Inside the Bookstore:
Deadwood Students
These students present the opposite challenge to that of a Bulldozer Chatterbox. Far from interrupting your every point, they steadfastly refuse to say anything. In the worst cases, even their facial expressions don't seem to respond to what you say, giving you the eerie feeling that you're conducting a lesson at Madam Tussauds.
The big problem here is momentum—you'll be responsible not only for initiating everything that happens, but for then sustaining it. Were you to pause for breath for just a moment, the student would just sit there looking, waiting obediently but creepily for What's Next. Just as even the most talented actors struggle when they're working with a wooden and unresponsive colleague, you'll find your creativity being sucked away, as you sneak glances at the clock, willing it forward...and the core question returns:
Why are you doing this to yourself?...
DEADWOOD CHECK: Could your student be described as a Mannequin?
A) Definitely. I would have to take their pulse to be sure they're alive (10 points)
B) There are occasional flickers, but most communication is one-way (6 points)
C) It's an occasional problem (2 points)
D) Not at all (0 points)
Perhaps the most frustrating student of all, reducing lessons to a shadow of what's possible from both teacher 
and pupil. There's plenty you can do to help fire up the practice process (see Practiceopedia for 376 pages of ideas), but in the end a student who refuses to practice at all is condemning their lessons to a lingering death. Your role then becomes an uncomfortable cross between babysitter (of the student) and palliative care (of their parents' vicarious musical hopes and dreams).
Be careful though before dismissing a student on these grounds. Some of the best students I've ever had have been people who have been through non-practicing troughs, and there's often fixable causes behind the slump.
DEADWOOD CHECK: To what extent is your student a Non-Practicer?
A) I'm yet to see evidence that they ever practice (10 points)
B) Apart from panic practice before a concert, they'll rarely prepare for lessons (6 points)
C) It's an occasional problem (2 points)
D) Their practice is fine (0 points)
I don't need my students to organize a parade in my honour every time I make a suggestion, and I genuinely 
enjoy conversations that result in me being persuaded by a stronger idea. But some students will oppose everything that's said, almost as a reflex action.
This means that instead of spending 30 seconds putting in a new fingering, you have to listen to a 30 minute defence of the old one. In their eyes you're not a mentor—you're an obstacle, put on this planet to thwart their already-evolved-and-beyond-reproach ideas.
So if having the temerity to suggest to the student that "f means loud" puts you on the sharp end of a Socratic dialectic, then you have to wonder whether they really need you or not. If they would prefer to think that "f" means "play an f", then so be it, but they can think that in somebody else's studio.
DEADWOOD CHECK: Could your student be described as an Arguer?
A) Absolutely. Just about every suggestion I make is contradicted (10 points)
B) I can sometimes get through, but frequent arguments make it hard work (6 points)
C) It's an occasional problem (2 points)
D) Not at all (0 points)
You might be working with a delightful and capable student, but if you want to hide in a 
cupboard every time their parents show up, then there's trouble brewing.
Dealing with difficult parents is a core part of the job—they've got every right to be both demanding and proactive in the pursuit of the best possible outcome for their child. But parents who constantly interject during lessons, berate their children for the slightest error, are late for the pickups, and then want to use 10 minutes from your next student's lesson to fire questions at you...it all adds to your stress levels in a job that doesn't have to be stressful. It's all about the people you work with—maybe you'd be better off not working with these particular people.
DEADWOOD CHECK: Just how painful are this student's parents?
A) Don't even start me. I think I'm going to need therapy because of these people (10 points)
B) They're not impossible, but they really do make life much harder (6 points)
C) They're occasionally tricky to handle (2 points)
D) They're fine (0 points)
Sports psychologists will talk about the importance of optimism, and we've all noticed a correlation between the glass-half-full students and those that give better performances. But the real question is not what a student sees when they look at a 200ml cup with 100 mls of water in it. What's really interesting is their assumption about how we're going to get the remaining 100 mls in there.
Unfortunately, some students not only see it as half empty—they also can't imagine it any other way. That because it's short of the top now, it always will be...
...so what's the point in trying?
It's ok when students have a phase where they feel like this. Part of our role as teachers is to help them visualize the filling process, and have them excited about getting the job done. But if your best motivational efforts are always being deflated by the student announcing that "it's impossible" or "I'll never be able to do that", then their self-fulfilling prophecies are spelling doom for the lessons.
The test is this: When you've just had a lesson, and they've told you "I can't do that" to something entirely doable, and you find yourself finally believing them, it's time to wind things up.
DEADWOOD CHECK: To what extent does your student suffer from "can't do"?
A) This student thinks the glass is mostly empty, leaks and
contains poison (10 points)
B) They occasionally snap out of their self-defeating funk (6 points)
C) They have more than a few "can't do moments, but it's
mostly a non-issue (2 points)
D) Not at all (0 points)