A Writer. Part 2

“You’re asking for feedback, and I’m going to offer advice that will hurt, but I know you can handle it.”

K sank a bit into his seat. His eyes fixed on mine. A nod.

“I think you need to cut a lot from the first page. The story you told me seems to be hiding under several paragraphs of character information.”

K’s buddy, seated right next to him, curious about what I would say, leaned in and placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. They looked at each other. Uneasy glances.

Wait…

Did I just tell a 4th grader what to do with his realistic fiction short story? And this isn’t the first time I’ve told a 9-year-old to cut an entire page. Last time it happened, I was M’s very pregnant writing teacher. Funny enough, M would always write beside her BFF S, who also needed a story trim.

I still have a photo of the two of them posing and pouting over my suggestion. They thought it’d be a fun memory for middle school.

I remember conferring with M twice about “Finding the true story, and going from there.” But she was too excited about creating a fictional character. M felt the need to explain every aspect of her character’s personality and life to her readers. She took that lesson to heart and decided to stay there for an entire page.

This time, I’m not K’s teacher. I’m only his teacher’s coach who gets to spend extra time in the classroom conferring with him and his classmates. I have only met with him twice before this moment. The first time, he came to me with an idea for a character and a potential storyline. K had a strong start. I showed him how to “think dramatically” to rehearse struggles and obstacles his character might face. He came back with a few ideas. Things were looking good.

The next time I met with him, he had written a lot about who his character was and where the story would take place.

“Great! Have you planned out the story? Have you written a scene where there’s trouble?” He showed me a timeline. I asked him, “What would you like to do next? How can I help?” He wasn’t sure. So I offered a second question: “Where does trouble begin for this character?” He rehearsed a few scenes, and I moved on to a few other students.

I couldn’t come back to his classroom until the following week. By then, K had started a draft he felt very proud of. When I walked into the classroom, he rushed to the door, stood tall, and begged me to meet with him first.

His story is fantastic. He’s come up with a relatable problem for his character, but he also got too excited about introducing this guy to his readers. Four paragraphs of character development—not in the notebook for reference, but as the start of his draft.

I often find myself telling my teachers we need to constantly recalibrate the expectations we have for our writers. Whether too low or too high, it’s important to keep those in check. But when I tell a 4th-grader to cut down a large portion of his writing, I feel like I need to follow my own advice.

The thing is… K is capable of doing the work. I’ve never been his teacher, but we have a sort of writing history, and I know he can write with sufficient focus. Last year, as I coached his 3rd-grade teacher, K and I talked a lot about craft moves. He’s a great writer. So I asked him if he’d like me to help with that, and he said, “Please!”

Once I moved from the abstract/dramatic to the concrete/doable, “Start where the trouble begins,” he uncapped his pen and began marking places in his timeline.

I don’t always know if my conferences are a hit or a miss, but I do know this: kids aren’t nearly as afraid of revision as we think they are.