As with horticulture, growing knowledge starts even before seeds touch the ground.
Planning decisions start with pinning what it means to learn and how it might be accomplished. In my subject, the effort entails conceptualising Language itself — as a corpus, a system, a tool, a cultural discourse. Historically, these paradigms have spawn contradicting approaches to language teaching. For about three decades, however, the antropocentric Communicative-Functional Approach has reigned supreme in the field. It is heralded by most Western curricula mainly due to being so enticingly vague that any attempt to tweak it confirms it’s generous, welcoming scope. The NZC is no exception. It directs teachers towards communication but leaves the how and what about to the teachers themselves. Every route is valid provided the main objective is reached: to learn a language is to use it as natives do. No more. No less.
As teachers worldwide will tell you, landing such ambitious aim on a lesson plan proves elusive. The first hurdle is pinpointing what exactly one is aiming for and, more precisely, how to express it on the page. In connection, Taylor (2012) discusses the inconsistent use of planning terminology (p. 141). Aims, objectives, goals, outcomes all refer to teaching intentions but, even within the NZ context, there is often no consenssus as to what they represent. Around the globe, similar terms fall into a similar terminological pits.
Take, for instance, a lesson around verbs resulting in a conversation about a photo. In British TEFL tradition, the main aim would be the pragmatic outcome (describing a person), while the subsidiariesare gaining awareness of some specific grammar and developing skills (listening/speaking). Otherwise, one might link to the school’s values saying, “respectfully communicate focusing on two uses of ser and estar in a description”; or maybe state the expressive objectives (Eisner, 1994, in Taylor, 2012) as, “responding to and asking questions about appearance and location using él es o él está.” What becomes clear is that, whatever the terms, lessons are layered with all manner of intentions and takeaways.
Because of this, one’s first job as class designer is to prioritise. Or at least try, since “Individual biases, interests and enthusiasms will influence decisions teachers make about the nature of the plan and how it might be implemented (p. 139). I might want to boost students’ speaking fluency or analyse the language system formally. Or integrate receptive and productive tasks to present the grammar. Perhaps I value partnerships or seek to recycle vocabulary from a previous lesson. The many things happening in any given class — and the opportunities they provide — unfurl in multiple directions, and successful planning is recognising those avenues and exploiting them to their maximum potential over time.
About spiders — sequence decisions
Making sense of and expressing the complex web of connections across lessons can be rather overwhelming. The first hurdle is how written plans never fully show “the complex mental images teachers formulate as they weigh up alternatives for implementation in a classroom ((Taylor, 2012,p. 141). This is why, in approaching a topic, one might want to heed advice from the ultimate web spinners — arachnids.
A spiderweb fails without anchor points, scaffolding, and the ability to access stock. The first might be seen as the subject’s Achievement Objectives, which for Languages are: skills development, language awareness, and contextualisation (culture). Scaffolding is setting activities that will prop students up in readiness for a complex task or topic. And stock is the actual, albeit abstract, byproduct of the subject: new language demonstrated in authentic ways. Sequencing lessons or units implies leaning back on these components repeatedly and intentionally. Furthermore, it should draw from another key element of webbing: multidirectionality (Taylor, 2012, p. 145).
Like with silk construction, sequence design can unfold from the general to the particular or vice versa. For instance, I might select a topic considered essential at level one, then look for a suitable task and break it into sequential chunks, then into lessons, then mini-tasks. Or, I could plan in reverse by,
Selecting a learning that is evidenced as necessary (two Spanish verbs for to be).
Giving it pragmatic impetus (describe someone).
Adding narrative context (an image of a person with a cat in a park).
Devising a communicative gap (a detective knocks on the door looking for whoever took Mrs Ledesma’s cat).
Framing it within culture (the cat is black. Do you agree that seeing it would bring bad luck?).
Scaffolding it by pre-teaching vocabulary, telling the story of my fictitious cat, presenting the grammar, allowing for practice. And finally,
Adding stockby boosting every step’s communicative potential, creating resources, including consolidation and revision, preparing a diagnostic, writing instructions and success criteria, creating exemplars and assessments, including differentiated and productive activities, etc.
Once done, the sequence would include many communicative outcomes besides the conversation, each one with main and subsidiary lines that shoot out in different and interesting directions. It is important, however, to consider the following: while deductive planning allows for cohesion it can result in unimaginative monotony. And though inductive planning leads to creativity and integration it poses the risk of having ideas vine out from single intents only to overtake valuable lesson real estate. To tackle the first hurdle, reflective practices should include some regular lesson spinning (reimagining) in the way I will describe below. For the second, one should adopt habitual lesson pruning instead, that is a "less is more" approach to keep activities from smothering one’s planning to death in the name of communication.
