I’ve been waiting for this framework. Not in a passive, vague sense — but properly waiting. With anticipation. With hope. With a growing sense that something clear- eyed and sensible might finally come to the surface. And now it’s here!
Here it is: 150 pages, 8 sections, 9 appendices — a serious piece of work with serious intentions. It’s not statutory, but it lands with weight and purpose. As I read through it, I found myself nodding. This is the framework I’ve been carrying in my head for years — thoughtful, grounded and refreshingly aligned with what we know about how children learn to write.
Support for reflection and leadership
Alongside its core guidance, the framework includes a series of practical audit tools to help leaders and teachers evaluate current practice. These are particularly helpful for identifying strengths and gaps in key areas, and can be used to inform professional dialogue and development planning.
Audits are provided for:
- Handwriting
- Spelling
- Composition
- Keeping up from the start
- Supporting pupils who need more help
- Leadership and management of writing
These audits are not checklists to ‘pass’ or ‘fail’. They are prompts for thinking — a way to ground your evaluation in evidence and guide your next steps. Used well, they offer a way to bring consistency across classrooms and sharpen the shared understanding of what good looks like.
So, let’s get into it. What’s in there, why it matters and what we might do next.
It captures, at last, the complexity of writing without overcomplicating the teaching of it. It respects the demands placed on pupils and offers a grounded, research-informed view of what really matters — particularly in those early years when so much depends on building strong foundations.
Let me talk you through why this matters so much and what school leaders should be thinking about next.
Writing is not simple — far from it
One of the framework’s greatest strengths is that it does not oversimplify the act of writing. It recognises, rightly, that writing draws on an extraordinary number of processes — cognitive, physical, linguistic, emotional — all happening at once. It’s not just a skill to be taught; it’s a complex orchestration of transcription, composition, grammar, vocabulary, purpose and control. Writing is not simple — far from it.
What’s especially striking is how closely aligned this framework is with the DfE Reading Framework. Both documents share a clear conviction: spoken language is central. Whether children are reading or writing, it is talk — rich, structured, well-modelled talk — that provides the bridge. Oral rehearsal, sentence building, rephrasing, extending ideas: all these spoken language habits underpin fluent, confident writing just as they underpin comprehension and fluency in reading.
This overlap isn’t accidental. It reflects a growing recognition that language development is the bedrock of both reading and writing success. If your school has spent time embedding the principles of the reading framework, you’ll find the writing framework feels like a natural progression — a deepening of the same foundational thinking.
It all starts in reception
Where play and purpose meet
It’s worth pausing here. Play is not an optional extra in the early teaching of writing — it’s part of the terrain. The framework rightly insists on daily, deliberate work to build the physical foundations for writing, but we mustn’t limit play’s role to wrist strength and mark-making alone.
Play is a context where ideas are born, language is stretched and composition begins to take root — long before it’s ever pinned to a page. In role play, in small world settings, in the telling and retelling of stories, children rehearse language patterns, test out voices, structure narratives. They make meaning.
So yes, explicit teaching matters. Strong writers need strong muscles and clear instruction. But they also need rich, playful experiences that invite them to be story-makers, idea-formers, and meaning-builders. The framework makes space for both — and so should we.
Muscles first: the physical foundations of writing
Before a pencil even hits the page, we have to start with muscle strength. It’s easy to forget just how physically demanding writing is — particularly for our youngest pupils. Fine and gross motor control are not nice-to-haves. They are the foundation.
In Reception, that means daily, deliberate practice. Children need time to build strength in their hands, wrists and shoulders — through climbing, squeezing, cutting, pouring, mark-making. Alongside this, we teach the mechanics of handwriting explicitly: forming letters correctly, holding the pencil with control, and sitting with posture that supports fluency.
Only once these elements are in place can transcription begin to become automatic. That’s when dictation plays its part — linking phonics to spelling, and giving pupils structured opportunities to rehearse and write with growing confidence.
Strong writers need strong muscles. Let’s not rush past that.
If we want pupils to write fluently, we need to free up their cognitive load. That means we start with transcription — not as an afterthought, but as a central part of our writing curriculum.
