Hilary’s Blog

Memoir Final Draft

From the Joy to Frustration in Writing

            I sat in my desk among my classmates in Mr. Brown's fourth grade class with a one-subject spiral bound notebook, a manila file folder, and a wooden number 2 pencil in front of me. It was the first day of what would become one of the class's favorite activities, writing workshops. Along with recess, gym class, and art, most everyone in my fourth grade class seemed to enjoy these writing workshops as much as I did.

            The notebook was supposed to be used to generate writing ideas or journal; writing in it every night was part of our homework. The folders would eventually be bursting at the seams with loose-leaf notebook paper filled with fragments of ten-year-old handwriting of stories and essays.  The sky was the limit for some of our writing while other assignments were more specific. I loved every aspect of writing that year, whether it was a book report, a personal story, or writing from the teachers prompt. As soon as the assignment was given, the words, phrases, and ideas that I would potentially put down on paper would run through my head. I couldn't wait to get started. It was going to be brilliant!

            These writing workshops were used for mostly creative writing in class. There were just a few rules: skip every other line, so we had room to add content later if we wanted or needed to. Also, instead of erasing what we didn't want in our writing we could only cross out with a single line; this enabled us to go back and potentially re-write the unwanted content into our writing. With those two rules, a notebook starting to fill up with ideas, and a pencil, we were off writing from our ten-year-old experience and imagination. Writing was easy.

            I find that I do not have as much opportunity to write as creative as I would like anymore. And if I can be creative, it usually does not allow room for endless possibilities or wild crazy imagination, but creativity within a particular topic or guidelines. The list of rules has greatly increased and the original two of never erasing but only crossing out and skipping every other line are the only ones necessary for the writing process. They are often the only two rules and guidelines that enable writers to improve their writing. The new and added guidelines vary and are now a nuisance and occasionally an encumbrance in my writing. These new rules usually do not have anything to do with improving the writing but limit what can be said and how it can be said in writing.  The creativity no longer comes from the great depths of my imagination or the experiences of my childhood but through my personal voice in writing. Even when I can write about a personal experience, guidelines can limit what that experience can be. It must be because of the limitations often put on the writing I do. Nevertheless, I still begin to think about what I am going to write as the assignment is given-whether it be a research paper, an expository essay, etc.

            Writing down lists of ideas, or reflections of potential paper topics continues to help me in my writing however, they are not done as carefully and as thoroughly as my fourth grade teacher would have liked as they are usually scribbled down notes and jotted lists of ideas. There is no cohesiveness to my lists of ideas, but there is not much variety either. These lists and reflections stay within the boundaries of the assignment topic. I do not write as easily because often times I am held down by the novel, historical event, or scientific report I am supposed to be writing about. My writing has gone from writing in my personal "expertise" to writing in a basic (at best) understanding of the topic, often times with the "expert" critiquing it.

            Writing workshops did not consist of just writing but also editing and sharing our writing with our classmates. There were three spots in the classroom designated for two students to go and share their papers with each other. These were times when we gave each other ideas and helped each other with our writing. These were times used to show off how much we accomplished and to tell our stories to each other. After ideas were exchanged and the bragging was done I would go back to my desk and keep working.

            I would work until I felt like I came up with the most impressive story I could. After writing a final copy I shared it with my teacher and then waited patiently until he went through it correcting grammatical errors and making his own suggestions. Even then it was still a work in progress. I would rewrite it yet again and again until it was perfect if that was even possible. But, I wanted the best story I could possibly make. At ten, I wanted to be the best writer ever and through my inexperienced and young writing, I felt that I could be.

            No one wants to hurt a child's feelings and say they suck especially when it was straight from the child's imagination. When writing about whatever we wanted, all that usually mattered was that we wrote and we wrote with correct spelling and grammar with occasional sentence structure variations but as inexperienced writers the latter was still being grasped.

            Through time, I have learned that no writing is perfect, even the writing I am most proud of. And as I have grown as a writer, I have realized that not everyone will like my writing. Growth in writing means more complications in writing. There are more obstacles in grammar, structure and content. As I read my stories written in the fourth grade I see simple, straightforward writing:

My Pen Pal

January 1999

I met my pen pal in Florida at the beach. She is really nice. After we met we went to my aunt's house to play. A few days later she came to sleep over at my aunt's house. The next day she really wanted me to sleep over at her grandma's house, so I did! The next day we woke up at ten o'clock. We had breakfast and then went out to play. We had lunch at two and played in her grandmother's school bus, because she drives it pick up kids. So she let us play in it. We had dinner at eight, went back to her grandma's house and celebrated New Years! Now we write letters to each other, and I like that.

