The only argument I’ve ever witnessed between Teenage Nephew 1 and Longtime Girlfriend was a doozy.

And I couldn’t help chortling with glee because the basis of their disagreement was so close to my heart: What makes for the best possible story?

Actually, the way they put it was, “What’s better, ‘Star Wars’ or ‘Harry Potter’?” But don’t let the fact that they were comparing two fictional worlds fool you: this was a white-hot debate, the competitors more impassioned in their arguments than politicians at a pre-election picnic.

Neither was giving ground; they had dug their heels in, and the “wizard vs. space warrior” dispute looked as if it was coming perilously close to derailing Young Love, when Teenage Nephew 1 suddenly shrugged and said, “All I know is, lightsabers are bigger than wands,” in a definitive way that signaled that in his mind, at least, he’d had the final word.

And they say that size doesn’t matter.

Size may not, but stories do matter. We all have stories that have become an integral part of us; we carry them around and they help shape who we are. Capturing stories on paper, however, can be tricky, and leads some students to dread story-writing. So one of the tricks I’ve found to generate classroom enthusiasm for writing stories is to first get students talking about the stories that have mattered most to them personally. What are their favorite books or movies, and why? Does their favorite song tell a story, maybe about love gone right or love gone wrong? What are their most treasured personal stories: the scary thing that happened on their family vacation? The memory of that time their dog ate the holiday dinner?

Based on the age of your students and the size of your group, you might choose to have them share favorite stories in a big group, or break them into smaller groups. The point is to have them realize how much certain stories have mattered in their own lives, or even to extend the discussion to talk about how a big a role stories have played in shaping human history.

Once all those great stories have filled the room, it becomes a whole lot easier to shift gears into having them write stories of their own.

I was planning a road trip to Northern Minnesota to teach at a Young Author’s Conference and decided to include a small detour to my past: the town of Bemidji, where we lived when I was in 2^nd through 5^th grades.

So after the conference wrapped, I spent a couple of happy days travelling down memory lane. I was warmly welcomed at my old elementary school and then drove all over town taking photos and visiting my personal landmarks: our old house and neighborhood, the amusement park, the lake where we swam and went ice fishing, the college campus where we went to hockey games. Some of my memories were missing; many others had grown smaller or grungier. Sadly, I couldn’t track down my favorite smell, since both the public and school libraries had changed locations and lost the odor of old books in their moves. But mostly I loved every minute of my gamboling about town.

I had one regret as I loaded my luggage: I had managed to find the number for my 5^th grade teacher, but she hadn’t responded to my phone message. Seeing her and being able to say “thank you” would have been a highlight: she was the person who made me believe, all those years ago, that I could become a “real writer” someday. She even helped me submit a letter to the editor of the local newspaper—my first publication!—after which I began practicing my “famous author signature.” Life has thrown many detours along my writing road, but her early belief in me has been part of what’s provided my drive to be a writer ever since.

I got in my car thinking what fun it would have been to tell her in person that things had truly come full circle: not only had I grown up to be a writer, but I had just taught at a Young Writer’s Conference attended by some students from our old elementary school.

I turned the key in the ignition, and my cell phone rang.

Mrs. Henriques, despite the last-minute timing, I got to say it to your face that day after all. But it bears repeating here, in writing, on Valentine’s Day: thank you for believing, all those years ago, that I could become a “real writer!” Sometimes all a writer—of any age—needs to drive them forward, is someone to believe in them.

You get a different view of the road behind you depending on which of your car’s mirrors you look into.

And writers can direct readers to a different outlook on their story depending on which point of view they use as the “mirror” for the events that take place.

I’ve found that point of view is a tricky thing for many writers, whether they’ve been at the writing game for five months or twenty-five years. It’s all too easy to unconsciously slip from an outside narrator (the third person “she”) to an inside narrator (first person “I”), or to “head-hop” from the inside of one character’s head to another.

As with so many other areas of the writing craft, repeated practice is one of the best ways to avoid these mistakes. One simple exercise is to have your students try their hand at writing the same scene multiple times, but deliberately and thoughtfully shifting point of view each time. Ask them to write a scene in which one student is bullying another. The first time through, have them write the scene using third person—one of the most common points of view (“Kurt was walking down the hall, minding his own business, when Big Mike suddenly shoved him into a locker.”)

Then have your students write the scene in first person—another common point of view—from the perspective of the student who is being bullied. (“I was walking down the hall, feeling pretty proud about the ‘A’ I’d just gotten on my math test, and bam! Out of nowhere, my face was crushed against a locker.”)

Finally, you can add a third round: have them try the scene again in first person point of view but, this time, from the bully’s perspective. (“I was really mad because I flunked that math test and then I noticed this kid from my class who goes around acting like he’s smarter than all the rest of us. I couldn’t help it, I just had to teach that kid a lesson, so I gave him a little tiny push.”)

By deliberately choosing to switch the point of view or the perspective character, young writers will learn some of the nuances that go into each of these choices—they’ll learn, in other words, how to adjust their story’s mirror.