The framework is crystal clear: automaticity in handwriting and spelling matters. It isn’t enough to assume pupils will ‘pick it up’ over time. We need to teach handwriting explicitly and cumulatively — with progression mapped, time protected and expectations high. In Reception, this means daily practice: forming letters, strengthening motor skills and beginning to apply phonics knowledge through dictation.
This doesn’t mean dismissing emergent writing. Far from it. But we shouldn’t mistake mark-making for composition. Children can and should explore writing in play — but that should sit alongside explicit teaching, not instead of it.
Language experience shapes the writer
Before children can write with control and intention, they must have something to say — and the language to say it with. But this isn’t about a neat line from talk to transcription. It’s about both, together. As children begin to form letters, they must also be forming ideas — through back-and-forth conversation, through retelling, through storying the world aloud. This is oral composition in action: shaping meaning aloud, holding an idea in the mind, rehearsing how it might be said. Rich oral language experiences — playful, narrative, descriptive, cumulative — don’t come before instruction. They run alongside it. They deepen it. They are not a warm-up act, but the ground from which writing grows.
Spelling deserves better
Finally, spelling gets the attention it deserves. The framework treats spelling not as a standalone test but as a component of fluency — something that should be taught systematically and practised regularly. Dictation, revisiting known words, teaching morphology and etymology — it’s all in there.
And there’s a welcome reminder that spelling tests alone do not give us a true picture of spelling ability. Low-stakes assessments, focused on taught content, are more reliable. More sensible, too.
Sentences, sentences, sentences
If I could print one phrase from the framework on a T-shirt, it would be this: success in sentences is central.
It’s everything. And yes, I probably do need another badge now to go alongside Sentence Queen and No Writer Left Behind (thank you to those brilliant schools who made those for me — you know who you are and I thank you). This framework backs what many of us have been banging the drum about for years: start with the sentence and everything else follows.
The framework champions sentence-level work as the foundation for composition. That means subject–verb understanding. Oral rehearsal. Sentence combining. Crafting and improving sentences through talk, modelling and practice. Not a bolt-on, not an afterthought — but the very heart of writing instruction.
But let me be clear — this does not mean reams of sentence worksheets that are neither linked to a core text or your curriculum. I beg you. No, no, no. Worksheets might isolate grammar, but they don’t build writers. We don’t need children circling fronted adverbials on a page. We need them crafting sentences that say something — with meaning, purpose and control.
That’s why the framework is so strong on context. Grammar must be taught in the service of writing, not as a disconnected bolt-on. Pupils need to learn how language works within real texts, for real audiences. The sentence is our unit of meaning — and we build it, rehearse it, play with it, combine it, improve it.
Get this right, and we give children the control and confidence to write with clarity, purpose and coherence. And yes, I’ll wear that on a badge too.
The framework couldn’t be clearer: to compose, children need to master the sentence. That starts with oral composition — rehearsing, combining, refining — and develops into confident written control. Pupils need to know what a sentence is. They need subject–verb knowledge. They need opportunities to build, play with, and extend sentence structures, first through talk and then in writing.
This is the beating heart of any effective writing curriculum. It doesn’t require gimmicks. It just requires thoughtful teaching, careful modelling and the time to practise.
Grammar is not the villain
There’s an honesty in the framework’s treatment of grammar that I appreciate. It recognises that the way we’ve been incentivised to teach grammar — especially in Year 6 — hasn’t always served writing well.
Grammar is not for feature-spotting
Grammar is not for ticking boxes. It’s not there to help children spot a fronted adverbial in a random sentence. (Although, let’s be honest — we do have a Year 6 assessment that rather suggests otherwise.)
But this framework pushes back. It reminds us that grammar isn’t a list of labels — it’s a set of tools. Tools for shaping meaning, for adjusting tone, for communicating clearly with a reader in mind.
Teaching grammar in context isn’t just preferable — it’s essential. When pupils understand why a particular structure works, how a verb choice shifts the mood, or what a sentence pattern achieves, they’re far more likely to use grammar purposefully in their own writing.
