I knew I was a writer when I was in ninth grade. I had been writing long before then, but I never wrote anything that was considered Creative Writing for school until the eighth grade, when we were assigned to write a story with a moral.
The story I wrote was about three teenaged witches who go to the future. It was interesting, and it was lengthy, but there was no lesson to it. I somehow earned a 90.
I guessed that my teacher, Mrs. Beyer, enjoyed my story.
In the ninth grade, we were assigned to write a sonnet, about anything we wanted. It just had to follow the rules of the poem. I wrote about my parents.
When it comes to my parents, I get really emotional. I don’t know if it’s because I’m generally an emotional person, or because I just have a lot to say about my parents, or what.
But I remember the moment I handed it in. My teacher, Ms. Coleman, read it on the spot, right in front of me. And she smiled.
I remember her looking up at me, and telling me that she wished someone wrote about her the same way, and that she thought I had a natural talent.
I never had a teacher tell me that before, and I was the kind of kid that liked the teachers more than the students in my school. I had never been more proud of my own work. Everything else I’ve ever written that was considered Creative Writing was always fiction, but this poem was not. It was about my own real emotions, and a grown adult turned to me, and told me to my face that I have a talent.
That was strange for me.
And that one comment was what pushed me whenever I wrote anything. Assignments, stories on my own time, everything.
And when I got into tenth grade, I basically made a best friend out of my English teacher. It wasn’t odd to me to make friends out of my teachers, but Ms. Ambrosio was young and liked a whole lot of things that I did. She’d recommend books to me, and I’d recommend movies to her. I even lent her a movie once. And she was super supportive of my writing, as well. I’d even come to her to read my work outside of the classroom.
I’d done the same with my eleventh grade English teacher, Ms. Dan. Ms. Ambrosio was spunky and sassy, and liked talking about things that were pop culture-related. Ms. Dan did not. Actually, she was harder on me at the beginning of the year. But I eventually won her over with my writing, as well. My favorite writing assignment I was ever given was actually in her class, where we had to find a song to relate to any one chapter of The Scarlet Letter. I had a lot of fun doing that assignment.
Yeah, you heard that right. I actually liked assignments, sometimes.
Since Ms. Dan was more work-oriented in class, I really appreciated and looked forward to getting her feedback when it came to my writing. She was basically my only teacher who really pushed me to work hard in her class, and she had all of my respect. She was an awesome teacher. And she always had good quips.
My senior year, I had Mr. Chamberlin. My friends, Jeanette and Amanda, probably would have told you I was in love with this man. And, I can’t lie, I still say that I loved that guy. Not in a I’d totally marry that guy if he wasn’t old enough to be my father kind of way, but in a Dude, that guy is literally me in grown man form and we will be best friends way. He was a lot like Ms. Ambrosio, actually.
I sat right in front of his desk, too, so whenever the Smartass Kid In Class would have something to say, he’d turn to me, and say something like, “Hazard, do you hear this kid?” and I’d say something like, “I thought that was the wind,” and he’d crack up. He quickly became my Favorite Teacher Ever. Similar to my previous teachers, I’d go to him for feedback on my personal writing as often as I did for my class assignments, and we really bonded over The Great Gatsby. This dude was basically my third best friend.
Every senior year, we get to invite our favorite or most influential teacher to our Senior Breakfast (the morning of graduation). I think you can guess who I invited.
I’m a writer, and I’ve had a great support system. When it came to writing my college application essay, I went back to all five of my English teachers to look it over. Basically all of them were a little disappointed that I didn’t apply for a Creative Writing program, but they all gave me their best wishes, and hopes for getting a free copy of my first book.
I didn’t write much in college. Creatively, I mean. My English classes in college were more like a history lesson in the English language. My history classes were more writing oriented, so I was actually really interested in history for once in my life. You know, besides that one year that I had an attractive teacher in high school.
But I digress.
Even though I didn’t write much in college, my love for writing never faltered. That’s why I started my blog back then. I didn’t stick to it, but clearly I came back!
When I came home from school, I got back into the writing game. I feel like part of the reason is because when I was in college, I was living. When I came home, I was the opposite, so I needed some kind of outlet.
And for me, writing is my outlet. It always has been.
I’m thankful I’m a writer because if I weren’t, I would most likely be in a darker place than I am now. Writing has allowed me to get everything I need out of my system, as well as make good relationships with my teachers. It has helped me think about all possible points of view, and keep my mind open. And it has also just been fun to be able to do something I genuinely like, and am kind of good at.
I love doing this. I don’t know if anything will really come out of it, but I will continue to write for as long as my hands are working. I don’t know if I really want a career out of it, because I fear if it becomes something I have to do, I’ll fall out of love with it. But I know that I want to write as much as I can for as long as I can. I want to get down the important things, and I want to have answers written down today for the questions of tomorrow.
Part of me hopes something will come out of this, even if it’s not a career. Even if it’s just a curious child, wondering what I thought and was like in 2017, I’d be happy with that. Even if it’s a random stranger, finding solace in my writing, I’d love that. Writing isn’t really a I-just-want-to-be-noticed kind of thing, but I think it’s also that, in a way. I know that I don’t want to go completely unnoticed.
I want to be able to connect to someone, or even just have a person stop and think, “This girl knows what she’s talking about.” I’d be more than okay with that.
I’m thankful I’m a writer. I think, if anything, I’ll get something out of this. A lighter heart, a lighter mind, a brighter soul. Someone to be proud of. I think, if anything, that’s what writing will do for me. It’ll make me appreciate the girl behind the words.
Prompt: Finish the sentence, “I’m thankful I’m a writer because …”