Reading Identity – Pernille Ripp

being a student, books, Reading, Reading Identity

Lessons in Genre—and in Failure

January 26, 2026January 26, 2026 Pernille Ripp

We have been studying genres in 3rd grade.

Something so simple, and yet such a powerful key to unlocking yourself as a reader. For some students, these classifications are crystal clear; they already have the language that wraps around them as readers. For others, the designations are murky at best—confusion between fiction and nonfiction (which I completely understand in this day and age), and even what it means for something to be a genre at all.

It’s also a practical challenge: how do we turn a messy classroom library into something students can actually navigate? Sorting books by genre is a powerful way for students to deepen their understanding of different types of texts and make the library itself more accessible. It is something I have believed in for years.

And so, we persisted in the work. We sorted texts and discussed what makes something realistic fiction, fantasy, horror, or nonfiction. What separates fantasy from a scary story? How do we know realistic fiction isn’t just fantasy in disguise? Their questions were legitimate, and they shaped the work we did.

To truly see their comprehension in action, we turned to our modest classroom library. Those who have followed my work from before my move to Denmark may remember my vast classroom collection—books spanning walls, even rooms. I left that library behind for the teacher who took over my classroom, knowing it would have more use in the United States than it would here.

But that also meant starting over.

Books in Denmark are expensive—often more than 200 kroner (around $20) even for an easy reader. Classroom libraries are not seen as a priority. School libraries aren’t either in some places. So building a collection has been slow, relying on goodwill finds, donations from our amazing librarian and some families, and a few contests won along the way. It is nothing impressive. It may never be. But it is real, and it reflects the reality of many educators.

And it is a place to start.

I teach two 3rd-grade classes in Danish: one I have been with since 1st grade, and another added this year. With my “old” class, the task was simple. After our genre lessons, I introduced the project: let’s sort and categorize our classroom library using the knowledge we now have. We decided on which genres and even subgenres we thought we would have, discussed their abbreviations and then launched into the process itself; I would hand them piles of books, they would sort them by the genre or format they believed they belonged to by creating piles on tables, I would create labels, and together we would shelve them.

It took two lessons, but by the end our classroom library was mostly sorted correctly, and the students were eager to dive back into books they had discovered along the way.

Buoyed by this success, I brought the same process to my new class. I knew they might need a little more guidance, but surely my well-planned lesson would be successful.

It was not.

It was frustrating, confusing, and messy—and through no fault of the children. They tried their very best to figure out what we were doing and to do it well, as they always do. But the pieces they needed simply weren’t there yet.

So I took time over the weekend to think it through and quickly recognized my mistakes. They needed far more scaffolding. They needed the work to stop feeling like a competition over who could get through the most books. They needed to lean on each other for guidance. They needed explicit permission, as always, to ask questions and to not be sure out loud.

On a day when I knew I had them for three periods in a row, I knew we could afford to get messy. I reintroduced the concept and explained the new plan.

Two students, who seemed to have genre determination skills firmly in place, sat at the lead table. Their job was to decide whether a book was fiction or nonfiction and to venture a guess at its genre or format (graphic novels and comics were sorted onto their own shelf). They passed their books to three other students, who double-checked the decision and delivered them to the appropriate genre table. Each genre table was staffed by a student whose job was to agree—or disagree—and send the book back if needed.

I placed students based on their perceived strengths within a genre. Some worked alone. Some sat near related genres so they could support one another. And then we began.

At first, there was hesitation. Were they really sure that a certain book belonged in a certain genre? How could they even tell again?

But as the process continued, their confidence grew. Their decisions became more certain. Help was offered more freely. It was still messy. It was still a bit chaotic. But the process worked.

Not because I taught it better—but because I reconsidered my scaffolding. I reconsidered the conditions. I stepped away from my own attachment of feelings to a lesson—failure—and recognized that this, too, was success: realizing, once again, what didn’t work and adjusting the conditions., with the only failure being to not do it again.

In the end, this wasn’t really about genres, or even about sorting a classroom library the “right” way. It was about slowing down enough to notice where my teaching had raced ahead of my students, and choosing to meet them where they actually were. Understanding didn’t come from efficiency or speed, but from time, conversation, and the safety to be unsure out loud.

