…“You said my name wrong! You said ‘Reh-GINA’ and my name is ‘RUH-gina,’”

 …“Can I move? He’s kicking me!”

…“This plastic chair is hard.”

I’m at the Young Writers workshop at our local library. The manager asked me to talk to the kids on “Descriptive Language” for the hour. It starts off with lots of restless commotion.

I glance at the large clock on the wall. I have an hour to figure out how to calm my young writers, first grade to eighth. How do I approach this wide range of ages? I would teach descriptive language in a much different manner to the older children than I would to the younger. I might be in for a long hour.

“May I have your attention?” I say to the chattering, wiggling group. I tap the table for effectiveness. No one hears me. Several of the children have not decided which side of the room they will sit. Children rustle back and forth. This chair? No. Maybe this one?

A seventh-grade girl with long reddish-brown hair leans over to tell me something privately. “You might get their attention better if you clap your hands.”

 

My inner rebellion tells me to not follow the instructions of a young girl even though she offers good advice. Like Frank Sinatra, I’ll do it my way. Without clapping my hands, I say, “May I have your attention?” I say it this time in a funny voice, like a cartoon character and not like the ordinary guest workshop teacher that I am. Miraculously, the children turn and focus on me.

I introduce myself and welcome them. I stroll around the room shaking each one’s hand and handing them a peel and stick name badge. “I’m putting my badge in the center of my shirt,” Caleb* announces loudly. I’m not sure why this was an important statement for us all to hear, but somehow, I think Caleb wants the group to know he doesn’t do things like everyone else. Ella* says nothing and quietly sticks her name badge on her forehead. It will remain on her forehead throughout the hour.

Each child has a composition book. In it they keep their writing, their stories, their drawings. I ask each one to tell me about their story. One girl says, “My story is about a princess, locked up. But not in a castle. Somewhere more modern.” …Perhaps a princess locked in a Starbucks bathroom along with lots of non-paying customers who stopped in for the free bathroom privileges? That’s very modern...But, I don’t say this~of course.

Jayden*, probably 8 or 9, raises his hand. “You didn’t ask me who my favorite author is.” I explain I plan to …Jayden blurts, “J.K. ROWLING.” The overzealous Harry Potter fan locks eyes with me, in a way that says, ‘I may look small but don’t test me.’

Is it time for me to race out the door? I’m pretty sure it might be.

Yet, I stay. We move on to the elements of good writing. I talk about the five senses and how important it is to paint a picture with words of what you see, touch, taste, hear and smell.

“Close your eyes and listen for a minute. What do you hear, what do you smell?”

One girl says, “I smell air.” Another says, “I smell books and ink.”  (Well, we are in a library.) Caleb says very matter-of-factly, “I hear the vague sound of a fax machine.”

I ask them to write down everything around them using the five senses.

“I don’t know what to write. (girl says with protruding bottom lip) I’m not going to write anything. I’ll just write, ‘I’m sitting here.’”

Except for two, everyone wants to read aloud their portrayal of their library experience using the five senses; the sight of colorful books and stuffed animals on shelves, the hushed sound of conversations among the patrons, and the taste of “spit.” Everyone has written they tasted spit.

“What I wrote is bad,” Jayden says.

I tell him, “No one can say their writing is bad. It’s not allowed.” With Jayden’s permission, I read his paragraph to the group. Jayden stares at his lap. “That’s very good. You used the five senses,” I say. Jayden’s head pops up and he beams.

I find something in each child’s work to give praise. I want to be genuine in my praise as everyone needs to hear what they have done right. Writers need encouragement. Basically, people need encouragement. We so often hear what we did wrong rather than what we’ve done right.

Caleb feels a need to tell me something out of earshot of the others. “The reason I’m not writing is because I’m nervous and shy and I like to write at home and not here with all these people.”

At 3 p.m. the workshop ends but the kids amazingly continue to write quietly, engaged in their writing and imagination. Only Caleb snaps a small Lego toy, presumably a necessary release for tension.

Before I say good-bye, two girls request my autograph.  Oh yes, yes. I’m an author, aren’t I?

I sign my name on a plain piece of paper for each one. To make it extra special, I sign my name with a swirl. “Bye everyone,” I say as I pack up. I wish now I had said good-bye in my funny, cartoon voice. The kids like that.

 

*names in blog were changed for everyone’s protection

βω♥