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In an age of instant answers, help students rediscover writing as a space for uncertainty and growth.
Why do students claim, "I don't have anything to say," when facing a blank page? This piece — the second in the Teaching Writing in the Age of Generative AI series — argues that writing reluctance often stems from a fixed writing mindset, which fears the uncertainty of "writing into the unknown," a concept advocated by Ruth Vinz. Practical strategies include using low-stakes freewriting, modeling the messy process of composition, and reframing revision as "meaning-making," following the theories of Peter Elbow and Ann Berthoff.
“I don’t have anything to say.” He leaned back in his chair, arms folded.
I’ve heard variations of this conversation countlessly when students face the task of writing. I used to respond with a spirited, “Yes, you do!,” believing simple encouragement would galvanize their pencil across the page. My perspective changed in graduate school when I became that student—the one suddenly certain I had nothing to say. I could barely write a few words, and I feared sharing them with peers and professors, even when the topic truly interested me. In reality, I feared writing into the unknown. Before I began, I wasn’t sure what I wanted to say. I developed a conviction that my idea had to be worthy, interesting, unique, and, most importantly, fully formed before the act of writing could begin. Writing, in this view, came after the thought, as if words were a precious, exhaustible resource. I needed to conserve them until a brilliantly complete idea struck me; only then could I write. Part of that fear undeniably stemmed from how others might perceive my unknown--What if they think I’m foolish? That my idea is flawed? That my perspective is lacking and, by extension, that I am lacking? "I don’t have anything to say [so I won’t start. I don’t know what I’ll say, it might be bad, and others might judge my ideas. If I don't write, I maintain control and avoid judgment]." The Theoretical Connection
Writing this piece, I hear the voices of several scholars who want to enter the conversation.
Carol Dweck is knocking most aggressively. Years ago, I learned about her concept of the growth mindset, yet I never connected it to writing reluctance until now, as I engage in the act of writing itself. Dweck argues for two mindsets: growth and fixed. The preferred growth mindset maintains that intellect continuously changes and grows through effort and experience. The fixed mindset, however, holds that intelligence is, well, fixed. We see her research popularized everywhere, with anchor charts urging students to view intelligence as mutable through effort. In retrospect, my fear to begin writing stemmed from a fixed mindset. I believed an idea was either good or bad, resulting in good or bad writing. Writing could be revised, but the idea's first impression was everything—it was either formed or unformed. Dweck’s work emphasizes that those with fixed mindsets fear failure and uncertainty because it suggests an absence of intelligence, a trait you either possess or you don't. Similarly, I held what I might call a fixed writing mindset: I either had good ideas or I didn’t, and others' perceptions defined them. The second person awaiting an entrance is Ruth Vinz, the founder of the Center for the Professional Education of Teachers (CPET). Vinz’s work advocates for writing into the (un)FOR-see-able, into that which cannot yet be seen. Writing is an act of becoming, of exploring, of encountering, not a mere tool to present, explain, analyze, and assess what has been learned. I also hear Ann Berthoff's words, recently read aloud by a colleague: “We don’t have ideas that we put into words; we don’t think of what we want to say and then write. In composing, we make meanings. We find the forms of thought by means of language, and we find forms of language by taking thought.” With generative AI tools like ChatGPT, Microsoft Copilot, Claude, and Google Gemini easily accessible, supporting writing as a process of thinking—of making meanings through composing—is more imperative than ever. If students believe good ideas pre-exist the act of writing, their logic may follow that a prompt can give them objectively good ideas without struggle, uncertainty, or risk. Through this lens, generative AI tools are the ultimate development for the fixed (writing) mindset: the ultimate cheat code to bypass the judgment of one’s own efforts or intelligence, and therefore never to be found lacking. Generative AI provides the illusion of a finished structure without ever requiring the user to lay the foundation. It acts as a set of polished scaffolding that reassures students a perfect building exists, without them having to engage in the actual, risky labor of construction. The root is not laziness or resistance, but the fear from a fixed mindset. Support a Growth-Minded Writing Process
How, then, do we intervene as teachers of writing? How do we embrace a growth-minded writing process? We must support our students in understanding that writing is a way of meaning-making, a process where ideas develop over time through reflection and revision.
Our work as educators now requires us to look past the surface-level resistance of "I don't have anything to say" and address the underlying fixed writing mindset that generates fear and uncertainty.
By intentionally fostering low-stakes environments, modeling the productive messiness of writing into the unknown, and reframing revision as intellectual growth, we can help students move beyond the temptation of AI shortcuts and the paralyzing fear of judgment. We can empower them to recognize that the blank page isn't a performance space for a pre-existing idea, but rather a vital engine for discovery—the essential place where they actively make their own meanings and, in the process, grow into their best ideas and selves.
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