I think it's kind of like stuffing at Thanksgiving. I really love stuffing. I love the comfort-food warmth of it, the salty celery-infused flavor, the way it makes the house smell. Yum!
But after Thanksgiving, when I've eaten leftover stuffing for three days, I get sick of it. It is too heavy, too glutenous, too bready. I don't want any more stuffing. I am ready for latkes.
I react to writing exercises the same way. The first one is fun. It challenges me. I get excited about being creative within the parameters of the exercise. When I attended Duke Young Writers' Camp as a kid, we began each morning with a writing exercise, and I loved it. As an adult, I had a similar experience at a writing workshop hosted by the Richard Hugo House. I attended several mini-classes taught by writers who guided us through a series of fun exercises.
What did both these experiences have in common? The writing exercise was only one component of my writing experience. After participating in an exercise, I was able to move onto writing whatever I wanted to write. At camp, we got to attend electives, and there was always plenty of time for free writing throughout the day. During the writing workshop, the exercises were a way to try new writing techniques. But people were also hanging out all over the building just ... writing. After sitting in on a short class, I was able to transition to my own work, incorporating as much - or as little - of the new techniques as I wanted.
When I'm forced to participate in too many writing activities, I start to feel constrained and micro-managed. My writing doesn't feel personal, anymore. It's a task I'm performing for someone else, and I resent that it has nothing to do with my personal interests, voice, or goals.
So I agree with Atwell's observation that teachers cannot rely on writing exercises to engage their students. Surprisingly, I also sympathize with her realization that writing exercises are awfuly compelling - if not for students then definitely for teachers! Like Atwell, I myself have fallen into the trap of over-using writing exercises. As a volunteer for 826-Seattle I was bummed by the feedback I received from my first group of students. They liked my workshop ... but they didn't love it. What was their biggest complaint? Not enough free-writing time.
I think writing exercises are appealing to teachings and workshop facilitators for two reasons. First, they seem like fun. This is one reason it's a good idea to write along with your students. If you start to groan inwardly at the thought of yet another writing exercise, chances are your students have been groaning for at least 15 minutes already. What seems like fun on paper is sometimes ... not.
I also think writing exercises feel like a good way to "prove" - to administrators, parents, and even ourselves - that we are covering the material. If we just let students write, how can we demonstrate that we are teaching? But, counter-intuitively, I think the best learning often takes place when a writer and her writing are left alone to figure things out without the help of exercises.
I know there are plenty of students who will always beg for a prompt, who will never spontaneously decide to write "just for fun" or who view all writing as equally onerous, regardless of whether it is part of a structures exercise or an unstructured free-write. That's why I know I will incorporate warm-up exercises and activities to introduce writing techniques and writing prompts that students can choose to use or not, depending on their personal preferences. But I will also be mindful to give my students space to write what they want to write. For some students, this will be a relief. For others, it will be a new kind of challenge.
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