The messiness didn’t disappear when I changed the structure.

The noise didn’t go away.

But what did change was who carried the thinking. Students leaned on each other. They questioned, disagreed, and revised their ideas together. And in that space, comprehension began to take root.

We now have a tiny little classroom library, where the gaps in what we don’t have are stark, and yet the hope of finding books to read feels big. Students get to look at the bookstacks and decide which books to keep and which to let go.

It’s a small piece, but one that further cements their identity as readers—students who now know that if they understand the genres they enjoy, they can seek out those books first. Students who have taken a big step toward knowing who they are, and perhaps even more importantly, who they want to be as readers.

It may have taken longer than expected. It may have veered off course. But those hours spent were hours I know were worth it.

So for now, the reading continues.

Passionate Readers, Reading, Reading Identity

This Is the Work

January 18, 2026 Pernille Ripp

This week, I was invited to sit down with with Dr. Sarah Sansbury, Leah Gregory, and Janette Derucki for the Can’t Shelve This podcast (releasing February 10th). The invitation was simple: come talk about reading culture. About what we actually do in our classrooms and schools that either invites children into reading or quietly pushes them away.

That kind of conversation is my favorite. Not because I have the answers, but because I am still in it. I am still trying to build something that works for the kids in front of me. Much like so many others, I wonder if what I am doing is actually making a difference.

And as we kept circling those ideas, this kept rising to the forefront for me:

We can’t make readers. But we can create the conditions where they might want to be.

That really is the work.

Not forcing reading.
Not rewards.
But building spaces where children feel safe enough, curious enough, and seen enough to want to read.

That’s the heart of it.

Because so often, when we talk about getting kids to read, the conversation turns to compliance. Comprehension work. Logs. Levels. Programs. Points. Prizes. Proving that you are reading. Proving that you understood. Proving that you are a reader to begin with. More minutes. More data. More pressure.

And yet, none of those things create readers. Not really.

They create performers.

If we want reading to matter, then the culture around reading has to matter. The environment has to say:

You belong here.
Your choices matter.
Your pace is respected.
Your identity is not up for negotiation.

But before we can build better conditions, we have to look honestly at what we already have. Do we even know what the reading culture is in our spaces or do we just assume?

So some questions I use to take the temperature:

Who is reading in my room? Only the kids who already love it?
What kinds of books are visible? Do they reflect the kids in front of me? Do they reflect the world?
What happens when a child says, “I hate reading”?
Is reading something they do, or something they only are told to do?
Are students trusted with their own reading decisions?
Do I celebrate growth, or just volume and level?
Who shapes our reading experience the most?
Do they even feel like readers? And how do I know?

And then we get to work.

So we go back to the basics, that are really not so simple after all.

We protect choice.

Not “choice within a level.”
Not “choice after you finish this.”
Just…choice.

Let students pick what they read, when they abandon a book, and what kind of reading feels meaningful.

Because identity grows in the places where we feel trusted.

We build book collections that reflect the world.

Keep adding. Keep weeding. Keep listening to what they reach for. And we fight to protect those choices.

We remove reading as a punishment or somethng that always has to be proven.

No logs.
No always answering questions.
No reading “to earn” something. If reading only happens because they have to, then they never get to discover that they might want to.

We talk about books like they matter. Because they do.

And we protect the time to read. We would never go to math class and not actually practice math, so why are we told to limit independent reading.

Share what you’re reading. Share when you are reading, when you are not. Tell them what reading helps you with.
Let students share what they’re reading.
Have conversations, not quizzes. Protect independent reading time for all.

Make reading social, human, and alive.

And we make it safe to not be a reader yet.

Students need to know:
You are not behind.
You are not broken.
You are not failing.

You are becoming.

That is the only way they stay open long enough to grow.

It’s not flashy. It doesn’t come in a box. It doesn’t produce instant results.

But it honors students as readers in progress, not readers we are trying to manufacture.

Because the work is not about getting kids to read.

It’s about creating spaces where reading feels possible.

