To all English & writing teachers in general, but more specifically, Lauren Matthews:
In any writing class, for me it’s always about patience. I recall a year ago when I was in a creative writing class, my teacher never explained anything, but let us go loose on whatever the syllabus said we had to do. See, I already knew how to write. Thinking I’d get more help on the subject though, I signed up for that class, only to receive nothing and use what I already knew to get the A.
So am I a bad writer for never having a good teacher?
College has a funny way of twisting your view and opinion of yourself. You come in thinking you’re great at something, only to learn you’re actually quite mediocre compared to the rest of the world. And so it was with my writing skills this semester at Snow College.
I came in thinking I knew a lot, and honestly I got bored because in every writing class I’ve taken—all the rules of grammar, of MLA, of using voice, of being creative—are so redundant. But to my surprise, I was humbled: I learned something this time around. I’ve learned that not everybody can understand my thought process, that I actually have confusing paragraphs, and, despite how organized I am outside of the classroom, my papers sometimes suggest otherwise. These are things I can continue to work on as I continue to write, because there’s always room for improvement.
Throughout this writing class, English 2010, I have written a rhetorical analysis towards Amy Chua and her ineffective argument that Chinese parenting is superior; a descriptive narrative on the best day to be had filled with stars & stripes, food and fireworks and car rides; a research paper about the injustice of slavery and the poor ignorance of third world girls that don’t know any better; and lastly, an issue paper (in my previous blog post) about high school and college and which one inevitably brings more genuine tears.
(I get that that was a huge and long sentence, but I used semi-colons, so I should be good, yeah? I like long sentences.)
I’ve learned this year that I am an okay writer. In all honesty, my sixteen-year-old brother is probably better than I am. But contrary to what this course syllabus has taught about the strict rules of writing, I will still enjoy writing most with my voice and my sass in all its glory; this class hasn’t changed me, but I can see improvement.
Thank you, Captain.