimes I don't even make friends for
the first six months, and then much of my time in
the new location is already gone by then. I have
to adjust to new school systems, sometimes even
having to learn a new language. I have to live
without my father for months, or even a year at a
time. I worry whether he's safe. There are easier
lives. Ours is challenging. Is it right to choose
to raise your child this way?
36
Another question Is it a parent's job to make
their child's life as easy as possible, or do
other lessons matter, too? As I sit here typing,
the idea of an easy life sounds good. On the
other hand, as science fiction writer Robert
Heinlein advised, "Don't handicap your children
by making their lives easy.
37
I can see Heinlein's point. Have I been
handicapped by ease? No. But I haven't been
handicapped by military life either, if I reflect
on the entire experience. I've gotten to live all
over the world. I've lived on three different
continents North America, Europe and Asia. I've
learned new languages, which I'll carry with me
for the rest of my life. I have friends around
the world. I've gone to a bunch of schools and
learned that there are different ways to teach,
and to learn. All in all, I've been opened up to
the world.
38
My Dad's work and encouragement has made it
impossible for me to be close-minded. I've lived
in places with people of every color under the
sun and millions of different ideas in their
heads. I've also lived in places with
single-minded people and little ethnic
diversity. I've had richer experiences than most
adults, and I still have my whole life ahead of
me. But most importantly, I feel that I help
people through my Dad's service. Sure I
sacrifice, but I get the sense that Americans
appreciate the sacrifices of military families
like mine. I like that feeling. I understand that
when things are tough, my family is struggling
for something greater than ourselves. Finally, my
Dad has helped me grow and given me plenty of
reasons to be proud. And with that, Happy
Father's Day, Dad!