Fact or Fiction?

Kids Like to Write Fiction More Than Nonfiction

One of my friends enrolled her son in my next writing course this morning. She told me that he resists her writing assignments and hoped that he’d be more obliging if writing for me. Then as the conversation progressed, I found out that her son does write—just not during the scheduled sessions of the day.

Instead, Mary finds scraps of paper all over her house with bursts of writing on them, tidbits of fiction she hurriedly sticks together for her son’s year-end portfolio to prove that he does indeed write.

She’s not alone. I have heard from many mothers whose kids write new endings to Star Trek episodes, beginnings of short stories, notes about who to marry one day, secret codes for a spy game, full blown novellas and awkward attempts at poetry. These bits of paper don’t look like real writing when we don’t assign them. And none of them resembles academic writing.

Why? Why is it that kids seem able to keep lock and key diaries but can’t think of what to say for the informational paragraph in their language arts workbooks?

The answer is fiction. And our kids read a ton of it.

What about research-based writing or nonfiction? We read less of that. The World Book Encyclopedia and many library books make for uninspiring reading. Facts poorly presented in clinical tones leave our kids looking at the pictures and ignoring the texts.

It’s no wonder, then, that when asked to write the “dreaded elementary school report,” their eyes glaze over (and so do ours). Their models are too often boring academic tomes.

Of course there are wonderful exceptions. The Usborne and Dorling Kindersley books are great examples of delightful factual writing that pull readers in.

Are facts boring? Great question. They certainly don’t have to be. They need to be relevant and understandable. Consider the following examples:

  • “Land covers approximately 33% of the earth’s surface.”
  • “Picture this: the amount of land mass on the earth is similar to about three banana slices floating in your cereal bowl of leftover milk.”

Which fact means something to you?

For me, it’s the second one. I can’t get my mind around 33% of the entire earth’s surface and inflate it with meaning. But breakfast milk with bananas floating on top is an instant visual. Bingo! Good writing.

When kids write, they often think in terms of reproducing lists of facts. They forget to add in their own experiences and relationships to the facts.

One of my good friends, Jeanette, sent me this instructional writing sample that her son did as an assignment. She asked him to write about making a peanut butter sandwich.

How to Make a Peanut Butter Sandwich in Nine Steps
By Eric.

  1. Go into the kitchen and get two pieces of bread. Any type will do.
  2. Get the peanut butter and a knife.
  3. When your younger brother comes into the room, irritate him by messing up his hair.
  4. Open the peanut butter jar then take the knife and dip it into the peanut butter.
  5. After your brother whines, “Quit it,” tickle him.
  6. Take some peanut butter out and spread it on one side of one piece of bread, while holding your brother by the shirt collar.
  7. After your mother storms into the room and yells, “Boys! Stop it!” point and say, “He started it! I was just making a peanut butter sandwich.”
  8. With a look of innocence on your face, put the two pieces of bread together (peanut butter facing in).
  9. After your mom leaves, give your brother a smirk, take a big bite of your sandwich and really enjoy it.

I love this example because Eric takes ordinary facts and gives them life—his life—in them. That’s the goal of academic writing; it’s an elusive one.

As they get exposed to factually-based writing that stirs their imaginations, they may begin leaving scraps of reports and essays laying around. You never know.