I’m a sucker for a historical novel. Doesn’t matter, really, when or where it’s set — although the 18th century is always a safe bet, maybe earlier, maybe later.

Mobile phones? Nah. Missives delivered by liveried messenger boys? Hell yeah.

I’ve been doing some more writing and editing recently for The History Quill, a website devoted to my favourite literary genre: historical fiction. I’ve ended up reading manuscripts at all stages of being ‘done’ — and written on topics that have taken my thinking and sometimes my writing in all sorts of different directions. And curating lists of books in a particular period or with a particular focus has broadened my horizons — and has my to-be-read pile teetering dangerously high.

It’s been a joy — and continues to be. Exploring my favourite genre, a genre I love to write and read, and having a chance to think about what it means, how it works and why it matters feels like a brilliant way to push my own writing further and expand my reading and teaching.

I’ve written on the challenge of including real people in fictional narratives, and on whether prologues are a good idea or not. Most recently, I’ve compiled a collection of historical fiction writing prompts, designed to get your imagination going — or at least give it a stepping-off point. Where you go from there is, of course, up to you!

I’ve curated lists of fiction set during World War II and of historical mysteries and thrillers.  The site’s Book Club has loads of great suggestions, and will even tailor suggestions for you individually based on your reading preferences.

So, if you want me, I’ll be playing somewhere in the past.

Pass me my quill…

Ah, it’s that time of the year again. Falling leaves. Halloween. Bonfire Night. Advent calendars popping up too early in the shops.

And mocks.

Year 11 and the talk is all of revision, practice papers, flashcards. And it’s time for my annual reminder to my students: you can’t fail your mocks.

Let me say it again: you cannot fail your mocks.  Once more for you in the back there?  You can’t fail.

Mock exams are a good thing, for sure. They’re useful and they’re worth doing. But they’re not an indicator — or not necessarily a reliable indicator — of how you’re going to perform in The Real Thing (cue dramatic music) next summer.

When I taught in the US, we would include ‘diagnostic’ assignments in each course — as well as the ones that were included in the final grade. When I was training to teach here in the UK, the distinction between formative assessment, which carries on throughout the course, and summative assessment — that final grade again! — was key to thinking about providing feedback and helping students achieve.

Thing is, the mocks look like summative assessment, like a final grade, but they’re actually formative assessment.  They’re a sheep in wolf’s clothing.

I much prefer thinking about mocks as diagnostic — and it’s a useful metaphor that students seem to understand. In fact, it’s a very flexible metaphor that can be adapted to whichever field of interest clicks best with each individual student.

• Mocks are a test drive — looking under the bonnet to figure out which bits of the engine need a bit of tinkering.
• Mocks are a friendly match — a chance to try out new moves, and figure out why the old moves aren’t getting you the points.
• Mocks are a dress rehearsal — a chance to see how that costume looks and how those lines really sound under the lights.

You can’t fail a test drive, right?  Or a dress rehearsal?  You could fall off the stage, get every line wrong, and spend most of the second half in the dark — and it would simply be a chance, the best chance, to learn how to do it better, how to do it right, how to be your best on that opening night.

Mocks are there to help you improve. That’s all. I’m not saying don’t take them seriously — you’ll only learn from them if you put the effort in.  But that effort is going to start properly after you get the papers back, when you can figure out what you do well — and identify the areas that are going to need a bit more attention.

Your mock results aren’t grades, they’re signposts.  Just make sure you follow the signs.

“He’s just not a reader.”

The claim that a child is ‘not a reader’ is one I hear all the time in my tutoring sessions.  And I’m not surprised, to be honest, especially given the texts that a lot of children are given to read in secondary school — and the other demands on their time.   And the idea of being ‘not a reader’ is often accompanied by the idea that simply ‘reading more’ will immediately and inevitably improve a child’s performance in English.

It’s not going to hurt, for sure.  Never let it be said that I would argue against reading more.  But…

I’m ‘not a runner.’  Seriously.  I mean, I can run.  I’ve run before.  A bit.  And I’ll drag my butt along the towpath (it’s flat…) every so often for the sake of my health.  If I tried to run a marathon tomorrow?  Well, I’d be on my knees before long.  And I’d be hurting.  I’d give up.  And I’d probably never run again — or never want to.

Giving a child who is ‘not a reader’ a novel to get stuck into is pretty much the same thing.  It’s saying, ‘look, I’ve signed you up for this marathon — off you go.’

Now — and we’re talking hypothetically here, just to be clear! — if I were to run regularly, starting with little runs, building up time and distance over weeks, months, then there’s a chance that, even though I’m ‘not a runner,’ I could probably — eventually — run a marathon.

Building up your child’s reading ‘muscles’ — their long-distance stamina — is pretty much the same thing.  Giving a  child who is ‘not a reader’ a pile of novels, even if you loved the same novels when you were young, is a sure-fire way to put them off for a long time.

Encouraging your child to go for a little ‘run’ — read a short story, or a short article, or an extract from something longer — every day, or every other day at first, is going to help him or her develop their reading in a way that may one day, maybe, just have them running their first marathon and loving it!

Ok, trainers on…

So that’s it.  The English GCSE exams are over for this term.  And the students I’ve been working with — some for a few months, some for years — won’t be coming to see me anymore.  I’ve been sitting, drinking coffee and chatting, this morning, but my heart and mind have been there in the exam room with them.

There’s something deeply satisfying about working one-to-one with students, getting to know their strengths, their challenges, their ways of seeing and thinking.  Helping them to understand how much they already know — and identifying how they can build on those foundations.

There’s also something deeply challenging about the whole business.  Struggling to engage students who simply don’t want to be there in the room with me.  Searching for ways to explain ideas and techniques in ways that help them understand.  Finding the right language with which to speak to them.  She’s a scientist in the making?  It’s all about evidence and analysis.  He loves art?  Right, bring on those visual metaphors.  She loves building things?  Let’s focus on how things are constructed.   He lives for rugby?  Ok, let’s think about how can he call the plays on the page as well as the pitch.

I’ve seen students grow and change in the post-mocks flurry of a few short weeks, or slowly and carefully over months and years.  We’ve started from scratch, we’ve focused, we’ve made a few last-minute tweaks.  We’ve read poems and articles and novels and plays.  We’ve sorted out sentences, played with punctuation, tried out new techniques.

And now we’re done.

Next week, I’ll be starting work with a whole new set of students.  Yes, I’ve got a couple that are carrying over — but the majority are coming for the first time.  Some of them are keen, others not so much.   And they’ll all be bringing something to our sessions that I have yet to discover, that they have yet to share.

I’m excited — and a little nervous, if truth be told — although not as excited and nervous as I’ll be on results day in August, mind you.

But mostly, today, I’m proud.  Very proud of them all.

Pippa