When I interact with young people (Bowdoin students, grandchildren, etc.), I often encourage them to take risks. “What’s the worst that can happen?” I’ll ask blithely, even as I recall the fears I had as a young person when confronted with any challenge outside my comfort zone: speaking in public or singing a solo or facing a curveball or drawing anything more complicated than a stick figure.

So when a high school English teacher asked me to lead a five-hour writing workshop for 20 high school students, I knew I had to give it a go. “What’s the worst that can happen?” I asked my doubting senior self.

Well, I took the risk and had a blast.

On November 18, I arrived at the Auburn Public Library at 8 a.m. ready to roll (I hoped). My challenge: help a diverse group of 20 students from four high schools (Edward Little, Lewiston, Oak Hill and Lisbon) learn a little something about writing. Incidentally, the Androscoggin Valley Education Collaborative (AVEC) sponsors this innovative program, which brings a different author to meet with students every month.

I began by talking about my writing background, noting that I flunked my first three papers in my freshman English class at Bowdoin. Then I gave a few writing tips: e.g. Less is more; use your heart as well as your head; shun the cliche; and get the readers attention/keep them reading/finish strong. I also told them about the Fogg Index, which provides a way to assess the readability level of a piece of writing.

Then we got down to business. Or, rather, the students got down to business, which was for them to do some writing and share it with others. I began with a prompt: “Picture a scene in your mind of the happiest experience you’ve had over the past year. Now write a short description of the experience in 500 words or less.” I gave them 20 minutes to write; then they broke up into three groups to share what they’d written with each other. I wandered from table to table, listening to some of their writings.

Many of the students wrote about doing something which cheered them up from pandemic-enforced lockdowns. One student, for example, even mentioned buying pumpkin-bourbon perfume, a brilliant stroke in my view. A few students were reluctant to share their work with the others, which was fine.

Then I gave some thoughts about writing flash fiction, a genre that consists of writing a short story of 1,000 words or less to a specific prompt. The tips included, for example, “Hook the reader right away; make something happen; make every word count; and have believable dialogue.” I read two stories from the book, which I co-authored with Anneka Williams, a Bowdoin senior, entitled “A Flash Fiction Exchange Between Methuselah and the Maiden: Sixty Stories to While Away the Hours.” They graciously clapped after hearing the stores.

The students then had opportunities to write three times to flash fiction prompts: “Write a story inspired by a story of your grandparent.” “Write a story about or featuring a body part.” And “Write a story that involves a visitor”

They’d break into groups after getting each prompt and I’d walk around listening and observing. I was touched by how supportive the students were of each other: “That was amazing!” And “Oh, wow!”

At the end of the workshop, I commended the students on their fine writing and gave out my “Methuselah and the Maiden” book to the three students whose work especially moved me. (I checked first with the workshop supervisor to make sure it was appropriate to single out students, and he was enthusiastic about the idea.) The students loved being recognized; they came up afterward to get their books signed.

I came away with renewed respect for teachers who work with students on a daily basis. I had it easy, as this was a gifted group of students who wanted to be there, wanted to learn. I only wish our society held teachers at all levels in greater esteem. I also wish that I had had such an opportunity when I was in high school.

On a final note: I will be teaching a four-week flash fiction course for the Midcoast Senior College (all by Zoom) in January. My palms get sweaty just thinking about it. But then again, what’s the worse that could happen?

David Treadwell, a Brunswick writer, welcomes commentary and suggestions for future “Just a Little Old” columns. dtreadw575@aol.com.