I'm not sure how to spell ballsy. I feel like I should know. Not because I fit the bill but more because it's a pretty popular term in pop culture.
I love writing. I've loved it ever since I was 8 and wrote my first " horror" story about a trip to a grave yard gone horribly awry. This was very cutting edge for the She-Ra audience.
In 8th grade I had an amazing teacher. She asked us to write our own twist on The Three Little Pigs. Mine was about how they turned on one that turned out to be a serial killer. They ended up eating him. It was read outloud to the class. The ending wasn't exactly embraced. The kids said " gross" and wanted to know who would " write that". My name wasnt read and the class assumed it was a boy so I was beyond suspect. Still, it hurt. I had been proud of that story.
My teacher pulled me aside and told me it was " very good" and she thought it was funny and creepy in a good way. 8th grade wasn't fun so I walked on air for the rest of the day knowing I had actually done something that was " very good". I felt special and most importantly, seen and heard.
Now days I would have had been forced into a psych evaluation. ( Which might have been warranted ) Instead, the next year I was put in a class with other kids who enjoyed writing.
I thought I was pretty cool. I was possibly good at something that I enjoyed. The class started and within the first month it became very clear I was lacking in the technical part of writing. The creative part I could handle but the rest of it was a mess.
In 11th grade I was still in " advanced" English.( I don't like that term but it's what they called it.) I met my first critic.
He was a pompous ass and he was my teacher. I struggled to get him to like anything I wrote. My teachers had always liked my work. Even a particularly difficult teacher gave me some positive feedback. This guy, just wasn't interested. I finally got the balls ( ballsy? Huh? Yeah?) to ask him for advice on how to improve.
" I don't like your voice in your work," he told me.
I stared at him blankly. I can imagine my silly, 17 year old face looking at him in shock. scrunchy around my wrist, my Crow t-shirt, jeans and knock off Converse shoes. I was so awesome
" Why?" was all I could eek out.
" You write like people speak. You can't do that. It's not literature."
I left the classroom and started towards my locker. I felt like I'd just found out Santa wasn't real. The day dreams I'd had and the pride I'd had in my work was deflated. What I wrote wasn't literature. I knew I couldn't change my writing to fit in that mold. So it was pretty much over.
I obviously continued to write but not with the same goals in mind.
It's funny how stupid we are in high school. While I still think Mr.Assbag was tactless and rude, I completely missed what I should have learned from him. It took me about 15 years to get
it.
He was right. I don't write "literature" on his terms. There was a girl in my class who wrote flowery, beautiful, and detailed pieces. Technically perfect papers. They were advanced and used as example every week. I was envious. That being said, every story made me physically
uncomfortable. I'd close my eyes so nobody would see the eye roll lurking behind my lids.
I wasn't her audience and Mr.Assbag wasn't mine. I do write how I speak. I write exactly what's in my brain. Spelling is tough because I see some letters (and numbers) backwards so that makes it interesting. Technical sentence structure often doesn't match the run-on sentences in my head. I now know a lot of writers have a similar issue. That's why they thank their editors a billion times.
I'm not ever going to be Sinclair Lewis or Hawthorne. I doubt I'll write a book that a sober publisher would take a second look at. I'll keep writing though. Spelling errors, run-on sentences and all.