And then staying in that work, every single day. Even when the world tells you to stop. Especially then.

Passionate Readers, Reading, Reading Identity

The First 20 Days of Reading – Free tool to kick off reading for the year

August 3, 2025 Pernille Ripp

I go back to work tomorrow.

A month off with big plans of all the things I was going to do, and so many things I didn’t. I didn’t plan really. I didn’t read PD books, or watch webinars, or delve into education shorts. I have not stressed, mostly. Instead I have read, I have cooked, I have gardened, I have explored, I have napped – so many glorious naps. And I have been present with people I care about as much as possible. It has been glorious, and oh too short.

But now a new year beckons, and with that I will teach 2 different third grades in Danish. I cannot wait to experience what being a split classroom teacher will be like.

I know many of you are also gearing up to head back. Some of you still have weeks left, others only days. Perhaps like me you are looking for some inspiration of where to start? Two years ago, I created this resource for my Patreon community, and so I thought it might be helpful to share it here- it’s called the “First 20 Days of Reading” calendar, and here is a sneak peek of what is behind the link.

As many of us embark on a new school year, I believe that fostering a love for reading is one of the most precious gifts we can give to our students. This calendar is designed to build independent reading stamina and cultivate a reading community within our classrooms.

📖 Why the First 20 Days? 📖

Research has shown that dedicating just 20 minutes of daily reading time can have a significant impact on children’s word acquisition, vocabulary, and writing skills. Moreover, creating a positive and engaging reading environment can help instill a lifelong love for reading in our students.

💡 What’s in the Calendar? 💡

The “First 20 Days of Reading” calendar is a curated collection of 20 fun and manageable reading activities, each meant to take little time and be added on to our independent reading time. These activities are designed to introduce reading choices, nurture reading enthusiasm, build reading stamina, and foster reading independence. And of course start the focus on reading identity development.

You can pick and choose between using some of these activities or all of them. You do not need to follow the order precisely either, as always, you know what you need. But I wanted to pull out a timeline approach for all of the components we can introduce when fostering reading culture and give you a placer to hang your ideas. The sky is the limit and I would love to hear what else I could add in.

👉 Access the Calendar 👈

To access the calendar and get started on this reading adventure, simply go here! Feel free to customize the calendar based on your students’ needs and interests. I included links to all the surveys and questions plus more.

So as I pack up my family to head home from a summerhouse, say goodbye to my family visiting from the US – wow is that ever hard – I hope this little post will give you some ideas, maybe save you some time, or maybe be that missing thing that you didn’t know you needed.

I will be sharing throughout the year as I embark on this new school year. Perhaps you will too?

Reading Identity

It’s Not That They Can’t Read… – looking at imposter syndrome and reading identity

July 26, 2025 Pernille Ripp

How many times have we heard a child say, “I’m not good at reading”?
Or watched one put a book back on the shelf, saying, “This is too hard for me,” even though we suspected that they could read it — if only they would give it a shot?

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about what stops kids from fully stepping into their reader identity. About the stumbling blocks that are, indeed, man-made. It’s not always decoding or fluency or stamina. Sometimes, it’s internal.

After reading Anne-Laure Le Cunff’s powerful piece on intellectual self-doubt, I couldn’t stop seeing the connections. The very patterns she outlines in adults show up, in different ways, in our students’ reading lives. Because while every reader is on unique path of discovery and reading exploration, there are similarities in how they interact with books when they don’t feel like a reader, and those we can look more closely at.

We know that the act of reading is wrapped in emotions. That self-worth and social hierarchy placement can be closely linked to your perceived skills as a reader. That being a reader or not being a reader can be anchored in childhood as an adult identity-marker. And so it makes sense that our students want to shield themselves from perceived hardship or failure – don’t we all? And so we often see a form of “reading resistance,” which to some may come across as laziness or avoidance. But what if instead we viewed as a form of imposter syndrome? Then we can enter the conversation in a different way, while bringing the readers in our care along.

Here’s how these patterns might show up in our classrooms — and what we can do to help.

Support: Model messy reading. Think aloud when you mess up. Celebrate effort over perfection. Give them low-stakes spaces to take risks — silly poems, decoding games, or buddy reading with younger peers where they feel competent.

