“Gracious words are a honeycomb, sweet to the soul and healing to the bones.” Proverbs 16:24
“What do you think?” I asked our high school yearbook teacher. We both poured over my latest article about the football team, a topic I usually knew nothing about. Ms. Dawson’s jolly cheeks were flushed as always, a little bit of perspiration glistening on her upper lip. She was a rather round and lovely lady with a Dorothy Hamill bowl-cut hairdo; a woman I had come to love and respect for her caring ways. She hobbled around the room, making sure that everyone was working hard and had what they needed. Today was no different. Out of breath, she leaned over my shoulder and paused to read my work.
“S-”, She sighed. Then she sat down as if she had some heavy news to unload, a concerned look etching lines between her brows. “What do you want to do with your life?”
“Be a writer.” I said without hesitation.
She nodded. “I see. Well . . . “ She looked to the floor, searching for words. “It’s just that when I envision your future, I see you not so much in a writing career, but maybe a . . . . hospitality career.” Ms. Dawson ended with a pleased look, as if she had just handed me a better alternative to my dream of writing.
And I’ll never forget it.
I entered a community college the next year and decided that, despite Ms. Dawon’s well intentioned advice, I would pursue a journalism degree. I walked into the guidance counselor’s office and sat down in front of a peevish little man with ill-fitting glasses.
“Journalism?! Oh, well, you don’t want to go into that. It’s really competitive. Maybe you should pursue a communications degree.”
I dropped out of community college less than a year later. I officially hated school and had lost my way.
But, a new opportunity arose, and I was soon walking the halls of a four year university in scenic Virginia. I quickly chose to study English and visited regularly with my guidance counselor, a curly red haired lady I adored. I sat in her Adolescent Lit class and American Lit class, soaking up her knowledge, marveling at her sophistication and confidence. She was what I wanted to be. I would pursue my masters degree after college, teach English at the collegiate level and be a writer. This was my plan.
Graduation was quickly approaching, and my sophisticated red headed teacher asked me to call her. She needed to discuss my paper with me. As I sat on my bedroom floor, anticipating her praise, I dialed her number.
“Thanks for calling, S-. I just wanted to ask you about your paper. I don’t think it was your best work.”
My heart sank as I listened to the rest of her relentless degradation of my work. But, it was her last words that stung the most.
“At this point, I wouldn’t recommend you for the graduate program. I just don’t see you in a writing career. I’m sorry.”
I thanked her and abruptly ended our conversation so that I could dissolve in tears and gut wrenching wails of angst. I was numb with disbelief.
I never attended graduate school.
Words are like honeycomb . . . healing to the bones.
10 years later. . .
I visited a well crafted and immensely creative blog last night, one I frequent often. What I found surprised me. Words of encouragement. Someone liked me. So, thank you pendrops. With your words, you have put a smile on my face that will last for a very long time.
7 responses so far ↓
peachyperspective // February 13, 2008 at 7:59 pm |
I have come to your blog from pendrops! I look forward to reading your creative thoughts as time goes on!
courtney // February 14, 2008 at 3:18 am |
you said to me that you don’t “make things up,” but that’s only one kind of writing. I mean, Tolkein made things up, and it was awesome, and people talk of creating characters that that too is awesome. But plenty of the rest of us don’t do that. Plenty of us take life as we see it and rearrange it so that it’s story. That’s writing too. That’s fiction/truth too.
This post is pure narrative–fabulous. It has suspense, and repetition, and a clean, lean dramatic arc. You’re a writer. Write what you know. Screw research. Jodi Piccoult is great at what she does, but she wrote what she knew first…I’ve met her, we’ve talked about it. Research your soul. Mine your memory. See your everyday different. You’re on to something here. Go well. Be brave!
courtney // February 14, 2008 at 3:29 am |
ps. one thing i’ve learned though. it takes a long time to become a good writer. it’s amazing to realize one is a writer. it sucks to realize how long it takes to be a good one. that is what i’m working on–i’ve been at it for 10 years now, and i keep thinking–hey, haven’t I arrived–and the answer is…not quite yet. I have work to do. I keep working. Deep sigh.
secretinsidegirl // February 14, 2008 at 4:43 pm |
I’m glad you got the encouragement you needed. Any teacher worth her salt, undergrad or high school or what have you, should have been able to see your true potential. Keep writing.
pendrops // February 15, 2008 at 5:01 am |
In my experience, it seems like many folks in the writing profession – English professors, editors, even some writers – have gotten so deeply entrenched in the “formula” of the written word that they have forgotten the “feeling” of that word. They’ve gotten to this place of jaded-ness where they just phone it in & paint by numbers; and those of us who are inexperienced, but full of passion and potential, can’t get a break.
In the face of that discouragement, I believe the answer is to keep writing. Yes, we must always keep writing, no matter what “they” say (even when “they” is the cruel and critical voice in our heads).
I’ll sign off with this, Rilke’s “Letters to a Young Poet.” His insight is incredibly encouraging when it comes to the art and love of writing. Here’s a snippet:
“Nobody can advise and help you, nobody. There is only one single means. Go inside yourself. Discover the motive that bids you write; examine whether it sends its roots down to the deepest places of your heart, confess to yourself whether you would have to die if writing were denied you. This before all: ask yourself in the quietest hour of your night: must I write?”
Write we must!
girlatdesk // February 15, 2008 at 4:11 pm |
Thank you all for your keen insight and words of wisdom. It definitely is a process, a finding of one’s voice. If nothing else, it’s therapy.
dayya // February 27, 2008 at 1:04 am |
Pendrops is right! You’re right! Thanks for pointing the way…d:)
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