I’ve been reading Ralph Fletcher’s Boy Writers: Reclaiming Their Voices and thinking about the different boy writers I’ve had in my classroom over the last three years of teaching writers workshop.
The ones that frustrate us because they sit there staring at a blank notebook page, or tell you “I don’t know” when you ask them “How’s it going?” during a conference. The ones whose handwriting is sloppy or big or practically cryptic. The ones who only ever want to write about one topic or in one genre. The ones who write stories that don’t make much sense or end with an “and-then-the-world-explodes!”
But also the ones who bring so much joy. The ones who have such a clear voice they couldn’t hide it if they tried. The ones whose humor comes across no matter the genre. The ones who have a great grasp on spelling and conventions. The ones who write for fun or collaboratively with friends. The ones who engage in a conference and eagerly try out new craft moves.
Today I’m thinking about all the boy writers I’ve had whose writing has surprised me and floored me. Like T’s final on-demand story about a boy who didn’t have enough words, which has the most beautiful lesson. Or E’s essay about his little sister, inspired by R’s. I’m thinking about the script that L wrote for our showcase last year, and how it brought all these disparate things together in the most hilarious way. About P’s memoir that called out the bullying going on in the classroom, the group of parents who stood reading it together at our celebration. Most recently, I’m thinking about N’s opinion on-demand and his undeniable voice, the way his parents laughed at our parent-teacher conference about how, yup, that kid could definitely be a lawyer.
My goal for the rest of the year? Not get in their way.
Writing With Abandon 
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