The Reading Perfectionist

Potential underlying imposter syndrome: “If I don’t get every word right, I’m a bad reader.”

🧠 Manifests as:

Whispering or mouthing words when reading aloud, avoiding risk of error.
Fixating on misread words or “getting stuck” and refusing to continue.
Asking repeatedly, “Is this right?” before turning the page or writing about a book.
Getting upset during assessments even with high accuracy.

💡 Further ideas:

“Mistake of the Day” Club: Make small decoding or comprehension missteps a shared, safe laugh — create a space where every reader can submit one and reflect.
Sticky Notes of Bravery: Let kids mark pages with a note like “I wasn’t sure, but I tried.” Celebrate risk-taking during sharing.
Co-created anchor charts: “What Good Readers Do When They’re Stuck” — keep it visual and student-owned.

The Natural Genius Reader

Potential underlying imposter syndrome: “If this book is hard, it means I’m not a good reader after all.”

🌟 Manifests as:

Makes vague claims like “This book is boring” or “I already know what’s going to happen.”
Rapid early reading growth, followed by a plateau and sudden disengagement.
Avoids challenging books after one or a few “failures” (can’t pronounce, understand, or keep up).
Prefers familiar series or picture books they can master easily.

Support: Teach struggle as normal. Share your own stories of books that stumped you. Use “just right struggle” texts and help them see confusion as part of deep reading. Introduce the idea that strong readers ask questions — and don’t always know the answers.

💡 Further ideas:

“Struggle Stars” wall: Post quotes from students about books that challenged them. Normalize confusion as part of growth.
Teach the “Reader’s Curve”: A simple visual model showing early success → plateau → productive struggle → breakthrough.
Reading Journals with “Stuck Points”: Instead of summaries, have them record where they don’t understand — and celebrate re-reading or asking for help.

The Solo Reader

Potential underlying imposter syndrome: “If I ask for help, it proves I can’t read.”

🚪 Manifests as:

May quietly resist support or conferencing.
Hides books behind desks or reads in isolation.
Avoids joining book clubs, doesn’t volunteer to partner read.
Says “I’m fine” or “I like reading alone” but rarely talks about books.

Support: Normalize collaboration. Use pair shares, peer book recommendations, or “reading buddies” where asking questions is expected. Let them be the helper sometimes too — it builds trust. Shift the narrative: strong readers talk about books together.

💡 Further Ideas:

Invisible Book Clubs: Let kids respond to the same book on post-its or Flip videos without needing to talk face-to-face at first.
“Ask Me Later” buttons: Offer students a nonverbal way to defer help — gives autonomy without removing support.
“One Book, Two Readers” challenge: Quiet students read the same book as a peer — then choose their own way to share (drawing, writing, or private discussion).

The Super Reader

Potential underlying imposter syndrome: “I have to read more than everyone else to prove I’m a real reader.”

🏁 Manifests as:

May use reading to seek validation, not joy.
Logs 30+ books per month, but gives vague or superficial summaries.
Gets anxious when “behind” on reading goals.
Chooses quantity over quality: “easy wins.”

Support: Slow them down. Invite reflection. Use journals, book talks, or drawing to process books in new ways. Help them find balance by honoring books that move them — not just books they finish.

💡 Further Ideas:

“Read Slow” Challenges: Celebrate books that take a week or more to finish. Offer awards for “most thoughtful pause,” “best reread moment,” etc.
“This Book Changed Me” board: Help them reflect on impact, not volume.
Weekly Deep Dive: Once a week, they must pick just one book to discuss in detail — what moved them, surprised them, challenged them.

The Expert Reader

Potential underlying imposter syndrome: “I need to understand everything before I can say I read it.”

📘 Manifests as:

May demand “correct” interpretations from teachers.
Freezes up during book discussions, afraid of being wrong.
Asks few questions, fearing they’ll reveal gaps in knowledge.
Abandons texts quickly if meaning isn’t immediate.

