Response Day

I realize that I talk about writing a lot on this blog. But one thing that I don't do, as frequently as I talk about it, is do it. I rarely write for myself. And I'm starting to think that it was because I was adopting a 'good enough' mentality. Writing was becoming lackluster. In theory, I knew that I had a lot to learn as far as the craft and art of writing goes, but I just didn't feel it. I'm not trying to say I felt superior. But I felt like I had learned a lot more ahead of time; this was proved in my Advanced Writing class when I wrote a braided essay for my final assignment (because I LOVE braided essays) and no one in my class had ever written (or heard of) braided essays. It wasn't just the braided essay either. People in that class were still in the 'I think your paper was good, end of story' critiquing stage. No one had the guts to tell me where I went wrong, and even my professor decided my papers were 'just fine,' most of the time.

Until now. Now, I still maintain that my creative nonfiction teacher is not as great as she could be. Quite a lot of my classmates feel the same way, and have even started skipping class to do the homework and reading--not because they didn't have the time to do it the rest of the week or weekend, but because they feel it's a better use of time than sitting through class.

But today we had our first response day (we do a LOT less writing in this class than my Advanced Writing class). We only had four papers to read and respond to because she broke us down into smaller groups. My paper was discussed last. This time, I wasn't getting the same old 'this is really great, end of story' line. I was given a good critique of my paper (they actually told me WHY it was confusing, and WHERE, not just that it was confusing, end of story), not just by my classmates, but by my teacher (or at least more of a critique than I've had since high school) as well. She gave me a B+. Hell, I wish it was a B- or C+ (I admit, anything lower probably would have not only bruised my ego but destroyed me and would leave me in need of time to recuperate). I didn't like my paper. I whipped it out of my rear end. While I didn't think it was terrible, I knew, like usual, it needed improvement. My teacher literally typed a full page, critiquing my paper. She found things in there that I didn't even think of. She pretty much had my personality to the T by the time she was through with me. And best of all, by the time I was done staring in shock at that grade, I was filled with a sense of desire to write. I have not felt this feeling, this blaze of fire. This need to pick up a pencil, say screw my homework, and just write. About anything and everything. Needless to say, today I discovered what is just so great about my teacher. While I don't find myself wanting to adopt most anything about her process of critiquing (or, indeed, teaching), she awed me with how much she got out of my paper-- stuff that I didn't think was that obvious, or even present. I've got a lot more respect for her than I had yesterday. Or two hours ago.

Funny how a B+ affects a girl these days.

Here is the paper I turned in. I might be editing it later, expanding a lot, to turn into a final paper.

Scars Essay1