University of Canberra Archives

Why AERO must return to the evidence on writing

As writing researchers, we are filled with excitement and hope whenever writing appears on the agenda. Last week, AERO released its newly developed School Writing Instruction Framework (SWIF). This is a resource developed to support “school leaders and teachers to deliver evidence-based writing instruction across all subject areas”.

While there are a number of positives in this model and its accompanying practice resources, we argue here that these are based largely on a subset of evidence. It dismisses significant bodies of work with demonstrated impact on student writing achievement. Paradoxically, these were at the core of AERO’s previous documentation.

The evidence that got lost

In its 2022 review of instructional approaches to writing AERO rightly claimed, “no single pedagogy adequately addresses all aspects of the knowledge, skills and strategies required for skilled writing”.

The major pitfall of SWIF is its overwhelming focus on one of these approaches, applied linguistics. There is a total disregard for the most recent and compelling writing instruction recommendations based on meta-analyses of nearly one thousand studies in writing instruction.

Fundamentally, the SWIF is not well-aligned with the wealth of research showing that teachers should follow an integrative approach to teach writing. What does that mean?

Writing is one of the most complex learning processes. An integrative approach to teaching writing incorporates the explicit teaching and practice of foundational writing skills, such as handwriting, spelling and keyboarding. It also includes the teaching and modelling of higher-order skills such as planning what to write and revising the quality of texts. These are all part of the same instructional protocol.

Handwriting, Spelling and Keyboarding

By focusing on the teaching of language, genre and sentence structure, the framework wrongly assumes students reach the senior years of primary education and startsecondary with basic transcription skills. Evidence-based recommendations coming from robust national and international research show teachers need to continue supporting students towards developing transcription skills, including keyboarding. Transcription skills predict the quality and length of students’ texts, especially in the primary years, across languages and educational contexts, including in Australia.

A recent review of 36 meta-analyses of writing instruction led by Professor Steve Graham, a leading US writing researcher, showed that teaching handwriting improved students’ writing performance (K-Year 9). It was just as good – or even better – than teaching sentence construction.

Disappointingly, in the development of the SWIF, AERO has disregarded its own previous recommendations to “ensure adequate foundational instruction in handwriting and spelling” and to “teach typing skills and provide students with opportunities to compose using digital writing tools”.

Strategic approaches to writing

Another drawback of the proposed framework is the lack of emphasis on teaching students how to plan and revise their texts.

Graham’s research (based on reviews of hundreds of studies) reveals that cognitive strategy instruction improves student writing performance from kindergarten to year 12 for students who had literacy difficulties – and those who did not.

Graham offers compelling evidence-based research showing that teaching students to become more strategic writers enhances their writing. More specifically, teaching students how to plan, conceptualise, generate, and revise their written work is critical.

Again, AERO’s released framework and resources for writing and writing instruction fails to place much needed attention on how to teach students to become strategic writers. It also fails to recognise the importance of teachers modelling planning and revising strategies to compose different texts.

Where is differentiation?

While AERO’s framework promotes effective writing assessment to capture the writing needs of students at a school level, it falls short in addressing the degree of individual variation in writing performance that teachers likely encounter in their classrooms.

Our decade-long research on writing in Australian schools has shown repeatedly that students in the same grade exhibit dramatic differences in their handwriting and keyboarding accuracy and speed (also called automaticity).

Our studies have also shown systematic differences between male and female students. Girls do better.

Lastly, our recent study on reported instruction for struggling writers showed that teachers tend to use (at least on a monthly basis) 11 of the 14 practices recommended for struggling writers. The data also shows that the more confident teachers are in their teaching of writing, the more varied strategies they use. This evidence calls for a nuanced understanding of writing instruction and of specific strategies for differentiation, much of which remains silent in the AERO framework.

What SWIF gets right

1. The model highlights the need to explicitly teach writing and recognises that writing research and instruction have historically received much less attention compared to the teaching of reading.

2. It stresses the need for continuous assessment (formative and summative) and feedback to support students in understanding their strengths and the issues they need to improve to write different texts, for different audiences.

3. It reinforces reading and writing connections and the need to teach writing across all subject areas.

4. The model proposes a whole-school implementation approach, recognises the role of school leaders in supporting teachers, and promotes contextualisation of practice.

Looking at evidence from a critical lens

In 2020, AERO released the Standards of Evidence to “help teachers, educators, leaders and policymakers make consistent and transparent judgements when assessing evidence about the effectiveness of a particular education policy, practice or program”.

AERO says that meta-analyses represent high quality evidence ( are “Level 4 Evidence: Very High Confidence”). This is because meta-analyses combine the results of multiple studies to derive a more robust and generalizable conclusion than any single study could provide on its own.Yet only two examples of such studies are cited in the entirety of SWIF.

Academic researchers and organisations responsible for research translation both have a joint responsibility to present evidence in a complete, nuanced and transparent way to inform educator professional decision making.

This piece aims to contribute to a critical appraisal of AERO’s recent efforts, furthering a critical stance towards claims of evidence-based practice.

Deborah Pino-Pasternak is professor of early childhood education and communities, Faculty of Education, University of Canberra. She is a member of the Writing for All initiative, contributing to creating spaces for families to support writing in the home environment. Anabela Malpique is a senior lecturer, School of Education, Edith Cowan University, Western Australia. She leads the Writing for All initiative to expand knowledge on individual- and contextual-level factors in writing development.

