When Six Minutes Is Enough

In my first year of slicing, I learned about the “X minutes” strategy as a way to get words on the page. What once felt intimidating gradually became energizing, even adventurous. Now it lives in my slicing toolkit, a move I reach for whenever I’m stuck or short on time.

Last week, hoping to support Sophie’s momentum—and help her avoid the familiar funk we fall into when the day is almost over, and we still haven’t written—I told her I’d help her write her slice earlier in the day.

“Let’s write while your students are in PE!” I suggested.

She couldn’t meet then. But a little later, my phone buzzed with this text:

She came in, and I said, “I’ll set a timer for six minutes and we’ll just freewrite. Okay?”

Her eyes were asking for mercy, but she was willing to give it a try. I set the timer, I started a playlist, and we began writing. When it rang, I told her to spend a few minutes rereading and then post. I had a meeting to start, so she stepped into the hall and did just that.

After school, I checked in with her and confessed that even though I’d also written a slice, I was saving mine. I had already scheduled one for the following day.

Sophie posted hers, and I tucked mine away for later. This morning, with a little time to write, I remembered that six-minute freewrite. Reading those rushed thoughts made me smile.

So here’s my six-minute freestyle slice:

This coffee/jazz playlist makes me want to be anywhere but at school.

I think of friends I long to see. Plans we make in text messages, but that feel too impossible to bring to life. Distance sucks.

5 minutes.

I remember that prompt: if we were having coffee. Let’s go there.

We’d be speaking over each other. The excitement in our voices. Overlapping sentences. Stacking laughter. Words pushing through our smiles. We always miss each other, and now, here we are.

We’d order two lattes, yours probably sweeter than mine. You hold yours with your left hand. It reminds me of your handwriting; that image throws me back to 6th grade, seated behind you, unaware I’d become my very chatty bestie.

Remember those nights of endless story recount after going out? I think we will never run out of things to reminisce.

3 minutes.

I didn’t write much about the coffee date, did I?

I would tell you all about my job, the meetings I have every day, and how I still get to spend time with students. You’d shower me with questions and genuine interest, because not only are you an amazing friend, but you have the curiosity of a toddler in the body of a grown woman.

How I miss you.

1 minute. 52 seconds.

Here’s a promise. I will text you as soon as the timer rings. I will tell you how much I wish we could go on that coffee date, and how I look forward to making our summer 2027 plans a reality.