For much of the year, it has been my pleasure to work with Jorge, Evan, and Theo in our Writers Café. We gathered weekly via Google Meet, moving only recently to a hybrid meeting at school. Each session begins with the reading aloud of any new writing we have to share. All three of the boys have worked independently on more than one long piece during the year, though these were not treated as assignments that required completion — they were ‘developmental ventures.’

After writing sharing, we move on to various activities designed to expand our skills. Often, I provide a writing prompt to get things rolling. The four of us then take several minutes to write a short piece based on the prompt, which we then share and discuss. I’ve used prompts that call for writing in first or third person, present or past tense, dialog, monologue, plot advancement, rich description, endings with a twist, alliteration, repetition for effect, and several more. The interests of the boys tend to take their works in directions that feature conflict, danger, and thrills, with no shortage of youthful humor.

One of our favorite activities is to co-write a piece. Starting perhaps with a first line of dialog, description of a situation, or plot starter, one person follows the other in carrying the story forward. Sometimes it’s a single work, requiring writers to add a sentence or two quickly and then pass it on. Other times, we each start a piece, and then pass it on to the next in line after a fixed time, resulting in four separate stories, each authored by four writers. The exercise promotes fluency, rapid assessment, and fast response, as well as encouraging a sort of high-energy creativity. Results can be wild! Here’s an example…

Trey stared into the mirror in surprise. Something had changed; something small. He was still himself, a boy, a normal kid, but he was different somehow. Older. 

I mean, he knew he wasn’t a “little kid” anymore. That had been true for awhile, even though his Aunt Myrna still called him a “good little boy.” So he guessed he must be a “big boy” now, but suddenly that seemed wrong too. Suddenly the eyes that looked back at him were older even than that. They were the eyes of… what? An “old boy?” That didn’t sound right. 

Could they… could they be the eyes of a “young man?” 

Wow. What could that mean?

Na. Best to just get to school, before his mother came up and scolded him for not doing anything. She was always so, “work is good for the soul,” and all that. Really, he had to stop and take a breath sometimes, do a bit of self-reflection. He wanted to be a philosopher when he left college. Most people would think that was ridiculous, but Trey had the grades to back up his dream.

He looked away from the mirror, opened the door slowly and headed for his room, something wasn’t right when he walked, was he… taller? He picked up his bag, and plopped a book into it, he slung his bag over his shoulder and started for the stairs.

His shoes felt tight.

As he walked, he thought about the favorite book in his bag — Being and Nothingness by Jean Paul Sartre, one of the most renowned philosophers of all time. It was such a good book, and laid out such good opinions. He wondered why everyone didn’t read it. Then again, it was a little confusing. Even Trey himself had a bit of trouble understanding it sometimes, and he had been studying this sort of thing since he was seven. He wished he could go back to that time, a time when everything was simpler…

“Trey! Get down here right now or you’ll have no breakfast!” 

“Coming Mom!” Trey yelled, running down the stairs to the kitchen. On the counter, there was a singular boiled egg, as well as Trey’s daily sustenance — the mind smoothie.

The mind smoothie, as he called it, was a sandpaper-colored concoction made of… Well, he didn’t really know what it was made of. His uncle (also his biggest supporter when it came to his dream, as he was an amateur philosopher himself) had sent the recipe a few years ago, and now he ate it almost exclusively.

He liked the name, “mind smoothie,” because he felt like his mind sort of ‘smoothed out’ when he drank it. When his mind was smooth, he thought of things, like, ‘if you eat something, do you become like what you eat?’

Of course, his logical side said no, of course not, that’s impossible. 

Suddenly, Trey’s left shoe ripped!

The Writers Café gives avid young writers the chance to explore the craft and have a great time doing it. I look forward to working with a new group in the coming year.

Paul Otteson