My Writer’s Journey

T.Ask:
Please, in no less than 2 pages, detail your writer’s journey. This can include aspects
from any point in your school/life experience. This is meant to be a narrative reflection,
so feel free to use personal pronouns. I have provided an excerpt from my own writer’s
journey as a model.

Writing never came naturally to me. I liked to draw more, although I wasn’t very good
at that either. Pressure came in various avenues…

“Cam, you’re left handed so you are meant to be the creative one of the family”. “Well,
this is easier said than done,” I thought to myself.

At various points in my young life, I felt good and bad about my writing. On a
particularly good day, my 4th grade teacher decided to read my reflection aloud to the
class. I was enthralled by the spectacle of doing something right. Of getting credit. Of
being noted. And yet, I had no idea what I had done right. That aspect of my writing
was never made explicitly clear. In hindsight, I think I summarized correctly.

I did not surpass that peak for quite some time. Instead, I was met with criticism.
Grammar errors, illogical, awkward, and please see me after class. These were
words and phrases that I became deeply familiar with. It saddens me that I use the
same words at times now. I’ve found some avenues, but unfortunately nobody covers
feedback when you’re in school to be a teacher.

All throughout highschool, I learned how to get by with my writing. I was average, at
best, and would make up for it with the little grades in between. It often amounted to
an A-. Was I an A- writer? What does that even mean? I vividly recall the blanket
statements of semi-failure… “Too many comma splices, weak analysis, and no voice”
– I had no idea what they were talking about! I couldn’t ask!

I was afraid.

The turning point… so inconsequential in hindsight… a teacher my senior year, while

handing out papers (oh, the dreaded moment), stopped and said, “I enjoy your
writer’s voice”
 WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN???

I never found out what he was talking about that day. It was too much to ask. But it
did give me confidence. From there, I decided to write. Based on that single
comment, I decided to become an English teacher, to learn the rules, and to learn the
encouragement that would create more writers in this world… I’m still working on it.

There are more stories. More moments of sadness. More moments of triumph. But I
think I’ve said enough about my writer’s journey. Now, I’d like to hear yours.

Please write your writer’s journey here:

Writing, for me, is like a majestic beast with colorful and elegant patterns and colors.
When I pay attention to it and try to get along with it, it follows me and supports me
through hard times. But when I neglect it and leave it abandoned in solitary it quickly
turns feral, dark and becomes a burden that chains itself to me.

I encountered it a while ago, it must have been when I was a young kid (around 10
years), and I loved to play around with it and appreciate its radiance. I wrote a lot and
explored each of its colorful and varying features. Writing just felt natural to me.

As I got older I started to appreciate Writing’s darker parts. It’s teeth and claws that I
was once too frightened to approach now reached out to me. Sticking my hand in it’s
jaws gave me the experience of writing and reading horror and other genres that I
could never really get into.

But as the years went on, I started to lose interest. I just kept coming up with ideas but
couldn’t connect to them. Not to mention, I started to get more and more problems to
bear and while I could deflect them onto Writing and inject them into it, the problems
pushed Writing farther away from me to the point where I found it unrecognizable.
“How did I find any enjoyment out of this in the first place?”

But it always felt important to me somehow so I tried to preserve it, to keep it close
and explore it like I used to. But now it was different, its fangs and claws went too long
without attention and getting back into it was too difficult. It felt like a different creature
that refused to sink into the mold that my life had been shaping for it based on what it
used to be.

So, getting into high school, each piece of writing I tried to create felt bland and
tasteless. Never what it used to be. Writing practically molded with the shadows that
were my own personal issues. It was unwanted shackles that were singed into my
thoughts.

Eventually though, I did start to notice its radiance again through slight cracks in its
shadowy exterior and while it had already permanently evolved itself to fit in with the
darkness of my stress and fear it did start to feel easier again. I started to write short
stories and poems and everything felt light and warm again.

Writing’s chains remained a burden but its fires that once burned me now provided me
with warmth and comfort and through giving it more of the attention it deserved I now
feel confident again with running my hands through its deep mane of bright abyss.

As of now I feel like I’m beginning to understand the ability a little better and I hope to
experiment with it more in the future.

So that’s how I feel about writing, it’s been a skill I’ve had access to for a while but
never really fully understood. But I still appreciate the experiences it has given me and
I always enjoy delving into it.