He has written 100 words.
“100!” He puts down his pencil. “Done.”
“Not done,” I say.
He glares. He wrote 100 words. Mostly about a dog bite. Some about a broken arm. He added the broken arm because he didn’t have 100 words about the bite.
I talk about telling a story, about narrative arc, about sensory detail and dialogue.
Done done done. “You said 100 words.” He plays tic-tac-toe with his friend.
But… what about that dog, that bite. Was he big? Did it hurt?
He waits. I wait. Two days. Then he picks up his pencil and writes.
(Today’s exit ticket was “one thing you learned”. His response: “I’m not a bad writer even though I thought I was.”)