About Me

Hi! To those of you who read this blog as I post it, I’m leaving next week. Well, tomorrow. But don’t worry. I’ve got some stuff planned. Monday and Wednesday will be wonderful days to check out the blog and see something a little different! And then on Friday, we’ll be back to our regularly scheduled programming.

Additionally!!! Thank you so much for the support lately, the amount of views on these blogs confuses and astounds me. To have people this interested in my writing feels great, even if most of them are my mom refreshing the page on four different browsers.

In honor of that, I figured it might be interesting to discuss the ins-and-outs of blog writing, how I come up with the blogs, and where I came from as a writer.

Writing, for me, was very… cheap at first. I started with poetry, as most angsty pre-teens do. I’d write these sappy love poems, despite being single and having no clue what love was. I loved to read too, of course. But I never read as much as I should have, and I absolutely abhorred reading poetry.

Fast forward a bit, and I stopped writing, but continued reading. I’m a sophomore in Highschool, and I’m extraordinarily interested in becoming a literary agent. It wasn’t until the poetry unit at school that I started writing for myself again, well… kind of.

See, I had this issue where I never did my homework. It wasn’t really an act of defiance, I just wasn’t smart enough to get smarter. Worse part about it all was, I really respected my English teacher. I’ve always really respected my English teachers, but for whatever reason, this teacher in particular had a knack for getting me motivated. So, when it was time to turn in a haiku or a sonnet or a free verse poem and Mrs. Anonymous was standing in front of the class collecting them, I’d just write one on the spot.

I mean, it took around 5 minutes for rollcall and students to settle down, so I used that time to work on whatever poem was due that day. And I thought I was a genius.

I don’t have any of my old poems, probably because I wrote them all out by hand in class on loose-leaf paper I probably borrowed from someone else, but I remember volunteering to read them out loud sometimes, so I was at least proud of them.

It didn’t take long for Mrs. Anonymous to catch on, however, and she started calling me the “Poet from the Sky,” because I’d seemingly pluck finished poems from thin air. I feel like usually a teacher wouldn’t be so keen to allow a student to finish an assignment in class, but she considered the act poetic in its own right, so long as I had it done in time.

To be fair, I think I earned that trust. I had always been a hard worker in class, and I always kept up on my reading. I was that kid in school, the one who answered all the questions. I’d wait a few seconds if someone else knew but would always be the class’s “safety net.” I’m still not sure if that’s annoying or praise-worthy.

Soon after that, Mrs. Anonymous got poetry club started, and that’s where I found a real passion for researching literature. I was a founding member and then eventually president. I ran that club like a loose garden hose on full blast. It was enjoyable, to say the least. We raised enough money to go to these botanical gardens. It was a while ago, so I don’t remember the exact specifics of that trip. But I do remember that I spent around an hour on a very secluded bench. Just sitting with my one of my best friends, Kennedy. He was sketching bamboo stalks, I was writing.

That’s a good memory.

That summer I began editing copy for my mom. Shortly thereafter I started writing some blogs for her and some other businesses. I hated it.

The following school year, I was taught by Mrs. [Redacted] who really drove home the literary side of literature. She taught me most of the foundations for essay writing that I then used later as a tutor (spoilers). Mrs. [Redacted] and I later served jury duty together.

Mrs. [Redacted] was fantastic in all senses of the word, but Junior year was a tough time for me. All that teen angst kind of came back, and I felt very alone. So, I can’t say I had high marks, or that I managed to whip out 5 pages of rhetorical analysis on the lunch before class. But it was here that I rediscovered what it meant to put effort into the world around me, which brings me to…

Senior year was a turning point for me. I got my act together and applied myself. One of my other best friends at the time was really into creative writing. He was actually majoring in it in college, and it kind of made me realize that… that’s a path someone could take! I never tried to write stories, I never thought I could, but now I was interested.

Well, that’s half of the story. The other half is that I kind of got screwed by the school’s class system. See, I had to take 7 classes, but there was only 3 that were required for a college-track senior. So, I ended up taking… Four electives? None of this really matters.

Basically, I had two slots to fill with random classes, and they signed me up for Chinese 1 and Creative Writing (which were classes I did request to be in).