About flowers and ferns — lesson decisions
I've told the story here of the tutor who once compared a lesson to a flower: aims at the centre pulling all activities in. Taylor (2012) offers similar images in referring to topic webs (p. 149) or brainstorm planning (p. 154). Over the years, however, I have observed that the most effective language sequences look nothing like flowers but rather like ferns instead.
Ferns are nature’s fractals: geometric structures that self-repeat endlessly as you zoom in or out. As metaphors, they illustrate the macro and micro dimensions of planning. Every miniscule leaf is held by a stem, which connects to a larger one, which connects to an ever larger one. Repetition gives the plant structural strength. Likewise, syllabi are structurally stronger when aims connect at every scale: from curriculum, to outline, to scheme, to unit, to sequence, to lesson. But the kind of "fractal planning" I am proposing doesn’t stop there.
In his seminal books about language teaching, J. Harmer (2007) breaks down the use of several well-known planning models like PPP and TTT. He also provides a cycle of his own making that I happen to like best: ESA. It’s usefulness lies in its flexibility. As Harmer suggests, the order of the steps can be rearranged to produce a number of promising dynamics (p. 87). Furthermore, by duplicating some of the steps in multiple directions, or applying the model to every mini-task, ESA becomes truly versatile.
I recently watched a very effective Year 11 German class where the teacher used ESA (perhaps knowingly) in order to introduce a writing internal. After intentions where shown, he went through 1) a song, then 2) elicited the grammar and presented the task, 3) did a “running dictation” of the lyrics, 4) then a matching activity followed by its 5) ordering, 6) focused on the grammar in detail and 7) explained tasks elaborations and success criteria.
E (1), S (2), A (3,4,5), S (6,7)
His use of the model invites reflective questions: would the same class be as effective as just SAS? Would AES engage students’ prior knowledge before introducing both topic and task? Is keeping 3,4,5 together something deliberate? Would trying EASA instead lead to discovery or task-based learning?
These questions can extend beyond the mere building blocks and the gain is in the very effort of reimagining a lesson's configuration or how it might respond to students' specific needs. Renshaw (2014) even conducts a compelling analysis of how ESA and EASA interact with students' persistent fear of failure in this post. Beyond offering a narrative continuum (start-middle-end) or a linear progression (starter-main-plenary), the model both favours reflection and secures structural might.
Moreover, the class I witnessed succeeded from the careful planning of each step and how seamlessly they all linked. Each phase considered E-S-A in some or other way via the resources and class interactions thus affording plenty of input and output and considering both fluency and accuracy. It also allowed students to predict the route while keeping things lively, which shows how “Successful planning is a combination of advanced thoughts communicated through a variety of written formats and spontaneous happenings” (Taylor, in McGee, 201 , p.138).
I have found images like these (vines, webs, ferns, cycles) increasingly useful as my own has become a fluid communicative approach somewhere between CLIL, TBL, NA, and LA. My inquiry into boosting engagement and production through authentic media has forced me to plan “on the go” to keep class design responsive and co-constructed. This is not to say that I would ever set out without a roadmap, responding only to what students produce. Rather, I keep a clear mental image of how all the tiny leaves in my fern link backwards so I can summon up authentic language and improvise cycles of ESA as we go. It has made me appreciate the versatility and durability of Harmer’s triad and the need for spinal objectives that carry meaning and purpose across all dimensions of my planning. Approaching it so brings the horizon closer and serves as mainstay to keep my class on course despite having become so freely adaptable. So authentically communicative and organic. Just as nature would like it.
Takeaways:
Planning begins with understanding what matters and how it might be learned.
Priorities get us started but planning implies attaching to principles, building scaffolding, and maximising learning stock.
Alternating deductive and inductive approaches leads to cohesive and innovative units and schemes of work.
Intentionality at the macro and micro levels makes teaching more effective.
Fractal awareness of how lessons should come together prevents scattered planning, especially when paired with flexible models and reflection.
Asher, J. J. (1969). The Total Physical Response Approach to Second Language Learning. The Modern Language Journal, 53(1), 3. https://doi.org/10.2307/322091
García-Carbonell, A., Rising, B., Montero, B., & Watts, F. (2001). Simulation/Gaming and the Acquisition of Communicative Competence in Another Language. Simulation & Gaming, 32(4), 481–491. https://doi.org/10.1177/104687810103200405
Harmer, J. (2007). The Practice of English Language Teaching with DVD (4th Edition) (Longman Handbooks for Language Teachers) (4th ed.). Pearson Longman ELT.
Krashen, S. D. (1996). The Natural Approach: Language Acquisition in the Classroom (Revised ed.). Janus Book Pub/Alemany Pr.
Taylor, M. (2012). Planning for effective teaching and learning. In C. McGee & D. Fraser (Eds.), The Professional Practice of Teaching (pp. 137–160). Cengage Learning Australia.
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