From Killian, who I am mentoring,  last night:

 “I never saw my writing as something I could get others to read. But you gave me the courage and bravery to keep writing.”

Those are the sweetest words I could possibly here from a gifted young writer struggling to show his work to the world.

The great gift of growing older for me is the gift of mentoring, lighting the creative spark in a young creative,  giving them the confidence to follow their heart and soul and take the great leap of doing what they love.

It is the most beautiful gift I can ever give another human being, and it is part of the mission of being older in a meaningful way. It is the highest calling of teaching.

The worst of mentoring is when people try to force their values and beliefs onto a younger and more vulnerable mind.

The best mentoring is encouragement, the sincere words that come when you can change or light up life simply by saying, “yes, you can do it,” “yes, you are good enough. You are better than you know.”

In my years of mentoring, those are the magic words that can light up the creative spark and give young and fragile people the courage and strength to move forward with their lives and learn to love and respect themselves and their work.

To say, yes, thank you, I know you can do this rather than no, you need more work, you are not good enough.  It shocked me to learn that this is what so many young creatives are gold.

My response is this: Everyone has a story to tell. Your story is essential; you must take the leap and tell it. You will encounter fear, rejection, and even ridicule. And you will encounter praise and encouragement, and hopefully, the joy of doing what you love.

That’s the toll, that’s the price, that’s the sacrifice.

I wrote the other day about my new student Killian, an 11th grader at Bishop Gibbons High School, where Maria and I volunteer.

Trish White, the very dedicated head of the school’s English Department and now a friend,  asked me to mentor Killian in creative writing. He is a shy 15-year whose dream is to write horror stories in the vein of Stephen King.

He was and is somewhat terrified to show his work to the world and to show it to me.

Killian was nervous around me, almost unable to show me his work for fear I would critique it or not like it. I could see he did not believe in himself when it came to his writing. The challenge was not to tell him what to do but to persuade him that he could do it.

I liked Killian from the first time I met him; there was a twinkle in his eyes and a depth you could practically touch, as quiet and introspective as he is.  Killian loves to bowl, but I think he is happiest when he has his earpads on and is listening to rock and pop music.

While we were talking, his earpads broke down.

Trish told me she wanted me to work with Killian because he wanted it more than anyone, and she knew I would go after him, even as he dodged and weaved out of fear that he couldn’t write.

His anxiety was solid and robust – I know fear well, and it took me two or three weeks, many messages and texts, and a bit of bullying before Killian read the opening lines of his story and finally shared his ideas with me. They are good ideas; he is full of promise.

For six weeks, we went back and forth; I tried, again and again, to break through that wall of fear. I thought I might never get through.

Last week, we finally broke through when he read a paragraph from his horror story, and I liked it very much; and I convinced him that he could be a writer if he wished; he has the gifts and cour, age, and commitment.

He has the talent, he just needed the encouragement, and we are already arguing about the plot line, and happily. You don’t need to be a saint to do good or help a young writer.

After that, we began talking and sharing ideas, and Killian began to open up. This week, he’s e-mailing me his first horror short story, and I’m excited about it; I plan to post it on the blog. Then, I told him he will be a published writer.

Last night, he e-mailed me this letter, which touched me as profoundly as anything I can recall and reinforced the importance of mentoring.

How I wish someone had encouraged me to be what I wanted to be, and how grateful I am to the librarian in the East Side Branch of the Providence Public Library who told me she knew I would have my books on her library shelves one day.

I made a point of doing a reading at her library when I was a published author.

She made all the difference. Here is Killian’s letter to me:

“I wanted to write this letter to thank you for supporting me and for the earbuds.

It seems you see something in me and my writing ideas. I never saw my writing as something I could get others to read. But you gave me the courage and bravery to keep writing. Thank you for your support and kindness this past month and a half. Thank you for everything.

Sincerely, Killian, you favorite rookie writer.”

This is it; this is what mentoring is all about. This is what I live for.

I e-mailed  Killian this morning and asked for his permission to post his letter on my blog.

“Yes, you can,” he answered right away. (Killian and I have become texting buddies, we go back and forth all day.)

“Thanks,” I replied, “Killian this is a beautiful letter. Don’t let anyone tell you that you can’t write. Thanks for trusting me. I won’t let you down.”