Support: Emphasize curiosity over correctness. Use “I wonder…” prompts. Let them see you grappling with questions too. Build habits of metacognition — maybe through post-its, wondering journals, or group discussions where questions are more valued than answers.

💡 Further Ideas:

“Wonder Logs”: Replace standard comprehension questions with “I wonder,” “I noticed,” “I’m confused by…” logs.
“One Word Summaries”: Ask students to capture a whole chapter or character using one word — forces synthesis, not certainty.
Un-Googleable Questions Wall: Collect and explore deep, complex questions that have no single right answer.

Bonus Tip: Support All 5 with Metacognition Mini-lessons

Build in weekly reflection that honors emotional and identity aspects of reading, not just skills:

“What kind of reader were you this week?”
“What made you feel confident — or not?”
“What book surprised you?”
“What was hard… and what did you do about it?”

So where do we go from here?

We remind ourselves and our kids: doubt is normal. Growth is messy. And identity — especially a reader identity — isn’t something we give them. It’s something they build, slowly, with support, belonging, and choice.

We can’t eliminate their reading struggles, but we can reframe them. We can help them see effort not as evidence they’re failing — but as proof they’re learning.

Like Anne-Laure writes, the most successful people (and readers!) aren’t those who never doubt themselves — but those who learn to keep going with the doubt.

Passionate Readers, Reading, Reading Identity

The limitations of Lexile scores and what to use as well

June 29, 2025 Pernille Ripp

In my Patreon community, a fellow educator recently reached out with a growing concern: their district has mandated the exclusive use of Lexile-leveled texts in English classes. That’s right—only texts that align with students’ grade-level Lexile scores are now considered acceptable. The frustration in their message was tangible. Texts that students love, that have sparked rich discussions, and that they’ve built curriculum around are now off-limits because they don’t “fit” the approved band.

I’ve long raised concerns about the over-reliance on Lexile scores. Like many of you, I’ve seen firsthand how these measures, while perhaps well-intentioned, can be wielded in ways that do real harm to reading joy, choice, and depth. So, if you’re facing increasing pressure to center Lexile in your classroom—if you’re trying to navigate a system that keeps narrowing what “counts” as appropriate reading—I hope these thoughts and ideas help.

Limitations of Lexile

Limited Understanding of Text Complexity

Lexile scores are essentially math. They rely on sentence length and word frequency—quantifiable features that can be measured by an algorithm. But we all know that complexity is never just about numbers. A book like Night comes in at a relatively low Lexile level, and yet its themes of loss, isolation, and moral ambiguity leave readers shaken. A text might be “simple” on paper but profound in practice.

Instead, try:

Use a text complexity triangle (quantitative, qualitative, reader & task) when planning. Bring students into that process—ask, What makes this book challenging? What makes it powerful?
Encourage student reflection journals or book clubs where kids identify their own “hard” books—not based on Lexile, but on how the text made them think, feel, or struggle.
Create classroom charts that define complexity through student terms: “Books that made me cry,” “Books I needed to reread,” “Books I’ll never forget.”

Considerations:

How does Lexile account for the cultural and historical significance of a text?
What qualities of a book matter most to your students?
How can we expand students’ definition of what makes something “challenging”?

Exclusion of Inclusive Texts

One of the most heartbreaking outcomes, and oft-overlooked aspects, of Lexile-only policies is the quiet erasure of culturally rich and relevant literature. Books written in vernacular, verse, or translanguaged text often get pegged with a low Lexile, despite their emotional and intellectual heft. That means fewer books by authors of color, fewer windows and mirrors for our students, and fewer moments of deep connection.

Instead, try:

Curate parallel text sets: pair a high-Lexile nonfiction article with a lower-Lexile but deeply resonant novel or memoir. Let students draw connections between form, voice, and truth.
Push back by documenting engagement: show how students are thriving with texts “below level” by collecting writing, discussion notes, and self-reflections.
Use picture books and graphic novels with older readers—these often get dismissed due to low Lexile, yet offer rich analysis opportunities and accessibility.

Considerations:

What culturally relevant texts are missing from your curriculum because of Lexile?
How can student voices help you advocate for broader criteria?
How do we make the case that what students read matters more than how difficult it is to decode?