The best and worst thing about this was that Creative Writing and whatever AP English that was were taught by the same teacher, that’s right, the incredible Mr. I’ll Keep His Name Private. Mr. I’ll Keep His Name Private had the best sense of humor, you know, for a teacher. And he had to deal with me twice as much as any other student. Very quickly, we developed a rapport with one another, and he eventually ended up writing me the sweetest letter of recommendation full stop.

Mr. I’ll Keep His Name Private taught me to be proud of my writing, and to share it! I learned a lot about story structure, tropes, clichés, and what it takes to actually BE a writer. At the same time, he reinforced what Mrs. Redacted taught me. I doubled down on all sorts of effective literary analysis, and it got to the point where I really could whip out a 5 page essay on my lunch break. Mr. I’ll Keep His Name Private coupled with my renewed sense of purpose came together to make me the writer I am, and I’m eternally grateful.

These three teachers convinced me to pursue a degree in English.

But. Fast forward to College and everything changes. I’ll bullet point list my experience

-Get a D on my very first English Paper

-Have the importance of diction shoved deep into my brain by my honors teacher (a preacher)

-Begin sharing my stories with anyone who will read them

-Start taking creative writing classes

-Find my advisor

-Enroll in a class with my advisor

-Have my advisor label all of the problems with my writing (AND HELP ME FIX THEM)

-Developed a style that was unique

-Found out some teachers don’t like a lot of style

-Found out some teachers LOVE a lot of style

-Learned to tailor my writing to specific audiences based on their preconceived expectations

-Became a writing tutor

-Trained the next set of writing tutors (terrifying)

-Started doing excessive research to produce unique longform essays (if you want me to go on a really long rant, talk to me about the Grapes of Wrath)

-Began working on short stories in my free time

-Picked up a minor in Creative Writing

-Won some awards

-Graduated

-Started working as a freelance editor

-Ended up writing a lot of blogs for random websites

-My cousin tells me I should start a blog

-A few months pass and a bunch of shitty things happen

-I start my blog.

Isn’t that just a wild ride!

For real, college was a uniquely defining experience for me. I learned what it meant to be independent and dependent. I learned when to be vulnerable and that I should be more in touch with my emotions. I was diagnosed with a whole slew of mental illnesses. I eat those for breakfast now.

I don’t want to skimp out on my educators in college, but there were so many that meant so much to me, that I just would struggle profusely to even begin. There’s the short one, she taught me how to analyze the books I loved. She taught me to let my voice shine. She taught me that I can work and play hard with the written word. There’s the one with the cane, who had a wit sharper than anything. Who taught me what a passion for learning was, and how to use it. She helped me learn restraint and when to avoid it. There’s the tall one, who defined uniqueness for me. Who helped me explore interesting works and let me take adventures in my research like the playground it really was. There’s the serious one, who isn’t as serious as people make her out to be. Whose attention to detail was contagious and who set the bar high and taught me to reach for it. There’s the drummer, who beat my head like a snare drum with the ancients. Who had earned his cynicism and could explore literature wholistically (he’d hate me using that pun). And last, but certainly not least, there’s the writer. He knows what he did.

And of course, these aren’t the only people who have affected me. My aunt got me to love learning before any of these chumps even knew me. One of my grandmas taught me to be sarcastic, and the other one taught me about facing the music. My parents have taught me to be bookish, smart, and funny. My brother actually taught me to read. And my friends, well. Where could I even start. They’ve taught me to believe in myself, to work from the ground up, and to slow down sometimes.

God, this is getting sappy. Wasn’t I supposed to write about how I write blogs?

Oh wait… This is how I write blogs. It’s all stream of consciousness, honestly. I have an idea that I either get while running or reading (or more likely, from a friend), and then I just see where it takes me! I know that might not mean much, but I always try to make sure whatever I’m writing has a message. Sometimes that comes early on, sometimes that comes later. I think of an anecdote or an idea that connects to the “prompt,” and I just go from there.

Sometimes, you have to let your brain do that. I certainly didn’t expect to be 2000 words deep the day I’m about to fly back to the east coast. But, my mind had to wander, so I let it.

Thanks for sticking with me on this one. I can’t wait to see where my mind takes me next Friday. Until then!

Thanks for reading.