And now, I could summarize my entire story in 3 or 4 much more complex sentences, leaving out the unnecessary that I felt was absolutely necessary at the time.

I met my pen pal in Florida during Christmas vacation. We became fast friends during our couple short days of play and laughter. Now we maintain that friendship by writing letters to each other.

More complexity and complication in writing leaves more room for unfamiliarity and making mistakes.  Thus, I am not as eager to show off my writing. There are only a select few that I would show my writing to and even that are done reluctantly. As my writing grew, I eventually stopped being proud of my writing and usually did not see myself as much of a writer at least not from other's points of view.

            Yet, it is absolutely necessary and in many cases required to share my writing with others just as I had done so eagerly in the fourth grade. As hard as it may be, I have to force myself to share my writing with others voluntary, not just because I have to. When I show my writing to other people, rather than being proud and eager to show it off, I anxiously await for them to scrutinize and tear apart my work. Immediately following is either a sense of relief when my work is praised or a sense of confirmation when my writing is not liked. However, either one of these scenarios can help me to improve my writing by either showing me what I did wrong or what I did right.

            The most exciting part of writing workshops was when I was able to bring my story to the publishing center at my school. Parent volunteers ran the publishing center in an empty classroom down the hall from my class. I brought two pieces that I wrote during my writing workshops, one being My Pen Pal. The other was a reflection of what my life would be like one day called In Ten Years. Ironically it has been ten years since I wrote this and I am not even close to what my life is like now. I had grand ideas of becoming the first female president, or a veterinarian, or an actress and ten years later I am a poor college student.

In Ten Years

October 1998

In ten years I wonder what I'll be....An astronaut that is the first to step on Pluto? A teacher who does animal experiments? An actress that is very famous? The first girl to play in the NFL? Maybe I'll be a famous ice skater?

            Before I brought my story to the writing center, it had to be perfect. It was proof read and written out in the neatest handwriting possible. Once I was able to go publish my story I would take it over to the publishing center and go through it and divide the sentences up for the pages of my book. A volunteer would type it up and then I would pick out a cover for my book, a "This book is dedicated to ______" page, and a "Meet the author" page. The pages and cover would all be sewn, stapled, or bounded together and then given to me. I was almost done. All that was left was the illustrations.

            I could not wait to get started drawing elaborate and cartoon-like pictures to illustrate my story. Finally I was done and could show them off to my family and friends. I was a published author! According to everyone I showed my stories to, they were great works; I was an amazing writer.

            As a fourth grader it was easy to stay focused from start to finish in a piece of writing and end with as much confidence and pride in it as I began with. It was in the fourth grade that I learned to love writing but since then, I have never had the same confidence and pride in my writing. It is strange to say that because as I look at my writing now and compared to my ten-year-old writing I do not know where the pride came from or why I was so proud of my writing. I usually do not share my writing with anyone except a teacher or an occasional classmate. Sometimes, I wonder where the pride and confidence went and why, if I enjoy writing, I do not share it more often.

            Perhaps, I do not care to share my writing with others because it is no longer something I take the time to enjoy, especially on the academic front. It is possible that I do not take time to enjoy writing because I am constantly producing paper after paper following specific guidelines and topics. I am continually writing something but I never take the time that I should unless it is required of me. I write a paper on a book I only half read hoping the teacher will not notice; another piece of writing is written responding to something in class hoping I paid enough attention and can remember everything we talked about. Very rarely, does it take weeks to write a paper but rather a day, an afternoon, an hour or two. And then there is always a sigh of relief to find out that I actually pulled it off. Looking back I cannot believe it took me weeks to write a story the length of a paragraph and now I rarely spend more than a few hours on any kind of writing.

            I do not share my writing with others because I am stuck in a set of guidelines to the point that I need them in order to produce something I am somewhat confident with. Yet, while these guidelines produce a slight sense of confidence, the writing is not something I necessarily enjoy doing. It has gotten to the point that I have more trouble pulling something out of thin air to write about than coming up with something within the limitations of guidelines. Perhaps, that confidence and joy in writing is a thing of a past and may never be found again. And if it is ever found, it probably won't be found very often in the academic setting because there is too much stress, urgency to get it done, and need for approval.

            However, I have found the joy I once had in all writing in some writing many years later. Journaling is, the writing I enjoy the most these days. It is where I can get my thoughts out and unwind from everything else in my life, including other kinds of writing. Most likely no one else will critique it; no one else will read it. It is the writing that comes from experience, feelings, and the depths of my imagination and there are no rules. I find the joy in writing through writing for myself because I do not have to impress anyone else; I do not have to feel self-conscious about my writing. I still like writing but at times the joy in it has been lost.