First "Writing" Experience
I remember it was tenth grade, and my AP English teacher Mr. Weidman had challenged me to write a novella before the end of the year. If I did, he said, no matter if it sucked or was the next Pulitzer Prize Winner, I would receive extra credit worth half of my overall grade.
Presented with such a challenge, what did I do?
Well, I sat my happy ass down and started to write, of course.
Presented with such a challenge, what did I do?
Well, I sat my happy ass down and started to write, of course.
After four separate starts, I realized I knew who my characters were, but not where in the hell the story was going to take place. At this time, I was obsessed with Johanna Lindsay and Harlequin Historical Romances, so you can imagine that I wanted it to be set in either Victorian England, or the Wild West, or maybe some crazy far off world where men were massively huge alpha male warriors that expected total and complete sensual submission from their women.
Fuckin' yummy, right?
Fuckin' yummy, right?
But I was writing this for my totally asexual, short, fat, middle aged, curly haired stuffy English teacher.
And I was stymied on when and where the hell this amazing first short story of mine would take place. So, being the history buff I was and loving the personal history of my family, I decided to base it in late 1800's New York.
And as I was seriously not about to write the full on nasty, suck her nipples, stroke his cock, pull her hair and roughly pound her from behind kind of novella for Mr. Weidman (because who the hell knew if he would show that shit to my mom and dad), I decided to start it at the end of my H and h's story. In essence, the last chapter and the Epilogue of my would-be novel.
I thought it was actually pretty good, but of course, my opinion was slightly biased considering I wrote the crappy thing, and I was also only 14 freaking years old.
The end of the year finally, or unfortunately, arrived as I chose to view it. I turned my "Novella" in to Mr. Weidman. And I awaited his response. He was the first person ever to read one of my written works. So to say that I was out of my mind with worry and angst would be like saying the wind was slightly gusty during Hurricane Katrina. Seriously.
Of course, I didn't find out till a week after I turned it in that I wasn't the only one in the class he'd "recruited" into this little assignment. There were four others out of our class of twenty something, that had been invited to participate. And I also didn't know that Mr. Weidman had decided to BRAG to the whole freaking class what the five of us had done.
So there I was, about two weeks out from the end of my sophomore year, total teachers pet, and a complete ugly duckling, the most assured defacto recipient of pranks pulled by the "in crowd", basically a girl with no self confidence whatsoever. Believe me when I tell you that the absolute last thing I needed to be shared with my high school alumni was an ugly girls romantic fantasies of being swept off her feet by a sexy, dreamy, handsome alpha male.
In spite of my sweaty palms and thumping-straight-out-of-my-chest heart, I managed to keep my seat, not visibly squirm or appear to the rest of my third period class like I was coming out of my damn skin. Which I was. Absolutely. Especially since my current crush, who was a quarterback on the Varsity Football team of course, was only one row over.
But to my total amazement, and utter relief, Mr. Weidman didn't share our stories, only the individuals names who had achieved his particular expectations.
To say I was relieved would be a serious understatement. Feeling the mostly respectful, and very few envious, eyes of my classmates on me was one of the most gratifying moments of my young life.
So, in conclusion, my first writing experience showed me many things. The satisfaction of completing a project, definitely. Receiving public acknowledgement and approval for my accomplishment, absolutely. A fear that the general public would always look askance at "Romance", you bet your silky thongs!
But the pride I felt in myself for accomplishing something so freakin' huge, for someone so young, was indescribable.
Even for me, an author.
I thought it was actually pretty good, but of course, my opinion was slightly biased considering I wrote the crappy thing, and I was also only 14 freaking years old.
The end of the year finally, or unfortunately, arrived as I chose to view it. I turned my "Novella" in to Mr. Weidman. And I awaited his response. He was the first person ever to read one of my written works. So to say that I was out of my mind with worry and angst would be like saying the wind was slightly gusty during Hurricane Katrina. Seriously.
Of course, I didn't find out till a week after I turned it in that I wasn't the only one in the class he'd "recruited" into this little assignment. There were four others out of our class of twenty something, that had been invited to participate. And I also didn't know that Mr. Weidman had decided to BRAG to the whole freaking class what the five of us had done.
So there I was, about two weeks out from the end of my sophomore year, total teachers pet, and a complete ugly duckling, the most assured defacto recipient of pranks pulled by the "in crowd", basically a girl with no self confidence whatsoever. Believe me when I tell you that the absolute last thing I needed to be shared with my high school alumni was an ugly girls romantic fantasies of being swept off her feet by a sexy, dreamy, handsome alpha male.
In spite of my sweaty palms and thumping-straight-out-of-my-chest heart, I managed to keep my seat, not visibly squirm or appear to the rest of my third period class like I was coming out of my damn skin. Which I was. Absolutely. Especially since my current crush, who was a quarterback on the Varsity Football team of course, was only one row over.
But to my total amazement, and utter relief, Mr. Weidman didn't share our stories, only the individuals names who had achieved his particular expectations.
To say I was relieved would be a serious understatement. Feeling the mostly respectful, and very few envious, eyes of my classmates on me was one of the most gratifying moments of my young life.
So, in conclusion, my first writing experience showed me many things. The satisfaction of completing a project, definitely. Receiving public acknowledgement and approval for my accomplishment, absolutely. A fear that the general public would always look askance at "Romance", you bet your silky thongs!
But the pride I felt in myself for accomplishing something so freakin' huge, for someone so young, was indescribable.
Even for me, an author.
No comments:
Post a Comment