In March, Cook County News-Herald Associate Editor Jane Howard and I had the pleasure of meeting with a group of fifth-grade writers. It was interesting to be interviewed by these enthusiastic young people. They asked some really tough questions and made me stop and think about why I wanted to be a writer, the path I took to get there and the people who helped me along the way. They reminded me how blessed I am to be able to make my living by doing what I love to do.
The students asked about my first writing experience and likely thought my answer was a bit silly. I told them about hand-printing newspapers on sheets of paper, drawing boxes to sketch pictures inside and writing stories about my family in columns alongside them. I think I knew, as soon as I could form words, that I was meant to be a writer of some sort.
So, I wrote. I wrote short stories. I wrote poems. I wrote descriptions of the world around me. And most of the time I was encouraged by the adults around me. One of my uncles, upon finding a notebook of my musings asked me, “Did you write this?” He couldn’t believe that I had authored it; he said he thought I had copied it from some other writer. When I convinced him I had truly written it, he embarrassed me by saying I had impressed him. He told me to keep writing.
That is what I stressed to the fifth graders. Keep writing. Write every chance you can, about everything you can. And don’t let anyone discourage you.
Giving that advice to the young writers, I was reminded of one experience that almost quashed my confidence. One teacher, relying on test results alone, told me that I did not score high enough to be included in a special writer’s group. The members of this exclusive club had access to an incredibly interesting curriculum. There was a big box of multicolored cards—different colors for different levels of creative writing challenges— and each card contained a writing prompt. On each card was a writing exercise such as “Describe this scene” next to a lovely picture of a verdant pond of water lilies or “What is this person feeling—and why?” next to an elegant dancer captured in a glorious grand jete. Each high-gloss card requested an essay on some interesting topic or intriguing photo. A writer’s dream.
But it was one I was denied. Because of some random test score, I thought my ability to write was an illusion. I continued to write, even convincing the teacher to let me take home some leftover cards to practice with over the summer. I enjoyed the exercises, but I began to doubt if anything I wrote was worth sharing.
Fortunately, in seventh grade, my English teacher was Margaret Rasmussen, affectionately known first as “Ms. Pete” and then, after she married, “Mrs. R.” After just a few writing assignments, Mrs. R. had restored my confidence. Her red pen notes on my paper were always positive and encouraging. Even if she was correcting grammar or spelling, she did so gently. It was she who first put the idea of pursuing a writing career someday in my head. With her support I filled notebook after notebook with words. I have been forever grateful for her support.
I hope that the fifth-grade writers find a Mrs. R. I think perhaps they have with their mentor Pat Campanaro. She is volunteering her time to work with them. She arranged for writers to come talk to them. She encourages them to write in their journals and gives positive feedback.
At our meeting, Pat C. suggested that the students send me some ideas for future columns. I hope they are excited by that idea. I look forward to hearing from them. Their ideas might be as fun and inspiring as the glossy cards in that long ago sixth-grade writing curriculum.
Although meeting with the students to talk about journalism and writing was its own reward, it was wonderful to receive thank you notes from them this week. Even in something as short and simple as a thank you note, their personalities shine through. They are all going to be great writers!
And by the way, everything in
life is writable about if you have
the outgoing guts to do it, and
the imagination to improvise.
The worst enemy to creativity is
self-doubt.
Sylvia Plath
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