It’s early November, and I might not cook another meal until I turn in grades for the semester. The house is a mess. Piles everywhere, and I should just throw away the one of the boys’ schoolwork on the kitchen counter. I like to look through it and talk with them about what they’re learning, but who has time?
I set the coffee to brew.
“You’ve got five minutes, pile.”
Two minutes in and I find this.
Uh-Oh … Monster Loose!!!! By Jesse Troy
Sunset. My cabin. Magical cauldron. DUH! I’m a witch; it makes sense that it’s sunset, I’m at a cabin, and brewing something suspicious. Why bother, you ask? Cause’ I a witch, that’s why (we witches don’t always use weird proper grammar). Anyway, we (me and my beautiful cat, Midnight) heard knocking.
“Who’s there?!” I shout in my most wicked shout (my awesome shout, not my ugly one).
“Come in,” I moan.
“UNLESS YOU ARE VERY TIRED OF LIVING, PLEASE COME IN!!!!!
It’s 4AM, and Jess is sleeping in his bed, but he’s talking to me through this paper. He does have an awesome shout and an ugly one. He has a great sense of humor, but I didn’t know it extended to grammar jokes. He wants a cat, but Mom’s allergic. I’m glad he wrote one into a story because if we can’t realize dreams on the page, what’s the point? And that last line? That’s pretty much how he talks to Ezra all the time.
Talk of finding and maintaining your writing voice can feel high-brow. The work of my 9-year-old son makes it plain to me. I don’t have to wake Jesse up to ask him whether he was interested in this story or whether he made himself laugh with his jokes. His writing, his voice, makes it clear.
He told his story well; he told his story like himself. Let’s make like Jess on Day 8 of NaNoWriMo. You’re gonna have to tell something today. Tell it like you tell it.