Z’s Blog ‘08

Paper #3 Draft #2

It's a Writing Evolution

When I was a child, believe it or not, I was somewhat of a trouble maker, and my father came up with some rather obscure punishments. One time, in order to be able to go out and do something, I had to write an essay. An essay about what I did and why it was wrong. I woke up early on a crisp winter Saturday, eager to do whatever it was I wanted to do and a little spiteful about the essay for my dad, and sat at the dining room table. I sat, back to the wall, at the large wooden table, just after sunrise, in direct sight of my parents’ closed bedroom door, with my pride, a pencil, and a notebook. For the preceding few hours, I grinded out and grumbled about and wanted to shout at this dumb essay. That was the longest thing I had to write at that point in my life. I remember wanting to repeat myself for all four pages, worrying if what I was writing was correct, and hating every word. I wrote, and wrote, and wrote for what seemed days until I met the length requirement of my assignment. Dad woke up to a frustrated son and a completed essay.

It was hard, but I figured it out. This was my first experience in which I had to do anything like that. Writing at length was a new thing. I found words, language, and length. These things all frustrated me. These things all intrigued me. These things led me down the road to the place that I am right now. I wrote several papers after that, and all of them seemed to come a little easier than it was for most students. I almost found enjoyment in writing these essays, but it was school, and no one can enjoy that. Right? I am a writer, and that’s what I do. I have my own methods, no matter how standard or ‘unacademic’ they might be.

I don’t really know where this memoir will go or how this memoir will end. That is the same for every time I put a pen to paper or a finger to a key. I write, I don’t plan, I write. I start many of my papers or essays in this mindset, and that might be why the beginning of my writings sort of suck than pick up steam when I have my personal epiphanies in the process of writing my way through the River of Suck. I feel I am a fairly decent writer and my final products are not as horrible as I portray the beginnings to be, but I do not know where it came from. I have become an English emphasis and chosen to take writing classes. I must have picked something up along the way to help me succeed, well, at least to get to where I am with somewhat ease. I have never been confident in my narratives though. Not my strong point. How did all this come about? What happened to make me willing and able to do what I am right now?

In seventh grade, I walked into my Language Arts class to meet this beautiful blonde, fresh from college, to be our teacher. I was in love. She taught me about commas, grammar, colons, usage, everything. Towards the end of the year, we were given the opportunity to write a creative story. I had been reading fiction books, and I was excited to get the chance to dig my teeth in. I wrote a long story about flying monkeys. I struggled through some, flew through some, and just plain didn’t even try on some. After hours of writing and rewriting, I turned this in to the love of my life, expecting to get the best grade I have ever earned. After a week of waiting for my to-be-published-but-not-quite-published-yet story to be returned, the class filed into the classroom. She was standing in the front to the room by the overhead projector. One of our stories was “something that all of us could aspire to.” Oh, I knew it was mine! She pulled the blinds and killed the lights and turned on the overhead. There it was, The Guitar! Wait. I didn’t write that. I was crushed. It wasn’t my story. Maybe she made a mistake, and she would figure it out when she returned mine. She handed them back after fifteen minutes of pure agony. I flipped to the last page, and . . . C+. What? A C+? I read the comments, and it wasn’t confusing to me. Oh well, a comma can be optional here and there. And semi-colons, who cares? I was done with that story writing stuff. And Her. I never got C’s. That was a good story, but I was crushed. That ruined my confidence.

I have not written any type of fiction since then, and I don’t plan to any time soon. I honestly hope to write a children’s book sometime, but I’m very timid to share any writing that is creative. Not my style. That individual event was a very hard time for my writing confidence. With that, I was happy to write academically, but not creatively. Writing essays for history, writing research projects, and any academic writing became sort of a guilty pleasure in my life. I would write papers until late into the night because I did not want to stop. I write many things in one sitting because I do not want to stop. I guess this has created the bad habit of writing the night before the paper is due. I know that I can get it done. I also have the habit of not editing my papers before I turn them in. In high school, I had a many great experiences with writing.

In high school, I took upper level English courses, lower level English courses, and writing courses. I always opted for an English course. Over the four years I was self-deemed king of my high school, I decided to take honors English, basic English, and Newspaper.
I wrote essays for my honors courses. I had current events, book summaries, and analysis essays. I enjoyed some of them, and I did not enjoy others. Either way, I got them done, and I earned the grade. I did not try very hard, but I seemed that I did not have to. I like slacking off, I admit it, and still do to this day. However, I excelled at slacking in high school English courses. I didn’t need to try, so I didn’t. No matter the topic, length, or requirements, I would turn my computer on at nine or ten the night before.
I met my match in my junior year. I walked into class, and I did not get the A’s like I was used to. I wrote a very good current event, in my mind, and turned it in. I got a D. I honestly to this day, do not have any idea as to why I got a D. I followed the guidelines, and I tried to write to the best of my abilities. I approached the teacher, only to get shut down, and to be told that I was not a good writer. This wasn’t true at all, and I was not the only one who thought this. I talked to a quite a few teachers, and not one of them said anything nearly as harsh as she had. One thing led to another, and I ended up hating the teacher and quitting.
I took the normal, basic English required for all eleventh graders. I rocked that class. It was hard work, and I had to try, and I wanted to. For some reason, I wanted to get an A in English 11. I skipped out of the honors class, so I think that I wanted to prove myself. I wrote my essays the night before, but I edited them. I wanted the almighty A. I earned that almighty A, and this was our school’s most difficult teacher. That was great. I felt good.
I joined the newspaper team, and I wrote whatever I wanted. I wrote sports, opinion, and news articles. I had more fun with this than I did any other class in high school. This class made me come to college and contemplate journalism as my major. I had to go out of my way to learn about what my writing topic was. I had to go through the draft process. I had to edit, not only my writing, but everyone else’s when I was the editor. I got to decide my topic, and I chose to excel in that. I loved the freedom.
The entire high school English experience was good for me, from freshman honors, to junior basic, to newspaper. I liked the challenges. I liked the writing. I enjoyed the openness to interpretation. This time was a good prep time to begin college. I wrote a lot, and I learned several tips and tricks for writing in college. I wrote essays, I revised them a bit, and I hurried them. And that’s what college is all about right?

I have been in college for two and a half years, and I have written essays anywhere from one to fifteen pages long. I learned how in my primary and secondary schooling, and I applied that knowledge to my papers. I have done a lot of this, and every time I get better. Though I have been through a few English classes and written multiple essays for each, I have not had too much fun writing. I began to write things without the ambition that I had in previous grades. I enjoyed an essay here and there, but, with risk of sounding like a kiss ass, I have enjoyed the essays in my English 319 class. I have received the chance to write in a structured style, but I have been given the opportunity to use many things that are uncalled for in many other classes. I can have my own opinion, my own voice, and my own content.

I feel like the evolution of my own writing is not complete, but it has brought me to where I am. I do not plan my essays, I do not write my essays much before the due date, and I do not edit my essays very well. I do write my essays as well as I can doing things that I have grown accustomed to. I started writing at a young age, and I took everything in. I used what I wanted, and I threw out what didn’t work for me. I still lack direction in my writing, and I still will write as much as I can. I cannot say specifically what I have learned when I learned it, but I can say that I have grown into who I am as a writer. This is not only because of these individual events, but because of every time I was assigned a writing assignment. I try to take something from everything. Therefore, every time I write, I grow. Be it in my methods, content, or trial and error, I am always trying to grow as a writer.