There is a reason that I love writing. I’m able to express myself however I want, no matter what my opinion or thoughts are. Of course, everyone wants to improve their writing throughout their career and make it better for not just themselves, but their audience too. Writing can be an extremely vulnerable action or a simple hobby. People write down their hopes, dreams, goals, fears and regrets. Writers write their opinions or views on certain issues in the world in many styles and forms. And the best part? There is a fine line between constructive criticism and creative fascism. So the person reviewing the piece does not agree with what is being said—why should that impact the student’s grade? People write for themselves or write for a grade, or a deadline if writing is their career choice. That’s pretty much what happens in today’s writing world.
There are many authors that have been discouraged or misdirected by the writing industry. Everyone knows the story of how J.K. Rowling was turned away for writing the well-known book collection, Harry Potter. Sylvia Plath was a female poet that today has been an inspiration to young poets, but when she first started, she was not exactly well-known. Ernest Hemingway’s writing caused him to be a person who exhibited bad behavior. All of them are famous writers, all criticism leading them down a path of greatness, even after death. However, each one of them had a mentor they looked up to before going on to be successful.
Writers want guidance and advice from a mentor, and advice is even better taken when they are comfortable with the person giving the advice. But who has the right to take voice or opinion away, or tell writers that their opinions on a subject are incorrect? Some, but not all mentors will point you in the right direction to create better writing, others may think they are helping, but are sadly mistaken. But writers must listen, writers fight for their place in the writing world. This is a concept I learned the hard way in that chilly fall of 2013.
Sophomore year of high school really challenged my confidence in my early writing career. I felt like I needed to make the cut or excel on AP tests, and start looking into colleges, maybe I felt like I had something to prove. I’ll be honest, I had a really hard time writing in high school. I still don’t know if my writing was really, truly bad, or teachers had already given up on me before the year even began. It felt like teachers were more focused on the star students in the classroom and wanted to help improve their writing, rather than the struggling artists planted in their desks.
Knowing that I was not performing as well in this class as I wanted to at the start of the year, I went to my teacher for help, to ask how I can improve my writing to get the grade I wanted. Little did I know, this experience would impact my future indefinitely.
My English teacher, Mr. Stevenson, was a tall middle-aged man who always wore purple and always carried a whistle around his neck. He had a daughter that was on the girls’ varsity soccer team that were in the running for three-peat and he had a son that played on the boys’ varsity soccer team. He was the boys’ soccer coach who had won the past four state championships. There were soccer kids in my class that he coached that always seemed to take away his attention from the class to just talk about how well they played or how the referee made some bogus call. Everything with this teacher seemed to be about soccer. In the back of my mind, I was hesitant about going to him for help. However, I would have him as my teacher for the rest of the year so I decided it would be a good idea to try and talk to him.
I was so nervous. I was shaking in my boots. Is he even going to care about my concerns with my writing? Will he care less about me succeeding in his class because I’m not on the soccer team? I told Mr. Stevenson that I wanted to be successful with my writing and I needed advice on how to improve based on the past papers that I turned in. He told me that I just needed to have support and textual evidence under each point that I make in my essays because that is where I struggled the most. Apparently if I simply improve these things, the quality of my essays would rise.
Mr. Stevenson could have stopped there, but he didn’t. He ended the conversation with something that I will never forget. He said to me, “You should aim to write more like Abby.” Oh great, the guidance counselor’s daughter. I went to ask him for advice and was told that my writing needs to be more like someone else’s writing. I’m pretty sure that is not how that is supposed to work. Let me be honest, that was terrible advice, especially to be giving a sophomore English student who already struggles with the confidence in their own writing. This was the time for me to find myself as a writer, not try to write like someone else. But I did listen to what Mr. Stevenson had to say and understood one thing. More support and more explanation, that’s something I can do.
I took his advice on how to write better in his eyes, a well-developed essay that incorporated each tip and trick, aside from writing like another student, so that I would earn an exceptional grade on the remaining essays for the class. I spent an entire week on a three-page paper, hitting every requirement on the head, going above and beyond on this paper to show the skills that I have and to prove my teacher that my writing was good enough. Writing multiple drafts, sweat and tears covered each copy, each one getting better than the last. All I could think about is how I would make the perfect essay no matter what.
I turned in my paper the following Tuesday after I talked to Mr. Stevenson. I was looking forward to getting my grade back. Actually, I was ecstatic. I was proud of what I wrote, and you can bet that I worked my tail off. The week long wait to see my grade was excruciating. I was eager to get the grade I worked so hard to earn. I wanted to see that A on the top of my paper to show that my writing is good enough, maybe an A+ but I wasn’t going to be too picky.