Narrowing Students’ Reading Choices

If we want kids to love reading, we have to let them choose what they read. That means trusting them with books that fall outside their “band.” Lexile-driven mandates send the opposite message: we don’t trust your choices, your interests, or your readiness. But reading joy isn’t built through constraint. It’s built through access, autonomy, and meaningful support.

Instead, try:

Build “just-right-for-me” libraries where students classify books based on interest, not level. Include sticky notes with peer reviews and genre tags.
Hold 1:1 conferences where students reflect on how books make them feel, not just how hard they are to read.
Share stories of your own reading life: books you loved that were “easy,” books you gave up on, books that changed you. Model complexity in decision-making, not just content.

Considerations:

What happens when we let students build their own definitions of “good reading”?
What are the long-term consequences of only offering scaffolds instead of skills?
How do we teach students to be readers without us?

Ignoring Individual Student Needs

Teaching is about relationships. About knowing the kid who hides behind her hair and always picks dog books. About the one who just discovered he loves horror. About the quiet student who will read 600 pages if you don’t make him write a log. Lexile scores can’t know them—but we can.

Instead, try:

Use Lexile as one data point—alongside student interviews, running records, self-assessments, and your own observations.
Let students set reading goals that reflect their identities: “I want to finish my first series,” “I want to read a book by someone like me,” “I want to try nonfiction.”
Co-create book stacks that mix comfort reads, stretch texts, and “wild cards” just for fun.

Considerations:

How can we restore the nuance of teaching in a data-driven system?
What tools do you use to get to know your readers deeply and personally?
How can you document growth in ways that go beyond numbers?

I’m not anti-data, far from it. But I am against any system that flattens our readers and limits our reach. We deserve better tools. Our students deserve broader definitions. Reading instruction should be built on relationships, curiosity, and choice—not compliance.

So when Lexile threatens to become a gatekeeper, let’s push back. Let’s expand what counts. Let’s keep joy at the center. And let’s keep sharing what works—not just because it sounds good, but because we’ve seen it in action.

I’d love to hear how you are navigating this. What has worked in your district? How are you reframing conversations about levels, choice, and rigor? Let’s keep this conversation going.

Reading, Reading Identity

A Few Ideas for Building a Whole School Reading Culture

May 25, 2025 Pernille Ripp

Last week, I was surprised to be asked to speak at another Danish school about the joy of reading to their 4th-9th grade students. Surprised because I am not really anyone who is invited to anything here in Denmark. And also; when was thelast time I went out to speak to students that weren’t my own?

At first, I was pumped. Getting to talk reading and sharing book joy is something that keeps me smiling. But then, as I thought some more about it, I realized that I was the wrong person to bring in.

Not because I couldn’t do the talk. I can. But because the work that might need to happen is work that needs to happen before someone like me comes in. I don’t believe that an outsider – even someone like me who lives and breathes books – can create the lasting impact they’re hoping for. A spark yes. Inspiration ,yes. But without a foundational change in how we view reading in our buildings, all I will be, is a flash. Someone who (hopefully) created joy, but didn’t really impact the culture, at least not yet.

Instead, I believe the real magic happens when we co-create a shared reading culture within your own school walls. When time is specifically made to decide o which type of reading culture you want to have, and we then take the time not only to protect what is already working, but also create new initiatives.

The best reading culture doesn’t come from one-off visits, but from sustained, daily practices that live and breathe in your classrooms and hallways. It’s about fostering local reading connections: Who are your reading role models? Who will lead the charge and share their own reading journeys, not just during a special event, but every single day?

This is why when we want to build reading joy and ownership among students, it’s essential to think beyond a single day or a single guest speaker. While guest speakers and single days can create the momentum, we need more to keep it going. We need to invest in the small, consistent acts that make reading feel alive, relevant, and shared.

So, what does that look like in practice? Here are some ideas for how you might get started – but don’t forget to also include your students. What would they say the focus should be? What would they say is working? What would they say needs to change?