This isn’t about denying the test exists. It’s about ensuring that our grammar teaching does more than prepare for one assessment point — that it actually improves writing. And that’s the work that lasts.
Composition is hard. Let’s not rush it.
Writing is demanding. Physically, cognitively, emotionally. The framework respects this. It warns us against setting pupils up to fail by giving them tasks they’re not ready for — like writing character descriptions before they can spell words or form letters with ease.
The message is simple: match the task to the child’s stage, not just their age. In Reception and Year 1, this means focusing on oral composition and transcription. Don’t rush extended writing. Let’s build fluency and control first.
Later, as fluency develops, composition can become more extended — but only when pupils are ready. We mustn’t confuse task quantity with curriculum quality.
Modelling, purpose and process
One of the real strengths of the framework is its emphasis on the writing process. Not just the final product, but everything that leads up to it: planning, oral rehearsal, sentence crafting, drafting, revising, editing and sharing.
It asks teachers to model their own thinking — to share the messiness of writing, the struggle and the shaping. It reminds us that writing is not neat. It’s not a linear journey. It’s recursive and unpredictable — and pupils need to see that in action.
The framework also brings us back to purpose and audience. Writing should be meaningful. Pupils need to know why they’re writing and for whom. That means drawing on whole texts, not just extracts. It means immersing pupils in high-quality models so they can internalise text structures and language patterns — particularly in KS2.
This won’t be a revelation for many schools. In fact, quite a few have been doing this well for years — keeping writing purposeful, meaningful and anchored in authentic texts. The framework simply affirms what strong practice already shows us: pupils need to know why they’re writing and who they’re writing for.
That means more than extracts. It means drawing on whole texts, exploring them deeply, and using them as models to internalise structure, style and voice. Particularly in Key Stage 2, pupils need time to get under the skin of a text — to notice how it’s built, to play with its grammar, to borrow and adapt language patterns with intention.
Writing doesn’t start from nowhere. It starts from reading, from talk, from purpose. The best schools know this already. The framework gives national voice to that work.
A living document — not the final word
It’s worth remembering that this framework is non-statutory. It’s not a checklist to assess against, nor is it the final version. A revised framework will follow once the outcomes of the wider curriculum and assessment review are published.
So while it offers clear, evidence-informed guidance, it should be seen as a working document — a tool to support reflection and development, not something to enforce or inspect against. Its strength lies in the way it helps us think, not in any set of tick-box outcomes.
Use it to inform your curriculum thinking, shape professional dialogue and bring clarity to your school’s approach to writing — but hold it lightly, and be ready to adapt when the next phase arrives.
A note of caution (about schemes)
Given the emphasis on transcription and the new clarity around handwriting expectations, there will understandably be a flurry of interest in commercial resources. Some schemes — including high-profile ones from Ruth Miskin and others — are already making a move.
But here’s a note of caution: don’t rush to buy. Not yet.
The final version of the writing framework, including any curriculum or assessment changes, isn’t due until mid to late autumn. Until then, any new scheme claiming to be fully aligned is, at best, speculative. Sit tight. Use this time to consolidate what’s working well, identify your priorities and wait until the full picture is clear before making significant purchases.
What matters now is clarity of purpose, consistency of practice and strength of professional knowledge. Resources can support that — but they are not a shortcut to it.
So what should we do now? A sensible stance
If this isn’t the final word — and we know a revised version will follow once the curriculum and assessment review concludes (likely not until mid to late autumn) — then what’s a sensible approach?
The answer, I think, is to treat this framework as a professional compass, not a fixed map. It offers clarity of direction. It reminds us what matters. And for many of us, it articulates priorities we’ve long held — foundational transcription, sentence-level control, grammar for meaning and purposeful composition.
But don’t rush to rewrite your curriculum. Avoid sweeping curriculum changes or hastily redrafted policies. Instead, work iteratively — with a clear view of your school’s context, a focus on building coherence and an openness to adapt once the final guidance arrives.
In short: absorb the thinking, apply what makes sense now and stay agile. This is a moment for thoughtful leadership, not reactive overhaul.
Emma Adcock – VNET Principal Teaching and Learning Consultant, 12th July 2025