My teacher started passing back our essays. He walks towards my desk, wrapping around other desks, no emotions on his face. My hands were sweating, my heart was racing, eyes deeply focused on the papers in his hands. The moment of truth, was I good enough? He handed me my paper; I looked at the top and there it was. A red “C” covered the empty white space on the top of my paper. My heart dropped. I can feel a boiling sensation cover my neck and my face. I was furious, and heartbroken. All I could think was, why? What could I have possibly done wrong?
I’m not good enough, of course I’m not. No matter how hard I try, my writing will never be good enough. What did I do wrong? How could this have happened? All this hard work for nothing. I had to get answers before I lost my mind. I was full of confusion. I thought I did everything right? I absolutely could not figure out what was so bad about my paper to where it earned a C. I tried to remain calm as I went up to my teacher after class. I simply asked why I got the grade I did. I got a simple response, one that I never would have expected,
“I am a biased reader.”
WHAT!? My heart stopped. I thought I was going to have a panic attack, I got so anxious. A wave of frantic emotions wrapped around me. Never in a million years did I expect this response, especially from a teacher. All I had in my mind was that Mr. Stevenson for sure had favorites and this proved it. First, he told me to write like Abby, and now he tells me he is a biased reader and that is why my paper was not good enough. I was sick to my stomach.
At this point I remembered that as I was writing, I acknowledged and hit every point I needed for this assignment and had supporting evidence for each part to make my paper have a valid argument. I didn’t realize I was appealing to one opinion. That was not in the instructions for the essay. Not once in the advice I got from Mr. Stevenson, did he say I had to appeal to his opinions to receive a good grade. He told me that it didn’t matter how much support I had on my topic because apparently, I was supposed to by writing to his views on the topic rather than focusing on improving my writing. This was complete bullshit.
For the rest of my high school career, I never felt confident in my writing. To me, it didn’t matter how much I tried, writing wasn’t for me. With a weighted heart, I stayed away from my love of writing. Rather sad, honestly. Losing my passion.
People, especially students, should not fear writing. Students should not be deterred from their writing skills just because a teacher says that they did not appeal to the teacher’s opinions. I remember being mad and in shock that teachers can assess students this way. I understand now that there is no such thing as the perfect paper. I also understand that it is not okay to expect one student to write like another one. I have had years to think about this and it should not have impacted me as much as it has, but I’m glad it did.
I was so impacted by this experience that I had in high school that I made a promise to myself that no matter what, I would prevent students from feeling the same way I did many years ago. I decided that when I got to college, I would do my part and major in something that could help students like me who have Mr. Stevenson-like teachers. I decided that I would major in English education, just so another student wouldn’t have the idea that their writing isn’t good.
I’m now a senior in college, with many literature classes and many essays under my belt. I can come out and say that I am extremely happy with the way my career is going to turn out. I will be helping students that were in my situation. Making sure that students feel like their writing is important, and that they can write based on their opinion. I want to tell my future students that writing is whatever they want it to be. I want to explain to them that everyone has their own control and power over their writing. I strongly believe that everyone deserves to feel comfortable with writing their opinions on paper. I didn’t realize until I got to college. Let me say though that I would not be the writer I am today without that one teacher who showed me that there are teachers out there who don’t appreciate the different opinions and views of their students on a text or topic. Being a teacher is the best thing I can do to give back to the students who need to be reminded that their writing matters.
I let way too many people have power over my writing growing up, especially in the classroom. I love to write. The stroke of the pen on paper gives me joy. I can create characters, worlds, or even words. I can do whatever I want with a pen and paper. It’s my escape. After that experience with Mr. Stevenson I was extremely discouraged. But time allowed me to grow as a writer and today I don’t know where I would be without it. I may not be the best writer, but I primarily write for me and to illustrate how my brain works. Everyone should be able to write for themselves, even in an analysis of a book.
I’m passionate about writing. I really am. Personal essays are meant to tell stories about different events in my life. I honestly would not be sitting here, sipping my hot green tea, writing about writing, without my sophomore English teacher. Maybe one day I will see Mr. Stevenson again and tell him that he was an inspiration to my career choice, and to this personal essay illustrating that my opinion and my views on a topic should not be defining my grade. The viewpoints that I put in my writing matter even if many people, including teachers, do not think so. My writing reflects who I am and what I believe in.
But then again, I might be a biased reader.
Hannah Grothe is an Arizona native that contributed to the design team for this magazine. She graduated in May 2020 from Northern Arizona University with a bachelor’s degree in Secondary Education with an emphasis in English, a minor in psychological sciences, and a certificate in literature. She enjoys a morning cup of coffee and a good joke on her porch in Pinetop-Lakeside, AZ.
Comments