Convincing younger students - that is, the ones who don't already enjoy writing - that learning to write well is worth their time, attention, and effort can be a tough sell. Young people today are writing more than ever before, thanks to the advent of social media, blogs, text messaging, and the like. But these outlets seldom emphasize
good writing. Grammar, diction, spelling and punctuation are often sacrificed on the altar of expediency. As long as the message gets across, the finer points of composition can fall by the wayside.
I guess it's a case of familiarity breeding contempt. Before all the technologies I mentioned came about, young people had little call to write much of anything besides schoolwork. When writing comes with grades attached, and consequences loom when bad grades happen, then young people (in theory) have some motivation to do the best writing they can.
Now that interaction via social (and other) media has become the norm, it may be that kids today do more informal writing than formal. Writing for school becomes something they hurry through so they can get back on Facebook. Formal writing is a distraction from the writing they consider to be part of their life.
So what will happen to them if they find themselves in a circumstance where they must rely on formal writing skills to keep their chestnuts from roasting on an open fire?
It's not entirely farfetched. Something like that happened to me. I was one of many people in a bad situation, and one of the few for whom it turned out as well as it did.
After a year spent in Iraq serving as the commander of a small unit in the Army, I returned to my regular duty station in Germany. Soon I began to experience what was later determined to be delayed-onset post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). I was hospitalized in Germany for a time, then transferred to the main Army hospital in Washington, DC for further treatment.
I refer to this as a bad situation because until recently, the Army has never been well-known for being a paragon provider of quality psychiatric care. Quite to the contrary, the system I found myself in was clearly geared against providing real, meaningful care for all but the very worst, most horribly (read: undeniably) afflicted soldiers. The rest of us found ourselves in a kind of holding pattern, receiving token care and sitting in group therapy sessions. The usual outcome for the soldier was either a discharge from the Army with few or no benefits, or being returned to duty having received little in the way of meaningful, truly helpful mental health care. There was a clear agenda to avoid ever diagnosing a soldier with PTSD, because that automatically triggered a level of care and benefits the Army was required to provide, which in turn would put a strain on limited budgetary and human-resource assets.
In these circumstances, most soldiers did what they could and hoped for the best. I, on the other hand, watched, waited, and then started writing. A moment ago, I leveled a pretty serious accusation regarding the quality of Army mental health care as it was in 2007-8. Had I put that in writing at that time with no evidence to back it up - or even worse, put it in writing poorly and unconvincingly - my complaints would have fallen on deaf ears, and I'd have been kicked to the curb (so to speak).
Knowing this, and knowing that I knew how to write, I was careful to both gather good, compelling evidence to back up my claims, and to write clearly, concisely (when possible), and convincingly. I was more successful than I could have imagined.
My goal was to avoid the "usual outcome" to which I referred earlier. My hope was to shed some light on a scandalous issue in Army medicine, so that soldiers who came after me might also avoid that same outcome. And after writing carefully-considered and -worded memoranda to hospital ombudsmen, military commanders, and politicans, not only did my situation change for the better, but the resolution offered for my particular case became the standard by which many soldiers who came after me received their care at that hospital as well.
I didn't change the world. But I did pull my own chestnuts out from over an open fire, and I also helped make life better for a lot of service members who came after me. Many of my fellow patients were young soldiers with not a lot of education, who could not have written what I wrote, nor accomplished what I did. I was lucky to have been able to help myself, and I was glad that I as able to help them as well.
Writing can be a survival skill. I hope no one is ever put in a circumstance such that it needs to be. But given that life is not perfect, and that things to go badly from time to time, young people should consider learning how to write their way out of a bad situation before they find themselves in one.