When joyful autonomy matters so much more than curriculum outcomes

There is a particular kind of attention some children bring to the things they love. It is not casual curiosity. And it isn’t interest-based learning. It runs deeper, providing a kind of cognitive home. A space where attention settles, and where the child feels most themselves. Some children spend long periods happily absorbed in these activities or topics, even when they do not show the same stamina for other activities.

These are the children we are working hard to engage in our increasingly inclusive classrooms. But they may remain sensorially overloaded or emotionally sidelined due to their limited interest in certain activities, and low motivation for peer interaction.

I’m reflecting particularly on my observations of younger learners, though many of these patterns continue or shift as children move through schooling. What follows is not a complete guide, but an invitation to consider how we might view monotropic focus differently at different stages of development.

What is monotropism?

Monotropism is a theory developed by autistic thinkers Dinah Murray, Mike Lesser and Wenn Lawson. It describes a style of attention that zooms in deeply, sometimes to the exclusion of everything else. For monotropic learners, a beloved topic or activity is not just a preference. It is a space where their cognitive and emotional energy flows most naturally.

In our training and professional development, many of us have been encouraged to build on these passions. We are taught to use them as bridges into broader engagement and connection with the child, and between the child and their larger world. And sometimes, that works well.

But for children with monotropic attention profiles, which are widely understood within autistic communities as a core feature of autistic cognition, this approach can easily go astray. For these learners, deep and sustained focus is not just joyful but also protective. Not every passion wants to be explicitly and publicly shared. Not every safe space should be mined for learning outcomes. Sometimes, the most respectful choice is to leave that space sacred between the child and their passion.

Why certain classroom approaches can be distressing

This understanding of monotropism helps explain why certain common classroom approaches can be experienced as distressing. Shifting away from that space is hard. Autistic people speak of the challenge of switching tasks. Theire distress is visible when we try to redirect neurodiverse learners away from their interests. Some educators recognise the need to respect these patterns of attention. But there is less emphasis placed on the pain associated with having a monotropic interest co-opted or restructured into a new context. This practice can be distressing for the learner and detrimental in the longer term.

This is why a child who can talk for hours about dinosaurs might clam up when asked to write a report on them. Why a child who adores Peppa Pig might resist a Peppa-themed classroom unit. Why trying to use the monotrope can strip it of personal meaning. Or, why it may set young learners up for disappointment or withdrawal later in their schooling.

In my experience, this tension can become even more pronounced as children grow older. A young child’s monotropic play may be seen as a charming quirk or an entry point for learning. As academic expectations increase, there can be growing pressure on the child to adapt their passions to fit curriculum demands. Or, perhaps, to leave them behind altogether. This raises questions about how we, as educators, can honour these ways of being across developmental stages, not just in the early years.

The harm of misuse

I have seen this often, in high school as well as early childhood. Well-meaning teachers, eager to connect, create whole projects around a child’s special interest. But the child withdraws. The joy dulls. The sacred space has been reshaped into something performative or demand-driven. More common still, the child is inflexible in their engagement. They may be delighted at being encouraged to engage with the topic. But they are unable to manipulate their interest into the desired outcome being asked of them.

Other times, educators and sometimes family members do the opposite, banning or restricting the monotrope entirely. They worry that it is taking over, or that it is not age appropriate. That too is likely to cause harm. The child learns that their deepest sources of comfort and identity are unwelcome or wrong.

In my experience as a high school teacher, this appears in students who are afraid to share their joy. They are wary of adults interacting with them, and often display defensiveness or protectiveness over their interests.

Well-meaning attempts to capitalise on an interest, somes as times labelled an obsession or fixation, can unintentionally strip away the joy and meaning from the subject, or turn it into a source of shame.

So what is the respectful path?

Here is what I have learned, and what many autistic adults have generously taught me.

Let the monotrope exist for its own sake. It does not have to be useful. It does not need to prove curricular value to deserve space in the classroom.

Engage by invitation, not by design. If a child wants to share their interest with you, wonderful. If they are deep in their own play, let them be. This is a period of processing and regulation which can allow for more meaningful engagement and learning at other times.

Avoid dilution. Do not turn a beloved topic into a chore. If they love trains, not everything needs to be train-themed learning. Sometimes, trains are just trains.

Notice the regulation. Monotropic focus often helps a child feel safe and centred. Taking it away can destabilise them, even if done with good intentions.

A wider invitation

Respecting the monotrope does not mean ignoring it or the child. It means recognising that for some learners, joyful autonomy matters more than curriculum outcomes in certain moments.

And it means knowing not every passion must be mined for teachable moments. It means understanding that deep focus is not a deficit. It is a difference.

And it means trusting that when we honour that difference, we build relationships of safety and respect. Relationships where learning can flourish naturally, in its own time.

I do not claim to have all the answers here. But I do wonder: if we allow monotropic play to remain sacred in the early years, might we better support children as they encounter the increasing structure and expectation of later schooling? Might we give them stronger foundations of trust, autonomy, and identity to draw upon as they grow? These are questions worth holding in mind as we continue to learn from the lived experiences of neurodivergent learners.

Attention! Passion is a strength

Many of us are used to celebrating adaptability in our students. Flexibility, shifting attention, joining the group. And those are valid strengths. But constancy is a strength too. Deep, unwavering focus is a strength. Passion is a strength.

Sometimes the best thing we can do is to leave the monotrope sacred.

To let it be what it is, not what we wish it could become.

Gem Clutton is a parent, and a lecturer in teacher education at the University of Canberra. With 14 years of experience across special education and mainstream classrooms, she has a particular interest in how we support complex and challenging behaviours. She is still learning, and often finds her best teachers are the children themselves.