Readers as Role Models and Community Builders

Student reading ambassadors: Choose students who can share book recommendations, host quick booktalks, or lead reading events across grade levels. Their excitement will hopefully spread.
Staff reading showcases: Create a “We’re Reading…” wall where teachers and staff post photos with their current reads, along with a short note about what they love about them. Let students see that reading isn’t just for kids – it’s for everyone. Or do it individually, I have shared my “Mrs. Ripp is currently reading and loving…” wall many times.
Cross-grade reading buddies: Pair older students with younger ones. Let them read aloud, share favorites, and have conversations about books. It’s about connection and mentorship, not just fluency.
Teacher Reading Swap: Each month, two or three teachers “swap” their current read and do a short booktalk for the other’s class. It’s a great way to cross-pollinate reading excitement and show that adults read widely too.
Surprise Guest Readers: Secretly invite parents, local authors, or even the school custodian to pop into classrooms to read a short passage from a book they love. Let them share why it matters to them – it builds authentic connection.
Digital Book Shoutouts: Start a “Reading Reel” on your school’s social media: teachers and students record 30-second videos sharing a book they’re obsessed with. It’s quick, it’s relatable, and it makes reading feel cool and visible.
Classroom “Book Pods”: Instead of traditional reading groups, let small student “book pods” form around a shared interest (like graphic novels, sports, fantasy, etc.). They self-organize discussions, book swaps, or mini-displays.

Celebrations and Rituals Around Reading

Reading Ritual Starters: Start or end the day with a tiny “bookish moment” — a teacher shares a one-minute excerpt from what they’re reading, or a student shares a sentence they loved from their book. A quiet, daily sprinkle of reading.
Bookmarks of the Week: Students create bookmarks with a favorite quote or character from what they’re reading and swap them with classmates. A small but personal way to celebrate reading lives.
Window Wonders: Encourage classes to decorate a window or small bulletin board with their current favorite reads. It’s not about big displays — it’s about little visual peeks into reading life, shared daily.
Quiet Reading Buddies: Once a week, two students pair up and read their own books side by side, no talking. Just sharing quiet reading time — the focus is on the joy of reading with someone, even in silence.
One New Word: Each day, invite a student to share one interesting word they came across while reading. It’s a micro-moment of wonder and wordplay that sparks conversation without taking over the day.
Mini-Postcard Reviews: Students write a tiny “review” (one or two sentences) on a sticky note or postcard for a book they finished. Collect them in a communal jar or box — a low-key, ongoing celebration of finished reads.
Reading Stretch: Between transitions, teachers read a single sentence from their current read aloud. It’s a way to infuse reading into those spare minutes, normalizing it as a shared part of school life.
Collective reading challenges: Instead of focusing on individual reading logs, have classes or teams set collective goals – like reading enough to travel (on paper) to a new city or country. Celebrate their journey together.

Reflection and Building Reading Identity

“My reading life” maps: Have students draw or write about when, where, and how they read, and what reading means to them. These reflections can be surprisingly powerful.
Reading Time Capsules: Have students create a “reading snapshot” – what they’re reading now, their current favorites, and one book they hope to love next year. Seal it and revisit at the end of the year.
Bookish Mood Boards: Instead of just writing about books, let students create mood boards (digital or physical) to capture the vibe of their current favorite read – colors, textures, images.
“Why I Abandoned This Book”: Normalize that not all books work for everyone. Students can reflect on a book they didn’t finish and why and create a bulletin board. It’s a great way to build critical thinking and give permission to stop reading what doesn’t click.
Reading Playlist Pairings: Invite students to create a short playlist that pairs with the vibe of a book they’re reading. Share the playlists with classmates – a creative, multimedia way to share bookish identity.
“Who am I as a reader?” activities: Structured exercises where students think about their favorite genres, their reading goals, their best reading memories. This builds ownership and identity.
Meaningful reading goals: Move beyond page or book counts. Encourage goals like, “I want to find a book that makes me think,” or, “I want to reread an old favorite and see if it still feels the same.”

Saying no to the speaking invitation wasn’t easy, after all, who knows if I will ever get a chance like that again. But without the other work happening, I am just not enough to create a culture shift for students. Not yet anyway. After all, a reading culture isn’t something you import – it’s something you grow together.