Yesterday's Monson high school class was particularly gratifying. We're in the midst of a big three-session revision project, and the kids have really stepped up. They are hard workers, with extreme focus. It is impressive, and this was an especially challenging class as the centerpiece of the day was a first draft that they believed they firmly disliked. They reexamined this piece, they talked about it, they noted strengths and weaknesses, they rewrote new drafts based on their own findings, and then, late in the day, we took a different tack and cannibalized the original for parts: I had them each choose a boring image from the original and write an ode to it. The results were delightful: sometimes funny, always detailed, a true reminder that even our worst writing can bring us into interesting places.

Most of these kids will not study creative writing in college. Few will major in the humanities; several won't go to college at all. Thus, the workshop model--the typical revision model in education--will not be useful for them. If they're going to keep writing, they're going to need to learn to do it on their own. They won't be able to rely on exterior advice.

And for those few who do study creative writing? They're going to need to learn to survive the workshop model. For every useful piece of advice they receive in a workshop, there will be an equivalent number of bad suggestions, not to mention the presence of aggressive posturers, faddish assumptions, and cult-of-personality professors. To weather this storm, they'll need to be clear-eyed and confident about their own ability to sift suggestions, make choices, see their own work, read their own obsessions and histories.

We walk a lonely road as writers.

And these young people are so eager. It is humbling.