For Pam Pursell and Amanda Casey, the path into teaching wasn't the same, but both eventually found themselves standing in front of Du Quoin's students with a shared belief: kids need to know how to express themselves. Not just for tests or assignments, but for life.

Amanda, now in her 26th year, grew up in Du Quoin and graduated from DHS in 1996. Teaching was the only thing she really wanted to do. She started at Tamaroa Grade School as a Title I reading teacher, once imagining herself teaching math — until the reality hit. "It takes a special person to be a math teacher," she says. "I wasn't that person." When she came to Du Quoin, she knew: this is where I'm supposed to be.

Pam tried everything she could to avoid following in her family's footsteps. Her parents were teachers. Her grandmother worked in the high school office. Her dad was a principal. "I tried not to be a teacher," she laughs. "I tried my hardest." She went to college for physical therapy — until the absence of kids made something clear. She missed them. She called Teresa Stacy from the high school, crying. "Pam, just go," Teresa told her. "You're a teacher. Go change and go." Eventually, Pam came home.

The district's writing initiative — now in its third year — began with Pam during COVID, scrolling TikTok. She stumbled onto a teacher sharing a writing program that broke the process into small, manageable pieces. It reminded her of power writing from her own school days but more structured. She brought it to Amanda. She brought it to the principal. They began to try it.

Amanda resisted at first. "I'm old school," she admits. "I don't really like doing new things." She dragged her feet. But once she broke the ice, she thought: This is not bad at all. And the students got it.

The heart of the program is simplicity. "It's a map," Pam says. Students start by thinking about a topic. They brainstorm reasons. They turn those into a diagram. The diagram becomes an outline. The outline becomes sentences. Step by step, the once-impossible task becomes doable.

"We've already seen major gains," Amanda says. Her students have more above-proficient scores than ever before. Pam's students — many who previously wrote a single word or two on standardized writing assessments — now write paragraphs. "They scored a two or a three this year," she says. "Going from a zero to that... It's amazing."

Then there was the boy who transferred into Amanda's class. He didn't want to come because he was scared of writing. Just the other day, he said, "This isn't bad at all. This isn't hard." That's when Amanda knew.

Pam still hears from graduates who message her: "Hey, Ms. Pursell, remember when we did this? I had to do that at work the other day." Those moments matter. Especially when she questions herself — which she does. "There's a lot of times, especially in the last few years, that I've kind of reached my limit," she admits. "And those little times are the ones that make it worth it. If you can reach one — if you can do something good for one — at least you've done it."

Their roots here run deep. Pam's mother, Kathy Beard, taught kindergarten for 34 years and still works with her grandchildren. Retired teachers sent Pam cards when she started teaching. Sandy Sweeney called when Pam had a job lined up in Paris, Illinois, asking if she'd come work at Ward instead. "You got me," Pam said. The small-town pride pulled her back.

Amanda can't imagine being anywhere else either. "It's just my home," she says.

With this writing initiative, they're giving students something that will follow them long after seventh grade: a way to organize their thoughts, a way to be understood, a way to claim their voice.